X3N0

Steps were taken to some notice board within Nor'asath, a wayward maehr's head swiveling towards the hung missive. After moments passed, ones spent reading it, a low, nigh inaudible sigh escaped from his maw. Darkulzet coming to head towards the west.

don't jinx it

cyndaquil

What motivates you to come back?

You do not need to be apart of the ET to host events.

thoughts on siliti shelf?

howls

escape lotc

an easy yes

it's so over

The 'ker, Kysnaros sat on the walls of that city of Maehr, violet hues scanning down the roads for any sign of the Mori - along with various other Nor'asathi positioned there, they were waiting. It was drawn out, the silence permeating throughout those woodlands, like the calm before the storm. His figure was clad in armor, from head to toe, so that his face would be obscured. The elf let out a weary sigh, one wrought of exhaustion, masked by his helm. Yet that silence was fleeting, distant sounds flowing throughout. The battlements readied themselves, cannons being manned, weapons readying in anticipation. And then, the distant sound of buzzing was heard, emitting from the depths of the treeline, breaking that drawn out silence fully. Boom! A cannon ball was sent flying out towards the swarm, to no avail, various arrows being shot towards the locusts with more precision, yet they continued their advance towards the city, acid being spewed from their maws, luckily missing his figure, yet unfortunately making their marks on the cannons perched on the battlements, rendering them inoperable. A curse was excluded from his veiled mouth as he took steps closer to the edge, jutting out his spear in an attempt to hit one of those swarming locusts, blade making its mark. It did not stop them. The tide continued to advance, though the defenders were surely making progress. And then, foreign arrows whirled throughout, striking one or two of the stationed defenders on the walls, his form rushing towards the lift, going down it, and into the city. As he stepped out of the gatehouse’s door, those violet hues of his caught something, someone, making their descent down the wall. Kysnaros then surged forth, to investigate the scaler. When the elf neared the mori soldier, he halted, the scaling also doing so, a black vial being hastily thrown at the maehr’s face as his blade met the mori’s side, sinking into the man’s flesh. Crack! That vial made its mark on the elf’s head, the acid spilling on his right eye, thus leaving it damaged, permanently so, perhaps. Curses in both vel’luah and blackspeech were made as he backed up, shield dropping onto the ground, clockwork artificed hand grasping at his eye. His form then surged forth in a bout of rage the polearm once more being thrusted at the soldier’s figure, felling it with the aid of a well placed bolt Footsteps were taken towards the entrance to Nor’asath’s depths then, ephemeral mist shrouding his form as sanguinic ichor trickled down his nose, a fleeting fit of coughs being given as he neared those caverns, the smog dissipating fully as he entered. When he delved deeper and to the side of the Primarch, he could barely see anything as he reached some open space, smokey haze filling the room, and a tide of spiders scurrying about, their limbs flailing and attacking anyone near them. A spider was stabbed, yet that smoke became too much, and with the Vindicator’s cry of retreat he began to slowly climb up to the upper levels, away from that choking smog. Yet that day was a success for the most part, the cave’s entrance being barricaded, and all other attacks against Nor’asath being thwarted by the efforts of the mali’ker and their allies. It was a day of triumph, surely. At what cost, though? His eye had been maimed, and surely people were lost defending. With no bids of farewell, he departed, back to that snow-covered town of Lumbridge, within the far reaches of the world.

Can't really say as I've gotten to enjoy a good amount of experiences, tho the Cloudbreaker eventline was dope, plus the current rp im doing rn Someday Never I ain't a mirror

Sometimes I try to get away from the Craft, yet I keep coming back fr fr on god

Hello yes, I have decided to write one of these posts. Almost reached one year on lotc, so feel free to question me! Cheers.

r

Le fishe

those lil guys should be added

From within the depths of some deceript town, beneath its cobbled streets and in that bastion’s library did a mali of ‘ker heritage sit, violet hues glancing down towards the book held firmly in the grasp of his gloved digits. A puff of smoke blew out of the youthful maehr’s cigarette as his head turned upwards from that tome of yore, and onto the four murals before Kysnaros. A clockwork-artificed limb pushed his form off the chair which he had sat at as the elf began to pace towards the four murals - eyes swiveling about, viewing the tall streams of bookcases about, and the myriad drawings upon each mural. Slowly, he took a halting before the left most mural - digits coming to point towards it as he looked at the sprawling work. For that first mural there was a willow tree, its bark gray and dull, and offerings were placed beneath its branches. All those things given up to that tree were of nature; discarded branches, strong soil, berries, and the antlers of some woodland creature. “Oaks.” Thereafter he began to tread forth to the one near the end of that sprawling hallway, once more taking a stop before it. It displayed the likeness of a roaring bonfire formed of bones - of what he did not deign to know. Offered there were ashes of battlefields lost to the currents of time, and broken weapons. “Strife.” As his view came back to view the two murals on the right, making way towards the one adjacent to his current form. The third mural was that of a sun of stygian - blotted out by the dark. Things matching the symbols present were feathers of various birds of carrion, skulls, and onyx silk. “Umbrage.” Once more and for the final time the youth treaded towards the right depiction, and set there similarly to the rest was a sprawling iconography. There was a great mass of flame, popping out from the other dull tones within that room. Candles and ashen glass laid there in offerings, of solemn reverence. “Embers.” A sigh escaped his maw - a puff of smoke in tandem from the ‘garette which was in his maw as he finished his pacing around, seemingly those musings of his were complete. He knew he had to pick one of those four paths, yet which one would Kysnaros choose in the end. Yet finally after a period of reflection the elf finally chose, and it was strife.

From somewhere did a mali'ker look at the pamphlet with bated breath, deep violet orbs scanning it up and down with an interest. "Politics," Uttered he as he placed the missive down 'pon the table in front of him. "It seems like Celia'nor is keen on going down the same path of the eastern valah kingdoms." The elf drawled out, seeming exasperatedly as he began to go back to his business!