GrenadierGaming

I claim this one in the name of Dorabek. 2/3

I claim this one in the name of Te'uth. 1/3

"After everything the Acolytes did fer' Valdev and it's people, this is how they are repaid." The dwarf grunted as he read the missive, "The old man was right, never trust a Haenseman." He'd long ago packed up his things from his old home in the city, and collected the last of his dues. With a pack upon his back, Rakhnar stepped onto the road and strode towards distant lands, his BSK beret having been long burnt, the last revenant of his loyalty to that accursed kingdom gone.

MC Name:

         GrenadierGaming

Character's Name:

         Nebkhet-Sha (Rakhnar Uristson)

Character's Age:

         47

Character's Race:

         Mountain Dwarf

Link to your accepted MA:

         https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/233553-witch-doctor-ma-grenadiergaming/?tab=comments#comment-2023055

What magic(s) will you be teaching?

         Witch Doctor (Shamanism)

Describe this magic or a creature as a whole:

Witch Doctor magic deals with the wrath and aggressive aspects of the Spirits. Through the use of Curses, Voodoo Dolls, and Hexes the Witch Doctor inflicts their foes (or friends) with maledictions. Witch Doctor magic is but apart of the Shamanism magic system. Shamans act as a conduit of the Spirits in the mortal plane; possessing the ability to converse with Spirits, wielding the Spirits power in exchange for worship and offerings, and conduct Spirit Walks into the realms of the Spirits. There are four different types of Shamans, each with their own unique abilities: Witch-Doctors being those who cast afflictions via curses, Lutamancers that commune with Ancestor Spirits and can travel to the Ancestral Realm, Animists who make use of the Elements, and Farseers who can obtain prophetic visions and focuses on the positive influences of the Spirits rather than curses. As the Spirits are restrained to their perspective realms, they require Shamans to spread their power and influence beyond these places. 

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

There are many underlying functions for Witch-Doctor magic. A Witch Doctor can use curses to afflict their enemies with the power of the Spirits, brew potions (liquid hexes) for various purposes and means, and can give medical care in the form of Cursed Healing. Witch Doctors derive most of their power from maledictions which they can manifest upon flora and fauna using curses. Flora curses, also sometimes called Land Hexes, are capable of tainting a plot of land with the power of a Spirit, with a wide arrange of potential effects dependent on the Spirit. Fauna curses directly influence beings with souls, afflicting them with effects desired by the Witch Doctor based on the Spirit's powers and sphere of influence. These curses can also be brewed into a physical form, called Hexes and Elixirs. Both of these forms of magic are brought forth through the use of specific rituals. In addition, a Witch Doctors can mend wounds and restore limbs through the process of Cursed Healing over the course of ritual. 

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

[!] Nebkhet-Sha stood upon the crest of a sand-dune, looking down upon the three bandits which sought to assail him. The dwarf raised his spear high into the air, his eyes glowing a fierce golden hue as he called upon Shab, the Lesser-Spirit of Vengeance and Sandstorms, "Goth Shab, ash ob rar agh thraang, bugd-izg ir lat rad!" He cried in Old Blah, casting his spear down towards the trio to direct Shab's wrath. There was a faint sound of winds in the air where before it had been silent.

[!] From his spear seeped a tan mist that resembled flowing granules of sand that flowed downwards from it, trickling along the surface of the dune which he stood. Nebkhet-Sha reached into his satchel, and from it he pulled out a fine ceramic bottle filled with rain water, which he poured forth in offering, the first of three. As he did so, his golden eyes began to swirl with spiraling waves akin to flowing sands. "Skaat Shab, bugd-izg ir lab moz rad!" His voice rang out and echoed through the dunes. 

[!] Around the dwarf seemed to perforate the sounds of howling winds, and whirling sandstorms as he channeled the powers of the weather Lesser-Spirit. From his golden glowing eyes a mist similar to the one flowing from his spear began to pour forth like a water-fall of ethereal sand. He took from a weathered sheath strapped to his belt a battered and worn dagger, which had felt the heavy rains of harsh storms, the scorching rays of the sun, and the cold bite of chilling blizzards and held it high, his second offering.

