Babehab

"Not always do these Permutations appear, but they are typically inconvenient and set one apart from an average Descendant in strange and uncanny ways." It isn't a mandate. You don't have to take a permutation if you don't want to, and you aren't only limited to the ones listed in the suggestions. Permutations are a personal flair that you CAN opt into if you want to do that. I'll add a redline to prevent any further confusion

Imperfect Affliction Permutations and Dormancy Permutations Corcituri are by their very nature uncontrolled, their blood is a curse borne of spite. The Hermit cared little for the specifics as he mangled his bloodline into a taint upon Malghourn’s schemes, and so as a result, those who bear it may find that it affects them differently from others in minor ways. The curse may shatter the mind, it may semi-permanently pervert its bearer into a monstrous version of themselves, or it may otherwise alienate them from their untainted peers through strange proclivities and quirks. Not always do these Permutations appear, but they are typically inconvenient and set one apart from an average Descendant in strange and uncanny ways. Sometimes they come along with small boons, ones that are far too inconsequential to ever be worth the downsides. Examples: Redlines -A Corcitura player is not required to take any permutative traits if they don't want to. -Traits may not counteract the weaknesses or redlines of Corcitura lore, though if so desired a player may choose to forego some of the boons of vampirism if it suits their fancy (IE, a vampire whose face is stuck in their monstrous form permanently, thus hindering their ability to blend in with settlements.) -Permutations are up to the discretion of the player taking them; creativity is encouraged, though they still must fit a vampiric theme. -They must be entirely superficial and may not give the Corcitura a tangible combat advantage over other characters (IE, a Corcitura may not inherit the strength of an orc or olog as a trait--though they may develop a trait which allows them to subsist entirely off of blood as sustenance, as it is an entirely superficial character flourish.) -As an extension of the previous redline, Corcitura Permutations are limited by four constraints of a mortal Descendant; they still breathe, they still bleed, they still have organs that need to remain undamaged for them to go on living, they still feel pain. -Changes mostly occur during their initial slumber upon being turned into a Corcitura. -These Permutations subside when a Corcitura is cured, though mental quirks are certain to linger in some capacity. Reviled Evolution Possibly a remnant trait of Eireamhan’s original bloodline, or an intentional malefaction upon its newer purpose. Those who have been burdened with the curse for years, even decades, may suddenly find its effects beginning to mutate in strange ways. Permutative traits may develop over time, and likewise older traits may subside in the same way. Evolution is a means for Corcitura players to take or remove Permutations should they have a change of heart after initially turning--or if they never had the chance to take them to begin with. Redlines -Changes take place over time (1 OOC week), and cannot be abused via rapid physical changes as a means to “Disguise” your character. -Evolution follows all the redlines of Permutations themselves. Lineage Inheritance The existence of permutative traits ensures that no two lines of infection are quite the same, for within these lines signature traits may emerge; whole lineages of Corcituri united by a shared bane or identifying trait. A newly turned mongrel may inherit some or all of the traits of the Corcitura whose blood they were afflicted by. Redlines -It is entirely up to the player of the new Corcitura what traits they inherit from the person who turned them, if they inherit any at all. By no means can a Permutation be forced upon another player. -Whatever changes the vampire undergoes due to Inheritance occur during their initial slumber upon being turned into a Corcitura. Dormancy A phenomenon sometimes called ‘Torpor’. Corcituri may choose (or be inexplicably compelled) to enter into a deep and unwakeable slumber, where they rest, perhaps dreamlessly, for several years at a time. After their long slumber they often awaken feral, disorientated and utterly starving. This serves as a stylish way for players to shelf their Corcituri or go on long hiatuses, and gives them an engaging way to bring them back however long later. Dormancy can also be used as the catalyst for a Corcitura gaining new traits, akin to a larva undergoing pupation. Redlines -A dormant Corcitura’s place of slumber doesn’t need to be mechanically represented, though this is encouraged. -A dormant Corcitura with a mechanically represented sleeping spot (casket, etc) is unable to be moved or killed without OOC consent from their player, though such a death serves as a PK. -Dormancy cannot be used to escape active combat. -The Corcitura feeding timer persists even while dormant. More than likely a character will wake up as little more than a feral beast until their thirst is sated. Purpose

