Rigorous

Combat that is occurring in this situation will be described as following: Rigorous halts Spurf to initiate combat. 15 minutes passes, the instance of combat is now relegated to that specific place in time and locked. If more players show up around it, they will not be able to interact with it. This prevents people from camping fights occurring in large zones by providing a separate instance of combat, after which the players involved are free to leave without other people getting involved.

I cannot say why or how it came to be called MRP. All I can say is that this will be rather confusing for those of us who come from bigger MMORPG RP communities. That being said, great rules rewrite, good work boys & girls.

Would be cool to let people customize the colors of their emotes as a player, and VIPs can reserve that color only for them (the hex code, rather).

Valas rigorously sends letters to his friend encouraging her to be a good leader.

Valas applauds the ascension of his good friend and then sends her a gift in the mail to commemorate her newfound success.

Sailor Valas polishes his Daemonsteel sword, and readies for the next fight.

"You give a man a fish, he eats for a day. You teach a man how to swim, he'll brave the elements." spoke Derficus Incredulus IV, the High Pontiff of the Anti Canon.

LETS ******* GO

Chapter 1: As the Morning Rises "I desire only the peace that my blade affords me. I shall lay my blade down to rest mantled upon our wall once this business is at last settled in finality. I shall avenge your betrayal, Maude, for the wrongs done onto you by those you helped. This I swear not only as your husband, but as your most solemn friend on this God given earth." - Spoken to Maude Fredericka Montalt by Sir Paul, prior to the outbreak of the Petran Civil War Since he was a boy, Pavel had spent his life alone. Among the dredges of society, he formed a bond with thieves and ne’er-do-wells of the worst caliber. He was descended from a nobleman, his mother had told him. The Baron of Cherskavy, a Raevir lord of repute for his part in the Emperor Philip III’s Aster Revolution which saw the land of Oren changed forever. To some Pavel’s father was a foul killer, while to others he was a strict knight who had dedicated his life to the preservation of the Holy Orenian Empire. Pavel first met his father Dima when he was five and decided early on he wished to be nothing like him. A womanizer, a thief, a wanton up-jumped crook with a penchant for radical violence. Now Pavel was a near eighty-year-old man with gout. A feature that to him was growing more and more unceremonious to him by the day. The world he had fought for no longer existed. His wife had died years ago. His children were grown and now led their own lives. His weary joints ached. He yearned for an honorable death and nothing more. Humanity was fractured, their policies dictated by the line of Haensetian kings who had filled the power vacuum after the fall of the Empire. He assumed the name Paul Montalt for years. The Hero of Petra. It made him laugh. People who abandoned him throughout his life could claim to have known him, but they had betrayed his wife when she had needed them most. Where Pavel was the boy, Paul was a man, and Paul missed his wife dearly. His wedding band remained on his hand as he lifted it up, allowing the sterling silver to catch the light. A red ruby was affixed to its epicenter. Once, his hand had been cut off; but as a Tawkin mutant his hand had merely regrown some weeks later. His left pinkie remained missing, signifying his bond with his band of brothers in the Ferrymen. Paul set about his business in his vineyard, tending to the grapes with his calloused hands, filling wicker baskets full of the fine and rounded fruit that had littered plants on his remaining private property where he lived on in exile. He imagined that beloved woman dressed in regal finery with auburn hair, their time spent together playing the lyre, laughing beneath the canopy of those trees for so long. Whether the battle was in a court or a war, the two had stood by one another for their entire lives. He made good on his promise never to marry again. When he turned over for the night to rest, he died peacefully in his sleep after one last stand upon his two feet. He reclined against the pillows with his head swimming, as the pain of his joints caught up with him, his own beating heart betraying him as he entered his resolute slumber with a resolved and peaceful look on his face. His heart ticked thrice for the final time, before the pulse ended and he moved on to join her. As Paul stood now in the shadows of an uncertain future, with his body laid to rest by his children, he saw a familiar golden-haired figure in his dreams. A vision of a gaggle of soldiers in Orenian finery and regalia. They were the many shades and silhouettes of his past. A blond-haired and bearded man smiled back, the man Paul had fought beside as a boy in the Brothers War. Gustaf de Vilain, his mentor, and worst enemy. At last, the veterans were again reunited on the same side. Chapter 2: The Sun Always Sets on the Holy Orenian Empire "Пусть душа твоя покоится с миром. Peace be to your body." - Ruskan Adage Peace be to your body, Sir Paul Dmitrievich Montalt - his epitaph read on the stony surface of his tombstone as the sun began to fall over the horizon, a dusk setting framing the stony surfaces in a kind of sad melancholy feeling as the tall silhouettes of his children stood over his grave - Captain of the Kingsguard, Knight of the Order of the Petrine Laurel; the Unspoken, the Tongue, the Twice Betrayed. Grand Knight of the Republic of the Petra, and more importantly a Ferryman - for only the Ferrymen did not betray him in life or death. And so he was laid to rest in the apple orchard outside his home, where once he and his wife found solace together in the peaceful hours of the nighttime, reading poetry and sparring with their practice blades in a candlelit sanctuary of their own making far from the reach of their enemies. His tombstone was beside that of his wife and their first child who miscarried. Maude Fredericka Montalt, Lev Dmitrievich Montalt, the tombstones each read respectively. Paul had lived through an empire and the formation of countless petty kingdoms. Now, he had died peacefully, hopefully on his way to join his many friends in the Seven Skies. So closed the tale of a bastard who rose to prominence once the sun had at least finally set on the Holy Orenian Empire. His life had been fraught with violence, turmoil, and indecision. Yet, he had never once forsworn his basic principles, and saw to it that his children would lead better lives than he himself had.