[!] "Shab, goth ob thraang moz agh muzûrz rar, draaghzûr ul!" Nebkhet-Sha's voice roared over the deafening howl of the winds emanating from him, now opening his satchel once more to produce a small canvas bag filled with rare black sand and spilled it upon the ground in final offering to the Lesser-Spirit. The dwed's fiery red hair and his loose toga fluttered now violently in an ethereal gale as Shab's power continued to be manifested. His eyes glowed even brighter, now swirling with ethereal wisps of sand within his glowing irises, as if miniature sandstorms danced within them.

[!] Nebkhet-Sha raised his spear, still leaking sandy mists, high into the air. The howling of the gale about him and the dancing of his hair and loose clothing in that ethereal hurricane peaking in volume and spectacle as Shab's influence was summoned near fully into the world. Then in one quick motion, he jabbed downwards towards the bandit trio who had been ascending the dunes, and from the spear's tip shot forth ethereal sands which rocketed towards them, impacting them square in the chest.

[I would now roll a d6 dice, rolling above a 1 would result in a successfully casted ritual.]

[!] As the trio of armed men were struck, they felt their bodies suddenly become blisteringly hot as they felt the extreme effects of the scorching desert weather around them.

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

Nebkhet-Sha brought his student to the temple of Te'uth, the Lesser-Spirit of Knowledge and Wisdom. "Today, I shall teach you to brew 'Liquid Heka'." The dwarf stated, "When bottled, these potions are utilized to condense Heka, our Divine Magics of the Gods, into a physical form. The technical term for these are 'Hexes' but we prefer to call them other terms, some use the term 'Divine Potion', for example." He explained.

[Student would emote].

"Yes. This is essentially a physical malediction, similar to those cast during ritual. In this case, we shall call forth the power of Te'uth." He brought forth a silver bowl and poured into it mundane water, "Just like when preforming a ritual, you need offerings. These items must be valued by the God (Spirit), and reflect their domain and spheres of influence. For Te'uth, I have brought these items." 

The dwarf produced from his book bag a bundled up papyrus scroll, a small well of fine ink, and a quill made from an eagle's feather. He placed them upon the table by the silver bowl, "These all are tools of the scholar and the wise, and are valued by the Lord Te'uth. Now, let us proceed."

[Student would emote].

[Student rolls successfully].

"It is done." The dwed nodded, "Te'uth has blessed us this day, his Heka flows through this water." He looked into the silver bowl, which was now filled with a dense, golden liquid which flowed with ethereal writing. "Now simply bottle them, I have some special jars for these." He'd bring out some ceramic jars engraved with Te'uth's likeness, "Keep in mind that these potions do deteriorate, so be hasty with their usage."

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

Communication is necessary. Mistakes always happen. If my student were to make a mistake involving power-gaming I would simply point out the error of their ways and encourage them to avoid making such mistakes in the future. I would overview my method of teaching as well, to ensure that my method does not teach the magic in a way that encourages power-gaming. If they persisted, and it is clear they have no intention to cease their actions, it is a simple task to contact staff and inform them of the situation.

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

         N/A

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.

         N/A

"A new champion has risen, HEKETA KALTHET!" The Warrior-Priest of Shab Nebkhet-Sha cried out as he read the missive posted to Rah'tuma's notice board.

The dwarf read over this missive, his red eyebrow arched at the mention of Rah'tuma, "Heiress of Rah'tuma, huh?" He put the paper down, "Oh sweet Panya, the Pharaoh is goin' ta' be pissed."

"Heketa Dorabek!" Rakhnar cried as he watched a foul Isfetian agent be tossed into the crocodile pits. 

"All foul and dark things shall learn to fear the Purging Waters! HEKETA HESTHOR! HEKETA KA'TAU!" The dwed shouted behind his golden Te'tu mask, pumping his spear high in the air in salute to the Gods.

Rakhnar had been charging up the slopes toward the foul Vicar and his ritual when he was nearly knocked to his feet at the great explosion and crackling of energy. His glowing cyan eye, crackling with Hesthor's magic, widened in shock and awe. "Ah, cripe."

Rakhnar knelt in prayer, and began beating the ever-loving shit out of a figurine carved to the look of a necromancer.

Rakhnar visited Nor-Velyth often, be it to send letters or to scout for wares. Though the stalls were often stocked and the plants watered, he could only ever wonder if perhaps these things were carried out by ghosts.

