Toddbringer

Somewhere subterranean, clad in sheets of penumbral silks, an ailing madame inspects a missive in placidity. 
With a weakened, single handed grasp, the paper comes to crumple, and tossed into the hearth just across the room.
"And to ashes..."
Some somber solace in a more tenebrous hour. 

Peace is not yet in our time.

give staff instantly +1

Warded from worlds prying eyes, beneath the veil of whispering pines of the Northerly Gales, an Unmourned Son of mountains proud of Karosgrad weeps for the weary. Incense burns with a tranquil dancing serpent of smoke, writhing in the motion of the atmosphere, guiding falling nettles of the evergreens high.

Peace eternal; a wish for a rest well earned. 

You're getting my one forum post a year to get what's currently playing while I'm in event. 

Forgot to do this, oops
https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/228862-mysticism-ma-toddbrungy/

I dream of Thunder Bluff. 

A scrappy, tall Oyashi stares down at the missive, narrowing his dark hues at the words before him, before crumpling up the note and throwing it aside. Now is a good time to keep check on his stock of Aurum.

Another perturbed figure, a young Fiery Uruk watches his father read, before snatching away the paper! He roars as he watches his fathers stocks fall, slamming his fist against his chest in anger! "Dat wuz latz teef popo! We gonnah get diz guy back." He assures his father, patting him on the back.

@Jihnyny

Bumbullaum lag-nût, Uruk-hai. Khlaaral khûr-ug ghaamp. Khlaaral khûr-ug nût. Shapog kul-izub.

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A Vision.

Thunder.
Black clouds mass in an ominous tempest above Aevos, the atmosphere oppressed by the thickness of the very air itself. From within the center of the squall was an effigy, radiant and gleaming. The earth below began to tremble and shake as cracks formed in its surface, fracturing the crust of the very ground in which mortals tread. These fissures only grew as the gales grew stronger; blowing leaves soon became tree limbs, dust and sand became splintering sandstorms, rock and stone was tossed about just as easily.

Thunder cracked the sky, its booming resonance shook the ground below, casting a tall monk from his feet as all he could do was stare at the hurricane in bewilderment. He stood alone as lightning crackled in the nimbus above, as veins to a beating heart. Moisture leapt from the clouds in a thick blanket of precipitation, pounding on the rippling earth like the tears of a god, and as if beckoning, ghastly apparitions coiled from the broken ground, plunging toward the sky. And the lightning came to meet them, swallowing them into the penumbral abyss.

A Premonition.

Chaos.

Time passes in a flash. The currents in which carried Life and Death clashed beyond the veil of mortal sight. Rivers of Blood replaced broken trails of shattered earth, bathing the world in a thick miasma of smoke and plague. The spoils of war litter the ground; blades of steel, trinkets of gold, bodies of bone. The laments of war's forgotten echo gently through the air, trilling like a lonesome harp in an empty auditorium, a song for deaf ears.

Alas, atop the broken spires of rock and sediment stood looming monoliths, bathed in that blood which the veins of the new earth flowed, and like the very instruments of its creation, they tread a hellish warpath against life itself. In their unwavering unity and insurmountable strength, their beastly ferocity pledged violent strife to all in their way, leaving only an inferno and ash in the wake of their frenzy. 

And below; a writhing pit of vipers, awaiting the slaughter.

A Dream.

Hope.

The flowing Rivers of Blood had grown stagnant; still, and from the placidity came a sprout. Not one, not two, but countless blossoms burst forth from the earth below, blooming and budding with a fervent defiance of the age of anarchy before them, and as if guided by the Hands of Fate unseen, they soared with vigor unwavering, reaching out for the skies above. The clouds tore apart once more, beaming luminous rays of ardent warmth upon them, met in harmonious equilibrium.

In the place of the drums of war came the chatter of beasts, small and large. Delicate beings of life's creation flourished in this endless grove of sprawling vines and thick undergrowth; untamed and unadulterated wilderness, free and mighty. A gentle breeze swept through the trees, and carried within it was something less tangible, like a spirit, present yet formless. The monoliths once more trot ground, yet they carried not the scent of blood nor the aura of senseless brutality, but the very embers of hope, brilliantly smoldering within them, honorable and true.

This group was not alone, but one of many. Countless clusters of teeming strugglers carve their niche in the lush verdant growth, birthing life anew. Above them all, atop a mountain’s crest, stood two.

The Bear and the Wolf. Side by side, stood before a flowering sprout, reaching a zenith from within the very stone of the peak.

