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Old Fart
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About Swgrclan

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  1. [MART] The Riftwalker's Grasp

  2. [MArt] The Prophet's Kiln

    oh boy here i go jumping into the first flame again
  3. Lower the amount of spooks?

    It seems that there isn't an actual issue at all here, but rather one being perceived because dark creature populations are making an incline. If we really get down to the nit and gritty, the reason for there being so many spook players is because playing a spook or being involved with spook magic is starting to become more and more interesting to people. Would it be appropriate for a forced drawback to be put on all of spooks if they came to eventually consist of, say 75% of the server's population? It wouldn't, because it would be a very IC circumstance that people should deal with IC. Less focus needs to be put on dismantling growing dark art populations and rather regard it as some kind of age of darkness, because if spooks start to grow and become a majority, it presents very interesting roleplay avenues.
  4. Date unknown. He felt a presence looming over him for the past twenty years. Encroaching, ever so slightly, with every day passed, he knew what he felt would soon be upon him; and so he ran. Abdiel Ipos, the Ashkeeper, the “Lord-Commander” and Hand of War as King Malineer Dralguna of Devirad had proclaimed him, left all behind with the very keen, nearly maddening awareness that his demise would soon come and snuff the precious flame he clung to life away. The ancient Dark Elf had his fair share of running in life - once, he served the God of Ruin, and when his plots came to a most bitterly ironic degradation, he ran. Once, he stood among the first of the Gravelords as a terrible and wretchedly powerful Wraith, and when he could not bear to suffer its vice anylonger, he ran from it. When he recorded the scriptures of Xion from a flame that could speak like a man, and then spread it across the mortal world, he ran again, knowing others would seek him out in an effort to destroy the truths he had forged upon old paper with ink. But he couldn’t run from this. It was a chase that reflected a deep and long-time kinship- a children’s game of ‘tag’, soiled by the righteous demand for brotherly bloodshed. It anchored his soul in vicious determination, driving him to leave everything at the one hope he would survive, but his years of deceit and wretchedness caught up with him in the form of a man. A relative. A cousin. A brother, bearing Dragonsblood. They stood over the precipice of the Abyss that churned endlessly below in its perpetual suffering. His hunter, by the name of Adeodatus Ipos, once Akal, stood some distance afar clad in armor that denoted some ancient Oren knight’s adornments; and within his hands were held a shield and a blade, blessed by the God of Sunlight above, Xan. Adeodatus was prepared- for from his father he inherited the same boundless intellect and sharp wit as the dear cousin he had been searching for for the past half-century. But so was Abdiel, as he always was, even when standing upon the edge of the great and terrible maw that he made an oath to preach of until his dying days. Clasping a light, steel sabre in the false metal left hand of his, Abdiel kept his stance idle as he faced his cousin. “Finally here,” He breathed out, his face without the helmet that matched his accursed Ashkeeper’s armor. “It took you… too long, but you came. I’ve been waiting, Akal. Waiting for this day ever since I saw it in the stars, and now I finally know they did not lie to me.” Adeodatus, too, lacked a helmet; and whereas his long hair was tied back neatly to reveal his scarred, but undirtied face, his kin afar was unkept and grime-laden; his tresses a mess, marked with gray that streaked through the black as though he suffered the curse of Humans, his face bearing the ratty, developing beard of a foul transient. Abdiel’s one eye was pinned unblinkingly upon his bloodsharer, yet alike Adeodatus, his countenance was calm and stoic in the face of certain doom. He was ready for the end, it seemed. “It doesn’t matter how long I took to find you, Abdiel. I knew from the day you crawled to my homestead like a jabbering dog, entrenched in the practicees of a Fel God, that I would have to find you again… I shouldn’t have let you leave me that day. I let you… sprout to tumor on this world, Abdiel. I shouldn’t have let you leave.. I shouldn’t have…” “But you did. That’s my mark upon you, cousin,” The scarred Dark Elf droned fiercely in response, breaking the image of calm