Rakhnar looked upon the series of missives put out by the nobles of Haense, and grunted. "Leave it ta' Canonist Lords and Ladies ta' only start caring about tha' threat of the Dark Ones after they're upon the doorstep of their manors and keeps. As if tha' common folk and the poor militia-man haven't been sufferin' at the hands of Inferai and Necros for longer than they'd care ta' know." He shook his head and turned the corner of the alley in Valdev, "Not that I could expect a Weiss ta' care about that." He grumbled to himself.

On 3/8/2024 at 9:06 AM, Lord_of_losers said:

This is the only music you will ever need.

 

 

We making it out of the Lumbridge with these 

The dawn was a brilliant fiery red. The open sky streaked with the rays of the rising sun over the distant horizon. Clouds vacated their place high above and floated to unknown lands. The dunes of the desert rolled for as far as the eye could see, like waves upon a vast ocean. It was a sight Rakhnar took in as he crested the hill of a dune. The wind blew faintly, kicking up small swirls of sand from the slopes. Not a bird or insect in sight or ear, nor even a rock to break up the monotony of the landscape.

The dwarf’s shoulder sagged low as he held onto his walking stick. He’s long lost count of the dunes he’d crested. He’d even lost count of the days he’d been wandering the deserts. Had it been weeks? Months? Years? His brilliant red beard, now nearly brown and gritty with sand, told him only one thing: it had been a long time. 

 ‘You’re mind isn’t right.’ Rakhnar had been told, ‘Wisdom and Peace are to be found in the desert.’ The desert was a holy place, the favored land of the Gods, and the rightful home of the Rah’mun. It was here Ka’tau dwelled, and it was wisdom and peace Rakhnar sought more than anything. But now, he was hopeless. Foolishly wandering from the lands he knew into the scorching seas, he’d long ago lost his way back to civilization. His waterskin was dry, and his bread had gone bad. So, he drifted. Cresting dune after empty dune in some vain attempt to find a road, or even just a cacti to quench his thirst.

So, it was now as he watched Ra’s sun rise that he slumped down. His cracked lips trembled in thirst, and he cried out with a parched, scratchy breath, “Ka’tau, hear me!” He cried, “I’ve been a fool! In search of yer’ wisdom, I’ve found only my death! Save my wretched soul!” Rakhnar was answered only with the faint howl of wind, and cupping his face with his hands he wept. 

But, his sand infested hair whipped suddenly, his loose toga fluttering behind him, and he looked up from wet hands. What was at first a sudden gust of hot air, suddenly burst forth a whirlwind. Sand clouded his vision, and the scorching winds burned his lungs to breath. Rakhnar raised his hands in an effort to shield his face, and the sands cut his bare flesh as the light of the sun became clouded over by this sandstorm.

“Dare not cower before me, Priest.” A voice boomed, carried in the roaring winds. “Stand, or my storm shall consume you.”

Rakhnar instinctively opened his eyes, for he had not heard a voice in far too long. The sands parted, as if he now stood in the eye of the storm, and his jaw dropped at the sight before him: it was a tall man, with the head of a magnificent lion. A golden toga was wrapped about him, with assortments of jewelry hanging from his form. In his hand he held a long spear, most of his form clouded by the sands.

Rakhnar weakly got to his feet, hunger and thirst weighing him down, his stick barely holding him up, “W-who are you?”

The figure grunted, his fine mane fluttering in the winds, “I am disappointed to hear a Priest of Te’uth to not know my name. But, I expected no less.” He paused, “I am Shab, Tempest of the Deserts, Lord of the Scorched and Chilling Sands, The Bringer of Sandstorms, The Fire of Ra, The Settler of Debts, The Bringer of Vengeance.” Shab announced, tapping his spear into the sand. “The desert is still cold from the night, but shall soon be hot in the day. I am this transition made manifest.”

Rakhnar didn’t know what to say. He’d read the Books of the Gods many times, and never heard of this god before, “What do you want?” He croaked out from a scorched throat.

“The People of Ka’tau have suffered much at many hands. Orcs, Dragons, Demons, Angel-Worshippers, and Liches.” Shab boomed, “So many wrongs have yet to be made right. So many misdeeds have gone unpunished. Countless beings of Isfet that assault the Chosen of the Sands from dawn until dusk. It is unacceptable.”

Shab didn’t move, or at least he didn’t physically, but he appeared closer now to the dwarf, “The desert burns with anger at these slights. It has been watered with the blood of Rah’mun, and it seeks vengeance for this wretched act.” He pointed his spear at the dwed, “You shall see its cry answered.”