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"Lup'Zagbal."

  The Yargoths final words left the cusp of his lips with a rattling breath, that of which would be his last in the Goi. Painted in streaks of white, the aging face of the man was washed away in a gentle rain- strangely placed for that of the desert. The familiar cold embrace of the taciturnity in the air wrapped him like a shroud, cloaking him in the hands of the unknown. Whispers came to him from places elsewhere in his mind as his glossy hues began to cloud, and like a choir of songstresses they sang to him tales of yore, forbidden lyrics from a crypt locked so deep in forgotten lands afar it shook his very core. A tightness in his chest and dryness in this throat bubbled forth as a coughing fit, bud in spite of his age he stood tall. Still they harmonized sweet memories, unfamiliar yet warm.

  A smile began to part his visage, exposing once more those jagged, uncomfortable tusks tucked just below his lower lip. Spiteful was he in the face of dishonor; accusations have come and go, but he took pride in those honorable among them he would still call his brothers. He released a subdued chortling laugh to himself as his vision further fades with time, yet it was as if he had never seen clearer, staring into the skies above, sunlight glistening the beaded sweat on his face. From his side rose a thick, girthy arm, trembling under its own weight. Clutched tightly in the hand attached, ensnared by bulky fingers was the wooden pike to which hung his banner; The banner of Clan Yar, Clan of Wisdom and Victory, the ever-wise and mighty. Extended forth was the relic to the one stood before him, as it left his grasp so too did he, from the place he once called home. A memory was all that remained, that of one tattered with the scars of age and battle, new and old; burns, slashes, pierces, brands and pocks, yet one stood out. The brand of a Duhnah skhelll scarred into the flesh above his hip, that of the brand of the Yar clan. This same brand burned into the wooden haft of the banner, besides a short few words.
 

"Lat-am turkûrz."

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With something of a low grumble, a robed figure crumples up the missive, dropping it to the floor. They said nothing, aside heaving that of a great sigh, staring out from behind a dark window. With that, they receded; they'd seen enough.

A mountainous robed figure gave a small dip of his head, puffing on a large roll of cactus green, who's scent wafted about around a canvas tent. A deep sigh escaped his lips with a grumble, before shaking his head somberly. "Bûbhosh baak..." A rasp in that strange, primal tongue, before passing the toke across the way.

MC Name:

         Toddbrungy

Character's Name:

         Toad'Yar

Character's Age:

         Of age.

Character's Race:

         Human.

Link to your accepted MA:

         https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/224907-farseer-ma-toddbrungy/

What magic(s) will you be teaching?

         Farseer.

Describe this magic or a creature as a whole:

A Farseer's connection to the Spirit realm holds many potential powers and responsibilities, though the abilities in which they gain through their experiences tend to lend themselves well to those who wish to empower their fellow spiritualist or descendant, applicable as well to animals and plans. Their strength is their ability to evoke the power of the Immortal Aspects, communing with Immortal and Elemental spirits to bestow blessings and favors upon their brothers in order cure ailments and curses, incite feelings of bravery, even bring property to a harvest. This power comes with the cost of responsibility, in that a Farseer is often plagued by visions of the future like a premonition. The unprepared mind may find themselves maddened by it to some degree, as the Immortal Spirits themselves bestow upon them such a sight. They are formidable forces nevertheless, and one would do well not to arise their ire; their dedication to the balance of Mortal and Immortal realms is staunch. Wise and learned, they are mostly peaceful, and are a comfort to those around who seek guidance in the face of troubled futures.

Are there different sections or subsections of magic? Can those be elaborated upon?

While the Farseer magic itself possesses no 'sub-classes,' there are many different blessings which one might align towards different focuses. For example, a blessing of Paxahru might make a weaker mind become arrogant and overconfident, bending their mind for better or worse. It could also make another feel their confidence boosted, all depending on the Farseers intention, and the one subject to the Spirits blessing. Another blessing, the blessing of Luara can bestow upon a living being increased vision under the moonlight, while when used upon plant life, it will become bio-luminescent, glowing a shimmering blue hue in the dark.

At their most basic level, all are capable of Farsight, but this skill is most difficult to master, as even wise Shamans may be perplexed by vague symbols or half truths. In conjunction with an ST event/storyline, and the oversight of said ST/ET member, they are able to seek answers or inquire about events past or future regarding these stories, although to what effect is to be determined. Again, hardly a subsection, but with said information can be used differently at the Farseer's discretion.