he kept up all this time. “Or should I say… brother?” Adeodatus’ face contorted into an expression of hot, smoldering rage as though the statement of kinship taunted at something deep within him. Suddenly, he rushed forward, longsword raised high in the air with kiteshield held over his face before he swung the blade down with unrelenting might and speed. Yet-- despite the erosion on his body, the betrayal of the flesh brought upon by all manner of arcane, Abdiel raised the leftward, false arm attached to him, and parried the assault with ease; quickly stepping to the side. Words had ceased as they phased into their rite of bloodshed; both moving with swift skill, with sharp duress, with parallel ferocity. The clash of blades resounded through the empty valley, where no one could take witness or adhere to them, for no one was left to help either side. Neither of them needed help, nor did they deserve it. And no one deserved to interrupt. But Abdiel was not as capable of his dear cousin. Often did his stance slip, his strikes miss; and though that bastardized, phantom-pain addled arm of his bore no sense of exhaustion or wear, the rest of his body did. That black art, that Necromancy he had clung to for ages finally betrayed him, stabbing him in the back with frail bones, softened flesh and failing muscle. He was nothing, here, and their battle only delayed the inevitable. But one strike proved Abdiel bore some luck; a swift cut to Adeodatus’ sword-arm, and the longsword was dropped upon the dead, bewitched earth. Growling in frustration, the Iposian knight threw his shield to the side and suddenly converged upon Abdiel with something he could not match- strength. The sabre was deftly smacked from his false hand before another gauntlet rushed forward to bash him in the face, sending him reeling backward. He stared Adeodatus in the face with brief shock- as though he stared into a distorted mirror. His cousin’s one eye, other having been taken from him with the empty socket covered with an eyepatch, was filled with tremendous rage; and his own one eye, with the other having been taken by a treacherous bloodmage and left covered only by the eyelid, was flush with growing mania and deranged acceptance. Having lost his composure and focus in this brief moment of maddening awareness, Abdiel let Adeodatus take hold of him by the shoulder plates, gripping them with an unmatched and unbridled hold. He seethed his breaths through bared teeth that only parted to utter words laced with a fury only the most scorned of men could utter: “No more!” He released Abdiel, and then struck him in the face again, sending him stumbling backwards and ever-closer to the cliff’s edge that dipped down into the deep Abyss. In a fumbling rush, the ancient Necromancer withdrew his own curved dagger, determined to leave a mark before his certain departure. His cousin’s words forced a twisted smile onto his lips as Adeodatus continued to speak, having rushed close enough to send another unavoidable strike to his barely protected sternum. “All the people I murdered… by letting you live.” Reduced to a stumbling mess, all Abdiel could do is laugh; doing so in such volume, with such hysterica, that he could not even breathe- but even still, with his face painted by his own blood that hided the bruises, he could still keep focus on the charging Adeodatus. That was his own bane-- he became too rash, and thus his maddened cousin caught him in a snare. Striking at the Paladin’s face with his false hand, the dagger he had just drawn was uselessly dropped to the ground as Adeodatus stumbled behind him before being gripped by his hair and then pulled downward with enough, surprising strength to force him onto his back. Abdiel clambered down upon him, pressing his living right hand upon the warrior’s shoulder as though he thought he had the strength to keep him down whereas Adeodatus was only truly upon the ground because of his daze. And then the cold, metal fingertips wrapped around the Paladin’s throat, and began to choke him; stealing away his air, before shortly after, he began to sap the very life from Adeodatus’ body. The Ipos choked and struggled beneath Abdiel as his cousin ripped from him the very essence that bid all things life, if only to give him the last bit of energy the Necromancer needed to survive. “It’s finally here, isn't it?!” Abdiel bellowed as he stared down at Adeodatus with a gaze gripped with utter insanity, his entire facade of morality that his mission under Xionism finally free. “The moment we’ve been waiting for!” His cousin could not respond, he could not breathe, he could not move; his one eye closing tightly as he suffered, with