Esterlen

Not at all. I knew the frost witch lipstick critics would be ready to leap upon this - I invited you to, after all - but I had hoped that they'd at least do me the courtesy of reading the post in full before attempting to crucify me for it. Not two sentences in and you've contradicted yourself. The paragraph explicitly mentions having sharp teeth as well as numerous 'bad traits' (By which I presume you mean clearly identifying traits) such as pale skin, a singular eye color and diminished skin temperature - what do you mean without? Yes, frost witches share some of these traits - how is this a bad thing? We've written eight-thousand words here, the least you can do is take it in its entirety instead of focusing on a few extremely general sentences that overlap with frost witch lore, taking note that it's not even your lore to begin with. I don't know what's going on with Urara these days and we didn't always see eye to eye, but I know that one thing she did stand for was lore creativity and the development of anything innovative and new that would enrich dynamic roleplay. I find it hard to believe that she'd take the first opportunity to bash something that possibly threatened her lore's 'special snowflake' (Pardon the pun) status. Yes, these are weaknesses. I don't know if there's some language barrier issues going on with you or something because to anybody who has any real understanding of the way those sentences are very clearly phrased, they are weaknesses. Period. If you want to roleplay as part of this lore, you are doing so under extremely strict and moderated regulations, which you pledge to adhere to under all circumstances. Nobody will get away with ignoring them, not even the lore's creators. You definitely have missed it. Read the document again, in full this time. Again, read the document again. There's a whole plethora of drawbacks which you're obviously being either selectively blind to or just plain ignoring. I daresay there's a great deal more weaknesses than your frost witches - the inability and lack of any respective creature magic being key here. There's a great deal of uniqueness here and if you read the document you'd see that. The overlapping traits with frost witches - and I don't think there are many, seeing as the completely different nature of the creatures (i.e strigae are capable of being infinitely more diverse and heterogeneous in their characters than the same old tower-dwelling, butch, man-hating frost witch archetype, which has been done to death since 2012) - are insignificant enough to raise the question of "What reasonable person actually cares?" Nobody's going to denigrate lore for a new and unique type of wolf because it too closely resembles the server's existing dog population. This isn't much different. If it's your concern, I haven't, nor would I ever plagiarize lore from another source. Every word of the writing in this topic is my own or Matt's. I'm not following. This is not even a remotely valid point. Because it's been suggested many times before doesn't make it inherently bad - if I didn't think our attempt was infinitely higher in quality than those past suggestions, I wouldn't have posted it. What? Can you elaborate on this? How on earth are they 'stronger' than frost witches? Not only are they completely different, we expressly wrote many of the weaknesses as worse and more debilitating than those of the Fja - absolutely no magic is a key point here. They have access to teeth and claws, so do you. So do mostly any predator. I can't address your concerns if you're just going to throw me the blanket phrase of 'but they're stronger'. Frankly, I don't think they are. To your concerns about making a female only clique group obsolete, I laughed. I'm hardly an advocate of equal opportunity when it comes to lore so male frost witches aren't something I particularly want to see - but what do you gain other than smug self-satisfaction from opposing an alternative accessible to male characters? Do you feel simply that with another cannibalistic monster on the loose you'll lose your niche and go extinct? The same could be said of any mage to another magic archetype. I hate taking this kind of tone with anybody in a public forum, but when they so rudely initiate with it, it's clear there's only one sort of language they understand.

For the greater strigae - player creatures comparable to frost witches, however similarly under a high level of regulation and extensive rules, with the understanding that 'overindulging' results in degeneration into a beast. Some of the degenerated strigae would be good for event creatures, however.