As a Farseer Shaman grows more powerful they gain access to other abilities due to their connections to planes beyond the mortal realms, granting them the ability to play upon the very mortal soul of descendants, causing sensory alterations within the minds of those they deem fit to manipulate for whatever purpose. In calling out to the Spirits, they are able to conjure hallucination-like visions by lifting the soul of the receiver from their mortal shell and into the Immortal Plane, in which from there the Farseer can alter perception as they see fit. To the unknowing recipient of a Farseer Vision, this would feel something like a daydream, and with that comes all the mental/spiritual effects one might feel after being caught in such.

It is rather easy to understand how the Farseer Shaman might fit multiple roles within a single class of Shaman, and despite having no distinct subsections, one might be inclined to create their own dictated on the wills of the Farseer themselves.

Can you give an example of a casting emote, of a spell of your choice?

From a great distance, the elder's keen senses fixated upon the bustling activity within the depths of San'Briu. The shaman's eyes, like dull orbs reflecting the ancient wisdom of his clan, held a deep, primal connection to the ebb and flow of the spheres of influence. The orc's piercing gaze fixed upon a figure, knelt beneath an altar, displaying clear the religious-sermon of one devote spiritualist. "Ilzgul ob dah naga bot! brus'izg bugdir lat, ash naakh ob lab nargzab." The words, escaping the shaman in hushed tones, flowed like a river of incantations from between his lips. Each utterance carried the weight of the shaman's intent, calling forth the immortal for which he has found union.

The Farseer maintained his focus upon the spiritualist in the distance, the intensity of his prolonged-gaze seemingly amplifying as the moments pressed-on. "Thraku izish lab hont, zatal za naga iistlab bugd!" He began to repeat, evoking the immaterial tongue beneath the veil of darkness, with a rhythm that matched the very cadence of his stave against the foundation below.

The shaman's chants, delivered in a voice that seemed to draw strength from the very absence around him, harmonized with the percussion of wood meeting brick. With each resounding bash of the branch into the cobbled-stones beneath him, the impact echoed throughout the depths of the city like a heartbeat, reverberating with the potency of his calls.

Can you give an example of a teaching-emote (interacting with another) of a spell of your choice?

The shaman's scowl deepened as he observed his student, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. "To delve into these planes, you must find an equilibrium - an understanding within the domain of influence you find yourself." the shaman stated, his voice carrying the weight of ancient wisdom. He then handed them a hoe with a firm gesture.

"Ublulhar, with all his vast roots, has never turned away from us. From you. It will be a great honor, young one, to tread upon such sacred ground." The shaman explained, providing a gesture of a hand, out towards the canopies adorning Beleth's skies. "And, for each tree the Vale has cut down, you will replant two in his name. For each animal the druids have culled, you will incite their primal-rage."

As the student diligently worked the soil, the shaman took a seat and began his chant directed towards the immortal; his usage of the old tongue, while not proficient, was enough to catch the attention of any spirit of note. The rhythmic cadence of his words reverberated through the air, a supplication to the natural forces that surrounded them. The atmosphere seemed to respond, carrying the essence of the ritual into the unseen realms.

The planted seeds took root in the freshly tilled earth, symbolizing the student's connection with the spirit realm. The shaman's chant carried on, a bridge between the tangible and the ethereal, hoping to appease Ublulhar before the impending venture into his plane of existence.

Say your student powergames during or after teaching, how do you reprimand that?

My intention is to keep a rather concise set of logs to any and all incidents I am alerted to. From there, it is my responsibility to see that any and all wrongdoings are settled, and that it is made abundantly clear that continued powergaming incidents may lead to dropping of the student's MA, disconnection, or ST interference.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         No.

Do you agree to keep the ST updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes.

Have you applied to teach this magic on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app.

         No.

I wish we got to RP, never got to thank you for the cookies.

A large greying fellow peers over the missive for a moment before shrugging, tossing it away with an idle grumble. "Trouble, trouble trouble. As alwayz."

  A large, haggard fellow shook awake from a terrible slumber, grumbling as he shook his head, dropping the shackles of a dream. A sigh hefted from his lips, muttering aloud in frustration. "Ugh... Mi gettin' sick ob all deez znakez..." A hand pressed against his forehead as he fought his head cold, reluctant to leave his place.

Minecraft IGN

Toddbrungy

Discord ID

toddbrungy

Timezone

MDT

What focus-area of the Moderation Team interests you the most?

