Lenny

Lionel Tiber rummaged through the keep for his equipment!

[ This vision is visible to all that encompasses an Inferi, Naztherak, Zar'akaal, Infernal Compendium Inferi ... etc] Tremors quaked beneath your heel, ripping and tearing apart the very ground you stood atop. A distant echo of crows and rot gnawing at the back of your mind. A plague-black flock of carrions descended upon you, settling atop perches near. Their forms were laced in grease and oozing with a foul green-hued trail of plague in their path. Three eyes which bled with a blood-red hue trickled from their sockets, their gaze pressed against you; into you. Your mind was stolen, a vision bestowed, which drew you through a tumble of scenes that ripped you through the very hells itself until you were upon your knees in a blackened room—surrounded by darkness; on your lonesome. Blood began to trickle from the breathing walls, and soon peaking through the shadows near you, before it took to flame; illuminating the figure which stood within the enormous halls with you. “Stand ready, for my arrival.” The enormous Zentherak spoke before you, its head formed from a crow’s skull and its red-hued form carried a macabre mimicry of a mere carrion—yet its presence was unmatched. A sudden ichor bled into your eyes, the blackening sun which hung low in the skies began to bleed as it slowly blackened, and you found yourself swallowed whole by its display … returned to where you once stood yet with a quest, and purpose, to see completed. A burning sensation rang throughout your upper-chest, as if a brand had been stamped upon your very chained soul, a demand bestowed by a Lieutenant of Hell.

yes 🥰 u should apply

w troglodyte comment, somehow the guy that is playing a zar akal is going to make the mystic adjacent group near go on a mass disconnect spree oh wow my brain is pulsing with immense power

The Pig squealed in the depths of the afflicted lands of the Inferi, parchment ripped off the wall as the warlock sought to find this ‘Shadowknife’. The squealing continued to echo into the distance, as the gluttonous one waddled off with its goal in mind …

Reasoning It’s cool and fits their theme :p melee magic that can't use any spells in close quarters 1v1 Under Magic Explanation redlines of Templarism, add: Casting a charged spell is considered a full action in a Templar’s emote, preventing them from blocking, sprinting or attacking in tandem with casting as they are unable to take another significant action. Charging a spell is a separate action from casting, allowing a Templar to charge when attacking with a melee weapon except for sprinting or defensive usage. The only exception for this is Dauntless Charge, where the blurriness of the Templar's sight is too detrimental. Manifesting courage/connecting to the magic still constitutes its own significant action, meaning you cannot attack, sprint, block, etc in the same emote.

SEEKING THE SHAMANS A parchment was scattered to the wind, written by Orcish hands. Following the sundering of our kin’s home, the guidance of the spirits have been silent in its wake. I am seeking those who engage in the ancient rites, to allow me to converse and to take me to their home once more; I hold questions which need answers. Should you, one who upholds the true way of the spirits, be willing to offer such then write and I shall heed your call. Be it of my own blood, or not. At the bottom of the parchment, a name was written Azrul, Son of Gorkil [send letter to 'lennylemur' in-game]

“Go on, get!” Stuart was hard at work, in that little hamlet he had settled in. The Tiber kept residing near, atop that peak and the birds which often dispatched from their tallest tower became an expected daily occurrence; one he would await as he sat down to feast upon the little harvest he had collected that season—so much that he could mimic at least. Recently, he had returned from 'Alduun' where he had indulged in the wares there, and the flowers for his long-passed daughter were laid to rest by her grave. However, when he sat down to watch the birds fly off—there was a great delay, and tiny hands stuck out in contrast to those soot-laden ones? Curious, he dragged that musty hat of his out and dropped it onto his head and shed the wheat he had stuffed into his clothes, to seek out its source.

Falstad Bronzebeard hammered away at the forge, how happy he was!

Lionel Tiber rushed into Castle Clapton, hearing the distress unfolding the above. His eyes befell the duo of Patsy and Hubert in the stairways--their blood-stained armor and the cloak which wrapped around the ruin that was his hand. The blood has certainly soaked through it already, he reached to grasp his good arm, aiding him alongside the rest to stand before the Patriarch of House Tiber; Cassius. Following the conversation, there was but one answer; "We must give them the Clapton Special, brother." he spoke to Cassius, and wiped his forehead down.

oh wow

Lionel Tiber wiped down his face with a soot-stained cloth, an exasperated sigh rolling out his maw. "Hyup, job done mate."

i thought we were doing it?

