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  1. The one thing I remember is that the ST only said "Hey, this is a PK zone." Never "It is very dangerous and you will die." To their credit they mentioned it was a PK zone two or three times, which in hindsight perhaps should have been enough warning but was evidently not. And I assume people lingered and fought things because one of the emotes by ST mentioned the surface of the cliff being slippery/not climbable/find another way out/etc.
  2. Probably way too late but I was rewatching the Lord of the Rings trilogy and LOTC started living rent free in my head. Specifically, when my character and a bunch of others were killed off in the Voidal Hollow in Almaris. I stopped playing after my character died, as I'm sure a few people know. I believe a few others did as well, though I can only name one - @booklight12 "But it was a PK zone! You knew what you were getting into!" True-ish. The Hollow itself, afaik, wasn't a PK zone. The crater in the middle - yeah, that definitely was. But I never chose to go into it. I don't think *anyone* that ended up in the crater CHOSE to go into it. I'm looking for the chat logs somewhere in my private Discord of miscellaneous stuff to see if I can find the exact message, but what happened was that an ST that was overseeing our expedition into the Hollow had warned us a few times that, "Hey, this crater is a PK zone," and I was well aware of that. But I wasn't actually going into the zone. None of us were. We were on the edge, 'tempting fate' I suppose. Suddenly a message appears in chat that "The ledge you are all standing on gives out, and you all slide into the crater." Into the PK zone. Forced into it by the ST. I don't think I care that my character is dead anymore. I do care about essentially being forced into a PK zone instead of choosing to go into it, but the character death is something I'm over. I'm definitely not over the fact that losing the character also killed any and all ambition I had to play anymore, but that's life. Everyone isn't 'over' something. But I don't think this post is about me. I'm making it because I feel that booklight12 was robbed. As far as I know, he's been playing since the beginning. His elf character was like 7+ ft tall, way over the limit that the rules nowadays state. But that's because his character was old. Years old. Years and years of playing and having fun only to join a few of us on an 'exploration' quest and to be pushed into the crater by an ST. None of us, at least not myself or booklight12, wanted to go in the crater. As I said before, probably way too late to make a post like this, but I'm making it now so that future STs might not make this same mistake. If you're dabbling with killing characters permanently - you've got to let it be the player's choices that land them in the situation. I think it's unfair to take that away from them, regardless of if they're 'testing' you in some way, such as standing on the edge of a death crater. I'm pretty sure we can all agree that roleplay is supposed to be about having fun. What's fun about falling into a PK zone with no warning or choice in the matter? Zero warning at all that the ledge was going to give out. Just 'oops there it goes, you all slide in.' This is the post I'm referencing, by the way: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/212090-event-the-abyss-gazes-back/?tab=comments#comment-1910155 Have a good one everyone.
  3. We miss you, my friend. -Pancho and Brayden

  4. umm uhhh oh god what do i ask uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh what was i gonna say uhhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhh god oh god whats your ummm favourite canadian snack (normal snack for us (wow we have that in common? omg) canadians (again we have that in common?) but people like to look at us differently???) food to eat.. uhhh normally?
  5. The daughter of a particular purple-haired 'ker huffs at the missive, deciding that if no one will teach her to use a blade, she will teach herself how to do so or die trying in the coming battle. "At least I'll be fighting against racism," the timid elfess tells herself as she swipes a blade from a smith and begins trying to wield it properly.
