Ninjay

This lore has been denied. Self-denied by submitter.

Old Lore (unclear, poor wording, bad): Group Teleportation: Combative With theory one can send themselves through the void but what about their friends? Through testing and study comes a new ability with voidal shifting to focus your magic and shift a willing person from point A to B. This would, of course, follows the same properties as normal shifting not exceeding normal standards in any way. The only difference notable is that a shroud of the casters aura would begin to cover the target, alerting anyone if they were unsuspecting. New Lore (Clearer, fixed wording, more viable, good): Group Teleportation: Combative One can send themselves through the void but what about their friends? Through testing and study came a development upon minor teleportation; the ability to shift one’s ally (or allies) through the Void. This follows the same properties as regular shifting, just extended to others rather than solely the casting mage. Reason: Group TP has probably some of the least-clear example emotes in any magic I can think of. In addition to fixing that, this also cleans up the text in the mechanics, adds a few clarifications and minor quality of life buffs for sake of improving its viability, and specifies that the mage does not have to teleport alongside their allies.

StingyParrot found banned of self-inflicted major player conduct violations (2 highly cropped and edited Discord screenshots to the back of the head).

"This guy just wants ST mats, doesn't he?" Quipped a sprite who barely knew how to read.

Having clarified with the organizers the extent to which he would be allowed to maim combat the opposition in the wargames, a mage went about signing up, uncharacteristically eager at the chance to have a few good, extended battles.

This post contains descriptions of violence and gore that some may find disturbing. Please avoid if such topics make you uncomfortable; reader discretion is advised. The Besieged Lands | Turmoil Which was the first gore pit he had seen? Was it the one hidden away beneath the village? The minuscule one in that summer home Francoise had come into possession of? Hallowcliffe? The lair hidden beneath the Aaunish vassal? He recalled the rivulets of blood in the walls beneath Belvedere, but had one been there too? All parts of distant memories, such facets of which he had some trouble putting into chronological order. Still, such sights were nothing new to him; he had braved them before. … If anything, there may have been times where he had not really needed to ‘brave’ them. Frequent enough exposure meant some grim level of tolerance to them. It was not comfort, he knew. No, they had always made him uneasy to at least some level, and he was never eager to be in their proximity. It was rather some degree of… unperturbedness, that he found himself possessing. Hardiness towards them, maybe. He had believed that such hardiness would serve him well, here, and immunize him against that which he saw. That was a fallacy. The pits were wounds in the earth itself - pulsating, writhing walls of raw flesh, blood, tissue, bone, and other bodily compositions, lining holes that stretch down to some grim floor. Horrid sights, but impersonal ones. One could imagine hapless victims being tossed in and torn apart, but unless one actually saw such, that was all it could be; imagination. They were more shock and awe than anything, he reckoned. This, though, was different. It was not gore pits he found himself surrounded by. No nameless, faceless, soulless conjurations of flesh to scare him off. No. These were corpses. Hundreds of them, scattered about the city’s desolate ruins. Real people, with names, faces, lives. There was no peace to be rationalized, no potential to impersonalize this. It was not some foul manifestation of the hells. It was real. Some corpses were adorned in armor, and lay on the ground alongside demonic ilk whom they had felled in their last moments. These were the ones who had perished fighting. Compared to others, this was a “merciful” ending, and likely the preferred one all things considered. The torment etched on the faces of others spoke volumes. Glazed eyes of heads absent their jaws mounted on spikes. Entrails and intestines of a bisected woman splayed across the ground. Some scattered patches of viscera told stories of unfortunate individuals set upon by packs of imps and lesser demonic beasts, their talons and fangs digging into flesh and tearing them limb from limb. Other bodies had been partially consumed, portions missing with only marks of claw and teeth to suggest what had occurred. It was not all mindless