fleeting thoughts darting through his head like arrows cutting through the air; flecks of the wretched belief that he was about to die. But he would not. The stars did not say so. Shakily raising his left gauntlet, he struck Abdiel across the face and broke his focus into a million pieces as the Necromancer toppled to the side with a broken nose that began to gush blood from the impact. They were both bloodied, worn, their bodies suffering-- and so the clash seemed to fade in its ferocity as all they could do is force themselves to stand. But they kept fighting. One strike after another, as though they took turns; fists striking against faces, blood spilt by brethren, while the day churned on into dusk. The moon peeked over the horizon as they continued to strike each other down, while they both refused to take the knee of defeat. It is said that the Iposians bear the blood of Dragons, passed down from their ancestor the First Lord Thrasamund. But it was also said, in his days, that Thrasamund struck a Drake down with his very hands-- and thus history repeated itself here. Like his progenitor before him, Adeodatus did not falter before his enemy that was laden was the afflictions of the deepest, darkest corruption. As the moonlight began to replace the sunlight, Abdiel was forced onto his knees as he went still from the final blow. Defeat was certain from the beginning, and he knew it. The madness gave way to the weight of clarity, forcing him back into the reality of his fall. Falling forward, he held himself up by his living arm as the false one, made alive by the work of arcane, suddenly went limp at his side. “Fi̧r͡e wil͏l.̡.. sp̷r͝ea҉d ͝a͜crosş ͞t͢he ̀w͡or͞l̸d́,͜” Abdiel groaned out coarsely, his eye half-open as he stared at the ground as he breathed uneven breaths. “Th͝e͏ G̀o̷ds̀ ͞will̷.͡.. ço͢ntinue ͢to...̴ ̕us̢e҉ our͢ wo̵r̢l͜d ͡l͏ike ̴a... pl̸aygr̸o͠ưn͢d̡…” With a deep, agonized groan, he began to shakily stand, raising his gaze to finally settle upon his cousin. His brother. “Thei͡r sins ͞w̷ill ̡go ͟un̵not̷ice͡d̵ ̡b̵y t҉hę ͟peo͘ple͘.͠.̛.͢ ̸and ͘the͜ la͜nd̸s t̸h̷ey w̷i̷ll̸ ͞k͡e͟ep s͡ear͜ch͢i̶ng fór… wi̷ll sto̡p ̵a̵ppȩarin̵g̴ ov͘er͞ ţh̷e ̷hoŗizo̶n.” Adeodatus could not gather the willpower to speak, but instead just stared at his closest of kin. He already knew his victory was achieved. Perhaps the last thing he could give to the one who shared his blood were these words, and what unsettling revelation they bore. “I'̨v̸e ́d̷r̀awn a̵.͢... pa͞r̶a͟l͠lél, ́Ak͡a͟l̶. ͢We͟'re͢ ̶j҉ust͜ ͟pieces o͏n a g̶a͝me boa̛rd.͠..̕ re͠pe̢a͘ting̛ ţhe s҉ame ̢thing̀ ̢th͘a͞t ́ha͝ppened ͞aģes͏ b̛e͠f̢o̡r͘e. ̛I̛ have͘.̴.̧. ̷f̧ina͘l͡ly͠ ̶realiz̵e̵d th͏e vener̢a͡b͠l̵e Namele͢s̷s͟ ̡Lo̵r̛d'̡s faţe... ͟a͢ǹd n̸o͞w li̷ke͡ h̛e͜ h҉ad,̢ ̀I͟ wil̀l҉... d͏i̷sapp̛ear͘.̡” A wry, heartfelt smile drew across his split lips. It was genuine- the first true smile that came to him in years. In decades. He had a moment of recollection - of his wife, of his son. Abdiel always told himself everything he did, every tragedy he caused, every living soul made dying by his hand, was for their survival; for their prosperity and growth. He kept the distant belief that it was all a ruse, a falsity, in the back of his mind the whole time. All he knew now was that he’s fought for years because he was born to, and like all other men entrenched in a life riddled with bloodshed, he was just an animal. His cousin was an animal. His father was an animal. The Old Lords were animals. Xionism was a book written by a beast. The old Necromancer began to stumble back, ever so closely to the Abyss’ edge. His eye widening at this, Adeodatus stumbled forward in turn, as though compelled by some strange desire to keep his cousin away from his fate, even if it meant to turn his entire conquest into a contridiction. The Paladin’s hand raised toward Abdiel as his mouth opened to speak, yet could not produce words. “I w҉o͟n't ̨be҉ ҉r̸em͜em͡bere͘d ́a̕s ͟w̢ha̡t I̶'͝v̨e͡ b̧een. ̷I̛ do̸n͏'̸t w͜anţ ̧to b̕e r͏em͞e͡m͠ber͡e̸d.̵” A disheveled series of soft chuckles departed from the old Dark Elf as he held his side, the pained noise soon breaking into a bout of harsh coughing. His soles tickled the edge of the cliff, and before he willingly let himself tip backward without an inkling of apprehension, he uttered one last thing. “W͟e.̸..̀ ̧aŕę ̵bo̸r̕n, b̢y t͡he da͞r҉k͡.̕..͡ ͠Ma͘d͝e.̛.. ͘m͘èn... ̴by̛ ͞t͏he ͏da̴r̀k͢.͡.҉.̶ ͡Únd͏o͠n̡e b͟y ҉t́h̡e dar̕ḱ.” Adeodatus watched his brotherly cousin descend into the Abyss below; down, down, down, until he could not be seen, until the impact could not be heard. And as he stood there in the moonlight, he wondered if it was even worth it in the first place.