Server Moderation, Forum Moderation

Why have you decided to apply for the Moderation Team?

Even after my previous tenure as Moderation team staff I have continued to watch the servers community grow and mature, and I have to say that I am completely pleased by the changes I've seen come about over the past few months. I can honestly say that as time goes on I only find myself more and more proud of this server and its players, team members and otherwise; new groups of roleplayers continue to bud and grow, ideas changing and discourse evolving for the better between groups that I hadn't seen previously. I want to continue to serve the playerbase in which I love, and keep pushing for friendly discussion, reasonable and fair rulings so all can be satisfied and heard, and further transparency that I've seen grow, empowering the player-staff relationships for all communities. I will always be a player at heart, and I hope that I get the chance to give the players confidence and comfort in their time on the server.

What can you offer to the team?

Besides previous mod training meaning I already know the commands required to use Omni and other moderation tools, I have previous experience mediating conflict resolution on a large scale between groups of players and on an individual level, pushing for positive community relation between players and moderation staff, having an online presence during otherwise less active hours for other moderation team members, and despite my previous tenure being shorter than planned I fully intend to continue progressing the projects I previously held close, most importantly player transparency and building a community in which staff will put the players wellbeing at the forefront.

If you were the Mod Admin, what would you change about the server?

I believe a continued emphasis on a player first mentality is the best way to both serve the existing playerbase and to grow the server going forward, and with further efforts in these avenues I feel that we would have greater success not only as a mod team, but the server community as a whole. A consistent presence on the server would be more beneficial toward building better player-staff relations, and I would encourage more constant player feedback on past, present, and future staff policies not only for moderation, but all branches of server staff. I would make a point to keep players updated on any and all potential changes, and drive community building by furthering the active role players have as a hand in shaping the server in which they enjoy.

Attach relevant media or links. (Portfolio)

Dark Shamanism please. I'm already a BM IRL, just look at my nasty baggy eyes

What if we kissed in the Court Rooftop garden?

As The Yargoth scanned over the missive he could not calm his mind, the events of the terrible siege held a grip on him like a python ensnares a mouse; choking his breath and tightening his throat. He cleared his throat before muttering to himself. "Fer Borok. Du uz proud. Lup'Kybal." A shooting pain rang his ears, shaking his mind; he shook his head dismissively and tucked away the leaflet.

It was with a heavy heart the Yargoth hung up his helm, brushing away the ash and dust of the Goi from its surface. Tattered and worn, those burned remains melded with the charred parts that already coated his skin, rubbed upon his face; his look stoic and proud. "Lat dhûl-ishi stargûsh'stroh, kû narish. Lat ûkil mauk-ûr uruk-hai."  Bittersweet was that unending night above the skies of Krugmar, in one last parting to the Honorable Rex, and to some others left unnamed but not forgotten, he blew upon that gilded horn with a thunderous sound; its form glowed and shimmered dully in the umbral miasma around, but unwavering in its light. "Mae de Ilzgul hear de Thundah Ob Krug, agh all ob Almariz. Diz iz nub de end. Diz iz unly de beginin'.''  With that he thumped his chest in admiration, carrying their history on his back; another brother buried, another step heavier.

The Yargoth simply gave a soft chuckle, tossing away the missive; same old story. Not another thought was offered as he continued to filter through his junk mail.

Why are you still here? Just to suffer?

The letter lie on the floor, beside remnants of a once sturdy table, now battered and cracked. The room was a total mess; between the shreds of fabric, bits of wood, and kitchen implements, were a few empty bottles. The whole place smelled of green, and a broken man lie there on the floor in the midst of the destruction, eyes gaunt and hollow.  "Dere wuz ztill tik... Nub? Brus-gotl-um, Ilzgul..."  Muttered he, before succumbing to sleep, once again absorbed in the nightmares; both conscious and not.

The Yargoth gave a slow nod in quiet approval, though his meditations were interrupted, this one was most welcome.  "Bot-izubu ashugû narnûl. Let diz bi ah lezzun tu all ob doze who du nub klomp de wagh wit'in. Lup'Zagbal. Lup'Ilzgul."  And with that, he returned to his work.

I am having an issue linking my accounts so that I can get an Alt Whitelisted. The Forums and Freja are uncooperative, and my current account is unlinked due to a previous liking of my account pre microsoft migration. I can refer anyone to my old forum account, but I no longer have access due to its age. Thank you for looking in on this issue, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.