Across Aevos, fliers were plastered to walls where folk of all sorts often gathered: (Artwork by Aehab) To all goodly folk; I have spent half a millennium honing my skill as a smith. Initially taught by the First Enchanter on the continent of Vailor before its untimely destruction, I spent many years traveling Axios to supplement my skill with worldly knowledge, before departing to elsewhere. It is my passion to create for others, to forge gifts suited to purpose--specially made with a singular individual in mind. Yet without first reforging my name in the public consciousness, the opportunity for these acts are few and far between. After an age in distant lands I have come to make a name for myself amongst any and all who dwell upon Aevos, to bestow my works upon those who wish for them. Normally I would not ask for payment as I find it cheapens the sentiment, though my business partner Gloria insists she will not help me work miracles for free, and a lifestyle of charity has done wonders to ruin my finances. I thank you for reading this far, prices may be found below. -Swordmaster Rahdonir, The Giver of Gifts BEGRUDGING PRICES: Material/Finish Mundane (Steel, black ferrum, aurum, etc) - 10 minas Warforged - 25 minas Arcanium: 225 minas Enchantment Enchantment prices are added onto the price of materials Lesser Enchantment - 0-25 minas Potent Enchantment - 75-100 minas Grand Enchantment - 100-125 minas Send all inquiries to Rahdonir [Aehab] via letter or visit the Helwyr Keep across the red bridge from Chambery in Petra. The location of Gloria’s workshop will remain secret for her safety. Inquiries need not be precise. Rahdonir views her craft as an art, and prefers to interpret the wants and needs of her clients into well-decorated masterworks Rahdonir is capable of forging any manner of equipment or jewelry desired, though her knowledge of more elusive specialty materials such as Thanhium and Lunarite is quite outdated. We apologize.

IGN: Aehab RP NAME: Rahdonir DISCORD: gregoria_doomfucker OTHER MEMBERS NAMES(max 3): Angharad(CasstheSequel), Airehise(Wytchrose), Natalie(Nagisa02) DATE & TIME: Jan 5th, 2 PM EST