  5. [Addition] [Creature] Striga

    The lack of magic in the Striga race was an intentional feature to ensure their balance. They don't need a mixture of both arcane capacity and inhumane physical capabilities, like every other playable nonmortal entity. The lore's fine as-is.
  6. MC Name: Idolomun Character's Name: Abdiel Ipos Character's Age: 450 Character's Race: Dark Elf Link to your accepted MA: N/A What magic(s) will you be teaching?: Resonant Knight magic, known as Strength of the Abyss. Summarise the Lore of this magic(s): Strength of the Abyss is a form of dark art that is derivative of a form of essence known as Stagnant Lifeforce, which is Lifeforce that has ceased its flow and therefore remains anchored and "still" either in the earth, the air, or any living beings that it inhabited during the time it was stagnated. By the consumption of a Soul Shadow via cannibalism, a mortal being may bring stagnation upon themselves and utilize their "Abyssal" souls as anchors with which their Lifeforce, and any Lifeforce that naturally flows into them, is used for spells within the SotA spell compendium. Through their stagnation, something of a small Abyss awakens inside mortals who take this rite. It is said all things stagnated draw relation back to the Abyss itself, and Resonant Knights concrete this theory, for they themselves resonate directly with it and thus draw upon its "strength", able to fashion spells that are mostly designed around the affliction of pain, offensive projectiles and the nullification and defense against Aengudaemonic powers, which is known to be weakened a great deal when under the Abyss', and Abyss derivative, influence. Write up a lesson that your character would give to a student: As advised by "Niv_Mizzet", local MT member, I would like to clarify that I wrote the magic and had already been giving lessons to my selected students (prior to my removal as LT), so I don't recognize the necessity in developing an entire lesson. If there are qualms with this, I would prefer to be contacted before a judgement is made. Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it: Necromancy, Electrical Evocation, Enchanting, Mental Magic Do you agree to keep the MT updated on the status of your magic app by using the Magic List Errors topic?: Yes. Have you applied to teach this magic on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app: No.
  7. [Denied] [Actor] Swgrclan

    Minecraft Name: Idolomun Discord: notxephos#1921 Time-Zone: American Central/EST Do you, or have you held, any other staff positions? Please mention if you are intending on applying for GM as an ET: In mid-Asulon (2.0) I was apart of the Application Team. From what I recall, I believe I worked under Capt0z’s leadership during that time. I was taken onto the ET pre-Fringe era by Kai in Anthos (3.0), and worked as an Actor until I became a team manager mid-Fringe, and assisted in a variety of events that surrounded the Black Scourge antagonist, headed by the Drakaar Setherien. After several intervals of inactivity based on inconsistent internet access, I left the ET, and then signed up for the LT in 3.5. Since then I had participated in the team off and on for several years until late 5.0, where I was removed based on certain circumstances. In that time I had been both a regular Lore Master and had been given the mantle of manager for some time, under Tsuyose’s leadership. Where do you grab inspiration from?: Over the past few years, my work (in lore, particularly) had been heavily drawn from the concepts of Hidetaka Miyazaki, FromSoft’s director and president, who has been known as the developer and story designer of the company’s best known games such as the Dark Souls series, Bloodborne, and Demon’s Souls. However other inspirations consist of H.P. Lovecraft’s writings, other varied authors and real world cultures. What are your current list of characters, and are you willing to sacrifice any?: Abdiel Ipos (Dark Elf Xionist, responsible for the creation of Xionism), Raide aep Ulmsbottom (an old Ashford, turned Striga), Vor’kalan Ipos (the father of Abdiel and the first Darkstalker to exist, as well as the creator of the Draught of Incite), and the Druid of Shadow (an elder Druid, and the creator of Thulean Druidism). I’d preferable to keeping Abdiel and Raide from the boundaries of events and other projects, but I’ve always found Brother Shadow and Vor’kalan to be good catalysts for eventlines. What race, or group, do your events best cater to?: I have a lot of content I’m able to utilize in order to provide events is mostly for groups oriented in the Dark Arts, but at the same time, the same content can be shared with anyone. A lot of my creative focus is on Dark Arts in general, but that does not keep me from branching out and developing events for other mainstream groups like the primary four races or specific cultures. What do you believe are the key factors for a successful event?: Dynamic design, creativity, fairness and impact. While a script can be good for portraying a story, the circumstances to make it suitable for events shared to groups of players are little to nothing in a server where anything can change in RP at any given time - players thrive off of dynamic action, and because of this, being forced to witness a scripted eventline dilutes their attention spam and patience for the eventline itself. Creativity is similar to dynamism in that if its not consistent