Pharoahdabz_yt

wow

IGN: Pharoahdabz_yt NAME: Rorislav Othaman AFFILIATION: Empire

aura

Off in the distant cold, where the winds whistled and snow as the Othman, a child too torn tween' his Othaman lineage a 'hound' of the Othaman family lingered within the shivering snow. "So cold..." The child spoke as too did he ponder his cause in life; would he follow in the path of his family? the path that had gained the title of hounds or would he walk upon his own path. Rorislav Othaman's father Ivan, the current head of the family had his influences on the child's mind seeing his father a strong man who fought against the urukhim who warred the empire he wanted to take after his father wielding his blade honed with a fine edge made to fight against the ilk who mean ill upon the empire, but his own wants too did sway on him as his own mind, a curious mind lingered within the mortal plane he asked perhaps too much, but none the less he wanted to know. "I wonder..." The words echoed in the youngling's head, as he thought as he wandered down a different path a path of not just, but also a path of curiously as he asked, and asked attempting to figure out his cause in the world, and his place perhaps too similar to the situation of the princess that lingered.

[ Aᴘᴏᴘᴛᴏꜱɪꜱ ] ʙᴜɢ || ᴢᴇᴛꜱᴜ || ᴜᴋʀᴀᴍᴢᴏ || ᴍᴏʀ’ᴍᴀᴛᴜᴍ ✦•━•⊰✼⊱•━•✦ ✦•━•⊰✼⊱•━•✦ ɢᴇɴᴇꜱɪꜱ He was born, as any orc on an island known for naught but war was- from the ripe young age of ten he was sent to fight, wielding a spear along his father, he killed many in his early days. His sanity, nevertheless, was ruined from this havoc- perhaps life itself just wanted him to die from birth. During these wars he saw much of life's hardships, his mother was taken captive and hung by her throat, the noose left too loose to choke her to death, yet cruelly too tight to let her escape. She starved to death, as do all captives. His father fought relentlessly, day and night till he was torn apart by spears, attacked and battered till he was naught but a corpse with holes, as do all warriors. ᴍɪᴅʀᴇɪɢɴ His time spent on Aevos was his longest, and perhaps his fullest- he came full of dreams to make himself anew, he wished to become a simple shaman, to heal the world of its wounds to seal what evil there was... a pipe, short-lived dream. On his first year in Aevos- his first year out of war- at the gates of the silvered-white city of Celia’nor he met was beckoned by the warlock-vampire- one who would ruin his life. “Feast from my blood,” it coaxed; a threat that didn’t need to be said, for two bloodied hounds lay in wait to maul the uruk if he obeyed not- and thus the insanity began oncemore. With that sip began the terror of his life- for he no longer understood anything, not even himself. He suffered in this endless abyss of trying to find his way up, and soon- plop did it go as his teacher left him askew, left him to bind with a meagre spirit of I̷̯̦̎̔͂̓n̵̡̳̣̎̽̈́̽͋̽͛s̷̪̖͚͉̦̍͗͢͜͝a̢̞̠͕̘̤͒ͅ͏̥́n̴̨̗͙͏̢̃͏͉̉͜i͖̻̐̔͑̾̕t̢̙͉͖̾̊͆y̨̡̬̥̯̥̾̾͐̕͟’s domain- a mistake that would cause him to go insane. A mistake that would cause him to bend the knee to the red monarch that controlled the cursed forest- Gashadokuro- and thus Mizaru was born. Mizaru, an uruk born from Bug’s insanity, was a vile man; he fought alongside the Red Lich as naught but a hunk of muscle that benefited Gashadokuro to have around as a punitive pawn- yet he was content with this life, for soon he got many a thing in serving the Red Lich from knowledge, to wisdom... yet what does that amount to now? ʟᴇɢᴀᴄʏ Bug’s feats were few, and far apart; his first feat was his attaining of Sangomancy- he worked hard in his studies understanding vampyrism as much as he could, and he used it as much as his body willed it- yet alas, eventually it too clouded his judgment it blinded him from realising that why he died, was his own fault. His next was summoning a kraken from the bowels of another realm; at the gates of Celia’nor it wrought havoc, and within havoc did it wring forth war. Many had died that day; that day was Bug’s pride and joy, for it was his first summoning ritual- it ever-was a rush of adrenaline. His final feat, perhaps the worst mistake of his life- selling his soul to the High Hells, it was a gamble that he was willing to take placing his soul on the poker table we know as the depths of Moz’strimoza. ᴇᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ He fell for a stupid trap, one he knew he was walking into; he and his greedy nature led him to plead with kings to make him one to grant him apotheosis, and that got him naught but a gruelling, slow death in which he tore himself apart. Rejecting the terms of the twisted emperors before him, he tugged unto his own genus- rupturing his body apart as he fell within the High Hells- on his own terms. ✦•━•⊰✼⊱•━•✦ Tʜᴇ Lᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ A letter found itself within the world somewhere. It flitted to and fro, shifting from hand to hand- perhaps amongst those who had known a certain warlock within life. Those who gleaned sight upon it found it read as follows: To whom this may find: This letter marks my death; be it Bug, Zetsu, Ukramzo, Mor’matum whatever name one would have known me by matters not, but I wish to apologise for the havoc- I have caused not nearly enough. **** YOU ALL.