slaughter. Some was disturbingly mindful. Innards of a man split apart were arranged in some foul pattern in between his torso and legs. In the smoldering ruins of a building, strung up in the framework which still stood, bodies were strung up, their faces flayed away, with cores split and ribs wrenched to face outwards. The bruises about the wrists that bound such wicked cadavers up suggested struggle had been involved in the display. Entire groups of bodies with flesh woven together and hung from one street side to another, akin to some horrid tapestry. These were living souls who had lived, fought, struggled, and died. Horrifically. He had imagined a realm set upon by the hells, and he had found one. By a stroke of luck, his initial location had been one some distance from the city, yet to be beset upon by the Infernal hordes. The clouds of ash and sight of fire in the distance had been plenty to set him upon his course. The closer he drew, though, the worse it was. The sky was darkened by smoke, the light of the sun replaced by fires both mundane and hellish. The air was horrid, a mixture of fire, death, blood, and battle. His eyes stung and watered, and even through a purifier his breathing was labored. The other senses were more than enough to inform him of what the air there was, and so he struggled to do anything but suffer from it. Remains lined the streets he walked. Aside from the manner of their deaths, though, he noticed something. Humans, elves, orcs, and dwarves, of all ages and appearances. In a realm such as this, there was little room for wars of politics and division. Instead, there was the desire solely to persist, to survive. All seemed to be united in this, against the greater force which threatened them all equally. Perhaps not eagerly, he thought, but united all the same. . . . Not that it did much good. These corpses were not the ones he sought, though. No, there would be some. There had to be some. Some idiots, surely, would have taken some deal, and damned themselves. So surely there must be some here, somewhere… He pressed on, further into the ruins. The few demons who remained were but minor beasts nibbling at scraps, most with enough instinct to avoid the man. For the few that were not and dared to try their luck, a couple strikes from a sword were more than sufficient to send them back from whence they came. He forced himself to keep a slow pace; he had to give a once over to every corpse, from the horridly maimed ones to the massed piles of them. Such was a necessity of his search, macabre as it was. In time, he found himself in a square. The market stalls, ornate buildings, and general planning belayed that this was once a place of commerce, gathering, of central activity to the community it had serviced. Now, though, it was defiled. Towers of the dead lay about, reaching heights that rivaled the buildings such souls had been plucked from. In the center of the square, beneath a tree which had once served as a centerpiece for the place of gathering but had since been warped and rendered into some foul corruption of flora by the invading forces, he found them. Some were impaled upon the tree itself. Others hung from its now-leafless branches, like morbid decorations left to commemorate the occasion. They had been left in a variety of states. Some were horribly mangled and barely recognizable as something once humanoid - bones broken and snapped haphazardly, gored to extremity, as if dissected by the hands of some brute, and the shell that once contained their insides left to dry like leather. Others were less brutalized, and far more recognizable, all their inborn deformities and alterations plain to see even in death. At the foot of the tree, one in particular caught his eye, one which was different from all the others. Rods of hellsteel had pierced his hands and legs, pinning him to the ground akin to an animal pinned to a dissection board. His core had then been cut, cleanly; enough care had been paid to the entirely of this effort to be disturbing. His skin, odd colored and scaly, had then been peeled away, and likewise pinned to the ground. Innards, bowels, bones, intestines - all removed entirely from his torso. At the bottom of what was now a fleshy basin absent its usual contents, runes were scrawled in glowing Ilzakarn. His gore was not far gone; it was set up in an elaborate arrangement around the body. It was a pentacle, formed from this unfortunate soul, with what remained of his body at the center. The face remained in one piece, but was forever twisted into a haunting expression. Agony. An offering to the Lords of Moz Strimoza. He had found the example that he was looking for.

