FoogThe2stnd

The elder would be seated at his home near the fire, closing a page of some lost soul’s journal. He would wonder of that day were a man threatened Varg… A long sigh would escape him as he would grasp leather strip underneath his collar, at the end a heavily tarnished silver cross of Cannondom. Hrungnir would think about how the Church talks of sin, to go to confession, yet Wrath was so easily partaken in. Holy men spouting of morales yet discarding them the moment it was convenient. “They have their empire now, we fought alongside them in war and aided them towards victory. Greed and Pride is what I see, what I wish for these men to overcome and find peace… They are a young Empire, biting the hand that feeds, no words of wisdom or suggestions will turn them away from, not from us. For we are pagans and we are to be unloved less we follow their belief’s. Continuing this path, I foresee them drowning… And no hands will reach out to pull them from the muck.” Golden eyes turn from the cross to Elowyn then, fellow Norn and Broedr, trusted companion and more. “Did you hear that?” Children ran up the hill, towards the great hall, away from the things that would hunt the little Norns.

*Wip*

No letter could be written, no clever remark. A soul of corrupted flame travels around the spire with no purpose, no mortal body to reside in as of now. It was torment. This wrathful soul waited for rebirth, to be reformed and set upon the world yet again.

A corrupt son of Azdromoth was lost on some spire, an odd place in the middle of the ocean. Far from comfort and his lost brothers, he would start to go mad by the moral dilemma in his mind. Alone and forgotten, yet someone somehow reaches out to him, a vision of sorts. A familiar voice calls out to him, offering help at a time he has nothing and no one to pull him out of the pit of malice and despair he resided in. "I want to help you. Help me find you." His being filled with an almost unnatural sense of hope, a gift from a friend who had no idea who this dragon was. He had wished to burn down the world, to have armies of his own, and crush all he had sworn to protect at his creation. Yet, for a split second, he had clarity. He had missed home so much and the comfort it provided among his brothers, the animals he cared for in his hoard had become wondrous once more. He weeps intensely for what has been lost, then a second later turns to rage. Striking at stone and wood, bones aching at the physical exertion he applies onto them. All of that glory and beuaty he once had beside him was lost, such was the price of pride.

And so, the dragon of hope had lost everything, his glorious scales and strength reduced to a ruined state. He cries with no tears, at the mouth of redmont he wails in agony. He had shamed all he had lived beside, those whom he had seen as friend and family. A ruined Azdrazi sits beside a mangled corpse of a vile Zar'Akal, his corruption the demons doing no doubt. Yet at what cost? His only arm remaining would reach to the sky, begging for his Father to save him, his dearest brother. . . Yet nothing would happen.

I like this rewrite, makes me want to play a Druid one day! +1

War orphan

Hey, it’s Foog, I was looking for players who may be interested in being raised in a bard's household, in Blackworth (place in Ravenmire). Human parents, Ethan and Orchid Winburgh. The First and eldest is an adopted adunian boy by the age of 7 years old , named Edwyn. The second is a high elf girl named Lilac with white hair and purple eyes, she is 5 years old, also adopted. Lastly we have the twins, two girls that are 9 months old. Named Clover and Willow, they are the actual blood of the couple, taking all the features of their mother except for eye color, a dark blue that they take from their father. Finally, another kid is on the way for the couple, a boy named Alexander that takes after his father the same way the twins take after their mother. Let me know if you are interested in any of the characters, or have any questions. We have a skin for Edwyn and are working on skins for the others! Discord: thechozenbun231

I only knew her a short while, but the time I did know her was nice. Whether it be LOTC, Lethal Company, or talking in vc, she will be missed. I offer my condolences to the family. May Pebbles rest in peace.

Ethan Winburgh wipes the spit off his face from all the shouting "Something finally happens."

Hundr, a warrior sworn to the Huskarl, binds his fate through the contract as well. Looking upon it in disgust, yet quickly changes his tune "My life for my Thegn! My axe in your service!"

Looking for someone who wants to play the son (Wahaj Hemoss) of my persona (Hacket Hemoss). I have a form if you are interested: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdJ3pwSqsM96RQk779diVo9GV3TdN7ETEkdGZvVntjJjr7A0g/viewform?usp=sf_link The human boy was born into a family of people who worship Azdromoth, yet they want to leave the choice of worship up to him. He was not told yet, but if you want to say he saw the markings we can discuss that path on Discord. Looking for someone interested in the family aspect, as well as an adventurous life. The Darkspawn aspect is up to the player if they want to pursue it. Some things to note/get an understanding of the setting: *The mother had passed away a year ago from an illness that came after she fell into the icy waters of the North in an incident. So it will be the father that will raise the boy from this point. The kid is a bit older (14), as the first player never played him past one day. *The boy has tan skin, straight black hair like his mother, and blue eyes like his father. When he gets fired up, he tends to get reckless, it's up to you how reckless he becomes. (We have a skin premade) *The actual lifestyle is humble, nothing big like a noble bloodline or royalty, got a house in Norland and Ravenmire.

An old Veletzian Knight looks at the missive, a low hum leaving him. "It seems this war WAS blessed." Setting down the missive he goes to finish cooking dinner.

Hacket Hemoss tacks a requestion order on a wall in his forge, the black coals now raging with flame, he picks up his leather apron and ties it around himself. Placing bar after bar into a cauldron sized cruicible of daemonsteel that has seen much use and care, a gift from his old mentor. Wiping his brow from the intense heat, he gets to work to create the boys some new toys.

An aging man sits in an aging wooden chair, tall, and made of cherry wood. In front of him is a fireplace, its flames dimly lighting the room yet enough to read. A paper rests in one hand, glove caked in dried blood. The other hand gripping a broadsword with its tip planted in wooden planks. His eyes, heavy with distress, would read the will line by line. "You were destined to soar the sky, Meira, alongside Ravenmire." He looks to a bow, now without owner, without, resting atop the mantle above the fireplace "Yet now, you soar on without us." He weaps deeply, over a friend and leader, now gone. Hacket would look to a pile of papers on the table beside him, names of friends and allies written on them. "I promise, I swear even... That we will soar, soar as you envisioned." He slumps in the chair and stares into the fireplace until it turns to coals, the sun rising soon after... (OOC: Gonna miss you man, alot. You keep it real, never going against your word, this time especially. Feels shitty to see you go, but if this is what makes you happy, then all I can do is to be happy for you.)

A man in burgundy, sitting on a bar stool with bottles lined up around him. A dream shattered, and hope lost, he reads the missive... Tears fall onto the paper...