I have mostly no issue with this but if it's going to be a permenant disconnection I belive it may be wise to make it harder to do the ritual such as having a prerequisite like with djinn needing to break one of the rules they have in place in order to be removed from being a djinn, but this enables someone to connect to the magic and go around and try run naztherack and remove as many people as possible from It ruining the fun for anyone who dosent want to be or isn't a zar'akaal but this at the end of the day is just an opinion

People of Aveos, there is a great threat that has appeared in the ruins of the Hexicanium, and the large pillar where those who die rise as undead, a legion is marching towards major population centers, adventurers we ask you intervene. The note was written with haste, and many copies were pinned in major population centres across the continent within taverns, on city walls and perhaps were even handed out by men who stood in cities now that you've had a moment to think of it... who wrote this note?

"oh hell." spoke the uruk sharpening his blade in preperarion for wars that may be to come.

IGN: Benvader1234 Discord: benvader_darthvader Full Name: Clarice auclair Age: 32 Adress: Solevento Position Running For: Garmont Assembly

An ancient man speaks out, "Peace long last .. for now."

I never knew dragons had genders thought they were azdrazi who were turned into dragons by azdrmoth

cool concept, but I feel like it needs more scyphodants are under used imo

oh no kani too

when are we gonna get a cat that transforms into a house tho

The uruk grins widely as his empty eyes read through the grimoure, the words causing his smile to grow "Da RIGHTFULL REX AHM BAK" He squealed in blah for the first time in almost a century as he weilded his blade traversing towards the krug, his reddened eyes strolling across the desert

One Step Up It'd probably be better to say After a hard day of work, one returns to what we all go to - sleep as the visionary drifts off into a gentle rest, one that they could melt in forever. Soon their peaceful dreaming was interrupted as Something interrupted their peaceful drift, turning into a violent falling one that rather than happening naturally was more like being dragged down into the deep bowls of the Moz’strmoza- as an overwhelming heat rushed forth - overwhelming those who witnessed this prophecy. As the fall began - a winged green skinned man his face adorned with blood red tusks was seen off in the blackness, seeming like the only thing within this limbo -of the peak of the moz’strmoza- a spot where it was neither hell nor heaven, a spot between the high hells and its lowest bowls, and the lowest level of the heavens. Off in the distance a bells toll - DING, DING, DING - the sovereigns ring tolled before a vast silence, though it was a few moments it felt like decades within this infinite black where the visionary fell - soon after this silence tolled the bells ear piercingly yet again in a rather domineering stance the only thing that commanded, and existed within the limbo they fell in - DING, DING, DING - it was the same very three tolls that rang out in ceremony. Soon the scene changed for the first time, it felt as if it had been centuries falling through this abyss though it hadn’t only a few moments had passed since this dream had started - yet the change in scenery was comforting. . though it was short lived as the wicked terrain of the high hells approached piles of corpses encroaching on its domain the green skinned man, the one that had born the wings was still falling though now further below the visionary he was attempting to reach out, for a set of robes adorned in jewels just out of reach, on their right a scepter of gold - adorned with teeth and bone, and above a laurel wreath that sat above. The hushed voice of someone crying played, it was now stuck in the visionaries' head - soon they were expelled in a cold sweat their bed that had felt as if it were falling was still below them, their blanket nice and warm over them . . . the comfort to see that nothing had changed - though it could one day. ‘You wake, You live, You fall, You climb.’ It was all as it was, yet you still yearn for that final climb. This is a prophetic vision accessible to seers, naztherak, farseer shamans, vivification clairvoyants, veilwatchers, nephilim, and all others with prophetic abilities per Prophecy lore. Furthermore, those too with Deific connections, both those divine and those maleficent, are privy to this vision.

I can confirm I went scitzo reading this

Looks good to me! Always love a challenge. +1

WE NEED MORE FURRIES!

Blood magic part 2 . . . comming soon. (hopefully)

What happens if we layer the stones?

A final sizzle came from the uruks back; what he thought of was a final sort of goodbye from the crimson ogre as the mark that tainted the uruks heart for so long died off; the malaflame that twisted within it falling back to the form it had been. . . plumes of black smoke cackled from the uruks back as they left him be for now as the uruk for once felt alone, he no longer had the peace of knowing the crimson ogre would watch over him, he could finally put his guard down when he was alone; but this wasn't what he strived for something was taken from him and he yerned to fill it again. "kill. . ." The green uruk declared. "KILL ALL THOSE WRETCHED ONI AND RAISE GASHDAGAKURO'S NAME ONCE MORE." soon the uruk silenced as he wielded his blade as he closed his eyes, he walked away.

The next gash A lycanthrope +1

Dear citizens of Vallagne I, a citizen of Vallagne, come bearing bad news. Recently it has come to my attention that there have been aggressive creatures lurking within the forests nearby, I along with my small crew had been ambushed by a Porculon Bear I was the only survivor, and it would be appreciated if a group of you could go out and hunt them along with a few of the creatures which lurk the temperate forest. Do be weary, these creatures can and will attack you and are indeed very aggressive. I do wish, if you are able to, that you bring me the skin of a Thala stag which are rare creatures that almost never appear.