Favorite RP w/me Favorite Human ruler Favorite IRL historical figure (mine is Napoleon Bonaparte)

Somewhere, the One-Eyed Coyote stared up towards the heavens. The infernal flapping of a beast's wings hearkened forth his attention, before he resumed hunting in peace. Alone.

Alfric rubs his hands together and then goes to attend.

i walked into my weights and broke my pinke toe a month ago and it healed at a weird angle

what npc u kill the most ?

That also means being mindful that many people who reiterate talking points about not knowing about the month or some other crazy sh*t don't understand that it's intended that way by design. The other men in your strata of society are calling you a p*ssy or a b*tch if you choose to tend to your mental health in a meaningful way. Yeah, there's some people from other backgrounds who do it too; but overwhelmingly we (as men) are making a lot of choices that propel this toxicity forwards, and even accelerate it in our friend circles for the most part. I appreciate that people are thinking about this, but to be honest to me it's not that deep. It shouldn't require a dive onto the LoTC forums for people to find community on this issue. I heavily encourage all of you to take this post, compartmentalize it while making note of some of the talking points, and then choose to bravely live your truth however you see fit. Whether that means going to the gym for strength training or aesthetics, adjusting your diet, getting a new job, getting a new partner, whatever. If there's people in your life that perpetuate these outdated norms, learn to accept your differences and recognize that the person saying/doing those things is as equally f*cked up as you are. We're all brothers in this. Even the women too, because how women and people on the intersectionality ladder are treated is absolutely and fundamentally ridiculous. The truth is, yeah it sucks society is set up in a way that is destructive towards women, and destructive towards poor men -- but it's not going away unless everybody chooses to change the norms and push the boundaries for what is/isn't acceptable in the public sphere. If you want to cry, cry. If you want to be mad, be mad. Just don't fall into some r*tarded Jordan Peterson pipeline. He used vulnerable mens' money to buy a f*cking hair transplant because he's huffing copium 24/7. Tate? C'mon, there's more to life than kickboxing and swindling weak-chinned obese beta males on Tik Tok. It's not "Cultural Marxists" (Jews), new social norms, or women doing this - this is the culmination of hundreds of years of cultural devolution. The suppression of treating people as human beings in order to desensitize people to the plights of others. It's not Capitalism, it's not Communism, it's the brutishness of the norms imposed on those of us who are "without". Within any economic framework, there are those who have, and those who are without. Without status, without love, without peers. So find status, find love, find peers. Don't like how other men act or how some women act? Find a safe group of people and be vulnerable. Throw away your Razor keyboard and brush up on your socials. Think you're a socially uncouth freak? Good, go outside and learn anyway, it's leagues better than being on this sh*thole running away from your problems. And if people don't tolerate that and you're alone and feeling suicidal, f*ck that, I'd rather be alone in the woods for 50 years than be surrounded by morons. Also I'm gay.

As a superstraight it makes me happy my gay (and/or enby) brothers and sisters as well as everything in-between have place in this community Rock on

I typically hate Tolkien-inspired works because most of them are just copy and paste Wikipedia articles. (This is more so in reference to a banned player who got kicked out of a Danish girl's house). This post, on the other hand, is clearly just inspired - it fits well into LoTC and it's broader history, and doesn't really engage in any historical revisionism that I can see off the top of my head. I am excited to see what was originally a flimsy game-play mechanic for "I want my human to live longer" to be a real vibrant culture with a lot of players and history on LoTC. Good work!

NM I got a horse in this race. This is a good idea, and it should be instrumentalized immediately. @itdontmatta

I got no horse in this race, but the fact you have an Evangelion profile picture at age 17 and you're concerned about somebody's lewd bunny avatar on another site is a glaring moment of cognitive dissonance for y'all. The amount of panty shots in Evangelion (the original and the Rebuilds) is enough to make the purest of Christian vestal-virgin pilled individuals go blind from the degeneracy. Bear in mind, the characters in that show are all drastically underage, and although it's intended to espouse Freudian psychological concepts & theory among other things, it's still by your own logic wholly inappropriate to partake in (from what you're espousing in the content of this post). Case-in-point, the hospital scene in End of Evangelion, Misato grooming Shinji, yada yada. I'd imagine the implications of that imagery are equally as bad as some decadent Furry avatar on another site wholly unrelated to LoTC altogether. No horse in this race though to reiterate, I'm happy to fence-sit while degenerative LoTCers fight amongst themselves, and ToxicApple was always a spastic for sure, but I cannot help but feel like this pervasive form of outrage culture is bad for LoTC in the long run.

