Crunchiest_Leaf

the rat lord horfed upon his cigarette as he sat in his still flooded home, having rolled the missive into such "aiyah. . . soon at this rate, kiku will be the only one without an emperor"

Lord Nezukai horfs back on a cigarette, before exhaling in a long wheezing laugh "kekekekekekekeke"

submitting the Nezumin warclaim against the norland wonks, your days are numbered bozos

The gaijin won, owari da

HMMMMMM

was conscious of this from conception, didn't want people to feel like they can't enjoy the map if their hardware is a bit dated, so it's been designed to be kind on both clients and the server resources the more generic/ambient weather effects that use particles/sounds are all toggleable per person at any time :) (other than lightning, which wont have any performance impact at all) so if anyone gets tired of them, or is getting distracted, they can disable them with one command <3 😳

a-april fools? ha ah ha ? right ? RIGHT?!

@ yourself I'm inland wet

based

Tokuma Nishioka

Rat Seers?! Rat Seers?!

Long ago, before descendants first set foot upon the land, and long after the first Great Rat led his children into the safety of the underground, the world was still—motionless and unchanging. For a time, this stillness was not seen as a flaw but as the natural order of life. The stars hung in the sky, unmoving sentinels gazing down upon the quiet world below. The great rivers lay dormant, vast unflowing lakes stretching like sleeping serpents across the land. No wind stirred the air, and no creature had yet felt the whisper of change upon its fur. But time cannot abide stillness forever. Slowly, the air grew stale, and the rivers became choked with noxious slime. What was once stable and serene turned stagnant and lifeless. The world, unbalanced and unmoving, began to sink into a slow, creeping decay that spread insidiously from the edges inward. Thus began the First Era of Plague. Without flow—without the endless cycle of renewal between the old and the new—rot took hold of the world. Disease seeped into the air, scratching at lungs and choking breaths. Water, once pure and sustaining, turned venomous, burning the stomach of any who dared drink it. Fell weeds with blackened tendrils clawed their way through the soil, strangling the roots of even the most resilient trees. The plague came first for the old—the elder rats who had seen the first days of the nest. Weathered and weakened by time, they lacked the strength to shake the sickness from their graying fur. One by one, they drifted into the Great Sleep before their time. Next, the sickness turned its malice upon the strong. Those who delved deep into the earth, seeking the treasures hidden in its dark embrace, were undone. Where once they uncovered truffles-deep and precious stones, now they found only tainted soil. Their claws, once sharp and tireless, grew weak and brittle, cracked by the mouldering corruption beneath their feet. Finally, the plague came for the young—the ratlings, fresh to the world and untested by its trials. Too young to understand its cruelties, too innocent to bear its weight, they were claimed before they could truly live. Their bright eyes dimmed, and they too were taken into the Great Sleep, far too soon. Deep, in the damp heart of the nest, where creeping decay clung to every surface and the unforgiving sickness sapped the weak, a new ratling was born. From the moment she emerged, it was clear she was not like the others; her coat dark as a starless sky and untouched by the filth that poisoned the nest. Her eyes gleamed like molten gold, a relentless flicker, shining as a symbol of the strength that seemed to stretch and push upon her very form. Much larger than her kin - a vision of the First Great Rat seemingly untouched by the era of plague. The others watched her grow, awed and afraid. In a place where even the soil carried death, she sprouted up without hesitation, her paws untainted, her breath unbroken. She climbed where others faltered, her frame too broad and too vital for her age. Some avoided her, uneasy with her strength. Others followed her, clinging to the hope that she might be the answer to the rot that had consumed them, and the lives of their children. But she was not theirs, not truly. She moved with a hunger that no food could satisfy, drawn deeper into the nest’s forgotten corners. Where the air stung and the soil reeked of poison, she pressed on, driven by a force none could see, with the Golden Eyes that lit her way, the furious flame within; unquenchable and unrelenting. Though she had never known another world, free from the decay and stagnant being, her body yearned for it. She dreamed of rivers that moved - the great serpents brought to life, weaving through the earth like loose sand, winds that danced upon the surface waves, and an earth alive with motion. In her dreams, the stillness was broken, the choking weight of decay swept away by something vast and unseen. And yet, when she woke, the nest remained the same. The air hung thick like soup. The rivers above lay stagnant. Around her, the plague devoured her kin—slowly, steadily, endlessly gnawing at the bones of her people. She grew faster than the days could hold her, her shadow looming larger in the tunnels. The others whispered of her now, though no sound reached her ears. Some left offerings, but she ignored them. She was not their idol, not a second coming of the first Great Rat, not truly. She was something the nest hadn’t seen since the first days—a body untouched, a spark in the suffocating dark. The stillness could not hold her, and the decay could not claim her. But she did not belong here, not in this place of silence and ‘un-motion’. Something waited for her beyond, and though she did not yet understand, she was already moving toward it. In the unbroken stillness of the nest, the first ripple stirred in the fabric of the world. The days passed slowly, each one blurring into the next, the silent weight of the world pressing in from all sides. She had felt the stillness for so long—its heavy, suffocating grip over every corner of her world—and though she could not name it, there was a gnawing sense within her, a call that rose like the distant hum of thunder, urging her to go deeper, to leave behind the dying air of the upper nest. The world above had begun to wear thin, its silence a lasting reminder of the endless shadow of the creeping decay. The plague had taken so much. The old, the strong, the young, all had withered in its wake, and yet she had grown untouched, unbroken. The