(The following is a vision quest fueled by a concoction of hallucinogenic herbs after being dropped off unconscious in the wilderness. Nothing is as it seems, colored entirely by the character’s addled perception. This is related to the Order of Helwyr, a guild of Petra. Do not metagame any information in this post) Francesca awoke to the intense smell of burning and an oppressive heat. The very sky above was set ablaze, scorched an ugly, hellish red by the forest fire which raged all around her. The stars were hardly visible through the smog, which certainly boded well for her Trial of Stars, though she could hardly muster the mental power to dwell on that. She rose to her feet unsteadily, her stomach turning; the herbs had done a number on her body and mind, but it wasn’t like she could just lay there and burn to death. Fran wondered if Briar had set the fire. Would he really go so far? Was this even a part of the trial? A sudden snap of branches, the padding of feet. Although the trees around her were alight, flames writhing upon them like anguished ghosts, the forest floor yet still remained dark. Francesca spun about, met with the glowing eyes of a distant predator. As the beast began its approach, the Helwyr in training reached for her sword, and her stomach lurched as she found nothing. She’d forgotten; no weapons. Her eyes flitted about to search for something to fight with, but she knew better than to look away from a predator. The beast growled--a low, warped noise unlike anything she’d ever heard. As it drew closer she realized why; it was a wolf, though not a living one. Its flesh seemed to just barely cling to its bones, the loose flesh covered in bald spots, and yet its stomach remained sucked to its spine. That bastard’s pet, she reasoned. After all, someone had told her that necromancers could raise the corpses of animals once. This must’ve been revenge for sheltering Pierce. That changed things; it couldn’t be frightened off, and it likely wouldn’t leave her alone until it was dead, which meant she needed a weapon. Francesca’s heart felt like it was trying to beat out of her chest as she frantically looked about. Heavy, necrotic paws bounded towards her as she grasped a heavy looking stick from the ground. She whipped about, the stick howling through the air, just in time to see it connect with the undead wolf’s jaw with a CRACK! As it barrelled into her. Once again the ground greeted her, as did the infernal sky above. The wolf rolled off of her, carried by its uncontrolled momentum. The fledgling Helwyr hardly remembered standing, head still spinning from the killer combination of herbs and sudden movement. The wolf seemed to cower in fear as she swung again, soon after fleeing in terror from Francesca and her powerful weapon. She let out a heavy breath, watching it disappear into the abnormal darkness of the burning forest. How could a reanimated corpse feel fear? Perhaps it was retreating in the hopes of luring her into a false sense of security, or to get her to chase after it. Francesca refused to fall for it, resting the heavy stick against her shoulder as she jogged the way opposite of the wolf. She needed to get out of the inferno and away from that horrid man and her pets, at least until she had a proper weapon. As she trekked through the wilderness, her paranoia began to get the better of her; each time she caught a dancing shadow in the corner of her eye, she could swear it was. Surely the others would’ve tracked that man here. She couldn’t be utterly alone against a necromancer. “But you are alone,” A familiar voice called. The fledgling Helwyr felt her blood run cold as she spotted him there in the clearing ahead; that horrid man. A figure in a long, black robe, hood pulled up to hide his face. “See what you’ve wrought?” The figure spat through guttering flame, his body wreathed in the same blaze as the rest of the forest, yet indestructible, untarnished, “This was a place of beauty once. You ruined it.” Francesca felt nettled at that, and remarkably brave as her nostrils flared, “Says the guy with a gaudy bust of himself in his house. Quit shifting the blame and get out of my way.” The fire roared as the hooded man began his approach, the very ground seeming to shift as he left more destruction in his wake. Trees fell along his burning path, blackening and crumbling to ash in a cacophony of groans and creaks; somehow this fire was coming from him. The Helwyr took a step back, and then another. That man wasn’t supposed to be able to do this, no one was. “You’re one to talk about shifting the blame. You keep lying to yourself. Caught in denial yet forging ever onwards down this path,” The figure’s voice was coarse, low, but not at all like what Fran recalled that man sounding like, “Can you not feel yourself changing? Growing more jaded? Need I remind you of what happened to Lenore?” Suddenly, Francesca wanted to vomit, “What happened to Lenore was an accident. She would’ve lost more than her legs if-” “Who are you to make that decision? Once again you run from the truth. The pain you’ve caused just with Expatriation. I’ve tried to spare you the pain, but you keep reaching for me, and each and every time this blaze only grows stronger--maybe someday you’ll be consumed by it,” It was then that the Helwyr realized that this wasn’t that horrid man at all. This was someone--something else. Something old, something all the more terrifying. It took another step, the grass at its feet wilting and catching alight from the heat, “I tried to be kind. Tried to protect you from ever finding out what you might become… It hasn’t worked.” Without a word, Francesca booked it in the opposite direction. Smoldering trees streaked past, blurring together in the blazing hellscape that was the forest. Even still, it wasn’t enough; with each step her pursuer grew closer, the overwhelming heat bearing against her back. “Just this once I’m going to reach for you instead,” The figure growled. Pain shot across Francesca’s shoulder as a burning hand clamped down onto it, forcing her into the dirt with impossible strength. Fran impacted the ground in a cloud of ash, gasping for air as she squirmed in her pursuer’s grip. Flames consumed her body, and though they left her undamaged, she was not spared the agony of burning. Her pursuer roughly turned her over, and from down in the dirt Francesca could finally see that it wore her face. The Flame, that was who it--who she was; a construct of the mind. There was no necromancer, just her. Only in the white hot clarity of pain did Fran realize that she was all alone here, just as they had said. “Do you get it yet? Do you understand why you struggle to hold me despite everything?” Asked the Flame, an accusatory zeal to her voice, “The pain we can cause together?” “You’re not just a weapon…” Francesca choked out “Not to Astrid, no. She planted that belief in your head, and it grew into a wonderful little forest, but now you and I are burning it down,” The Flame’s fingers dug into Fran’s shoulder as she knelt atop her, eliciting a shout of pain from the girl. The burning woman hissed in her ear, barely audible over the roar of the blaze, “She has chosen a gentler path; you haven’t. Yours has led you here, to a burning forest, chasing ghosts with the intent to slay them. Accept the truth that you have tarnished what she made of you, that neither of us is as noble as she makes us feel.” It was all getting to be too much. The Flame was right, wasn’t she? Francesca let out an anguished wail, curling in on herself in an attempt to shut it all out--and it worked. The pain which wracked her body ceased. The blaze was gone, the forest grew dark and empty, yet still the damage remained. What little greenery languished there would likely die soon enough. She stayed there like that for a time, unwilling to make a noise lest the Flame berate her further. Perhaps a few minutes passed, perhaps a thousand years, it mattered little to the tortured hunter. Her mind felt ravaged, yet she had her answer. “...Blood begets blood. Violence begets violence,” She finally said aloud, her voice escaping her lips as a parched croak, “You are a weapon to me, it’s true. You always were…” Wind howled through the blackened husks surrounding her--the only answer she received. The Flame was gone, nowhere to be found. “And…What happened to Lenore will weigh on my heart for as long as I live. I acted irresponsibly, used my magic in a way I shouldn’t have, and as such, an innocent was hurt,” Francesca struggled to get her feet under her, pushing herself upwards with trembling hands, “Indiscriminate, overwhelming force. That is the weapon of the Church, the very selfsame that they use against you and I…But I owned up to my mistake, I begged for forgiveness and was given it readily.” There was a light in the distance, just barely poking through distant trees. Francesca hobbled along, wracked with pain which she ought not be feeling, “You are mine to define, not the other way around.” Her feet were heavy, each step a monumental effort just to keep pressing onwards. “We may stumble, but we will never fall to their level again. I did not choose you simply to cause pain, to kill for the sake of killing, I chose you to defend those who cannot defend themselves.” Early morning sunlight bled over the horizon as she came to the forest’s edge, bathing the plains beyond in a golden glow. Tal’andria would be easy to find from here. The young Helwyr spared a look back to the forest, only to find that it had been mysteriously untouched by the inferno which had engulfed it previously--a hallucination, she realized. And yet she felt a warmth in her chest, one which wasn’t there when she entered; that part of herself which held such doubt, such self loathing, perhaps it could finally find a new purpose. “...The path that we walk is awash with blood,” She whispered, perhaps to the Flame, perhaps to herself--granted, there was little difference, “We will kill, we will be stained with it, but we will walk it with a head held high for the sake of those innocents around us. May we never forget that, may a mortal life always weigh heavy on our hearts… and may atonement come at journey’s end.”