((The following concept and design was a collaboration between myself and mth_dew. We encourage any feedback to be posted publicly from anyone who feels as if they have anything worth saying - if any lore team members wish to discuss flaws or canonical errors/impossibilities they find in this piece that they would like amended, please get in touch with me instead of just keeping it to yourself and formulating your opinion on the lore as a whole on that basis, because I'm always very much willing to compromise.)) STRIGAE The Children of the Unseen “There is, you say, an issue with monsters here?” The leaves of autumn crunched beneath Stefan de Witte’s doeskin boots as he stood before the alderman, in the centre of the village of Ashworth. A royal witch-hunter of the highest order, there was very little ground in provincial Exeter that he had not scoured in his dangerous trade. This village was known to him fairly well, it having been plagued by vodniks and the like before, however it had evidently elected a new alderman - the last, Deremir, had been known to de Witte, and had died of dropsy the year past. The new village elder was a middle-aged man of grey hair, clean-shaven and quiet of speech. The governor had assigned de Witte to speak to him, to attain the root of the hamlet’s problems. “Aye, sir. Not just any monster, either,” responded the alderman in hushed tones. He was briefly interrupted by a hound that barked at him as it passed, “The cooper’s son was found behind the chapel, with his throat torn open, his blood drained. It’s the third such murder in three weeks.” “Were there any witnesses to any of the killings?” asked the witch-hunter. “Only the village drunk, Henry Evein, and to the first murder. He says he saw a figure transform into a ghastly beast and tear the victim apart with dreadful talons, but in an instant, it was gone, disapparated into the fog,” retorted the elder. “A figure of what kind? Were they from around the village? Might I speak to Evein?” “I fear you cannot. For he was the second murder,” responded the alderman hesitantly, “If you would like to examine the body, it was taken to the crypt. I shall show you to it.” Introduction “With a striga? To what end? Did you kill her?” -Baron de Wett to the Hexer, Adeon Fableknight, 1521 Common elven legend has it that the first striga (Plural: strigae/Singular: striga) was a child born the sixth son of a sixth son, (Truly, an exemplary number of children for any elf to bear) and the tradition of human small-folk states that strigae are the reanimated corpses of great sinners, unable to find solace in death. These are the kinds of tall tales and folklore circulated between villages, propagated by peasant preachers and taught to children in lieu of discipline in order to scare them into submission. In truth, strigae are not undead and are of such variation that to quantify them is difficult, however scholars have managed to broadly categorize them into two classes - the greater and lesser. In the elven tradition, these beings are referred to as ruahdrel, and in dwarven texts they are called the ardolar. Savoyards and Imperials may call a female (But never a male) striga a bruxa. Most familiar to any reader is the universally commonplace appellation of choice for these mysterious creatures: vampires. “Give us a maid of unspoiled stock, That we may hew her limbs, And on a pile sacrifice her flesh, Before this earthly prison of her bones, A virgin’s blood, so that the Taker of Souls be appeased.” The elven sorcerer, Gedym aep Helgraen, and his seven acolytes had spoken the words in unison before the assembled altar, as the texts they had found in forgotten crypts described. Everything was proceeding as according to his plan, his exact measurements prescribed and carried out with an expert eye for detail. A runic pattern drawn in ground manticore horn adorned the basalt floor of the highest chamber of his great black tower. Demonic icons garnished various points of the pattern, and the walls of the chamber were covered in murals depicting the most disgusting and violent of excesses. Magic and power aep Helgraen had in abundance, and he had conjured himself an army of filthy, bestial servants to attend to his every need - it was not temporal desires, then, that had led him to spend the greater part of his life endeavouring to summon Iblees. It was his wish for eternal life. It was aep Helgraen’s virgin daughter who would serve as his first sacrifice, once he and his students had spoken the proper incantations. Bound tightly to the heavy rock altar, the girl made not a sound as her father slit her throat with his silver dagger, her lifeblood spilling out and pooling onto the sorcerous symbols that had been arranged so carefully. “We call Him hither,” ordered aep Helgraen imperiously in a forgotten, black tongue, and nothing came. The blood continued to flow as the girl choked on it, her eyes glazing over slowly. A dim glow was emitted from the runes cut into the altar, but naught else emerged from their chanting. “We call Him hither!” commanded the sorcerer again, and the earth rumbled from far below. With a terrible groan and a vile laughter from the realm beyond, each of his seven acolytes were torn apart by hideous, eyeless and winged creatures, their talons rending flesh as effortlessly as they had appeared in the chamber. Afeared, aep Helgraen took a step back from the spectacle, holding his staff aloft and preparing an incantation. His students were paralyzed, cut to ribbons by the demonic beings he had accidentally summoned, who lapped up their blood like the night-bats of Varendoz. The First of the Unseen “Fear not, Gedym aep Helgraen, who hath so foolishly called us to this world,” spoke the first and tallest of the beings, “You have sought immortality, and so we shall grant it to you.” And swearing allegiance did aep Helgraen thence become the Unseen’s first follower, and the first of the strigae. “A vampire? Get together a band of militiamen, weave a few wreaths of garlic and get the smith to forge some aurum weapons, herd it into sunlight. It’s hardly a difficult matter to deal with, hexer, so why is it taking so long?” “Lord Godwine, the matter’s hardly that simple. We could kill the striga, sure, but these are beasts of ancient breeding and dark magic. It’d be back in a few years time and I doubt it would be very happy with you.” -Godwine Horen, Regent of Lorraine, and Coren Isil of the Hexicanium, circa 1530s Origins The Unseen summoned by the wicked sorcerer Gedym aep Helgraen were foul, demonic creatures sworn to the fallen daemon Iblees. They wielded dark, unutterable sorcereries, and toyed with mortal life like playthings. They were faceless and eyeless, and what features they bore were sunken and protruded, like skin taut against bone. Their flesh was pale and grey, like stone, and great, torn wings adorned their backs, carrying them throughout the planes of the daemon and the world of the mortals, whereupon they served their master, however sparse their service was. The creatures, of which there are only seven, were powerful casters, capable of great feats of dark magic, and fond of cursing the unsuspecting and the foolish. This was the case of Gedym aep Helgraen, an ambitious elven sorcerer, who sought to further his agelessness, and create himself master of death - unkillable, and undying. Through an ancient, odious ritual, the elven mage aspired to gain this gift by favor of the daemon Iblees. His power was magnificent, but out of reach. Helgraen made hearth in Aeldin, in the era of the elder races where humanity were little more than hut-dwelling savages and elven kingdoms dominated the continent. There he was hidden away in the northern reaches of the continent, as unforgiving as time is voracious. The savages residing in the lands were said to be easily ensorcelled, and made fit servants and cultists for the sorcerer, proving useful in the elf’s pursuit of true immortality. When the time came, and the means had been set, Helgraen performed his dark sacrament, crying out to the fallen daemon to summon him for reward. He erred in some intricacies of the incantation, for his pleas fell upon the ears of the Unseen, a coven of otherworldly beings who came to the elf from another dimension, with ill intent. Savoring in the misfortune of mortal beings and desiring to create for themselves a race of servants, the seven creatures granted that which Helgraen sought, but not without burden. His skin grew paler, and an almost insatiable compulsion took hold. He felt himself yearning for something, as if he were incomplete. The Unseen were quick to enlighten the sorcerer as to what he had become: a striga, the first of his kind, a new kind of being damned to hunger for the lifeblood of mortal creatures. In exchange for timelessness, he now craved corporeal pleasure, and where he had been an accomplished wizard before the arts of magic were now lost to him. He became capable of assuming two forms. When resting, he was able to appear much the same as he had before his transformation, albeit paler in complexion. When in an agitated and activated state, he would lose control of this form, his nose and ears becoming bat-like, flat and pointed, his canine teeth being elongated into fangs and his fingernails growing into long, vicious talons capable of rending flesh with ease. The Unseen had sown the seeds of darkness, and set out across the land, falling dormant, finding themselves unable to return to their plane. The seven creatures began to sleep, each awakening in intervals of fifty years at a time per ancient tradition, leaving the cursed elf to his relative lonesome. The striga came to become familiar with his new form, and took for himself a collection of human worshippers, idolized as a powerful lord by the short-lived creatures, who so greatly admired the triumph over age and time. Their curse was already outshined by the long lives of the elves, but now, even that was well and truly trumped. Helgraen’s immortality would eventually come to be desired by his servants, and the sorcerer himself desired to increase their longevity and diminish their fragility by sharing his blood curse. Eventually, after many horrific failures and experiments, he developed a means by which to create new strigae. Helgraen had attained the ability to survive even the most dire of wounds, and so he feared not the loss of his own cursed life-essence. The aspiring mortals were bled, and rid of the majority of their own blood. Once drained, the host of the ceremony, the striga in question, spilt its own blood, sharing it with the bled mortal, and allowing them to take it upon themselves. The process is a dangerous one, and fails often. Many of those who undertake it die horrible, slow deaths. Others reject the blood, and merely rot, suffering violent reactions as if it were poison in their veins. The select few who survive and remain living become strigae, bearers of the curse first bestowed upon Gedym aep Helgraen. New generations of striga were born, and in time, they slowly spread across the world, traversing the continent and establishing small covens and enclaves, relishing in their immortality, while constantly battling the price it bore. The true origins of the Unseen and the curse conveyed upon Gedym aep Helgraen are in actuality shrouded in mystery. It is widely believed to those few scholars and enthusiasts in maleficarum that they are demonic creatures from another world, however in actuality they are a group of seven fallen aengudaemons pledged to Iblees, meaning their origins are in the present dimension after all. The body of the cooper’s son was truly wretched. His throat had been torn open and made a ruin. His torso carried innumerable slashing marks, and where his heart should have been there was now a simple, gaping hole. Looking over the cadaver, de Witte could see the stone slab upon which his body had been placed in the crypt through the hole, slick with dark blood. Of course, the witch-hunter had seen worse. Perhaps this was the work of some particularly careless frost witch? After making a few more observations, he exited the crypt, returning to the alderman. “I’ll need to question a few villagers,” he said at once, to which the man nodded fervently. He checked that he had all of his golden blades, just in case he encountered this beast. De Witte would keep his suspicions to himself for the moment. If word were released that a town were plagued by a greater vampire, a striga, the governor would sooner burn the village and massacre its inhabitants than even risk the chance of such a creature escaping. For the sake of these people, he prayed that the fiend was a mere ghoul or rotter. “A higher vampire, Your Imperial Majesty, is truly more like us mortals than it is a bestial lesser vampire. They are like your people in speech, behaviour, and intelligence. You will not find them lurking in caves or forests, but within your very cities, practically indistinguishable. We of Haelun’or call them the ruahdrel.” -Kalenz Uradir, advising Robert I on magical affairs, circa 1460s Greater strigae Greater strigae (Flexio: vampirus superiores) are the masters of camouflage and deception, in many cases appearing nearly identical to their form prior to transformation. These immortal, ageless beings (In actuality they are not immortal, having natural life-spans of around four thousand years, only appearing so to shorter lived species) are just as varied and capable of thought and emotion as any sentient creature - in fact, they often feel the latter to a higher intensity than mortal creatures. In contrast to their lesser forms, whom they typically loathe and shun for their animalistic instincts and lack of grip on reality, greater strigae may fall within any alignment and have just as diverse aspirations, abilities, moralities, feelings, goals and personalities as any mortal. Some strigae may be inherently more bestial than others, depending on their prior lives. They may desire to live among mortals in cities or live solitary lives, hidden away from society. Even their individual approaches to their addiction to fresh humanoid blood may be heterogeneous. Physiology The normal and ‘passive’ form of a greater striga is very similar to the appearance assumed prior to their transformation. They are humanoid, allowing them more or less to blend into greater society, and while they look much as they were before when mortal, there are a few very subtle differences that the trained eye can notice as telltale signs of a striga. Firstly, a greater striga appears paler than average, though not necessarily unnaturally so or to a degree that appears unhealthy or abnormal such as albinism. Secondly, the canine teeth are slightly pointed and elongated into tiny fangs, however this is usually hidden by a closed mouth. Thirdly, the iris of a striga’s eye is always a yellow-green colour - however, again, this is not necessarily unnatural among many mortals. Finally, a striga who has not fed on blood for a considerable amount of time feels cold to the touch. A male greater striga in bestial form However, greater strigae are able to change their corporeal shell and shapeshift. This bestial and ‘activated’ form can be willed by the striga or brought on by intense emotions such as anger or fear, especially when the striga is hunting for prey or triggered by excessive blood. This form is still humanoid in nature, however is distinctly more monstrous in appearance. The cheekbones appear hollow and sunken, with eyes dark-rimmed and totally blackened (To the point where there are often no pupils) as if those of an insect. Skin appears sallow, with black veins beneath becoming slightly visible, and the nose is flattened and the ears elongated as if those of a bat or wolf. This similar appearance is believed to be the origin of folklore’s identification of vampires and ruahdrel with bats, however in actuality the two creatures have no affinity at all. Fingernails become extended to extremely long, strong and sharp talons, perfect for the rending of flesh (These talons may also be manifested as a singular feature while the striga is in their normal, ‘mortal’ form) and are durable enough to sometimes even capable of parrying blades. Finally, a striga’s canine teeth also become elongated, for the purpose of biting and thrashing. It is worth noting that there are only two forms a greater striga can assume - their mortal form, which resembles their appearance prior to transformation albeit slightly changed, and their striga (Albeit humanoid) form, the details of which are described in the paragraph above. As the striga's monstrous form can be either willed for utilitarian purposes or triggered inadvertently by intense emotion, more level-headed strigae may never need to assume this shape. A female greater striga in bestial form Though strigae are not undead and are technically living, being somewhat a halfway point and hybrid between their mortal husks and their Unseen predecessors, the curse has greatly diminished and slowed their ability to naturally produce the life-essences found in mortal bodies (genus, lifeforce, etc) and so they are blindly compelled to consume blood in search of it. Despite this compulsion, the consumption of blood serves as a powerful addiction for which they will always have a taste, but not an absolute requirement to survive. Greater strigae can theoretically sustain themselves on mortal food and drink alone, however this rarely happens in practise. The blood of mortals serves as a powerful drug which conveys upon strigae several temporary boons - greater strength, speed and regenerative capabilities among them, as well as the pleasurable sense of being ‘drunk’, senseless and intoxicated - and as a result very few strigae can ever totally overcome the addiction, if they indeed would even desire to. A lack of blood will often result in weakness and lethargy as signs of withdrawal, however an overindulgence will usually result in a greater striga’s degeneration into a bestial lesser striga with no grasp on reality (See below for lesser strigae). This occurs usually if a greater striga partakes in more than one ‘meal’ of blood (Presuming that enough blood is drained to kill an adult victim) in the timespan of a seed-month. A male greater striga in his normal form In contrast to the tales of folklore, garlic, sunlight and holy iconography have no effect on greater strigae, and though they are naturally nocturnal they are able to adapt to daytimes accordingly. Strigae are also totally infertile, and can only reproduce by transfusing their blood to create more strigae, a dangerous process which usually ends in failure and degeneration. They also possess a heightened sense of low-light eyesight and smell and are able to identify and track familiar blood through its particular scent. Similarly, animals with developed olfactory ability such as dogs, cats or horses are able to identify a striga merely through smell, and are usually averse to one’s presence. This makes it practically impossible under normal circumstances for a striga to mount a typical horse, as the animal will be too afeared and inevitably throw off its vampiric rider. In the presence of an extreme amount of blood, such as in an abattoir or large battle, a striga is liable to become overstimulated by the scent of excessive blood, and is typically driven into an animalistic, uncontrolled rage made manifest in the striga’s bestial form. This tends to make strigae very poor soldiers of any army intended to face battle. Depending on how much time a striga takes to feed, they may imbibe minutes amount of blood in a short amount of time, taking not enough to kill the victim, (Though that is contingent on their ability to both literally restrain their ‘meal’ and physically restrain themselves) or they may drain a victim of blood to the point of their death. They may feed on victims living or very freshly killed, however cannot feed on putrefied corpses. A striga will appear the same age as they were when they were transformed across their lifespan, with very little signs of aging - for example, a striga transformed at age twelve will appear twelve forever. As they are considered to be creatures of darkness, all strigae greater or lesser are anathema to the monks of the Cloud Temple, and accordingly they cannot be healed or restored by them. They possess an immunity to diseases, poisons, toxins, plague and sickness. This does not apply to those created by magical means. Abilities and characteristics Heightened skills Strigae are blessed with skills heightened since their transformation. They are endowed with a level of strength (Though not that exceeding an orc or olog) comparative to a being of their size, and are able to adeptly apply this strength to use of their elongated talons. They are capable of being swift in their movements and reflexes, though again not to a supernatural degree, and their level of agility is typically high. They possess a heightened sense of smell (And are able to recognize the scent of another striga through this) and are able to detect many scents of blood, as well as keener low-light eyesight than most mortals, and an almost cat-like ability to survive higher falls than would a typical mortal. When a striga is under the influence of blood, these skills are slightly increased in potency. Regeneration Strigae possess an unbelievable ability to regenerate from wounds sustained that would kill or gravely wound a mere mortal. Natural, mundane fire such as that from a torch or pyre has almost no effect on them, and wounds such as a stake through the heart may be shrugged off and regenerated in a matter of hours after they were received. Strigae have even been known to regenerate lost limbs after they have been severed - this takes a considerable amount of time, however, and cannot be performed in the moment. Magical fire may hurt them, but burns sustained from it can still be regenerated. Similarly, wounds inflicted by aurum or holy magic take considerably longer to be healed - usually a matter of months or years. Regardless, the only certain way to destroy a greater striga’s body is by destroying its brain somehow, through either mundane means or the magical. This is immortalized in a little-known Istrian nursery rhyme which reads: A blade through the arm/You’ll come to great harm/A blade through the heart/You’re not very smart/A blade through the brain/You’re the vampire’s bane. Even though a greater striga’s body may be totally destroyed and their ‘life’ ended, they are not so easily eliminated. A byproduct of the curse is that the spirit lingers on (Initially bound to the general area of the site of death - upon discovery by another striga it may move in order to commune with its corporeal comrade) and with the help of another striga’s donated blood and fraternal aid, in a regenerative process vaguely reminiscent of the transfusion ritual, their ethereal form may reform into another body, identical to the last, with the same memories. This process has never been known to take less than nine years at a minimum, depending on the level of fatal injury sustained (Being totally burned into ash by a pyromancer’s magical fire would take around half a century to regenerate from, for example) and indeed for the first year or two in a new body a striga is usually too weak to even walk unaided, let alone hunt or feed. It is believed that a greater striga whose blood is forcibly drunk by another greater striga will be unable to regenerate in this fashion, suffering a final death, and similarly without the assistance and blood of one of their own species, a striga’s spirit will be not be able to return to corporeal form. For this reason, the Codex of the Unseen dictates that strigae must never quarrel among their own kind, and must always help their own when it becomes necessary. Strigae typically prefer to regenerate from their wounds in an isolated place unfrequented by mortals, and it is this preference which has led to their reputation of residing in crypts, mausoleums and coffins. They cannot employ any form of magic, with any prior learnt skills becoming lost to them upon their transformation. This regeneration is subject to the same restrictions as revival by the Cloud Temple Monks, including short term memory loss, and carries with it the added burden of taking great time. Strengths and weaknesses summarized Strengths Strigae are immortal, unaffected by time or disease. Strigae are endowed with some significant strength relative to their size, though not beyond that of an orcish creature. This is not super-strength. Strigae are able to be very quick and evasive, capable of moving and concealing themselves in the shadows adeptly. This is not