And so Valas beset his new task beside Connak, pledging his sword to the righteous cause of Unity. The Mori'quessir would pay for their transgressions against Elvendom.

Thanks Llir, very cool! Please give MaltaMoss Diamond VIP. PLEASE!

The crowd of Azdrazi and Heralds formed a circle around the statue of a frozen Dragonkin in Tor Azdroth. And so the many Azdrazi began their Rite, to bring the hallowed An-Gho back into being. "'Lo unto the Goliath," Alistair greeted the statue as Azli bid him to guide the others in song. The Elder Azdrazi, born once in Tor Azdraeth a millenia before, was eager to go about the resusitation of the An-Gho - the prophet, he had been told, that could spell the doom of the Mori'quessir. "'Lo unto the Goliath, whose flesh is laden with stone, whose nascence is unparalleled. The true bringer of the Lord of the Sky, our Shaker of the Earth, Azdromoth. Our almighty Father, the Black Titan, whose gifts are unparalleled amongst the Gods. "I beseech, o'Father, lend us An-Gho, so that once again, we have our deserving brother to guide us in this most righteous... perilous fight against the Mori'quessir. Decadent blood mages, and scions of Zanunder and his accursed Mistress all." Alistair with those words lifted his own muscular arms up above-head. His red scales glimmered beneath the ferocity of the blazing torchlight mounted on the chandelier above them. Ancient, white-hued sigils took shape on his red face and arms, not unlike the markings of Heralds. He arched his back and then let loose a roar from the confines of his toothy maw, his dragonsflame emitting a crackling noise that resounded like a thunderbolt, as the flame wreathed his arms in a vine-like overlay pattern nestled tight against his ancient vambraces and pauldrons. The swirling torrent of fire was directed forth at An-Gho's stony remains, as now the others like Ardromiath, Azli, Ut'Torvioth, Taamnahkrin, Hannibal, Malakai and Vothdrem took part in the revival of their waylaid kindred. As Alistair committed himself to directing the rite, Azli had continued to allow the mass of flame - firebreath - to build in his cavernous maw, belching smoke from his nostrils as he spewed dragonsflame from his bladed teeth at the stony stature in the ritual circle. Ardromiath too loosened his jaws, partaking in the rite to bring back the fallen Three-Eyed Azdrazi from his statue crucible. Flames washed over the remains, trickling over the stone in a shower of blinding aurum light and sparks, bringing the statue to life. The flames clung to the An-Gho, turning the stone to ash as now dark-rimmed scales emerged, chiseled away from beneath the statue veneer that trapped him for years. "Within the span of a millennia, lapses in judgement are to be expected. We are intended to minimize that damage. On the note of our so-called 'End', it is merely a conceptual fallacy. What was born in stone can be reborn again. "First-born, Giver of Flame, under this covenant of life eternal... Lend us again our scion of noble birth, poised now to participate in the ignoble ends of war against the Mori'quessir barbarians. "Give us our agent, the one to fight those servants of The Deceiver. Cleanse his impurities from his stony flesh, and renew him once again. "An-Gho, awaken!" Arms poised on his knees as he awakened, the old Master of the Tower, An-Gho, opened his eyes for the first time in many years. The tower itself trembled with uncertainty, brimming to life as the Azdrazi had at last stirred. The tower itself shifted, many dislodged stones again re-taking their places, as the fortress bellowed a guttural screech that pierced the landscape. The shot of sound echoed across the arid planes, as now Alistair and An-Gho allowed their eyes to meet. "And to you An-Gho," spoke Alistair. "Welcome back to the world of the living." And dryly in retort, the Master of the Tower answered: "I am the An-Gho. My word is Law. And I speak once more." "I am Alistair," the ritual-maker said in retort. "I shall kill the Mori'quessir. Will you help me?" The An-Gho spoke again, "In their judgements of war, men make the mistake of believing that it ends. To war is to exist. To war is to be Holy. To war is to be. Of these Mori'quessir; which grace us now, with the chance of their slaughter, they will be made divine by their death. Honoured as the ash which marks our lairs. And I stare now and I see faces. Some new, some old. Some familiar, in the ways of new children sculpted by purpose and fire. Others yet - guided by virtue." Hence, the Azdrazi began their preparations of war. The fires of Tor Azdraeth churned again, as that all-seeing eye towards the top of the mighty tower had again been wakened from its perilous slumber. United and dignified, the Azdrazi now stand to bring waste to the decrepit evil armies that seek to destroy the Descendants.

Just here to say you're a good friend and I'm drunk. Drunk on the victory of trying to get my homie elected and he bought me Thai food. So what I'm saying is, Homies. BTW, do you think the Genji jump button was nerfed in Overwatch 2? Asking for a friend.