and completely draws upon other already standing (and well known) concepts, it loses player interest and integrity. Personally I’ll admit I’m not a sparkling example of creative development, considering what I base a lot of my lore on, but I always try to make an effort to take whatever concept I have interest in and twist it around in a manner that fits with LoTC’s design. It’s often the case that players enjoy the involvement of concepts in popular fiction anyway, so if their interests are catered to in this manner without portraying the precise design of the subject of attention, it makes for good creative design. An ET member who has a good grasp on this kind of method is oncenodea, who has been making use of concepts beyond LoTC’s lore, yet at the same time applying them to our canon in a manner that’s able to catch a participant’s interest for longer periods of time. While events are a good catalyst for challenge that are able to be designed in a manner to test a character’s true mettle, it’s not appropriate to apply this to every event an ET member churns out. A concise aspect of fairness must be applied to one’s work as to prevent a player’s frustration - a creature cannot be invulnerable in a one-off event, as it’s not appropriate to introduce such a challenge without prior buildup or consistent suggestion as to what said creature is weak to. A puzzle cannot be unrewarding, because of a player takes the time to participate for an hour or so, they come to expect compensation for their efforts, so they must be given a proper reward to prevent them feeling like they’ve wasted their time. Etcetera - the point being, if you project an unfair event on players, they won’t be satisfied with it. However, at the same time, providing a fair challenge must be the goal at the same time. Impact on characters is one of the most important aspects an event should have, or else events themselves become redundant chores. A good example of impact (while not having been an ET event in the first place) was the awakening of the Wraith-borne Dragon known as Jak’ol, that had been created from the Lifeforce of an abandoned Druidic Mothertree. The events surrounding Jak’ol’s rise were so allegedly impactful that several victimized Druids were willing to PK their characters, while several others wished to retain the experienced they gained from the Dragon’s awakening that led to specific kinds of negative impacts on their character - the loss of limbs, PTSD, etcetera. Players are willing to do these things when events feel grounded in the world, when they feel like these events actually matter. If the events don’t matter and therefore become redundant, they’re just a fleeting distraction that briefly breaks the usual habit of roleplay. What strengths would you bring to the team?: Based on my prior experience as an ET Actor and Manager, I already have the idea of how to provide quality events for people. Because of my long-standing service to the Lore Team, I also know how to develop concise stories for players to partake in and become interested in. Having been a manager for both of these teams taught me the necessity for communication, which enables certain groups to be involved in an eventline without confusion or disinterest caused by the random introduction of said eventlines. Why do you want to be part of the team?: I like to provide fun and interesting things to people. That’s generally been my intention for joining the ET and LT in the past, and it still is now. Create three distinct event scenarios based on the servers lore that you would organize: (The Tree) Players are notified of a sudden rise in Vodnik sightings around a specific area, and are given the inclination to inspect where their last rampage took place. Upon their discovery of said places of victimization, the participants would discover the presence of a sentient Vodnik that claims to have broken from the control of their parasite, and thus become a type of undead more like a Morghuul. Players are given a task, should they treat the sentient Vodnik without hostility: seek the nest, and discover what lies within. Should they have the mettle to survive the mindless hordes they’d face upon delving into this nest, the participants would come across an arcane lifeform at the nest’s center known as a “Jovian Oak”. The accompanying sane Vodnik would explain that its “kindred” seem to flock to it as though it were a deity, as within the presence, the parasitic undead are cured of their agonizing ailments and are granted a semblance of peace. The players are presented a moral conundrum: to find a way to seal up the underground labyrinth to trap the countless undead inside with the Jovian Oak, as their sentient brother recommends, so that they may exist in peace so they would wither away with time, or to burn the tree to the ground, deprive the nest of their solace, and cause the Vodniks to scatter. Throughout the story, it would be suggested that the Jovian Oak was inadvertently responsible for the sentient Vodnik’s reacclimation of humanity and awareness, however this poses the chance that should the nest’s inhabitants remained trapped within their lair, that overtime more of them would regain their sanity, and find ways to escape with their minds intact. Because not all men would bear the goodwill of the sentient Vodnik, it is implied to the participants that a veritable legion of self-aware undead would, in fact, pose