super-speed. Strigae may grow long talons for use in combat when enraged, hunting or blood-drunk. Greater strigae are capable of regenerating wounds that would be fatal to mortals very quickly, such as a stab through the heart or a slit throat, unless inflicted upon them by gold or holy magic, in which case such wounds take considerably longer to heal and are able to more easily incapacitate the striga. Greater strigae are unkillable under most circumstances. While their bodies can be totally incapacitated in much the same manner as would a normal humanoid (Rapid dismemberment, beheading) and destroyed through destruction of the brain, ‘death’ in this fashion only serves to destroy the corporeal body and banish the spirit from this plane. With enough time (Recorded in this document as a minimum of nine years) and the aid of another striga’s blood, a greater striga may regenerate a new body, identical to the last. However, if a greater striga is killed by one of its own kind, it suffers a final death - and similarly, if another striga refuses to offer aid to a comrade whose body is destroyed (Whether this is because they are anathema or for other reasons) they may not regenerate. Weaknesses Strigae are compelled to feed on blood, hungering for it like a powerful addiction. Though this ‘alcoholism’ can occasionally be overcome by the most controlled of strigae, it is always latent. Strigae who have not fed on blood for an extended period of the time are cold to the touch and usually significant weaker in combat than those who have. Greater strigae who overindulge (More than one adult 'meal' per seed-month) on blood will devolve into one of the many forms of lesser striga. Many animals with developed senses of smell, hounds and horses especially, are able to detect the scent of a striga and are averse to one’s presence. Like most unnatural beings, strigae are susceptible to aurum and silver, and cannot immediately regenerate wounds inflicted by blades of gold. To a striga, any form of aurum or silver is very uncomfortable to the touch, and must be handled with gloves. Similarly, strigae are vulnerable to holy magic, and are unable to immediately regenerate wounds inflicted by it. They tend to avoid practitioners of holy magic such as paladins, being uncomfortable in their presence. Accordingly, they cannot be healed via magic. Becoming a striga is irreversible. Strigae are infertile and can only reproduce by inflicting their curse (Or as they often see it, a blessing) upon others. Strigae are completely unable to learn and utilize magical skills as a result of their affliction. Prior magical skills that were learnt prior to transformation become unusable. Strigae cannot utilize the Cloud Temple monks to heal their bodies. The scent of excessive blood such as that of a large battle or slaughterhouse will drive even the most controlled striga temporarily wild and rabid, forcing them into their more bestial form and causing them to lose control of their emotions. The pyre was so bright that it illuminated the Exeterian countryside around Ashworth for miles. It seemed to reach metres into the sky, an array of logs and brush upon which was bound the burning figure who had been de Witte’s adversary. It had been heard of for strigae to masquerade as herbalists and alchemists in villages, and so the obvious culprit of the murders was Johanna Varens, the hamlet’s primitive witch-doctor. Mysterious and maligned, it was her who the villagers would turn to in place of a physician, which the rural folk had no access to. She would brew her remedies and salves in her cottage just outside of Ashworth, charge a hefty price, but otherwise trouble nobody. None of them would have suspected the old woman to be a greater vampire as ancient as the continent itself. The witch-hunter was slightly disgusted at their non-perception. He would lie to the governor, though, for their sake, and tell him that it was merely a frost witch or something of the like. They had gathered around the pyre, dancing and rejoicing as the herbalist burnt alive. The moon was weak and waning, and so the cold night was lit up exclusively by the arrangement of burning wood and flesh. Stefan de Witte did not partake in the pomp and ceremony as the local priest proselytized against wickedness, instead going straight to the main hut to inform the alderman that the deed had been done, and the village was safe again. “Thanks be to God!” said the elder, producing a coinpurse of Imperial crowns with which to compensate him. The witch-hunter waved it off, for his actions were merely his civic duty. “If there’s nothing else,” he said as he turned about-face, going to exit the elder’s house. “But you forgot something, Mr. de Witte,” stated the alderman with quiet certainty. The witch-hunter turned around impassively, an eyebrow raised. “Did they not teach you in the academy,” began the middle-aged man, bringing his candle-light up to his face as if to demonstrate the point, “...that fire will not kill a striga?” Before de Witte could respond, the alderman fell upon him as quick as lightning, sinking long teeth into his exposed neck. Then, all turned to darkness. “Helgraen was immortal, and so too did the lesser folk desire to be. Thus, a method of transfusion was discovered by the sorcerer, and the creation of more strigae came to light. The process is a vile one, steeped in failure…” -Texts found in Tor Styx, unknown author, circa 400-600s The ritual of transformation To become a new striga, a transfusion of blood must take place. A mature striga must be present to host the ceremony, as must be the requisite runes and incantations in reflection of the procedure aep Helgraen originally used when he summoned the Unseen. This process is mysterious, with the full details and preparation unknown to most. Theoretically, any striga can perform the sacrament necessary to create more of their kind, however knowledge of the ritual, its incantation’s exact pronunciation and reagent’s explicit alchemical measurements, is required and that itself is a private mystery to any but the most venerable and senior of strigae. A newly turned female striga, in their bestial form after having fed Generally, (The following information being all that is known to strigae and those educated in the dark arts) the process begins with the bleeding of the aspiring striga. They are drained of a great deal of their blood, to the point of killing them. Once drained, and on course to death, a striga must share its own, cursed blood with the aspirant. The ritual is a risky one, often resulting in the death of the aspirant, and a bloody mess. In the case of success, the cursed blood will flow through the aspirant’s veins, afflicting him or her with the curse. There is much more to the transfusion than this, however many of these riddles are as yet unanswered to any outside observer. A newly turned striga must feed at least once shortly after the experience of turning, or else it will starve and wither. Alternatively, if it overindulges on blood, it will turn into a lesser striga. For this reason, a living sacrifice is often retained to be fed upon at the end of these rituals. Most of the information available to mortals about this dark sacrament comes from those rare sacrifices that have escaped, having observed the clandestine process. “Pray you the striga we hunt has not degenerated. We’ve come equipped to reason with something more akin to man than beast.” -Glaeddwen aep Invaerne to Marked initiate Luka of Flotsam. Lesser strigae Lesser strigae bear only a marginal resemblance to their greater striga origins. In contrast to the latter, who are capable of as much reason, thought and emotion as they were prior to their transformation, lesser strigae are little more than beasts, barely sentient. All that is unanimous between the two varieties of striga is a mutual thirst for blood - however, while the sentient greater striga are capable of going about slaking their thirst through calculated means, lesser striga are not. They are unable to regenerate wounds to even half the degree greater strigae are, and will not be able to form into a new body upon death (On account of the unwillingness of their kin to help them do so) making them a particularly undesirable state for any greater striga to reach. However, their regenerative abilities are still latent, and their brain must be destroyed to be sure of their death. Lesser strigae are mindless in their pursuit of blood, having completely lost their grip on reality and become totally animalistic in nature. They shy away from sunlight and the day, hiding away in sewers, forests and caves. They may not assume either of the two forms a greater striga assumes, instead being confined to their own twisted shell, and are therefore unable to blend into society as they once were. In contrast to greater strigae who retain some delicacy in their feeding, lesser strigae do not simply bite a victim and drain their blood. They more characteristically tear a victim to shreds in a show of gory dismemberment, licking up the blood from the ground with long, rasping tongues. A striga will usually suffer degeneration if they overindulge on blood, draining more than one adult meal of its life essence in the span of a seed-month. Degeneration is incurable and irreversible - it can only inevitably proceed further, and will never improve. There are many different types and forms of lesser striga depending on their level of degeneration, with the most immediate kind and the state of the least devolution being the upir, the greatest the carcoran. These labels are merely those which have been applied to the various lesser strigae by scholars of monsters such as the Marked Men - they are biologically the same creature, just at varying stages of degeneration. Portrait of a male upir The upir is a fiendish, crazed striga who has recently succumbed to their blood-drunk bestial habits. Their flesh is taught and grey, and their faces are sunken. Their claws are permanently present, and their maws distort and protrude from beneath their lips. They often linger in forests and the darker recesses of cities, looking to remain near ample sources of blood. With enough cloaks and at a great distance, an upir might appear mortal on account of its humanoid shape, however in close quarters they are anything but. Walking on two legs, they shy away from sunlight, living a distinctly nocturnal lifestyle. Their humanoid physical appearance is deceiving, for they have the mind of rabid beasts and are only capable of thought in regards to one thing - their next meal. They can speak and grunt a few rudimentary words, and generally have a painful memory of their identity prior to their degeneration which they are unable to verbalize, however appear to communicate with one another. They are weaker and slower than the greater striga they once were, their bestial mind making them far less dangerous, however nevertheless a monster to be feared. In their desperation for a cure for their hungering condition (Which does not as yet exist) they have been known to attempt to appease greater strigae into tolerating their otherwise shunned presence in striga communities. They may do this by hunting and attempting to kill greater strigae who have been marked as anathema, however they rarely succeed in this ‘redemptive mission’. Their original gender is typically discernable from their appearance. A sewer-dwelling alp feeding upon a city guardsman The alp is the second-greatest stage of devolution, resulting from when an upir exists for an extended period of time, such as several years, gorging itself on blood. An alp is barely humanoid, with a belly like a barrel of beer, a thick grey trunk covered in coarse hair and a vicious, animalistic face with deadly teeth. They are strong and stout in their body shape, and possess little to no signs of the being they once were save for a few - Coren Isil records in his Journal of the Maleficarum an instance where a striga with auburn hair eventually degenerated into an alp with a head of hair the same colour. It walks on either two legs or all four, like a great ape, and reviles sunlight. Utterly incapable of speech or sentience, they are pained creatures that retain no memory of their former identity save that deep in the subconscious, tearing apart their victims and devouring both their flesh and blood indiscriminately. They have been known to feed on corpses, and often hang around crypts and mausoleums as a result, however the disgusting creatures cannot digest rotting flesh - leading to their propensity to uncontrollably vomit and purge themselves. An alp’s sole response to any stimulus is to attack it indiscriminately, and their eyesight is very poor, undertaking much of their sensation through hearing. A hulking carcoran The carcoran is the greatest stage of degeneration a striga might reach, and is arguably the most dangerous form of lesser striga. They are violent and bestial, originating from the extreme devolution of an older alp which has fed on blood for an extended period of time. The degeneration from upir through to carcoran typically takes at a minimum five years - a period of time many upirs or alps would fail to survive, as their monstrous and stupid nature makes them considerably easier to kill, even by peasants in great number. The carcoran is significantly more dangerous than its weaker counterparts, however, possessing of over-long dangling limbs bearing bloodied claws, a thick, hulking, batlike appearance and an ability to move very swiftly in the darkness. They may walk on four limbs or stoop up on two. They are blind and unable to operate in sunlight, navigating through echolocation, and as a result they mostly reside in caves and sewers similar alps, emerging only to hunt. Like any lesser striga, they are not sentient, and their mind is incapable of higher thought, their pursuit of fresh blood and meat endless and unrelenting. Bearing very little resemblance to the original form of a greater vampire, a carcoran is strong, fast and capable of some moderate intelligence by which to hunt, making them a deadly foe for even an experienced hunter of monsters. The cavern made for an unsettling, dark scene, silent aside from the steady drip of overarching stalactites. They dotted the rocky ceiling in a morbid homage to the unwelcoming maw of some unnamed behemoth. One could easily find themselves lost for an eternity in these caves, devoid of any human life. Certainly, this site was one to avoid, and as such much of the town, only a few miles back, adhered to this. Yet the trail ended here, spatterings of blood painted here and there up to a mile back ceasing abruptly at the unhinged jaw that was the cavern’s entrance. His apprentice had been taken the night before, having been sent out on his daily chore of preparing the torches for night. It had only been dusk, the setting sun still offering its deplenished rays upon the oceans of barley and hay. The cottage was only a short ride out of town, yet the abduction was seen nor heard by nary a soul. As a witch hunter, a tradesman tasked with the culling of beasts birthed from darkness itself, it was hardly his job to handle abductions, yet the crime held a particular nefariousness to it; none of the common townsfolk would dare welcome the wrath of the witch hunter on the hill over yonder, much less make off with his apprentice, an excitable yet obedient boy of about ten. This was the work of a beast of darker character, a demon beyond town lines. There would be no quarter for the culprit, vowed the witch hunter. As the hunter sauntered into the cavern, fingers twitching instinctively around the hilt of his blade, the scene became more clear. A huge cavern enveloped around him, walls absent from the sparse light offered by the moonlight peering in through the maw of the formation. His footsteps worked in unison to the uniform drip, drip of the cave, a welcome accompaniment to the ominous absence of sound. A certain mustiness found itself to the man’s nostrils as he descended into the labyrinth, a cloying, heavy scent he found easily recognizable from his line of work: death. Death was not foreign to these caves, and the hunter immediately understood the reaper’s touch had graced this abyss only too recently. As the man found himself deeper and deeper in the cavern, the friendly moonlight had dissipated to no more than a hint, causing a halt in his descent. From his pack the man withdrew a hastily prepared torch, one of those left unlit in the chore of the apprentice. He deftly lit it with his tinderbox, immediately illuminating the cave in bouncing red hues. Continuing along the path, the hunter passed the torch into his left, calloused fist, his right hand still knowingly fingering the grip of his shortsword. A bend in the path approached, the walls of the cavern veering abruptly towards the right. As the hunter rounded the bend, the opening immediately sunk deeper, ominously akin to that of a tomb. Urgency of the cause driving him on, the fellow delved deeper into the abyss, his own safety largely shelved for the wellbeing of his apprentice. The stench of death grew in magnitude as the figure descended, illuminated by his torch, burning brightly against the surrounding darkness. As he reached the bottom, the walls of the cave stretched apart, forming a chamber. As light struck halls absent of light for a thousand years, the scene became clear to the hunter. He found the young apprentice draped against the rocks opposite him in the chamber, body strewn in an inhuman, broken manner. As he hastily approached the corpse, it was clear the body was handled in a monstrous manner, work beyond the capabilities of any man. The boy’s clothing was ripped to rags, long, slicing wounds dotting his body. The throat of the apprentice had been roughly ripped open, blood and gore splattering his face and hair, yellow like the fields of wheat dotting the edge of the hunter’s property. The incisions lacing across the boy’s corpse were like nothing the hunter had seen, the work of a creature undoubtedly gargantuan in stature. His examination of the cadaver, a gruesome process having already dealt an unsettling blow to the hunter, was abruptly cut short as the deathly silence of the cave erupted in a raucous noise, a thundering blow to the cave floor shaking the vicinity and giving the hunter quite the start. Pivoting around hastily, the hunter was met face to face with a beast perhaps only ten feet beyond the flames of his torch, its fire illuminating the scene far too well. The behemoth at his opposite stood perhaps eight feet tall, a hulking beast possessing milky white limbs as thick as tree trunks. Sharp, unkempt claws caught the light of the torch, gleaming menacingly in a manner that emphasized their deadly make. It glared at him with calculating, hungry eyes, devoid of humanity yet equipped with an animalistic predation. The hunter’s frozen, shocked form broke free from the demon’s hypnotizing figure with a roar emanating across the hall, a bestial scream shaking the very foundations of the cavern. He expertly withdrew his aurum blade with a right hand, leveling it towards the beast as he once more gathered his senses. Very little time was allotted to the hunter in this regard, the gargantuan figure wasting no time in charging the man. Leveling its claws up towards the man akin to that of a stabbing saber, the beast flung itself at the hunter with strength unmatched by any man. Parrying the veering weapons of the beast, the hunter whirled to the left, allowing the monster to charge onwards into the wall. He desperately stepped away from the creature, once more attempting to gain his footing. As it pivoted and attempted a second charge, he shoved the blazing torch towards the behemoth, stopping it in its tracks with a screeching hiss. Fire was undoubtedly a deterrent, giving the creature pause that no blade could rightly produce. Gripping the torch with all his might, the hunter waved it to and fro at the beast, leveling his blade vertically in the air. The beast watched him with furious yet hesitant eyes, halting in its tracks as if waiting for the slightest mistake. For a few moments, a tense peace settled on the chamber. The peace was broken abruptly as another shattering explosion detonated across the cavern. This thunder of noise came from behind the hunter, who spun to face the new threat in the heat of the moment. Before his eyes could analyze the second beast, he had been hit with the strength matching that of a galloping horse, slamming into the rocky ground. As he gasped for air, from his grasp rolled the torch, sputtering once, twice, before extinguishing against the damp floor, plunging the chamber once more into the darkness. Rolling onto his belly, the hunter desperately fought for his bearing, scrambling across the floor of the chamber. The pure darkness of the cavern was accompanied by the returned silence he had found at the cave’s entrance, only the consistent drip of the stalactites echoing through its empty halls. Stumbling around the chamber on his hands and knees, the hunter abandoned his blade in a desperate search for the torch. He knew there was little time to locate the device, the beasts undoubtedly but a few feet away, yet his desire to find light once more in the choking, pressing darkness powered him onwards. After a few moments, the gasping hunter felt a hand wash over the familiar wood that comprised the torch. Fumbling once more with his tinderbox, the trembling hands fought to light the torch once more. After several heart-wrenching attempts, the torch gave birth to a blast of flame, once more illuminating the cavern. As the hunter gazed upwards, powered on by his small victory, he came face to face with the hulking beast, a mere three feet ahead of his prone form. Having been delivered no more than a moment of the sweet salvation that is light, the hunter found himself fallen on by the beast. The Codex of the Unseen Before they departed into hibernation, the Unseen established a code for their children to follow under pain of death. Strigae (To whom the code exclusively applies to the greater kind) take this set of principles extremely seriously, for to defy them would mark them for a permanent death at the hands of their fellows as the anathema. It is worth noting that of the seven of the ‘demonic’ Unseen, one is always awake and six remain dormant in hibernation, ruling in ‘terms’ each for a span of a roughly a hundred years. Trusted greater strigae are allocated the role of seeking out the next of the Unseen to awake in sequence on the year of the ‘change-over’, a temporary position known as the Herald of the Unseen. This cycle is considered inviolable, and the last ‘change-over’ was believed to be around 1533. The woken Unseen is known as the most ‘senior’ elder of the striga at that particular time, and his command is law so long as it is in accordance with the Codex he and his six other compatriots agreed upon originally. He or she has the power to issue a summons to any of the greater striga in the world at will. Despite this, his location is not known to any but the designated herald for the next change-over, and he leaves his servants alone and is accordingly left to his own devices, likely in some forgotten cave network. In the Unseen’s relative absence of active involvement, communally-minded greater strigae have been known to establish covens ruled over by their own (Non-Unseen) elders in accordance with the Codex, while the more solitary of their kind prefer to live among mortals or alone. There is an entire manuscript that makes up the Codex of the Unseen, however the crudely translated volumes elucidate seven key points which form the foundation of the golden law followed by all greater striga. One must never drink the blood of and kill another fellow greater striga. All those who defy this principle shall be considered anathema. One must always remain unquestioningly obedient to the Unseen. All those who defy this principle shall be considered anathema. One must always provide fraternal assistance to any fellow striga whose body has been destroyed, and they must be helped to regenerate. All those who defy this principle shall be considered anathema. One must never consort with the lesser striga, for they are beasts and a shame upon our kind, and are considered to be anathema. One must never consort with the anathema, and must consider them exempt from the privileges of any greater striga, and thereby anathema are worthy of present death. One must always endeavour to avoid bringing the attention of mortals onto the greater strigae. One must always consider it their duty to cremate the cast-off flesh, leavings and destroyed bodies of any fellow striga.