Rakhnar recoiled at the command. The dwarf had fought many battles, had taken much life, and as such was no stranger to violence. But, he felt himself level-headed, he always sought a peaceful solution first, and never instigated violence if he could help it.

Perhaps sensing his uncertainty, Shab growled, “You have witnessed first-hand the pain and terror the enemies of Ka’tau have wrought upon your brothers and sisters. Yet, you hesitate to accept my decree? You know what must be done. When the words of Te’uth and Hesthor fail, the action of the Protectors must be done.” He tapped his spear again.

“The quill is only as mighty as the sword.” Rakhnar muttered with a nod. The words of a man meant nothing, if he wasn’t willing to fight for it. “I shall right the wrongs done upon us. I shall avenge every slight, every drop of blood...” He felt the words spill forth. As if a wrathful corner of his soul, long buried, had suddenly been unbarred and allowed free reign. 

Shab nodded, “Then accept my boon, and walk this world as my warrior priest.” He raised his spear high, “I shall guide you through my dunes, and save you from a pitiful death here. So that your khopesh may rain the blood of our enemies.”

 There was a violent crash of air upon the dwarf. It felt beyond hot, as if he’d just been sprayed with molten iron. Then, not a second later, he was chilled to the bone, as if his very soul was iced over. Rakhnar’s eyes clinched, his teeth chattered, and his hands reached out for relief. “You shall command my tempests. Your words shall burn the souls of the unjust, and chill them to their core. From your tongue shall whirlwinds howl and sandstorms cloud out the skies. They shall all know my name.” 

Then, it was all over. The feeling of scorching fire and chilling lashes upon him ceased. The sand settled, the skies became clear, and the winds slowly calmed. “Vengeance takes their damned souls.” Shab echoed upon the distant winds.

Rakhnar opened his eyes, and gazed about. He felt something…strange within him. A fire. A purpose. Newfound. He stood up, his hunger and thirst forgotten, and breathed in the hot air of the desert, now a comfort as he watched the sun rise once more. “So it shall.” Rakhnar nodded. He took notice of a distant cloud of sand, a twister that ran across the dunes, and something within his soul urged him to head there. “The quill is only as mighty as the sword.” He repeated, taking his way down the slope of the dune.

There had been wisdom to be found after all.

[Spirit Pact with Shab, lesser of Urin, 2/3]

The Grand Archivist, Keeper of the Greatest Wisdom, The First Magician

Silence filled the library. Candlelight flickered, casting shadows upon the bookshelves and pillars. The tables were littered with scrolls and tomes, quills and inkwells, and parchments ready to receive fresh text. But, all this was deemed appropriate, for Te’uth, Lord of Knowledge, valued such things. It was here, in his great library, that Rakhnar prayed.

Down on his knees, his arms wrapped around him, head bowed low, the dwarf muttered words of praise. He knelt at the foot of a grand statue, carved of blackstone and adorned with ornaments of silver and gold, encrusted with opals. The circle of candles which Rakhnar prayed within made his robe and auburn hair nearly glow in their light, its warm hues lighting the dark face of the statue. 

“Lord Te’uth, Knower of All Things, Keeper of the Greatest Wisdom. I give ye’ praise fer’ your works, told and untold.” He lowered himself, his nose nearly touching the ground, before rising again, head low still, “It is your will that fuels me, drives me to a path of knowledge an’ understanding.” Again, he lowered himself, “Praise be! Praise!” His words were muffled by the ground and his beard. 

But, when he rose, a voice called back to him, distant and almost shrill, “Rakhnar, Son of Urguan, now Son of Ka'tau, rise.” It was a voice the dwarf recognized well, and his eyes widened as his ears were touched by his words. Rakhnar looked up, and the statue glowed a vibrant sheen of golden yellow, “You have done well in my name.” The jade eyes upon its visage flickering with every word spoken by the God.

Rakhnar was quick to bow deeply again, “I have only done my duty, oh Lord of Wisdom.” He said humbly.

“You’ve built for me a grand library. One you have filled with great pieces of knowledge. You have spread my wisdom to those who would hear it, and have built for me the foundations of a temple and loyal priesthood.” The voice stated with little emotion, “You have served me well, for this, you shall be rewarded.” The sheen of gold surrounding the statue shot out like a tendril and latched onto the dwarf’s forehead.