question had become impossible to ignore: What was her purpose here, in this still, decaying place? And why was she untouched? The earth beneath her seemed to whisper in response. There was something below—something ancient, something that stirred in turn, aching for motion as she herself did. She had felt it in the tremors of the earth, in the quiet thrum of the stone that pulsed beneath her paws. The pull grew stronger, a force that could no longer be ignored. There were no answers to be found above. To find what she sought, to understand her place in this unraveling world, she would have to go deeper, to descend into the unknown, beyond where any rat had dared to venture. Deeper than even the first Great Rat had broken earth when he began his endless task. So, without hesitation, she moved toward the darkness. The steady beat of her heart and the unyielding pull of something greater than herself pressing her onwards into the unknown, beckoned by the call of something that had waited for her to take the first step. And with that step, the journey began, pulling her down into the depths of the earth where the faint thrumming came. The path ahead was unfamiliar, the tunnels twisting deeper into the earth, where the air grew thick with the scent of rust and stone. The soft soil beneath her paws had long since given way to jagged rock, the walls pressing in as though the earth itself sought to swallow her. But she did not falter. Each step drew her further from the nest, further from the dead world above, and closer to something nameless, something that whispered through the darkness. The deeper she ventured, the more the world around her seemed to change. The darkness grew heavier, as if it itself sought to crush her beneath its weight. The air shimmered with unnatural heat, and every breath she drew tasted of sulfur and ash. Soon, the narrow tunnels opened into a cavern, vast and suffocating. Before her, the ground split, revealing a river of molten rock that surged like a river of fire, its heat reaching toward her, licking at her fur, filling the air with a biting smoke. The glow of the river cast long shadows across the cavern walls, flickering like restless ghosts. She hesitated, her paws rooted to the earth as the molten flow stretched endlessly before her. Wild and bubbling, between her and the path that lay beyond, a gaping wound in the bowels of the world. The heat was unbearable. The river churned and roiled like an angered beast, its surface rippling with an ancient fury that she had not seen with her own eyes. Movement that cut into the stillness of all, defiant and unyielding. Yet, she had come too far to turn back now. There could be no retreat. The path must lie on the other side. From the depths of the cavern, something stirred. Tiny bodies, like embers in the dark, began to gather. A vast army of glistening fire ants emerged from the cracks, their bodies glowing with a dull, flickering light, and began to weave together in a strange, living dance. Slowly, deliberately, they formed a bridge, a trembling path across the molten river, their bodies clicking together with eerie harmony. Without a word, without a thought, she moved. Her paws were light, her body taut with tension, as she stepped onto the trembling bridge. The heat clawed at her, the acrid smoke choking her throat, but she did not falter. Her eyes locked on the far side, the path that lay beyond, and with every step, the fire ants held firm beneath her, a fragile yet unyielding bridge across the river’s fiery maw. At last, her paws landed on solid ground once more, the cold stone beneath her a relief after the searing heat. She paused for a breath, her fur singed at the edges, the acrid sting of smoke still in her nose, but she did not rest. The path ahead still called, and she could not afford to waste time. The tunnel beyond was colder, slick with moisture that clung to the walls like a shroud. Her paws slipped against the rock, but she pressed on, low to the ground, her breath shallow. The silence here was deep, all-consuming, as if the very earth had held its breath, waiting. Shadows stretched long, far beyond their natural reach, twisting as though they sought to swallow her whole. Then she saw it—something in the darkness, coiled and vast. A serpent, Ancient and dark, its body stretching endlessly, glistening with scales that caught the faintest light and reflected it back in cold silver. Its eyes were black, endless pools, and they fixed upon her with a stillness that froze the air around her. She stood motionless, caught beneath its gaze. Time seemed to stretch, bending and warping, until the very earth seemed to hold its breath, the serpent’s stare pulling the world tight around her. The silence deepened, suffocating. Her body trembled, not from fear but from the weight of the serpent’s unblinking gaze. It knew her, knew her in a way nothing else had. Its eyes, dark and endless, seemed to reach inside her, unraveling the secrets she had not yet spoken. And yet, she did not move. She could not. Then, the serpent stirred. A deep rumble, low and vibrating like the pulse of the earth itself, filled the cavern. It was subtle at first, a faint tremor that tickled the stone beneath her paws, but it grew stronger, louder, until it seemed to rise from the very depths of the world. The serpent’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of understanding passing through them. It had felt it too—the call, the beckoning from beneath. The earth itself had spoken, and it called to her, the one who dared tread so deep. The serpent knew this pull, had felt it once in its own time, long before the rat had been born. It understood. With a slow, deliberate movement, the serpent unwound itself. Its massive coils like ancient roots shifted, their weight moving with the aching heave of something that had waited endlessly for this moment. The serpent rolled aside, revealing the narrow passage beyond, the path that now beckoned her on. The shadows receded as if in deference, allowing her passage. The earth had called, and the serpent, ancient as it was, obeyed. The rat hesitated only a moment longer, feeling the weight of the world pressing on her, urging her onward. The serpent’s gaze met hers one last time, not with hostility, but with something deeper—something ancient and knowing. The world beneath is waiting. And with that, she moved forward, stepping into the darkness, drawn by the hum beneath the earth, knowing that which beckoned her on lay just ahead. The path stretched ahead, darker