“Never make a defense or apology before you stand accused.” -Guy de Bar, King of Oren, dated 1524 Despite its grim implication, the role accorded to Augustus d’Amaury, Archduke of Lorraine was the envy of the Orenian command. That warren of filth and lawlessness, Fort Dunamis, had long plagued the Empire--long enough that the honor of its eradication was an enticing distinction. Nonetheless, the Iron Duke took scant satisfaction in his assigned duty. It was little more than a perfunctory execution; the cowardly, dwarf-like Dunamites were accustomed to hit-and-run tactics. Surrounded by a prison of their own construction, unable to make use of their marauding cavalry, they would easily fall. His men, however, were less stoic. Shouted from regiment to regiment from between gulps of ale, the most common campfire topic was the legendary fifty ways to gut a Dunamite. Archduke Augustus gladly permitted this. He did not begrudge the men their celebration, even when a spirited brawl broke out over the difference between gutting and eviscerating--a highborn word rarely heard by the rank and file. And all the better that their arguments were heard easily from the walls of Fort Dunamis. On the eve of the battle, of course, a determined calm would fall over the camp, as kegs were packed away and horses re-shoed, swords polished and levies drilled. From the east, siege towers and ballistae would arrive through the Marnadal Valley, and elven scouts would take their place among the human columns. In accordance with tradition, the Emperor’s envoy intended to make a final offer for the surrender of the Dunamites--wholesale capitulation and appropriate punishment for each criminal. Assuming the shameful brigands even bothered to leave their den, they would foolishly reject this last mercy. And when the time came and the battle was won, Augustus d’Amaury would personally swing the sword that removed Revlis’ thieving head. _______________________________________ WARCLAIM DETAILS TYPE OF BATTLE: Siege TIME: Saturday the 20th of February, 10 PM GMT, 5 PM EST, 2 PM PST (Proposed) ATTACKERS: The Holy Orenian Empire and allied forces DEFENDERS: The Dunamite rebels and allied forces LOCATION: Fort Dunamis TERMS OF VICTORY: VICTORY FOR ATTACKERS- If the defenders are killed, or if their keep is taken, or if they are forced into an underground bunker. VICTORY FOR DEFENDERS- Attacking forces are killed or driven from the field of battle. REWARDS: Orenian victory: Fort Dunamis and its surrounding region is annexed to the Holy Orenian Empire. Dunamite victory: The area will be non-warclaimable for a one month timespan. RULES: -No status switching. -If the Dunamites are driven into an underground bunker or cellar, they immediately are conceding victory. -All LOTC rules. -If the Dunamite side do not show to their side of the warclaim, they implicitly forfeit and the Empire is allowed to take control of the region being sieged and can force a date of the next skirmish or siege as determined by Orenian command.