Rakhnar felt his head recoil as his mind was pierced by Te’uth’s power. He wanted to cry out in shock, but simply couldn’t, his jaw locked. “You shall wield my influence. You shall wipe clean the minds of my enemies. You shall separate the lies of Ibless from my Pure Truth. You shall empty the minds of those who would oppose Ka’tau.” The voice boomed in a screeching pitch. 

Rakhnar could only nod as his mind was filled with the knowledge of Heka and the powers of the Great Keeper. His eyes widened, unblinking, “Yes, Lord Te’uth.” Was all he could muster.

“As my Nehemtempi Netjer, my High Priest, I shall grant you one more boon.” The voice seemed closer, as if the God was leaning in, “A Volume of my Great Book.” Te’uth paused, “One of Thousands, but this one will be vital to your service. Its location I have long kept secret until a Netjer worthy of its power showed themselves. Find it. And with it, wipe clean this world of Isfet.”

With that, the gold light faded, and Rakhnar gasped for breath as the room fell silent and cold once again. He held his head with one hand, and blinked. The knowledge Te’uth granted was all there, as if he’d known it his whole life. His emerald eyes gazed back up to the statue, and he nodded with a bow.

“Thy will be done.”

[Spirit Pact with Te'uth, lesser of Theruz, 1/3]

In the City-State of Rah'tuma, Rakhnar prepared himself and the Machimoi to begin the search for their dark ex-comrade. "He shall be put ta' rest, and Ka'tau shall judge him for his deeds in life and undeath." He affirmed as he sharpened a spear upon the whetstone.

Rakhnar jerked awake in the night as the dream ended. He gazed around his empty room in Valdev. "How?" He'd wonder aloud, wiping a cold sweat from his brow. He'd long ago given up his faith in Canon, not that he'd ever had the right to believe in the man-god in the first place. But now one of the angels inflicts his mind with visions? "I must return ta' Rah'tuma, and consult The Ka'tau." He nodded, and in the dead of night he gathered his things and rode to the Realm of the True Gods. At least Raguel had killed a Lich, an action even the 'heretical' Ka'tau could smile upon.

Rakhnar, sensing the sheer about of uninterest in the missive in Krugmar, spreads them even more. They appear on every hut, upon the bridge leading to the gate, on the signposts directing travelers through the desert, and even in the city-state of Sulianpoli. With any luck, a few orcs might even die of boredom trying to read them.

Rakhnar spotted the shrine in the dusk of the desert as he searched for dry herb, the rays of Ra's sun streaking across the darkening sky as it set. He reared his horse, and dismounted, the sands crunching as he walked. "A glorious sight." He nodded, "Ra'tuhmet's light smile upon us, and cast away the shadows." The dwarf then got down to his knees, wrapped his arms about his waist and bowed his head. He prayed until the sun was gone beyond the horizon.

Rakhnar prepared the purity salts and ensured the aurum blades were honed upon the grindstone. "Ra bless us all, his works bring forth the light." He muttered as his reflection bounced from the blade in hand.

Rakhnar grunts as he reads the missive, "Fer' someone who despised the Church not so long ago, ye' sure have no problems with it when it serves your nefarious goals, old friend." He shook his head, "No longer shall I take in words spoken from forked tongues, and neither should anyone else." He ripped the missive from the wall and stamped it into the ground. Replacing it, instead, with the missive of the Rah'mun and the message to the Lighteners. Doing so wherever he could.

A hooded figure wandered the streets of Valdev in the dark of night. His head kept on a swivel as he opened his coat and pulled out the rolled up missive where dozens of others were kept. Plastering it with some adhesive he began sticking them upon the walls of the city's homes, shops, the tavern, and the notice board for all to see. "A lone star in the night burns the brightest. We shall be hope." Rakhnar thought to himself, looking upon his hasty work, and he hurryingly was off to lands beyond Haense to do much the same elsewhere. 

Rakhnar gazes upon the dozens of missives plastered upon the walls of every alley-way, tavern, and notice board. One was even placed upon the anvil of his forge in Valdev. "A bit excessive, my friend. But the truth must be heard." He'd mutter, taking the missive and pinning it upon the door to the forge. "Now ta' forge weapons of righteousness." He cracked his knuckles, and reddened the iron.

Rakhnar fired up his forge and dusted off his anvil, ready to begin forging great arms and weapons for the new recruits. Khopesh, Mace, Spear and Shield would all fill the armory, honed in the fires of Purity, ready to taste the blood of Darkspawn and Isfetian Ilk.