now, as though the stone drained the light straight from the eyes of those who would dare delve deeper. She had come so far, deeper than any rat had ever ventured, and yet the earth did not relent. It pressed against her pushing her on, heavy and ancient, whispering secrets too old to comprehend. She could feel the pull, the hum beneath her paws, vibrating through the stone like a heartbeat. And then, as the tunnel opened into a vast, cavernous space, she saw it. At the center of the world, there was something old—something primal. A vast wheel, suspended between the earth and sky, its massive form entwined with thick roots that pulsed like veins, veins filled with molten gold that glowed faintly in the dark. The wheel turned slowly, so slowly that it seemed almost still, but there was movement within it—whispers, barely audible, beckoning her closer. Her paws moved of their own accord, summoned into motion, drawn to the wheel as if it called her to her very soul, urging her toward it. She could feel the weight of it, the weight of the earth itself, pressing down on her. And yet, there was something else there too—a promise. A deep, unspoken understanding. She was here for a reason. She hesitated, her body thrumming with anticipation. The earth had led her here, to this moment, and she knew there was no turning back. Slowly, she stepped forward, her paws touching the cool surface of the wheel. The moment she made contact, a low, groaning creak echoed through the cavern, a sound like the earth waking from a long slumber. The wheel, ancient and dormant for eons, stirred to life beneath her touch. A deep rumble came. A deep rumble that grew quickly into a mechanical bellow beyond all hearing; a sound that could only be heard by the soul, an echo of the same call that had followed her for her whole life - ringing from the ruby heart at the centre of the Great Wheel. The very heart of the world. She began to run. At first, the wheel resisted, groaning against the weight of the ages. But with each step, with each beat of her paws against the stone, it began to move, slowly at first, then faster. The ancient mechanism creaked and groaned as if awakening from a deep, forgotten sleep. Her breath became the wind, flowing in sync with the turning wheel. Her heart beat in time with the earth’s pulse, strong and steady, and her paws struck the ground with the force of thunder. The world shifted. The first turn of the wheel sent tremors through the earth, rippling outward in waves that spread like wildfire. The seasons began to shift, slow at first, like the turning of the tides—buds bloomed where there had been none, leaves unfurled from long decayed branches, and the rivers, long stagnant and still, began to flow, their waters alive and turbulent. The air shifted, cooler at the mountain peaks and warmer in the valleys. The sky, once a static void of stationary stars, rippled with color and motion as the world moved beneath - stars never seen shining brightly onto the earth below. As the wheel turned, the world began to breathe again. Animals emerged from their dens, stretching their limbs as if waking from a long sleep. The plants, too, reached toward the sky, escaping the sapping spores and swamp that had been now shaken free, drawn by the pull of the earth’s rhythms. Creatures, both great and small, felt the change—the warmth in the air, the fresh scent of life, the winds of change passing across all. But with each turn, something deeper inside her shifted as well. The wheel turned, and she moved with it, her body now part of the mechanism, her paws the driving force that kept it in motion. The world awakened, but the cost was clear. She had become bound to the wheel, her body no longer her own, forever running in an endless, unbroken cycle. Her sacrifice had brought the balance the world so desperately needed, but at a price. She would never stop running. She would never cease. The wheel turned, and she turned with it, bound to the rhythm of the earth, her life intertwined with the pulse of the world itself. The first turn was only that, the beginning. The wheel turned, and the world awoke. Rivers, once stagnant, surged through valleys, carving paths anew. Seasons, once frozen, began their endless procession, each distinct in its fleeting beauty. Beneath it all, unseen in the shadowed depths, she ran on—her paws beating a rhythm older than time, her sacrifice the silent force that kept the world alive. The rat clans above, knowing little of the endless darkness where she labored, wove her story into their lives. Her image was etched into sacred stone, carved in tunnels and shrines: a second great rat with endless strides, her gaze fixed beyond the horizon. Offerings were left deep within the earth—small, humble gifts of bread, dried roots, and polished stones, placed with whispered prayers of gratitude. Seasons became her festivals. In spring, they lit fires and sang of her breath that stirred the thaw on the perma-frosted hilltops, the life she carried on her steps. Summer was marked with dances, their feet pounding the earth in imitation of her unceasing rhythm. In autumn, they gave thanks for her toil, the harvest her endurance made possible. Winter brought solemnity, a time to remember her sacrifice and the weight of her eternal run. Yet the wheel, vast and ancient, carried a darker truth—a prophecy whispered in the trembling of its motion. One day, her strength would falter, her breath would grow faint, and her paws would slow. The rivers would still once more, the winds would quiet, and the seasons would freeze in their tracks. The great wheel would stop, and the earth would fall silent. But the prophecy held a flicker of hope, cold yet unwavering. When the Keeper at last succumbed to the pull of her final rest, another would rise. Born from the stillness, called by the same deep summons that had bound her, a new Keeper would take her place. The wheel would turn anew, and the world would breathe again. And so, the rat clans sang of her, even as they feared the day her steps would cease. In their songs, she became eternal, her sacrifice the rhythm of their lives, her endurance the cycle of their seasons. Deep in the earth, where the shadows whispered and the wheel groaned beneath her weight, she ran on, tireless and unyielding. The world thrived, carried forward by her unending labor, yet every turn of the wheel was a reminder of the cost. The Keeper endured, the wheel turned, and the earth waited, trembling, for the moment when her story would end—only to begin again.

