Mithradites

Hullo, folks! Since my main character's basically out for the remainder of this map, I'm looking for a new skin to give him once he gets back in action and I'm desperately poor at skin-making. I'm still using the ones I had made for me in Asulon. Not that those are bad, mind; just that my character needs a new one due to his grievous injuries. As for payment, I can give minas or (if I REALLY like what you've done) a small VIP pack. Whatever floats your proverbial boat! Anyway, description. Lucion Sullas, the snobbish, permanently quizzical high elf, done got his poor noggin shanked by a particularly perturbed wood elf. Being poked in the brain isn't always fatal, but it's less likely that someone would completely recover from such an attack. Lucion, the lucky lout, has lost significant motor function on the right side of his body. Being the sort of stubborn high elf he is, he took the time to transmute up a set of mechanical arm and leg braces in order to keep him walking around upright. And, in order to hide the lazy eye and drooling mouth, he put together a terribly fashionable mask that covers the drooping and twitchy bits of his face. So, in short: -Mechanical brace on the right arm -Mechanical brace on the right leg -Mask that covers the right eye, and whole of the mouth (no mouth/eye hole. He'll make do) Remaining face must be completely uncovered. -No spooky hoods plz (I have some self respect left, darling) As for clothes, he can wear whatever you want, so long as it's robe-ish (Lucion loves his robes) and the colours aren't too garish. Aim for whites, blues, and golds. Those are high-elfy by nature. Or you can dress him up in some saucy swimwear. Whatever makes you happy! :) Colours for the mask and braces can be whatever the artist wants, as long as it's metallic. Make as many skins as you want, or as few as you please. Only the best for my favourite elf! Current skin. Concept stuff...? Thanks very much for those who'd give it a go!

Wouldn't you rather be 'Fjord' than 'Ford?' I wouldn't want to be associated with an automobile. That's only my opinion, though.

"Deep in the trees of wood-elven land, far from anyone or anything, a crumpled figure of a high elf lay in a pool of crimson blood. Not precisely the most poetic introduction to a story, but what do you want? I'm not being paid or nothing." The old story-teller scratched his nose as the gathered and monumentally bored listeners prodded the fire and rolled their eyes. "What makes some dead high elf interesting, beardo?" One of the younger listeners chirped. Well, it weren't the fact that he was dead. It was in how he died. See, I'm the type of curious fella what takes an interest in that Dragon-Library with the scary hooded bloke in it. Down there, there was these two elves. They was talking for a fair while, you see. From what I heard, their names was 'Looshun' and 'Fadrus.' Dopey elf names. You know. "Scandalous stuff, codger." The young listener would chirp again. "What were they talking about? Pastries?" Nay nay, lad. They was talking about how one of them was going to die, I think. See, they were talking real calm-like for a while, then the dark-skinned one (Fadrus) -he was the scary one- said all sorts of things to the light-skinned one (Looshun). Bad things. Murderous, killy things, aye? Well they just sat for a while there. Not sure why they'd be so polite about it. Maybe because of the scary hooded feller roaming about. Then some other pale-skinned elf came along and spoke something snippy at Looshun. Looshun snipped back for a bit, then offered to go for a walk with Fadrus. Obviously I followed the elfy fellers. They went all the way to Lorrie'lin they did. Big old trees down that way. Lots of shadows for me to keep an eye on things. So they walk all around by themselves, then Fadrus ganks him one! Cuts right down his leg with a nasty looking knife. Pale Looshun falls over screaming something awful. Here's the frightful part, though. Fadrus starts circling around him like a wolf, bonking a big old staff on the ground as he does it. Babbling this gobbledeegook like some kind of witch. Looshun tries to talk, blubbers a bit, then starts weeping. Poor bastard. Finally, the Fadrus feller gets his nasty old knife again, and... The old story-teller smacked his fist into the dirt next to himself for effect. It was suitably effective in surprising his listeners. Whack! Right into the Pale-feller's head. Top of the skull. The sound it made? Think of an axe smacking into a ripe pumpkin. That sound. Kind of like a snappier 'squelch.' "Well that's just great. You told us about some grotty murder you witnessed, you creepy old bugger." The young one was clearly impatient with the old man, and a number of other listeners murmured in agreement. "You think that's creepy?" The Old Story-Teller interrupted. "Imagine what I felt when the pale feller got up." The gathered listeners suddenly went silent. "What?" Chirped the younger one. That's right. The pale feller got up. See, after Looshun's head got cleaved, Fadrus McElf picked up his bits and left him where he was. I was planning to go and poke around in the body's keep-sakes, you know. Not like he was going to need them right? But I wasn't going to go down there for a fair bit, just in case that dark one was still about. So I waited. And waited. And then it started raining. And I waited for it to stop, and then I waited some more. But as I started to creep towards him, the feller stirs and pulls himself up. Oh my lad. He did not look good. His head was practically red with his blood, and there was a gash the size of my finger right up in there. Bloody awful. Don't know how anyone could have survived that blow. But that ain't even the weirdest bit, right? Feller just sits there on his knees for a moment, wobbling back and forth, and then starts laughing. Not sinister or nothing. Just this jolly little chuckle. Like nothing was wrong in the world. "Then what did he do?" The young one chirped. "Well I don't bloody know, I ran off right quick. Don't want to tangle with no ghoulies. That dark feller was probably a necromancer." And with a collective groan, the audience went back to their food.