^ My conversation with Cosmic the other day, just as proof this has been cleared for posting.

“Did you see that little dwarf *****? I like his kind the best. Killing them is like pulling weeds, strangely relaxing.” -Artimec Camoryn, Commander of the Hrivedd nonhuman brigade The Valley of Flowers was a God-forsaken place, between the rain, the mud and the immovable spikes. It was enough to make any man of Oren wonder why they were trying to conquer it from their stunted enemies in the first place. Or perhaps that was merely the bitterness of defeat getting to them. Indeed, an advance force of Imperial men and entered the valley, but unfortunately had been repelled back as did happen from time to time when the Urguanites became cornered like rats. It was no matter, for the Empire was nothing if not resilient. If their dwarven enemies could survive massacre after massacre then surely the coalition of elves and men would dutifully march on after only being pushed away from an entrenched fortress or two. With such a lack of success, it was time to open this war onto a new front. To this end, Imperial men began pouring into the recently annexed mountain fortress of Ard Ghorrock, retreating out of Urguan and marching doggedly east, past the north of the Blue Mountains and circling around to the southern tip of the Hallowvale: inside the fortress, the commanders set their sights on a new target - one which had long plagued the Emperor and his predecessors. _______________________________________ WARCLAIM DETAILS TYPE OF BATTLE: Skirmish TIME: 13th of February 2016. 5 EST PM. ATTACKERS: The Holy Orenian Empire and allied forces DEFENDERS: Dunamis LOCATION: The fields between Fort Dunamis and Ard Ghorrock Vandoria from left in Fort Dunamis, Oren from right in Ard Ghorrock TERMS OF VICTORY: VICTORY FOR ATTACKERS- If the defenders are killed or driven from the field of battle. VICTORY FOR DEFENDERS- Attacking forces are killed or driven from the field of battle. REWARDS: Orenian victory: Initiative to proceed with a siege upon Fort Dunamis. Dunamis victory: Initiative to proceed with a siege upon Ard Ghorrock. RULES: -No status switching. -No golden apples. -No altering of terrain or construction of new fortifications after this WC is posted, on account of the suddenness of this assault. Moderated building on the fort is allowed depending on discussion in the warclaim chat, though limited to an extent comparable to Jarnstrand or Rhewengrad, as has been the precedent with first-target forts. *The field shall not be altered and moderated building will be placed on Fort Dunamis. The restrictions will carry over the two weeks between this point and the siege with the following week to this being harsher than the first. All concerns and additions may be given to the attacking side within the warclaim chat which it may be discussed. Edit made by war moderating staff to the proceeding rule in red above this one. -No exterior modification of terrain after this WC is posted may take place by the defenders, whilst traps that normally go against server precedents, such as pitfalls that instant kill, are to be removed by staff. -No construction of any new fortresses or other warclaimable fortifications designed to hinder the assailants along the warpath (Or arguably anywhere else in Vandoria, as it's a cheap tactic to prolong the war), with the would-be warpath consisting of Skirmish > Fort Dunamis > Al’Wakrah, as this image demonstrates: https://i.gyazo.com/cb3c2e71683d3f360bae7011579c31d3.png -All LOTC rules. -If the Vandorian side do not show to their side of the warclaim, they implicitly forfeit and the Empire is allowed to take control of the region being sieged and can force a date of the next skirmish or siege as determined by Orenian command.

