Coaster

A muttered curse and two guards bearing the flayed man accompanied Lord Augustus Blackmont, formally August Flay through the doors to the gathering. For months he had been confined to a bed - wroth with a great sickness that almost saw him to his death. But Augustus Blackmont was no man to be taken by a mere illness - no - he had survived; and at the entrance he stood. He was shaking from gout, wrinkles on his face, silver and grey hair atop his head. His knuckles were bare white and bony as they clutched desperately to his sword hilt. Despite his great renown and fame, few knew that the Lord Blackmont had been married three times. Three times married and three times widowed. Some whisper of poison, others of a curse for the mans evil ways - but none know for certain. A hex it might well have been, for all the women he had known, Augustus could never bring about children. He was well aware of his infirmity, of his coming death, and he cursed the Gods - old, new, dead, living - that he had not been born an elf. Soon he would die, and all he would leave behind was history books and ashes. He needed a son, a legacy; but for this he needed a new wife. For months he had spread the word, visited various famlies, but to no avail, by now most would know that he was at least looking. Though he was not as powerful as he once was, nor wealthy, nor feared, he still commanded some semblance his former holdings. Only a foolish Lord could ignore the soldiers, resources, and influence that Lord Blackmont offered in return for daughters and sisters. He eyed the various gathered nobility, grumbling. His new vassal Lord Carrion, the upstart Stafyrs, the proud but defunct Silverblades - and of course, the new shining stars of Oren - the Chivays. Nevertheless, he was willing to go to great lengths, bow and stoop, to obtain what he wanted - what he needed. The old man blinked, and looking to his guards, stepped into the cesspit that was Oren society and politics. Meow

The dirt covers the corpse gradually - gravel sprinkled over the top. The man had served well, at the least. August watched on as Drelik placed a bandanna on the grave, in commemoration for his service. They stood around the grave, the three who had killed their former comrade in arms. "Such is the fate of oathbreakers," August retorted. With a nod, they pushed out the memories of how Cailean had lived, but rather how he died. A sword in his hand, a traitor to their cause. Though true to his words, August had not had the corpse flayed, as was tradition for enemies of his. For Cailean Baelish was no enemy, just a man who had served and died - as the oath he had sworn so many years bid him do.

August Blackmont gathers his bannermen and is content to sit and wait as things develop.

((Hiebe that was me and my guys, we were hired by Salvus to fight but Alras outbid them so we fought with the coalition instead. I think we were the only Renatus people there.))

Their breathing was heavy, the sound of a hundred feet above them - bustling like ants. The mine shaft seemed to barely hold the small party, and only seemed to get smaller as they limped through. A man fell, he was left behind, light could be seen up ahead. So close. He could hear the enemy now, they had entered the shaft behind them, and would soon catch up. They hustled faster without a word, six men of the Teutonic Order, eight of House Flay - once sworn enemies , now running for their lives together. All at once, they burst through at the end...to the sight of the enemy, twenty strong, weapons drawn. A yell, the unsheathing of a blade next to him, a haggard moan. Some just knelt into the sand, exhausted - others gave a cry and attacked. He himself scrambled onto the mountain face, desperate to get away. As he rushed to climb up the hill, he felt a hand grab onto his leg, pulling him in. He looked back over his shoulder, and saw his dead men clawing for him, cursing him, moaning through bloodless lips and with croaked voices. Spears through their guts, arrows in their necks. He opened his mouth and let out a blood curdling scream. August Flay jolted as the dream ended, awakening in the garrison quarters of his new dwellings - a dismal place with ghouls and ghasts aplenty. Only a few others shared the room, the fort was dead silent, except for the incessant scraping of a blade against a whetstone; a man sitting in the corner tending to his sword. It had been almost one month since the disaster, when the allied forces of the Orcs, Dwarves and White Rose had crushed him and the Teutonic Order. His most decisive defeat, on the scale of his failed rebellion against the Emperor Godfrey decades ago. He stood, having fallen asleep against the wall and paced the empty halls. He nodded to the one or two sentries he saw, bored and snoring against their spears. No one had much bothered him since then, all were convinced he was broken forever. Destroyed utterly, with no chance of recovery. His sworn man Yert approached from opposite the hall he was walking in, a bundle of papers in his hand. August muttered a low greeting, then accepted the documents. Schematics for a catapult, a long list of names, a tally of recent spending, three scrolls with the sigils of various lords adorned on the front, a sealed letter. "Have these redrawn. Have this list updated, half the current garrison will join the others. Ensure the payment I laid out arrives on time. Send the Lords my regards and ensure them they will not regret their decision." Yert grunted, uttering a barely audible goodbye, and strode off, leaving August standing alone - the sealed letter in his hand. He looked at it, relatively unimportant despite the seal of the Imperial family emblazoning the front. He opened it, and smiled faintly as he read the contents. An approval of his request. It had been hard to make the choice, but necessary, it was the only way his future plans could come into fruition. The legal changing of his name, as suggested by the Emperor. August Flay was no more. House Flay was no more. The bandannas that so marked his men for death would be no more. He removed a piece of charcoal and signed the letter brusquely. Augustus Blackmont, Lord of House Blackmont