Name (MC Name): Lord Nezukai Kikurage (Crunchiest_Leaf) (Discord): Crunchiest_Leaf Clan: Nezukai Citizenship: Koyo-Kuni Mahō: The Indomitable Musin Spirit Materials: Plaguesteel & Thannium Availability Preference (Day(s) of the Week): Friday Saturday Sunday

"He goes to dream with ancestahs" Lord Nezukai would note, tapping his cigarette idly upon an ashtray at Ena-san's Izakaya "Anothah child of Doku-doku goes for big sleep"

"Hiding voidal tear in realm of doku-doku is ^very unwise^ - kiku will always find, as this is his eternal task, in honour of THE FIRST GREAT RATTU and the SACRED HOME he created for all of hims children..." Lord Nezukai noted, horfing back a newport before the fizzling tear as it consumed itself into nothingness, suggesting evil do-ers keep their trash off his turf, the underground world.

The ratman sharpens punji-sticks for his rat children to carry into battle "We go to war! For Auntie A' for Uncle O'!"

"Aiyah... gaijin try and sink kiku's animii business" the ratman looked through the fourth wall, feeling a disturbance in the cosmos

"Nezukai Clan is Undefeated in FAIR JOUSTS" the ratman would nod in agreement

"Hai, Kiku come along - eto..." he'd turn the missive over a few times looking for a date and time, before checking the OOC section "OH - hai, Kiku be there"

A missive is pinned to each sewer opening across Aevos, and carried by numerous rats TO ALL NOBLE CLANS, FAMILIES AND WARRIORS Lord Nezukai, Lord of Sewers extends his invitation to all who wish to test their mettle or prove their prowess in the art of Jousting, within the depths of the Sakuragakure Sewers. The Victor of This Joust will receive (one) NEZUTEK: ‘K-WALKER’, animii mount worth over 250 mon! (FIGURA INCLUDED! *terms apply*) This will be an honorable joust, following the standards set out by the noble warriors of Numenost; as recent jousts elsewhere have fallen short, void of honour and class! Intentional rule breakers will be banished from the sewers, with unmeasurable dishonor upon their bloodlines. GATHER IN SAKURAGAKURE 6PM EST this FRIDAY (13/09)

"Aiyah... Where is Lord Nezukai Kikurage card" the ratman gave with a long drag of his cigarette "kiku must be secret shiny card, too rare to add to list" he coped in the sewers, chainsmoking to midwestern emo to the early hours

+2 more feats for me to collect This will kickstart the rat church, to overthrow the cannonist church - cheese for all