“Blood thumps in these chessmen - you need only listen, and you will hear.” -Augustus d’Amaury, Duke of Lorraine, dated approximately 1520 Avar was under the Imperial yoke, well and truly. The island’s first conquered castle in the south, Jarnstrand, had been granted to Ser Rael Acker, dubbed the Unburned, for his insurmountable bravery in the final battle which secured the entire island for the Empire. Ferries had circled around Avar and collected Imperial troops who were stationed at the newly captured dock fortress of Kal’Valen. Within the fortnight, a flock of sails could be seen billowing across the frigid Urguanite sea, carrying the conquering force back to the mainland, back to what had formerly been Rhewengrad, to march along the coastline and back into the Valley of Flowers. The end was in sight, and this time there would be no quarter. _______________________________________ WARCLAIM DETAILS TYPE OF BATTLE: Siege TIME: Saturday the 23rd of January, 10 PM GMT, 5:30 PM EST, 2:30 PM PST (Proposed) ATTACKERS: The Holy Orenian Empire and allied forces DEFENDERS: The Grand Kingdom of Urguan and allied forces LOCATION: The fortress of Kal’Ordholm TERMS OF VICTORY: VICTORY FOR ATTACKERS- If the defenders are killed, or if their keep is taken, or if they are forced into an underground bunker. VICTORY FOR DEFENDERS- Attacking forces are killed or driven from the battle area. REWARDS: Oren victory: The fortress of Kal’Ordholm and its surrounding region from Rhewengrad north will be annexed by the Holy Orenian Empire. Urguan victory: The area will be non-warclaimable for four weeks. RULES: -No status switching. -No golden apples. -Moderated building will be placed on both parties. -In order to accommodate an actual fight, the offense and defense shall be allowed to repair (With appropriate materials) their siege engines three times from a malfunction for the purposes of creating a viable breach, on account of the offense's supply train. -If the dwarves are driven into an underground bunker or cellar, they immediately are conceding to Orenian victory. -No relocking doors/trapdoors if they are unlocked in RP during the siege. -All LOTC rules. -If the dwarves do not show to their side of the warclaim, they implicitly forfeit and the Empire is allowed to take control of the region being besieged and can force a date of the next skirmish or siege as determined by Orenian command.

