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Zarsies

Lore Team Manager
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About Zarsies

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    vvmrr
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    Zarsies
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    someone@nowhere.com

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    Ebrietaes
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  1. Zarsies

    Third Generation Blood Magic

    Activity trial. Moved to the relevant subforum, please make sure to read up on the pinned topic covering activity trials. Trial ends in roughly 2 months from now.
  2. Zarsies

    Third Generation Blood Magic

    Requested changes made.
  3. Zarsies

    Maybe its the lack of sleep.. but.

    I’ve given and I’ve received. I get it. I’m sorry.
  4. Zarsies

    Lore Breaking/Bending Undocumented

    The problem here is golemancy's shoddy lore and the extensive amount of creative freedom (borderline DM-like power) ET are commonly 'allowed'. This is something Flam and Xarkly would have to look at and discuss albeit I'm sure both would be willing to more closely relate and interweave the teams.
  5. Starting a new job tomorrow. PRAY FOR ME

    1. Show previous comments  3 more
    2. Zarsies

      Zarsies

      @ZachoSnacko Cook at a hipster / old person breakfast cafe. Higher end, nice joint.

    3. tenredux

      tenredux

      first day of work 2mrw for me i hope it was a good one 4 u zars

    4. Zarsies

      Zarsies

      @tenredux IT WAS GOOD!!