a threat to the world. (The Sword) A band of rogue magi that tinker with a form of black magic related to Mysticism are said to prowl the countryside. Those that agree to hunt them down soon discover, upon finding these maleficar, that they pose no actual threat to anyone at all, and that they instead spend their days seeking solace atop great peaks so that they’re able to “commune with the moon”. The scholars would suggest to the participants that they required assistance on a boundlessly important discovery they had made through their allegedly communions, as they believe, through the use of their magic, that they had come in contact with the first mortal to have ever died and be sent to the Soulstream. With their Mysticism-derivative, these moon scholars would ensue a ritual with consenting characters that would cause the participant’s souls to be projected into the Soulstream in search for “the first to have died”. Here, the players would be faced with the overwhelming force of the countless condemned souls that walk the Soulstream on behalf of the Aengul Aeriel’s damnation, based on their involvement of dark powers. Alternative methods would be presented to the players, as to charge headfirst into the sea of damned spirits would be best summed up as suicidal. With the utilization of stealth, player characters would soon find the one believed to be the first to have died. To them he imparts ways to maneuver through the Soulstream without being assailed by its malicious inhabitants, and then express his great distaste of the God of Souls that had trapped them there. Based on the information given to the players by the moon scholars, several questions could arise: why was the first to have died condemned to the Soulstream, when all pure souls are destined to pass on? Was the first to die also the first to be condemned? And if so, for what reason? Should these questions be asked to the condemned spirit, they would reveal that they were the first to have been murdered by another mortal, and there was such great evil that resided the tool of murder used to do so that it cast a shadow over their spirit, and caused Aeriel to look upon them distastefully. The sword itself would be revealed as legendary, for it was the first ever to have been forged. With the information they came for secured, participants would be led back to the rift which they came from by the alleged first man to have died, leading to their souls being returned back to their bodies. The moon scholars would reward the players for their efforts and then usher them away for some time, until these faux-Mystics would call upon them again in continuation of the storyline. (The Serpent) Tales of an entity said to be the first tree ever to exist spreads across the land, harkened by the arrival of ancient, Druid-like men known as Weirhents. These Weirhents, said to be adherents to a being known as an Old Lord, could traverse the realms of the Descendants in search of those who would be willing to partake in audience before the First Tree. Should they accept, they would be led afar, where they would come across a grove inhabited by the Old God known as Widukind. Widukind would explain to the participants that he feels a disturbance in his roots, for they burrow across the world and are able to experience every event that transpires throughout it. He claims that an “ancient kindred” of his by the name of Feldamfir has begun to stir, and that should he awaken, then the world itself would be cast into calamity. Feldamfir has been known in legend as the great insatiable serpent, and was responsible for the destruction of the land of Athera, as he had awakened after the migration of the Descendants to other realms and shattered Athera by nearly devouring the land whole. Should the players accept the task to cease what disturbs Feldamfir’s sleep, Widukind’s servitors would lead them back to the broken land of Athera, deep into a massive crevice in the earth where the Great Serpent sleeps. Soon would they find that the disturbance lies on the very innards of Feldamfir, and that the fellowship would be forced to enter its monolithic body in order to nullify what deters his sleep. Faced with all manner of parasite-like abominations that thrive on the inside of Feldamfir as though his insides were a land itself, the participants would soon come across his colossal heart, and discover that one of his teeth had been jammed into its side in order to draw the Old One’s blood. The Great Serpent’s teeth, as the accompanying Weirhents explained, were laden with the most terrible poison ever to be conceived on the earth, and by one of them being jammed into Feldamfir’s heart, it dirties his blood and threatens to awaken his wroth. Questions would arise after the removal of the tooth: if someone had delved into Feldamfir’s body to claim his blood with one of his teeth, for what purpose did they do this? What properties does the Old One’s blood have that would incline someone to do something as suicidal as to enter his very innards and face the horrors that lie within? And if Feldamfir were to awaken ages onward, what would the world do if faced with the fury of a beast whose hunger knows no end? How long do you plan to be able to work on the team?: It’s hard to fit in a scale of time for my participation, but I can at the very least give an assurance that I won’t be having internet troubles for awhile. Tell me a joke: I’m not bias.