  6. on the upside you're like bonkers rich now from all the ST loot and mina ive loot-goblined, stolen, or bought
  7. A scouting mission, she had been told. To gather samples, analyze them. It was anything but. As the Lord Dame of Brinewell, Ruina R'ikarth-Iron'Heartz-Anarore-Sweist, followed after close friends and strangers into the voidal hollow, she did not know that she would never return. No opportunity to fight and no chance to flee, she and one of her oldest lliran succumbed to the horrors that awaited those few who ventured into the cursed place. She had led a rather exciting life in her later years after so much struggle in her youth. Upon her arrival in Almaris she found herself in the middle of a war between men and dwed. She initially settled in the old Nor'asath, then moving to Elysium for only a month, and finally to Lubba's Keep for a few years. She met someone. Had children. Never married. Decided the war was not for her. Fleeing to the north, she found a home in Fenn, a place to belong, even if it was among the whitest elves she'd ever seen. She lived through the joining of Fenn and Nor'asath, became the undercity's grand steward, and was ultimately banished from both places by a woman she'd once considered her friend, but who she had grown to hate. But hate was the furthest thing from her mind as she met her end. No, she had no thoughts at all of those who had wronged her - she could have cared less about them. The end was nothingness. She took her friend's hands as the void took them both, mutated them into the very creatures who had brought about their demise. She cried, her thoughts only of her daughter. She had no time to think of all those she had met in life. A child was tucked away in her room, several letters beneath it. [!] It had the year '72' written on it. "If you are reading this, you've either broken into my home (in which case I will be personally removing your shins), or, I am dead. Or just... Gone. Whoever finds this, send the rest of these letters to whoever I've named in this doom note. With that out of the way, let me begin. To those who could call themselves my llir, I thank you for being a part of my life. To Primrose, thanks for the wig. To Mika, thanks for the kids and so many experiences and adventures when I first arrived in Almaris. To Jon Snowell, thanks for the sword. To Elathion, I leave you a bowl of crackadonk chili. Come to Brinewell and it will be delivered to you. To those I've killed, a personal screw you, and I wish I could do it again. To the weefolk, I leave to you my cheese collection, which has been aging for quite a while. As well as some booze. To Valindra, you are one of the best friends I've ever had the pleasure of meeting in my life. I trust you will be able to finish the work we started. To Jorg Iron'Heartz, I miss you so much old friend... To Durin, swing by for a free drink sometime. To Zirath, you may visit Brinewell whenever you'd like for free food and drink. To Ruilia... I miss you. I... Love you. I wish we would have married. To Scrisa, my daughter, there is an inheritance of sorts waiting for you should you be able to find it. I trust that with your smarts you will be able to do so rather quickly. You will take over my position on Brinewell when you reach the age of 50, if you'd like. Oh, and take care of your new sister. She'll need someone to take care of her in my absence, and I don't even have the name of the father who gave her to me. Until then, Esmee, I leave you with the island to do with as you see fit." OOC: It's been fun, Ruina was an absolute menace to society and I had a blast playing her. Her death was a bit... awful, I suppose, but we knew the risks going into the PK site. Just didn't know it was essentially a death sentence. If I've missed anyone and you feel you deserve something from my item collection, HMU on Discord. (I blame xMuted for this PK)
  8. Blightwrought Beware the swamps and the dark dank deep... Physiology The blightwrought is a horrid creature, albeit a rare one, that appears vaguely human, though which has been transformed into something far more terrifying and morbid. With a jaw that can open impossibly wide and a long and tough tongue that can easily stretch out enough to wrap around the neck of any unfortunate enough to encounter such an appalling thing and choke them out, the blightwrought is a chilling and formidable opponent that reeks of rot and decay. It has no eyes, though has an excellent sense of hearing and is able to pinpoint the location of a descendant swiftly if they are not taking care to remain quiet and keep their breathing steady. Its teeth are rotten and decayed, though still sharp enough to puncture skin and gambeson. A bite would seldom be fatal, though this creature is fraught with disease and plague, its saliva containing traces of a poison that would blind, induce vomiting, and disorient a person who gets it in their bloodstream for no longer than an hour. One should note that these creatures can often be smelled before they are seen. They reek of death, of decay, and move silently through the mud and muck of swamplands, listening carefully and waiting patiently until prey is close enough for an attack. Once they know they have been seen, however, they emit a clicking noise, mumbling and stuttering out incoherent words. These creatures are long and lanky, towering over most of their opponents at heights no higher than 9'6, sometimes missing entire limbs, though their strength should never be underestimated as they possess enough of it to fell an olog in a single strike if it is not alerted to the presence of the blightwrought. Its fingers are spindly and elongated, the claws on the ends of them reaching up to six inches in length, though its strength lies not in its normal limbs and instead comes from the lengthy tentacles that are found erupting from its back, with sharp and long spikes on the end of them, covered entirely in small thorns and with properties similar to ferrum. A blightwrought generally has anywhere from three to eight of these tentacles, which can pierce through lighter sections of plated armour, though will, for the most part, only dent thicker sections. Possessing an incredible amount of stamina and able to use their tentacles to traverse their environments with