August Flay Nicknames: Prince, Lord Bandit Age: Unknown, late fifties to mid sixties. Gender: Male. Race: Human. Status: Alive. Description Height: Around six foot. Weight: 160-170 pounds. Body Type: Average build. Eyes: Green Hair: Originally brown, now grey. Skin: Tanned. Markings/Tattoos: N/A Health: Growing frail due to age. Personality: Intensely competitive and power hungry, is extremely untrustworthy. Almost only has his own interests at heart. Further Details: Constantly wears a blood red bandanna that has become his trademark, has taken to donning full plate most times. Life Style Alignment*: Chaotic Evil. Deity*: None. Religion: Oren Reformed. (Nominally) Alliance/Nation/Home Holy Oren Empire. (Nominally) Job/Class: General of the Empire. Title(s): Marquis, Marshal. Profession(s): Tactician, strategist. Special Skill(s): N/A Flaw(s): Overconfident. Magic* N/A Weaponry Fighting Style: Unorthodox Preferred Weapon: One handed sword. Favored Weapon: Skinning knife. Biography Parents: Unknown. Siblings: Tiberius Flay (Fate unknown), Gawyn Flay (Deceased) Children: N/A Extended Family: Atticus Flay (Nephew, baseborn) History

Mud splatters against the iron boots of the party, three men - one in full plate - the other two in assorted leathers and mail. The one in the center wears a blood red bandanna around the bottom half of his face, a mess of brown and grey hair atop his head. August Flay and his guard. As they approach the Imperial Plaza, August clicks his tongue, and the guards lean lazily on their spears; keeping watch, their tabbards emblazoned with the sigil of the flayed man. He wore his usual affair, a jumble of mismatched clothing, dirty with grit - all covered by the steel plate he had taken to wearing constantly. He enters the building, and looks around, taking in the guests, all of equal or greater social status then he. His eyes stop at the sight of the Grand Marshall, and he scowls, he still begrudged the man for taking the position that he thought rightfully his, he who conquered Seventis in one fell swoop, who tamed Hanseti with one simple ruse. He thinks about leaving, but decides against it, current events force him to stay. By now there has been at least some word that he wishes to marry again, so as to continue the line of House Flay and produce an heir. He accepts a drink from a serving man and looks on, hoping that any one of the Lords present can see past his reputation to grasp that marriage would mean his men, his political support, and a very significant dowry.