  8. I'm not sure why the Dev team has been dancing around the actual desire of the playerbase with these roundabout methods. What is the error or disadvantage in just having ingredients and being immediately able to craft something, with no wait times or background resources?
  9. [MArt] Godless Relics I

    Sorry about the late response there. Sure, I'll knick that out. Edit: "fear" has been changed to "apprehension", but the apprehension of controlled nature only provides flavor to RP involving either of the swords, and does not halt their path toward whoever holds them.
  10. Loosen These Bizarro Theft Restrictions

    I shouldn't have to plan a heist and intentionally inform of the victim of my presence OOC when they openly flaunt their trophies that I want to steal with no means to protect them. If they were earnest about ensuring the security of the place that contains these items that my character wants to take, they'd RP in that place more and they'd take more steps to protect their valuable assets by utilizing locks and heavier doors (which, in my circumstance, was not the case). The heist rules are fair to no one but the victim.
  11. I'm going to try to keep this short, because common sense shouldn't bear much elaboration. The OOC restrictions that cover thefts from containers like locked chests and merchant chests used to display items in RP need to be toned down drastically. Both last night and the night prior I had attempted to thieve a Lich's grimoire from a certain to-be-unnamed keep, and sought the assistance of two GMs - one being Riblord (Niccum), and DrPhilOfLotc. Both them of informed me that, because of the technicality surrounding thefts from merchant's chests, there was no circumstance available where I'd be able to take this unprotected book on my lonesome, even if it was literally sitting right before my character with no indication towards any kind of protection or illusion-based status over it. I had poised the following question to a GM in skype chat, as displayed: This is essentially the situation I was faced with. I don't believe people have directly manipulated this loophole, knowing the implications of this "technicality", but I know plenty of people use the shop plugin to display trophies and special items. I don't believe that they should be immune of theft based on a thoroughly inconveniencing """technicality""", but rather if people want to protect the items they put on these displays, that they should make sure the place they put them in is secure or that the display is reinforced with some kind of illusion, as the Dragur Library employs for their public item display. Taking things from chests is similar in this systemic design of nonsensicality. If a chest is locked by another player, anyone who wishes to make a theft from it must know exactly what they're looking for. This has almost no substantiation or viable application in roleplay, and it deprives those wishing to properly roleplay as thieves of the means to actually be thieves. If people want to protect their chests, they're able to lock any doors and barriers that precede them. These OOC walls don't need to be propped up to protect people's interests in such a hugbox-y manner.