ease, extreme care must be taken when fighting a blightwrought, lest one find themselves rotting in the mud alongside it as it waits for another victim. As powerful as these creatures are, they are susceptible to attacks aimed at their empty eye sockets, as well as ones near the base of their tentacles, where the ferrum-like properties of the tentacles end, and where they can be cut off if one has not been skewered by them already. It is not a daft creature, however, and knows this. It will almost always be covering its eyes with its hand(s) unless opening its mouth to scream. A single well-placed arrow could likely fell the creature if its hands were not in the way, though if the archer who shot it missed, they would become the immediate target of the creature as it traces the sound of the arrow flying past to its origin point. Habitat Blightwroughts can primarily be found in swampy regions, and it is unheard of to find one outside of these regions. They relish the humid and damp environment and the advantage they have when hunting down prey inside of it. Behaviour Blightwroughts are omnivorous, territorial, mostly solitary creatures capable of going without food for months on end, which explains their lankiness. They lie in the thick mud of swamps, waiting for prey to come to them, and rarely shy away from a fight once provoked. They prey on anything and everything, though have a fondness for the flesh of musin brave or foolish enough to venture into the swamplands. Their 'home' is the mud, the muck, the depths. They can traverse through it with some difficulty, feeling the vibrations of those above them through the ground and tunneling to their position before creeping upwards and through the sludge to claim their prey. Finding one on purpose is exceedingly difficult, though if one has a keen sense of smell, they will likely be able to tell if a blightwrought is nearby. Abilities Blightwroughts can emit a shrill, piercing screech that will daze and disorient those within range of it (48 blocks) momentarily (2 emotes) if they are not wearing hearing protection. They do not do this often, however, save for when they feel they are in mortal danger. This piercing screech often attracts the attention of other blightwroughts who might be in the area. Upon screaming, a blightwrought will enter a sort of 'frenzy' state, able to traverse long distances even faster than it could before for a period of five emotes, though after this it will have exhausted itself and will often burrow back into the mud to recuperate for three emotes, moving under the ground and emerging in a different spot, ready to continue its attacks. Its saliva contains traces of a poison that would blind, induce vomiting, and disorient a person who gets it in their bloodstream for no longer than 1 narrative hour. Blightwroughts can use their tentacles to propel themselves off of the ground and into the air, and once there, may use them to strike out at where it believes an enemy to be before falling back to the ground. Blightwroughts are resistant to flame due to almost always being below water or submerged in muck, though not immune. The skin of a blightwrought is tough and similar to leather and is resistant to arrows and other small projectiles. The tongue of a blightwrought, if wrapped around the neck of someone, would choke them out over a medium length of time (3 emotes). The bones of a blightwrought are strong and exceptionally lightweight, equal to ferrum in its damage resistant qualities. The claws on their hands are sharp enough to cut through chain and ferrum or steel if enough force is behind the swing, and can sever the limbs of those not wearing, at the very least, light layers of gambeson. A blightwrought can cough up a thick black goo from their rotted stomachs to spit out and onto a person which will burn their eyes and smell terrible, though will have no effect on exposed skin. It will make a person vomit if they consume it. Redlines - Only playable by an ST or ET - Cannot be tamed - Its saliva cannot be extracted or repurposed - Its stomach goop cannot be extracted or repurposed - Its stomach goop will blind a person for 2 emotes from when they wipe it off - Its poison lasts for 1 narrative hour - Can speak incoherent, single words at a time, though cannot understand them or any language used by anyone else - The teeth and thorns on the tentacles will often be diseased and it is up to the ST/ET running the event to decide what a person contracts - No using diseased teeth or thorns to give people diseases - Their bones are as strong as ferrum, only differing in that they are lighter than it - Blightwroughts will not travel outside of swampy environments, ever - The claws of a blightwrought are extremely sharp, though will be destroyed if struck with enough force more than three times. If made into a weapon, the weapon would not cut another weapon in half or shatter it unless swung with the strength of an orc on horseback, though would still be able to cut through flesh and bone with relative ease and chip into other weapons OOC: I've never wrote lore before! I'm not sure if I know what I'm doing or not, but I wanted to try my hand at it. The creature is probably a serial powergamer, but 🤷‍♂️ I wanted to make something terrifying for people's personas to fight and give them a good story to tell if they managed to defeat it. (Based on the Dreadful Peat Mummy from the Betweenlands)
  9. "I slew nine of 'em all on my lonesome," Ruina comments, soaked in crimson, none of it her own.
  10. Mum'zog... Didn't really have much in life. He ate quite a few people and traumatized a noble at one point. At the end of his life, he weighed 950lbs from how much he'd eaten. How did he die? The Big Blue. It's tail sought to rip through the floor of the cave and cut him in half in one fell swoop as he was helping his new comrades fight the thing, the oceanic scales shredding through his armour and body, cutting him in half. He'd agreed to fight on the condition he be given an entire feast, though perhaps his hunger, like so many other ologs, was the death of him.
  11. "Not cool, Philly Three," Ruina states, scowling at the missive as she tosses it aside!
  12. "I suppose we are just killing democracy, then?"
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