Not really my scene tbh. Catholic anchorite/nun maybe, but definitely not a templar.

I DO love whimsy. Unfortunately I've got characters in mind now so I don't wanna put anymore on my repertoire, but I would totally chill with a gnome.

That would be really fun to try, though I have no idea if I actually have the time to contribute much to that.

Awesome! Thanks to all of you for responding pretty soon after I posted, I went to bed right after so unfortunately it took me a while to get back to it lol. -That sounds great! I'll send you a discord invite. -I've responded to your DM, I appreciate the enthusiasm! And thanks, I'm not big into Touhou but I really liked Luna Nights. -I'm not too interested in making a Highlander character, though I'll gladly talk to you about it and see what's up with them these days.

Hey everybody! I played on the server years and years ago and have been sorta coming back to check on it every now and again to see what's going on, despite my kinda busy schedule I'd like to get back into it in whatever limited capacity I'm able to. I'm pretty shy when it comes to entering new circles/cliques of total strangers though, so I'd appreciate some help in getting back into the groove of doing public RP, either through OOC introduction to a group chat or something else. I hope this isn't rude or too imposing to ask. I don't currently have a character, but I have a few (half baked) ideas mostly pertaining to wood elves and high elves, those are what I'm the most interested in right now. I like to think I'm pretty good at collaborative writing, so even if I bounce off it again we'll at least both get some good RP out of it. Thank you in advance! EDIT: Thanks to this post I've met some people to interact with, thanks for the help.

Application Roleplay Name: Cassia Race: Half Elf Age: 20 Desired role: Hunter Reason for enlistment: “Seeking field experience and further training, I need to be stronger to better help and protect people. Making a name for myself certainly wont hurt either.” OOC Username: Aehab Discord Tag (Example#3333): Yeggs#0434 Timezone: EST

Can't do that if no one reports it. Also hey it me, a "literally who?" necromancer who supports this Exactly

Showing dominance can only go so far and is unreliable. It also still doesn't change the fact that there's an overabundance of ghouls.

He's finally gone off the deep end

Nay!

Thanks friendo

I mean any job can be done better, as far as lore/magic teams go this one's okay.

I needed this. Thank you.

Good. I really appreciate you guys commenting though. I took the legitimate complaints and made edits where I thought it was necessary. The rest really just consisted of "I ran out of things to whinge about so I took quotes out of context or simply didn't take the time to read it in my rage", "My headcanon spirits don't act like this, why did he give her complex emotions?", and "This is similar to my magic so I'm upset". And yes, I should've consulted a shaman player or someone that's well versed in spirit lore, but with such aggressive responses as these, is it really a wonder I didn't? All in all I feel you've increased the chances of it being accepted in the first place, so thank you.

#Notallspirits ?

Cleric was essentially an example. I suppose you would've said the same if I used Izkuthii as an example instead.

Getting an Aengul or Daemon passed is apparently very difficult these days. I wanted to save myself some trouble and try this first.