A single letter is flown into the chambers of the Silver Council, clutched by a ragged and mangy dove. It lands clumsily and squawks, before taking off with a wobbly fluttering of wings; disappearing into the afternoon sun. The paper left on the table is rough, and bizarrely covered in mould. It reads quite clearly despite its condition having been written in a deep, black ink.

Somewhere, hidden away, an old Mali'aheral inexplicably shudders. "The Maehr'sae Hiylun'ehya. It is dead."

"How about their next writ of banishment be for the horrifying, cannibalistic ice-monsters that walk freely amongst their populace? Or is murderous cannibalism just a misunderstood condition? Thank goodness for the wiley detective skills of this "Orsino" fellow." Lucion would then return to his science project, having spoken to himself a little too long to be comfortable with himself.

((Oh! That's a good idea! Should have thought of that! Thanks Tsuyose))

Some individuals in mainstream high elven society would possibly remember Lucion Sullas, a figure quite prevalent in their history whether for good or ill. Having lead them, advised them, taught them, learned from them, and finally run from them, he had taken up the quiet life outside of the abandoned Citadel, and co-opted the remains of an unused combat arena to use as a laboratory. He did not tend to leave his humble shack aside from the occasional trips to the Library of Dragur, and most of the guests he received were directly invited by himself. After all, what sort of hermit jostles amongst the crowds of the cities? Certainly not this one. Though, some would note that his rare appearances stopped all together. As if he had simply vanished into thin air. Were you knowledgeable of this, perhaps you'd make the trek to his peaceful corner of the world? You would venture past the crumbling ivory towers of the old Citadel, and through the white forests common to the Isle, only to be greeted by... ... plumes of black smoke rising from the remains of his wooden nightmare of a hut. Though the blaze has mostly subsided, flames still dot the charred foundations of this poorly-built home. Nothing is left aside from ashes of badly-hewn wood and rudely-crafted furniture. As you look around further, your eyes are drawn towards the old harbour. Where once a strange, half-finished vessel once stood... ... now there was only an empty wharf. Such a puzzling thing. Looking to your ash-covered shoes, you notice a multitude of discarded papers flittering around your feet as you kick through them mindlessly. But one such paper catches your eye, as it is pinned to a mouldy-looking record player by a small knife. Well, perhaps it might explain a few things? Or nothing. Honestly, I don't think the writer was attempting to impress or explain anything. It was a little bit rude, actually. But if you'd care to read it, it isn't going anywhere yet. Hypothetically speaking.

Oh, my sweet summer child... I have no opinion on this. However I'm always fond of combining subtypes. Could you tell us why they don't mesh in layman's terms? What you wrote was kind of jibberishy to people not read-up on mental, cog, and illusion.

Wasn't soul-puppetry removed? I could have sworn I saw that written somewhere.

Merging subtypes is a fine pastime, yes. I'd prefer some unaffiliated practitioners of both magics to give their opinions, though.

Ouch! Muh pools! :(

Lucion listens carefully to Luther, before standing up once more. "Prefer instability, prefer anarchy than another king. Look to the future with a cautious gaze, and not to the immediate benefits. Positions with so much power will ultimately lead to gross misuse, as we have seen. If you can look around this city, and see an individual who would gladly kill others to strengthen his position or the position of this city, then a Sohaer simply should not return. To do otherwise would be a terrible folly." Lucion sits down slowly, before standing up again. "Wait, cousin? Who in the blazes are you?"

Sitting idly in the audience, but deeply wary of those around himself, Lucion stands up and speaks in his usual, monotonous drone. "'Ascend' could not be a poorer word to describe any change in that direction. If there is any service I regret more during my time in Haelun'or, it was writing that awful Sohaerate system. As was aptly proven during its time, power concentrated in few individuals leads to expedience in many things, but has an equal likelihood in leading to Tyranny. Not the classic tyranny of old Oren and Malinor, but the tyranny of laziness--of blind contentedness. The greatest example of such was the reign of the (hopefully) late Uradir, who poisoned our people's reputation amongst all intelligent beings, perhaps permanently. This city still reeks of his terrible influence--threats, murder, kidnappings, fear. All such things are the product of one dreadful individual, and a position of near-total power and influence. If there were to be a choice, I would say remove power from the council. Do not let them have any more. It is simply too dangerous, and a repeat of what occurred under that Sohaer may lead to our race's utter extermination. We all know there are barbarians who would be glad to see it done." He points a finger at Iatrilemar and shakes his head slowly. "Do not do as I did, Maheral. Do not play patsy to demagogues--once they have control, you will soon learn how uncontrollable they can be." And with that final statement, Lucion sits back down in his chair.

Lucion, hauling a sack of carrots nearby, looks quizzically at Archembalt. "You appear perturbed, ochre-skinned human. What are these strange words you screech? I recognise one, but it was terribly rude."

You were always my favourite Wood Elf, Druid, and message-deliverer! Good luck in your everything, Boid! And if you ever get the RP itch again, shoot me a PM and we can go on some non-affiliated adventures!

Unwise, darkies. Very unwise. But good luck, though!

"Oh. Well, erm. Would you not inform your wife that I inferred she was a mop? She seemed the type to be upset with such assertions." Yelled Lucion.

"You haven't repurposed a mop, have you? If I were to travel to your domicile I would not see a mop in a dress, would I?" Lucion becomes slightly more wary of the random voices seemingly floating on the wind.

"Isn't she dead?" Lucion yells back incredulously.

"No no! I said Yuln!" Lucion shouts again.