“They misunderestimated me.” - Vibius de Sola, Marshal of Humanity, called the 'Traitor-Marshal', date unknown Smoke billowed into the sky on the southern end of Avar, its expanding tendrils shadowing out the beaming sun. Looking to the tundra landscape below revealed a large pile of corpses, now blackened, their ashy stubs revealing the stoutness of those who had been dwarven soldiers in life. Imperial men tossed the last of their fallen foes into the pile, dusting their hands. Cleanup around Jarnstrand was finished, and the army was anxious to march on. Mid-day came and the sun’s rays finally penetrated the macabre veil of grey which clouded the sky. A beam of hope. The imperial’s initial war-camp was all but dismantled now. The engineers had repaired the trebuchet’s destroyed in the last siege, and the walls of the encampment had been taken down. A sea of footprints led north, the Empire marched to to the castle of Kal’Valen to fully secure their hold on this frigid isle. _______________________________________ WARCLAIM DETAILS TYPE OF BATTLE: Siege TIME: Saturday the 16th of January, 10 PM GMT, 5 PM EST, 2 PM PST (Proposed) ATTACKERS: The Holy Orenian Empire and allied forces DEFENDERS: The Grand Kingdom of Urguan and allied forces LOCATION: The castle of Kal’Valen TERMS OF VICTORY: VICTORY FOR ATTACKERS- If the defenders are killed, or if their keep is taken, or if they are forced into an underground bunker. VICTORY FOR DEFENDERS- Attacking forces are killed or driven from the battle area. REWARDS: Oren victory: The fortress of Kal’Valen and its surrounding region will be annexed by the Holy Orenian Empire, as will the remainder of the dwarven-controlled region on Avar (As they would be hence bereft of their strongholds on the island). Urguan victory: The area will be non-warclaimable for four weeks. RULES: -No status switching. -No golden apples. -Moderated building will be in place for both parties. -In order to accommodate an actual fight, the offense and defense shall be allowed to repair (With appropriate materials) their siege engines three times from a malfunction for the purposes of creating a viable breach, on account of the offense's supply train. -If the dwarves are driven into an underground bunker or cellar, they immediately are conceding victory. -All LOTC rules. -If the dwarves do not show to their side of the warclaim, they implicitly forfeit and the Empire is allowed to take control of the region being sieged and can force a date of the next skirmish or siege as determined by Orenian command.

Absolutely none of the weaknesses prescribed in the RP rules for alchemist's fire are actually coded into the plugin, this we can confirm. We've been arguing against this for circa six months now - but it's not even our chief-most issue at the moment. Right now a bigger concern is that it's almost undeniable that a huge portion of your alchemist's fire is duped, however the staff's refusal to actually investigate or put the item on suspension until your innocence is determined (Or not determined, as the case may be) is complicating the scenario: hence our demands for a total ban of it.

On phone atm so I'm speaking through Matthew Hollis please stop removing his posts they generally reflect my stance

“It is how I punish those who irritate me. You know too much. You impede me too often. And I find your arrogance to be an annoyance. I’ve had men killed for less.” - Robert, Holy Orenian Emperor, to the dwarven ambassador of Grand King Wulfgar, dated 1464 The swift Imperial shift of strategy in pursuing the war aggressively had begun to reap its bountiful rewards; the Urguanite navy lay shattered and broken at the bottom of the Strait of Avar near Cape Bronson, its steamships rendered useless by sheer tactical domination, and the defensive line of the south irrevocably by the fury of the Orenian assault. It was time to push the advantage. The Emperor, Henry of Rothesay and Josef of Saintois stepped off of the command ship and onto the established beachhead on the coast of Avar, inspecting the state of things at this critical juncture. Even here, where the light of Imperial civilization seemed so far away, the advancing armies did not go wanting for any supply. Newly reared swift and hardy warhorses were brought to supplement the elite cavalry of the Empire. The highest quality steel was fashioned into the greatest blades in the known world. And the great woodworkers of the elf-realm shaped bows peerless in all history, ready for a monumental push. The Emperor and his two generals stood in the command tent with their faces wreathed with the burdens of their God-appointed task, peering down at a map of the land on which they now stood. “Gentlemen,” John began with his usual assertive tone, grey eyes flicking to the two in turn before averting back toward the map. The calculated discussion progressed for a time, before a single index finger pointed towards a spot on the map. The decision had been made. With the decision made, the trio exited the tent, moving to face the lords and commanders present. “Prepare to siege,” commanded the Emperor’s baritone, frowning thinly. _______________________________________ WARCLAIM DETAILS TYPE OF BATTLE: Siege TIME: Saturday the 9th of January, 10 PM GMT, 5 PM EST, 2 PM PST (Proposed) ATTACKERS: The Holy Orenian Empire and allied forces DEFENDERS: The Kingdom of Urguan and allied forces LOCATION: The southernmost dwarven stronghold in Avar TERMS OF VICTORY: VICTORY FOR ATTACKERS- If the defenders are killed, or if their keep is taken, or if they are forced into an underground bunker. VICTORY FOR DEFENDERS- Attacking forces are killed or driven from the battle area. REWARDS: Oren victory: The fortress and its surrounding region will be annexed by the Holy Orenian Empire. Urguan victory: The area will be non-warclaimable for two four <--(Edit: Fire) weeks. RULES: -No status switching. -No golden apples. -No altering of terrain or construction of new fortifications after this WC is posted. -In order to accommodate an actual fight, the offense and defense shall be allowed to repair (With appropriate materials) their siege engines three times from a malfunction for the purposes of creating a viable breach, on account of the offense's supply train. -If the dwarves are driven into an underground bunker or cellar, they immediately are conceding victory. -All LOTC rules. -If the dwarves do not show to their side of the warclaim, they implicitly forfeit and the Empire is allowed to take control of the region being sieged and can force a date of the next skirmish or siege as determined by Orenian command.