† Sons of Horen, With the conquest of Azuras being realized, and due to the nature of the lands of Krug, men of GOD must tend to its crops in lands afar. Therefore, let it be known that the faithful flock shall march with the banners aloft, alongside the Emperor of Azuras, so that no conquered earth shall be ‘assumed’ by one unintended lackey nor its wayward inhabitants so they may engage in the very corruption that of which was cleansed. To this end, it is declared; † Garrisons shall be established in the distant lands, so the conquered land may be finally laid to rest post-haste. † That the Priests of the Holy Church may accompany our soldiers as equals, so the land may see its rot driven away and finally laid to rest. † And finally, all equipment claimed to be inventoried for the offices of the Crown, and allow no man to indulge in the misery of the conquered save by lawful means. The work of war is swift, and the work of our peace will endure even longer. GOD watches both with unending equal patience, and judgement. “The hand of GOD is the greatest weapon to bear, and His word is the paramount strategy. There can be no laxity in faith for any reason, not war nor peace, not wealth nor poverty. The Lord lasts through all adversities, for He is their source and their remedy—without Him, they are uncured.” Spirit 2:12-14 † Warclaim Type: Subjugation Tile Goal: tile_mesa_6 Aggressor: High Kingdom of Idunia & Allies Defenders: Salvo Warpath: All other nation-vassals, provinces and allies will comment on their war-paths below.

"Cheers to that, mate” The High King of Idunia celebrated alongside the Emperor, and downed the pint Guinness at the local imperial pubby.

Argelion Zôrzagar, The High King of Idunia, cast his silver gaze over the parchment that detailed the siege ahead with a faint curl that touched the corner of his lips; the satisfaction of a thing long sought seeing conclusion. The breach for the men to carve open the pathway was Idunia’s doing, and he certainly allowed pause to hold as the boy climbed through, observing from afar. The dwarven ballistas saw their end, and he certainly would never diminish that truth. Soon enough, it was over. “Long live Idunia, Long live the Empire.” He cheered finally, alongside the Idunian flock and friends alike, in the throne room of the once-dwarven capital.

"Oh, wow." Did the High King of Idunia mutter upon seeing the released work of their beloved, cherished and pious Magister. Riveting.

Argelion Zôrzagar, The High King of Idunia, descended from the besieged fort. From the autumn ridges of Alduun to the once-peaks of Númenost, much of this has taken effort—great effort. But it all wanes in the face of his own blood’s presence; My sons. Pharazôn held the left-most cannons with ease. He had never been taught in this manner, it was his first time, and yet he flinched not in the face of the dwarven volley. Was it Malchediael’s presence which bestowed them their courage to stand strong in the face of the faltering footing? Perhaps, or it was Harren's blood. Your time is only nearing, I hope what you learn through these challenges you carry with you. For one day, it shall be you who sits on the throne, my son. Similarly, did Adûnakhôr clamber onto those siege-ladders before I could even command him, though I struck him across the shoulder after, he laughed. He bears the blood of mine great-grandfathers, Uther and the flock of the Barrowlands … that is certain. Finally, Vârdamir. He carried the dispatches with the flock at his side to send them forth—to spearhead the siege alongside our Imperial allies to guide our own troops. Running beneath fire, and debris, did his blade meet its mark. I asked you why you had not waited for my order, you declared simply couldn’t—it couldn’t wait … You were right. You tend to be. Unfortunately. Continue to envelop that which allows our flock to blossom, the kind-hearted spirit which you have been blessed to carry, there is greatness in your path to be realized. To you, Hadrian. I told you in that war-room, did I not? Slow it down. I have known you since the time before the crown sat upon your brow, there is a particular pride which comes from witnessing those who have shaped another man from the clay of his youth. That pride lives in me now, looking upon what you have built. The dragon has left its mark, and what our children will inherit is the greatest gift we could ever bestow, the entire world. By blade and covenant, and theirs, god-willing, by the wisdom we were too young and certainly too stubborn to possess of which was granted by our fathers. “Though a thief may find refuge and the blasphemer speak softly, the Lord’s eye is cast over all sin.” The High King of Idunia whispered to himself with his grip upon that blade’s hilt which carried the very script whilst he observed the rising ash from the burning banners of Urguan. The blessed silver flames of Malchediael soon subdued, with the conclusion of the march. His silver gaze soon found itself settled upon the flock of the Idunian, all of which encompassed such cultures; from the Adrians, Petrans, Viruvians, and Scyflings to the Snow Elves and Númenedain. It was no mistake. Though much was different between them, purpose had found them united beneath one banner. Onwards the people of Idunia marched with heraldry raised, alongside their Imperial allies. “Nothing will stand in our way.”

idunia.

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Tar-Zôrzagar, The High King of Idunia, observed the letter. In turn, did he draft one to send … To Lord Bârathân d'Artagnan, Patriarch of House d'Artagnan Your words reach the Crown, welcomed dearily so, and certainly noted. House d'Artagnan has seemingly long understood what lesser houses must be taught; effort is what brings forth loyalty and the constant keeping of one's word through oath and blood. Fight as d'Artagnans fight. Win as Idunians win. The battle seemed to belong without even any notable expense, and your harvest shall certainly be granted to the flock to furnish any lost--though I doubt any. By our Will and Word, your efforts are accepted with great gratitude. A keep befitting your family’s sigil within the capital’s walls would certainly reflect well. HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Tar-Zôrzagar Argelion Anorion Harren Arthalion, High King of Idunia, Prince of Númendil, Chief of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Númenost and Alduun, Knight of the Realm, Slayer of the Gilded Queen, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians

Looked over, and quickly find myself agreeing. I reformatted it generally and adjusted the flow some, let me know if it's better now : ) It is on the agenda, though it depends on the turn-out of these.