  12. [dark arts][strength of the abyss] SaltyUruk

  13. “... Know the nature of the one you hunt, King of Men. I feel the weight of very mortal emotion upon the wavelengths… a wretched nostalgia, a lost joy. A vengeance desired ‘pon the self.” “...” A pause as made by King Malineer as he stood before the flicking image of Dhurzumkal’s dull flame. The Old Lord’s warning was almost prophetic, but he would be certain not to let it dissuade him from his duty. “Yes, my Lord. I shall return come the time of the Spurion’s fall.” With a rise, the undying King of Devirad turned and made his way out of the sweltering chamber of the One Below; off to find the unbelonging ‘Last Mori’quessir’. ~:;:~ The cacophony of battle rang out through the city that the venerable King of Elves once ruled as two souls fought before the empty throne. Malineer had happened upon the lone Mori’ known as Xemn’vus of Duskryn as though fate presented him like a platter; and as though Xemn’vus realized his running finally caught up with him, he consented to a duel with the better-equipped King, knowing full well the chances of winning the exchange between them. The blood of Zanundar would be spilt before the throne of his father. Deviradaen steel clashed against Menorcressaen iron as hookspear parried with polehammer. The onlookers toward the duel kept their distance as they watched, wary of getting caught in between the violent, yet graceful exchanged. The last of the Mori’ displayed a prowess that few men could muster; spinning his spear around and striking upon the armor, undead Malineer, though to little effect; evading his strikes and attempting to bait him before the wit of the King of Devirad overcame. The hookspear was locked in a brace with Malineer’s polehammer before it was twisted away from his grasp, with the spearing head of the old undead’s weapon jutting into Xemn’vus’ sternum thereafter. TIme slowed. The pain was stifling, flooding the Mori’quessir warrior’s body with crippling shock, yet at the same time, all desire to resist and evade death melted away from mind, body and soul. This felt right… even he was alone. Dark red blood trickled from his chest as he was lifted by Malineer’s polearm before being thrown like a limp heap before the Throne of Malin. Languishing from the rapid drain of blood from his body that gushed from his open chest wound, Xemn’vus reached down to pull one of many trophy skulls from the belt that he wore, riddled with the bones of his past prey and victories over men both ill-minded and goodwilled. Malineer had knelt before him to impart some few parting words, but they could not be heard by his fallen foe; only a slowing heartbeat that rattled in his ears. He held this skull close to his chest, the disembodied cranium of the one he once called his wife and the mother of his children. Sanguine liquid trickled from the corner of his mouth as he began to fade. Staring up toward the throne with his pale eyes, borne of Miiystran blood, a moment of clarity came upon him; memories of his children filtered back, recollections of their demise by the hand of the same woman’s skull he cradled so lovingly. Long had Xemn’vus questioned in anguish how such a gentle soul could shatter her own offspring, yet the answer was always with him. Men were flawed; and whether or not the blood of Gods ran through them, the darkness within spurred the most vile and base of actions. To this end, he knew he knew it was right to die on his lonesome. The skull of Rilrae Duskryn shattered in his hands upon the fragile, wretchedly-aged cranium’s firm compression. “Dalhar elggur,” Xemn’vus murmured to no one but the memory of his beloved as the life drained from him. The cold consumed his form, and paused his heart’s beating. ~:;:~ The blood of the Son of the Spider sinks into the earth before Malin’s Throne. A flame speaks of an Elven heir’s awakening from a long sleep. The remains of a descended God weeps over the loss of her children. The many-eyed and many-legged become husks in their web. A people born of the Arachni kneel to a new lord. The Last’s soul screams through the cosm, no home in sight, with his ken to follow lest two are made one once again.
  14. [Striga][CA] Idolomun

    MC Name: Idolomun Character's Name: Ser Raide of Ashford Character's Age: 50 Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable): Human Transformed form: Striga Creator's MC Name: Lothric Creator's RP Name: Sascha Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature: The Strigae are undying entities borne of the infernal influence of Nether-dwelling Demons known as the Unseen. Gifted with greater strength, agility and regenerative abilities, they are not something one easily trifles with, especially pinned in a situation where they're forced to take their true shape - something inhumane and bestial, with a face like a monster's and claws as sharp as swords. That is what they are - beasts, for they are entities that traded their humanity for capacities beyond the limitations of mortalkind, in exchange for an everlasting blood price. They must drink the warm ichor of living men on the frequent, for the essences that linger Lifeblood are what they were deprived of in order to grant them their powers. But because they are beasts, they also carry their weaknesses. Though the wounds sealed by mundane alloy weaponry and other forms of physical trauma seal swiftly and with little drawback, gold and silver act as their blight in the fact that any wounds made by armaments of either material must be forced to heal for months, or even years. Their unholy origin also bids Aengulic Magics to have same effect, for the Unseen that conceived the race of Striga bear their own roots within the most unholy being of all - the God of Ruin, Iblees. Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it: No. Do you agree to keep the MT updated on the status of your magic app by using the Magic List Errors topic?: Yes. Do you consent to accepting what may happen to this character?: Yes. Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app: No.