  6. Zarsies

    Lockezi's Lore Moderator Application

    Honey bee pls
  7. Zarsies

    Arklu Drukstrik - Father Hunger

    Malnourishment and anemia et her body, a decrepit and thinning thing. Last year every day felt like progress -- a meager bit taller, a tiny bit thicker -- but the illusion was fading like what sanity bound her to the world still. Her tongue languished in her mouth, flopping and twisting, wanting so desperately to taste and feel and push and savor with a mouth so yearning for more, desiring to gnaw and chew and bite and tear. Hunger. It hurt, truly, for such pangs ate at her mind and she felt every bit the invisible, intangible worms bore into her brain and stomach. Despair became her drinking partner and sorrow her bedfellow. Strife became her reflection and woe her identity. The girl, struggling to grow and a vague thirteen but a keen eye could see more years in her, grappled with herself in the shadows of a gossamer-stuffed cavern. Her hands lithe and spindly body contorted as she twisted in pain, hands tight around the clockwork and tubing that made up her lower limbs. How can someone be proud of what they aren’t? No, no, it is just madness. Breathe in. Breathe out. These legs, ferrum cogs and leather binding and herbal blood and clicking and ticking and buzzing and whirring, it isn’t me. Nether, this body isn’t even me. I’m not even me. YOU’RE DEAD, YOU FAILED. FESTER IN THIS YOUNG CORPSE. Her body was a prison and her mind a howling, caged imp. Was it, though? No, no. Madness. In, out. In, out. Strawberries and honey, elder root and ginger. Perhaps a bit of fermented grape, Aurna? Is that who we are -- a drunk? Is that us? No, we? Me? I? You? Where’s Morrigan? Where’s dad? Like a hostage of her own making, she thrashed and churned in the darkness, body tearing through thick and coiling ropes of silken web. What great masterworks of spider silk strung about this abyssal cave served to only slow the girl, their sticky strands slicking off her skin as though it were a spider’s needly leg yet her cloak was not and was quickly torn away alongside her well framed outer blouse, leaving her with her simple green robe beneath. She screamed and howled as tears streaked down her face and flooded from creek to stream to river. Would he be proud? Could he be proud? Of this? Of you? ‘Morrigan’, ‘Aurna’, what is next? Who’s next? As she writhed and her thoughts ate tunnels through her cranium a coarse and foul laugh croaked from the stone outcroppings of the rough crevices and clawed walls of the cavern. A wicked thing, hoarse and grating, it was blood curdled and ill as if borne of a throat not just inhuman but otherworldly. A crow peeked out from the dark and leered over the girl, watching her from above with ember-gleaming, piercing yellow-green eyes. There leered her personal demon, a creature of the High Hells wreathed in black feathers in the shape of a merely overgrown corvid. It laughed and laughed, its mockery of a witch cackle haunting and bone-chilling. SILENCE! SILENCE! BEGONE, DEMON! BEGONE! In the dark here what was spoken and what was thought was a blur; she could feel its cackle deep in her brain as it spurred on her ravaging thoughts and mocked her suffering. She couldn’t tell if she was screaming aloud or howling inside her head but the effect was the same; slavery, she knew, allowed her the utmost domination but to ill fates. The crow merely laughed and fluttered down and out through a tunnel, disappearing into the shadows beyond and, she hoped, to some hellspace or netherplane to rot until summoned once more. She let out a foul hiss like a gargantuan arachnid and in an instant whipped her head aside, bearing her unnaturally long teeth and small fanged glands at the back of her mouth; she bit into her forearm and felt her teeth sink deep, deeper than what her natural instincts would allow. Hot blue blood spilled into her mouth and wet her teeth as she squeezed her jaw and cried, falling backwards into the webs to tear out and stumbled into the dark, gravely slopes of the cave. It’s not enough, it’s not sweet, it’s not it. It needs to hit the spot, it needs to be delicious and savory and sweet and sour and tangy and bitter and salty. Just once, just once more, please. Aurna, please. Morrigan, please. Father, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, dad. Dad, I love you. The girl released her bite and pulled away from her wounded forearm, a thick stream of sapphire ichor dripping from the teeth imprints which marked her pale, ivory skin. Just once, she thought. One more, that’ll do. That’ll do. She drew from her side a simple, green leather bound journal. Its faces were imprinted with leaves and stems in a swirling pattern alongside a delicate and fancy star-style embroidery around its edges, a mere diary or notebook at a glance. She flung the book open and snapped to the first page is came to, fingers trailing down ciphered notes of demonic anatomy and a hellish charcoal drawing of a wicked little creature. She placed her little finger onto the grimoire’s page and read the spell, eyes repeatedly scanning over the name inscribed. With a dull glow her pointer finger’s nailbed began to heat until it gleamed like molten ferrum and she flung it forward with a flick whilst embers and coughing campfire smoke drifted up and out of the paper’s binding. In an instant a lightless flame erupted upon the ground and drew into the shape of simple triangle encircled by a fiery ring of the same fire; it was noxious and nauseating, a piss-and-bile yellow-green hue like putrid baby vomit and mellowed urine. Crawling from the flames smoked and shivered a gargoyle of an imp, bat-winged and grey-saffron skinned like a worn gold statue. Its legs were bent backwards like a bird and its arms were long and scrawny yet it stood no taller than half a meter. It let out a single squeak before it was set upon by the apex predator of the room. She lunged at the critter and landed her open maw upon its clavicle, teeth tearing into its leathery flesh. She bit and tore at its little brittle body, venom spitting out of her hidden glands to splash into the wounds she made. It only squealed and hissed as it was beset by its master, utterly unable to resist or defend itself. As she struck bone and held the creature down she began to grate at it with her teeth, sawing into the hellion’s muscles, sinew, and tendons. One ferocious bite after another she began to scarf down the demon’s meat and slurped down its piping hot red-violet blood. She imbibed and feasted for long as the demon slowly succumbed to its injuries and twitched and gargled until going quiet and still, a majority of its body mauled and gored as if torn apart by a feral hound or a starving bear. Pale bones sticking out and hellish carnage cast about, the girl laid in the slaughter and wept. Satiated, finally. I’m so sorry. Soon, father. I’ll make you proud. Soon. What days would follow would seal her fate; death or transcendence.
  8. Zarsies

    Lockezi's Game Moderator Application

    hey dude...... ; ]
  9. Hmu on discord. How's this?
  10. Zarsies

    hello

    heyy....
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