Hey this is real self rp that my character went through can you be respectful of it please? Thank you.

They are watching. This, he knows. He can feel their eyes on him. Distant eyes, peering at him through the trees and mists. He knows not what they are - but, he feels, he knows their nature, their disposition, their intent. It is not solely them, though, which gives him pause. Another set of eyes watches him. Not of this place, not like those he can see. No, this set is of some different being, of no home nor place of origin. Something else. Something dangerous. A l è a I cannot remain here for long. He was unsure how much time he had spent here already. An infinite expanse of reflective, gray water lay in all directions, with a sky of yellow-white above. It seemed entirely undisturbed save for when he took a step. Ripples rolled out from his greaves and cloak which floated atop the water as it trailed behind. His trudging across the plane was the sole sound in a sea of silence, water sloshing with each step and sending quiet reverberations off into the distance. Nothing came in turn. A desolate, barren place, so it would seem. At first, it had seemed he was alone entirely. There was no sign of other disturbance in this place of emptiness. It was an uncanny thing, but still novel enough to spur him to walk, in hopes of a clearing of the mind. Alone with his thoughts, yet hoping to drive them away, he stepped through the shallows. When he first came upon the trees, despondent and pitiful looking, they did not draw his attention. Simply something to break up the monotony, with little of interest to them. Until he noticed. The first sign; at some point, by chance or fate, perhaps due to luck or owed to weariness of such an alien place, he happened to glance down. He noticed, then, movement atop the water. Not his own ripples. Others. Tiny waves, barely perceptible, rolling in from distances unknown, lapping against the plate he wore as he came to a standstill. He was not alone. It seemed this was no place of true respite. He continued onwards, albeit with far more attention paid to his surroundings. Gradually, as time passed and the sky above darkened towards a grim gray, their presence became more apparent. Tall, spindly, skeletal-esque creatures crept through the trees in the distance, further concealed by a light mist that seemed to permeate the area. Their stilt-like appendages served them well for doing little to disturb the water, and were nearly enough to keep them discrete. They crept and prowled about with movements that seemed simultaneously slow and jerked, caught up in their own focuses - until they noticed him. The longer he walked, the more he felt their attention turn towards him. How many eyes were upon him? Tens? Hundreds? Thousands? He was unsure. The sensation ebbed and flowed like the ripples they all sent across the water covering the realm. He was not dismayed, though. He was well armed, capable, self-assured. He had fought things more horrid than such creatures, unnerving as they were. Then, the second sign. A different one, one he could tell was foreign to such a place. The air there was stagnant, unmoving beyond the terse breathing and small shifts he and the stalkers of the realm caused. As little movement as there was upon the water, there was even less in the air. It was for this reason that a gentle thing froze him up. A faint breeze passed by. The lifeless tree branches, having sat unmoving since time immemorial, rustled. It kissed his armor from behind, just enough to pass through the gaps and be felt upon the skin. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck, and goosebumps ran across his entirety. Even the stalkers seemed to take note of it, their eyes shifting away from him and towards the direction from which he had come. It was then that he felt it - another gaze, unlike those about him now. Some piercing thing, of a nature he knew he could not comprehend. The corners of his vision darkened, as if shadows had crept into his peripheral and threatened to engulf him entirely. Slowly, he dared to glance over his shoulder in the direction it seemed to be coming from. Nothing. No great beast, no cosmic creature, no visible entity. Nothing. Just empty space, of water and dead trees, the same as he had left it. Still, it was fully apparent. Something was wrong. Something was here. He pressed onwards, hurried now. The place and its inhabitants were unsettling already; this, though, was some new thing, which he knew sought calamity. The sky continued to darken, as evening transitioned to dusk. Preoccupied with the new presence that had arrived, it took some time for him to recognize that their eyes, too, had returned to him. And they were growing closer. The mist encroached, and with it their unearthly eyes came into greater and greater proximity. I cannot stay here. It was a testament to his composure that he did not break into a mad dash. Or, perhaps, it was a sign of foolishness that he did not act with even further haste. They come. It comes. I cannot stay here. Salt would not function here, in this land covered in water. He came to a halt, and fell to his knees. Using his hands, he forced dirt and mud from the ground under the water into a haphazard circle, sufficient for ritual usage. He knew not where he was to go - there was no time to think of such. All that mattered was no longer being here. They encroached. It encroached. Rising to a stand once more, intent was enacted, and a familiar ring of brine and salt water began to rise about him. In the moments before it fully shielded him and sent him sailing off through the cosmos to another place, he was afforded a final view of that which surrounded him. The mists were but some dozens of meters away, and the stalkers within were uncomfortably near. Along the path he had walked, though, there was no mist. Instead, there was some miasmic blackness, some amalgamation of shadow and cosmic force, allowing itself to be seen. It was not of here, no. It was not of anywhere, lest the idea of cosmic correction could be called a home. Even the stalkers, ever curious, seemed dismayed at its presence, the closest ones to it balking away and retreating. In those final moments of waning light, as the process came to completion and he was ferried away, he felt its focus upon him. More concerningly, he felt it even as he found himself arriving in an entirely different existence. They would cross paths again. S t e n c h Here, there was no goodness. There was his weeping, there was his crying, and there was his gnashing of teeth, as he was forced to witness that which could only be described as unholy - unholy in a way he had never fathomed. He was unsure he would ever recover. Does God ever look upon his creation, and feel regret? Images generated by AI. Except for the last one. That is a ninjayyz original. I didn’t want to write this. **** you.

[T5] ライジングドラゴン - RISING DRAGON [AGGRESSIVE] The pinnacle of the Sun Path’s aggression, an Oscillit may manifest a tremendous blow from one of their limbs, surpassing even the force of a Kinetic Strike. One should be wary, though, as doing so requires cultivating an abundance of Ambient Mana, and trying to do so in haste will have consequences. [T5] 不屈の意志 - INDOMITABLE WILL [AGGRESSIVE] The ultimate defense, an Oscillit of the Moon Path can achieve a state of perfect resistance to all that the world would weigh upon them. That is to say, an Oscillit can temporarily make themselves impervious to all which would harm them - an unbreakable, immovable pillar. Purpose: Kengan Ashura LARP + i was bored (i just thought it sounded cool and like trying to write cool shit)