“No-one can fault the Emperor for bringing the dwarves to their knees.” -Lothar Horen, Imperial Justiciar, to Sohaer Kalenz Uradir, dated 1459 The Valley of Flowers had wrought a bloody swathe of victims through the Imperial ranks, dispensing its heavy handed justice over commoner, burgher and noble alike. Yet for all the blood that the cruel siege had spilt and all the wounds incurred, the advancing forces seemed implacable in their advances. The bodies were mounted high around the fortress of Khro’Nogaak, too high to offer any future assault upon the broken and ruined walls. It was a time for eyes to travel elsewhere - to search for another path through which to drive at the stout’s malignant capital. “I’ll hear no more about that damned fortress,” proclaimed Emperor John in a husky voice, his entourage marching through the war-camp of tents and his gauntleted hands wrung together as a subtle sign of his displeasure. “But how?” inquired one of the three Rothesay brothers, most likely the youngest, Baldwin, “How could our fire not undo their stone, our reserves-” He was interrupted by the Emperor’s cold gaze. “If I hear another word about Khro’Nogaak, I swear more heads will roll than that of the dwarves,” he switched his attentions at once. “Tell me, General Josef! Have you readied the transports?” _______________________________________ WARCLAIM DETAILS TYPE OF BATTLE: Skirmish TIME: Saturday the 2nd of January, 10 PM GMT, 5 PM EST, 2 PM PST (Proposed) ATTACKERS: The Holy Orenian Empire and allied forces DEFENDERS: The Kingdom of Urguan and allied forces LOCATION: (Oren from the right, Urguan from the left) TERMS OF VICTORY: VICTORY FOR ATTACKERS- If all defending forces are routed or killed. VICTORY FOR DEFENDERS- If all attacking forces are either routed or killed. REWARDS: Oren victory: Oren shall be free to advance this front onto the holdings of the Clan Grandaxe on Avar. Urguan victory: The area will be non-warclaimable for two weeks. RULES: -No status switching. -No golden apples. -Potions of all mediums will be allowed - Addition made on Dec 27th. - Fire -No altering of terrain or construction of new fortifications after this WC is posted. Addition: This will be deemed such as additional forts, walls or means to stop the advancing party. - Addition made on Dec 27th. - Fire -Additional fortifications will be moderated. The general concept being low level fortifications such as quickly made traps or wooden defenses for the first fort and more, less restricted fortifications for the second one. Both will be overseen by the Warclaim overseers. All fortifications deemed unreasonable will be removed. - Addition made on Dec 27th. - Fire -All LOTC rules. -If the dwarves do not show to their side of the warclaim, they implicitly forfeit and Oren is allowed to determine the siege on a time of their preference.

I can definitely see having an excess of magics as being an issue of balance and realism. Runesmithing is capable of a wide range of things, as is. Regarding elements and archetypes, to my mind enchanters are required to learn the magics relevant to a enchantment if they want to enchant accordingly. However, as runesmiths are exempt from that requirement, having access to a whole plethora of other magics provides for the possibility of circumstances arising which border on the ridiculous and overpowered. Sorry, but what does this have to do with anything? Are you going to provide something of any substance there or just make some 'witty' one-liner?

As the Fat Controller once said (And as your signature so displays), you are wrong. 1.) You've communicated nothing to me about any of this. 2.) Your side are on the defensive on this war, and don't have leave to make random warclaims for that reason. I'm not even going to go into the intricacies of the situation if that **** was permitted. 3.) This is at the same time as an existing warclaim, and ours was posted first, thereby gaining precedence. First come, first served. So in the words of Sigismund Dijkstra, no deal. 4.) Moreover, a skirmish is required before any conquest to obtain initiative. 5.) You're not even a nation, Narthok. You're a guild. I don't even know why I have to justify you not being able to WC us for this reason - everything is just impossible with you. If the powers at be would be so kind as to lock this topic.

“Kill 'em all, boys!” -Josef Vladov, General of the Imperial Army, dated 1537, commanding the Siege of Rhewengrad With their victory in the capture of Fort Rhewengrad, the Imperial armies, not at all content in that meagre conquest, march forth into the Urguanite territory dubbed the Valley of Flowers. Appointing a substantial garrison to maintain and repair this newly obtained Orenian possession, the collective of Imperial soldiers consisting of both man and elf alike trample the tundra underfoot as their columns ascend into the great ravine, their heavy siege engines and Vandorian mercenaries in tow. The men bang their pikes, glaives and swords against their tower shields to chants of 'God protect Emperor John!', 'God save General Josef!' and most compellingly 'Rothesay, Rothesay, Rothesay!'. ______________________________ WARCLAIM DETAILS TYPE OF BATTLE: Siege TIME: Saturday the 19th of December, 10pm GMT, 5pm EST, 2pm PST ATTACKERS: The Holy Orenian Empire and allied forces DEFENDERS: The Kingdom of Urguan and allied forces LOCATION: The stronghold of Khro'Nogaak TERMS OF VICTORY: VICTORY FOR ATTACKERS- If the defenders are killed, or if their keep is taken, or if they are forced into an underground bunker. VICTORY FOR DEFENDERS- Attackers are killed or driven from the battle area. REWARDS: Oren victory: Khro'Nogaak and its surrounding general region (The surrounding valley) will be annexed by the Holy Orenian Empire, with the clearance to siege the Urguanite capital next. Urguan victory: The area will be non-war claimable for a month. RULES: -No status switching. -No golden apples. -The defenders may not alter terrain or construct new fortifications after Thursday night 5pm PST. -All LOTC rules. -If the defenders do not show to their side of the warclaim, they implicitly forfeit and attackers are allowed to determine the next battle on a time of their sole preference. -In order to accommodate an actual fight, the offense and defense shall be allowed to repair (With appropriate materials) their siege engines three times from a malfunction for the purposes of creating a viable breach, on account of supply train. -TNT disabled if there is no bunker below the coord 83. -No underground fort modifications permitted. -Starting now, no items may be moved from the fort and its adjoining structures.

“If it were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly, But that this blow might be the be all and end all, here.” -Unknown, a translation commonly attributed to Rex Ubba’Ugluk the Conqueror With the dwarven forces deployed in the Battle of White Mountain routed, the Holy Orenian Empire has pressed forward unto the fortress of Rhewengrad. Henry of Rothesay, Imperial Fieldmarshal, has taken command of the impending siege and by Imperial order, continues the campaign against the Kingdom of Urguan for their transgressions against mankind. Aiding him are scores of shipments from the east; tons of wheat, barley, timber, iron, cloth, and other wartime commodities flood the Outremer through Luciensport and Erochland to fund the invasion. Imperial soldiers began to dig trenches deep into the earth, erect makeshift palisades, haul siege weapons, and establish a formidable camp to hold the grounds gained in their victory. As outriders and skirmishers fight another between the Fieldmarshal’s post and the dwarven garrison, a most bloody assault seems inevitable by the turn of the year. “Gentlemen soldiers,” proclaimed the Emperor in his address to the encamped forces, comprised of various men-at-arms, conscripts, knights, arbalests, landsknechts, artillerists and camp followers alike, “We are here in the south to do a solemn duty, a burden that has always fallen to mankind above all - to liberate the people of Outremer from the Urguanite yoke in the name of the sword and the cross. I remember when they had a monarch with some legitimacy, a good-hearted dwarf of steadfast moral character. My friend and ally Uldar, whom alone I would have entrusted to reform them from their profligate ways, they betrayed. For that itself is enough to warrant death, not to mention the hundreds of other slights they have inflicted upon us.” John pauses for a moment, holding aloft his broadsword to the sky. “The halfmen will never cease their intrigues, not until they have been taught a steadfast lesson, and you my men shall be the ones to finally teach it to them after nigh upon a century of campaigning! They started this war, and now we shall give them what they deserve.” ______________________________ WARCLAIM DETAILS TYPE OF BATTLE: Siege TIME: Saturday the 12th of December, 10pm GMT, 5pm EST, 2pm PST ATTACKERS: The Holy Orenian Empire and allied forces DEFENDERS: The Kingdom of Urguan and allied forces LOCATION: The stronghold of Rhewengrad TERMS OF VICTORY: VICTORY FOR ATTACKERS- If the defenders are killed, or if their keep is taken, or if they are forced into an underground bunker. VICTORY FOR DEFENDERS- Attackers are killed or driven from the battle area. REWARDS: Oren victory: Rhewengrad and its surrounding general region will be annexed by the Holy Orenian Empire. Urguan victory: The area will be non-war claimable for a month. RULES: -No status switching. -No golden apples. -The defenders may alter terrain or construct new fortifications after this WC is posted. -All LOTC rules. -If the defenders do not show to their side of the warclaim, they implicitly forfeit and attackers are allowed to determine the next battle on a time of their sole preference. -In order to accommodate an actual fight, the offense and defense shall be allowed to repair (With appropriate materials) their siege engines three times from a malfunction for the purposes of creating a viable breach, on account of the offense's supply train. -TNT disabled. -No underground fort modifications subsequent to this post. All additional modifications must be on ground level. -Starting now, no items may be moved from the fort and its adjoining structures.