If Knox/Perfectionist haven't crossed the line with graphic violence, then what is the line? Just alluding to movies in real life is not effective, nor does it accurately portray exactly what we are supposed to refrain from. I'd like clarification on this so I know I don't break any rules. Having a villainous group that is based primarily on skinning people alive - this does not bode well - and I want to make sure none of my guys get in trouble.

oh

The sun bore down onto the beach, its rays pounding the empty coast. The sands steamed and then sizzled as sea water rolled over it. The shadows of birds ominously glided smoothly over a seemingly featureless beach; but not for one figure, limp and wet upon the shore. He had been a Lord once, with a castle and men to man it, great power and all the riches in the world. This broken, smelly thing on the beach. This aged man that woke, coughing raggedly as he looked around. Land. Sweet land at last. He rose, his creaking bones told of his infirmity. Covered in sand, drenched in water, the survivor treaded inland. He had kept his sanity, somehow; what was left of it to begin with anyway. He'd been a Lord once. He'd once had a castle, soldiers, power, riches. He'd once had it all, and at this thought the wretched creature had been brought to his knees, they sunk in the soft sand. The heat beat on his back - the sun was unrelenting that day - but the man did not care. He allowed himself a few moments to collect his thoughts, emotion was one thing he never cared for, this old man. He breathed in deep, the salty smell of the ocean reinvigorating him. With a determination in his eyes that burned with a resolve to live, the man who seemed like to fall apart at the seams marched confidently into the nearby brush without a falter in his step. He'd been a Lord once, with a castle and soldiers; power and riches. Now all he had was the torn red mask that he wore around his neck, as old and ragged as himself. That, and a name. August Flay. A man who wanted it all back. Off in the distance, a man in red points and shouts. ((Voiding all the RP that occurred in the 5 minutes I was on last night. Apparently I embarrassed myself pretty badly. I apologize, I was in no state to be playing minecraft.

So you read the document...but you only went over one tiny part of it. I don't see why everyone is treating Bannanna's revoked Va like its the biggest issue, Robin the least you can do is go over all the complaints on the document, not just the situations of a few players...

August Flay sits at home with his wife and burps.

August Flay sheds a tear of joy

TRAITOR!))

August Flay wonders how he can be mobbed and assaulted by rotten fruit when he never left his home.

August Flay burps.

Fits of rage can be heard from the manor of August Flay in Arethor. A man, visibly shaken exits, he makes his way to the central fountain and begins making announcements. P-People of Are-Arethor and this Holy Oren Empire! I have grievous news which besets m-my heart with sorrow! Recently, the Lord August Flay, Lord Prominent of Seventis and Warden of the North has been wedded to Ari Hightower, in the witness of God and the people of this Empire, a t-time of much joy and happiness for the people and the Lord Flay! The man pauses for a moment, taking time to regain his composure and voice. But this happiness was stolen from him! The dwarves of the Urguan Empire kidnapped Ari Hightower soon after, leaving three men of Flay dead and a great sadness on the Lord! This action cannot be forgiven! The Lord Flay is offering 5 blocks of solid diamond for the man or woman who can bring him his wife back! Vengeance has been sworn, but the Lord Flay hopes some peaceful resolution is still achievable! Be wary people of Arethor, and be vigilant!

((due to the ddos, the wedding will be today, at 3pm est))

HE METAGAMED YOUR CASTLE, also pushing wedding back to 5pm est because of crash))

August Flay burps In God's witness I have already been re-communicated to the church and my supposed sins forgiven.

LOL WHAT A LOSER

My bandanna has more swag

A town crier yells in the center of Arethor, passing out fliers with information. When a sufficient amount of people gather, he speaks. Hear ye' people of Arethor and Oren! A joyous day is soon upon us! I am here to announce the wedding of Lord August Flay, Lord Prominent of Seventis and Warden of the North, patron of the former House Flay - and Baroness Ari La Fay of Salvus of the line La Fay, come two elven days, at the church of Saint Everard here in Arethor! All members of society, from the peasant to the Emperor himself are permitted to come, save for the Sarients of the Teutonic Order and Hightowers of Salvus! The celebration will be grand, but be warned, any show of weapons, armor, or persons unwanted will result in punishment! The crier begins passing out informational fliers When: Two elven days ((Sunday 23nd of July 3PM EST)) Where: The Church of Saint Everard in Arethor Who: Everyone except the Teutonic Order and members of House Hightower Additional Information: Anyone causing trouble or with weapons and armor will be killed on the spot by guards.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO))