Goon

AN ODE TO FATHERHOOD FALCONE A legacy began by bullish pursuit, littered with quotidian degeneracy and misguided efforts. Plagued by blind loyalty and insatiable hunger. Whether you felt it first hand or heard it whispered within the flock, the Falcone name began to carry a notorious weight. Through the sins of a father and a father before, all of whom did what they felt they had to for theirs; and what a taint against that name the Imperial Army had sung so often. How does that clichéd saying go? "Like father, like son," right? Though, perhaps that isn't all fair to say, as you cannot compare the weight of sin. You cannot compare the ramifications of a son's choices to the actions of his father. All a child grows to become is an indirect mirror, though even a washroom's mirror does not display the same world as it appears. Stark distinctions, though, "not far from the tree." “HE DID WHAT HE HAD TO... SAME AS HIS FATHER, AND HIS BEFORE THAT.” - ANASTASIA O'ROURKE, CIRCA 1805 FATHERHOOD Despite the mass of tales one could recall, Gino Falcone was not a poor father. For he made sure to instill but a few esteemed virtues to his kin: respect and the demand of, and the unconditional preservation of kinship. Discipline and understanding were commanded of his offspring. And though he was not always accountable to his own word, there were determined beliefs he would never betray-- especially his belief that family is absolute, be it one garnered or one by birthright. Gino poured every ounce of his being to prepare his children for what was to come as they grew-- though as descendant nature is, it was not enough, even for him. To consider Gino Falcone a poor father would only be a testament to the thanklessness that is parenthood. A father his own now, this has become glaringly more apparent to the still young Cosimo Antony. “LA FAMIGLIA NON COMBATTE LA FAMIGLIA.” - GINO FALCONE, CIRCA 1794 FALCONE (REPRISE) Left, now, without a parental figure who was of lineage ascent, perhaps the young Illatian would be fortunate enough to no longer need one; twenty-six years now in the realm of unforgiving mortal existence. For him to have witnessed the world he knew collapse beneath the wheels of his chair, and be able to walk anew amongst esteemed peers, the boy had more than enough in experience to nourish the inherent desire to preserve one’s self and his lineage. Yes, perhaps he finally outgrew the need for guidance from those who came before him. Why, he was the now owner of the Falcone Estate- surely he needed to have all of those answers expected of him? But no, this is only a weak defense to save for heartache; the belief he was above the pursuit of further learning would only perpetuate the same cycles he and his kin would be fell to. That is ignorance, or perhaps arrogance. Though, it would be nice to have deference from a relatable face. “MACCHIE DI SANGUE, I SOLDI NO.” - GIADA D'AMATO, CIRCA 1797 LUDOVICA "I pray the generations to follow will bring themselves closer and closer to God- with each iteration.” A passing thought echoed as Cosimo watched a young child giddily prance about. Almost four years now, so she had not yet been subject to the fruits of the forbidden, and it was apparent in Cosimo’s watchful eye that he would will it to remain so. Though, you cannot shelter the youth, as did Cosimo’s mother try. You can only offer what you have come to know and hope that they respond accordingly, as did Cosimo’s father try. And even then, there is no guarantee of result: a child’s fate left to the world they succumb to. This girl was last born of his sisters, Ludovica Francesca Falcone, Gino’s last notable mark on this world; and it was readily apparent she was his as she palpably mirrored the man in every way- only chiseled to fit a more feminine feature. Even in her early mannerisms did she resemble Gino, a scary thought for Cosimo, though he was arguably no better than his father. Worse, perhaps. “Depends who you ask.” So, he could only hope she turned out the saintess she already was. "Guardi, Cosi! Look!” The little Illatian cried in joy as she hurried toward the man who sat upon a bench, holding high a wettened mina she had fished from the Palace Garden’s fountain. The clambering of her footsteps against the paved grounds brought a reminiscent smile against the man’s face as he was unmoving in her approach, only snorting his amusement. "You can keep it.” She told him, out of breath while forcing the wet coin into the hand that did not hold up his chin. The man turned his head toward that coin, brushing a thumb against it as if to dry it off before glancing upon her once more, uttering in a gentle response, “Grazie, piccola.” The girl gave a vigorous nod of her head and a childish giggle before bolting off once more to retrieve another, an arm’s length deep into the rather motionless waters, and he did nothing but clench gently against that mark. “GOD, SHE'S THE SPITTING IMAGE OF HIM.” - COSIMO FALCONE, CIRCA 1813

A bearded Southeron squints his eyes as he reads at the missive against the tavern's wall, a simple shake of his head as an arrogance littered his musing utterance, "Who does not know how to throw a dart?"

Red Cloaked 260

congrats in the doctorate, doctor chenn. 1) favorite thing about yourself 2) would you ever join another staff team? 3) do you ever consider rping outside of Oren?

Only but a few times did Alicjo have the privilege to go to blows with the fallen Ezyl. And perhaps luckily for him, they had only ever fought against the same side. Strangely, the man recalled fondly of the time an apparition appeared before them, and of course, she was the first to react, drawing forth her falchion and planting in her stance. She awaited that creature to come to her, and when it did, she feared not to remain in such close range of the creature's grasp, toying with the being as she brought her sword up against it – making the line of a crossbow's shot that much more difficult for Alicjo. In those few times they shared a shield, he had gathered all he would need to know about the woman. Hard-headed: though that only meant she did not shy in the face of resistance. Brash: though that only meant she did not cower in the face of adversity. That meant she was a fighter, and be it by circumstance or choice, she was a damn good one. Her short dance with that creature continued, it returning a slap to loosen a chip from the decals of her armor, all as that Southeron aligned his shot carefully. Through his watchful squint, he couldn't help to pay notice to how that woman carried herself, – "Damn." An observant thought sounded through the Southeron's mind, coaxing him to finally release the silver-tinted bolt that shimmered in his thrower's rails. The bolt whizzed, as they do, a near-miss of the woman's head as the feathered end of the arrow barely scrapped against her helm, piercing then through the skull of that wretched creature – disintegrating to a pile of ash and bones. A winded, fighter's breath as she turned to the man who shot the bolt, unshaken by the close call as she mused with a smirk, “A bit closer next time, ti? I've wanted a shaved head for a while.” The Southeron managed a snort of amusement, shaking his head as he propped that bolt's thrower against his shoulder, laying a gauntleted hand against hers as he retorted, “Don't worry, I've still got my eyes.” And as if nothing were amiss, they carried on. She would either die a defender's death or she would live to see a mali's turn. "But why wouldn't she be granted an old mali's death? Surely, nothing could do her in."

Skin Name: Northern Hunk Skinner's Username: venclair Bid: 500 mina

Skin Name: Northern Hunk Skinner's Username: venclair Bid: $20

Skin Name: Northern Hunk Skinner's Username: venclair Bid: $12 -- 240 mina

a question for each year: 1) what’s a piece you’re working on now that you’re really into? 2) least favorite piece of lore you’ve written and where is it now? 3) i heard you’re working on a magic or piece of lore and if you need some people to grandfather it, I can work something out for you hahaha

Username: mf_goon Name of the skin: freria Bid amount: 130

Alicjo Verrana read over the missive while he sat upon the loo, a sigh escaping the man. It was then that he crumpled the missive, using it to wipe upward.

I voted no but I didn't mean to

damn. another fallen soldier, freed from they fray guess I got a few questions then: 1) what you wanna do when you come through? 2) should I quit too? edit: had to edit this to say something more heartfelt. all it took was me saying the word of my people to silence an entire vc and you were the only person brave enough to talk to me for the rest of that event LMAO. thats how I knew you were a real one. we didn't rp much- if ever, but gosh darn it if I don't consider you my boy nonetheless. onto bigger and better things bro

[!] A flyer was posted across Almaris, wherever flyers may be posted. PURCHASE A CANNON [!] An etching of a cannon was scrawled at the top-center of the page. If it were possible for all peoples to own one, I would say to invest in your safety; buy a cannon. So, I wish to do my part to make this investment in your protection possible. A small asking price for a big punch, an entire cannon can be yours for an easily negotiable price. If you’ve something to protect, purchase a cannon. Contact Victor Santino in Providence. Victor Santino, Cannon Connoisseur [OOC] Contact goon#8136 on Discord to purchase.

ayo lemme uh, whenever they turn on events again, lemme come pls <3

AMBIENCE After months of an absence, Alicjo Verrana returned himself to the guild hall, the one tucked away in the furthest depths and darkest alleys of the Orenian capital. Alone now, shutting the heavy wooden doors behind him, stoking a small fire for warmth against the winter chills, the man prepared himself for the mound of papers that found themselves piling. Only now, he'd add one more to the mass -- an envelope that awaited him, calligraphed with his name. A woman's handwriting. The man took the dagger from the sheathe on his belt, surgically cutting against the envelope before pinching the note with two fingers, eventually conceding to shake the letter loose. Out fell a sheet, folded and scrawled in the same woman's handwriting. And so the man read.. THE LETTER Upon his first skim, the man scrambled to press his reading glasses against the bridge of his nose, expression growing more severe as his brown hues raced to finish each line. Quietly muttering to no one but himself, "No? No.." His vain line of questioning only brought him to a fleeting chuckle, choosing to laugh now in the face of the adversity - the consistent reminders of his mortality that became more and more frequent in his old age. Taking a soft, meditative inhale, the man gave the letter a shake, opting now to read over its entirety- and a smile stayed plastered against his expression. "You and I both, Solenne. Though, I never thought I'd give you a chance to break mine." He managed a faint chuckle, bringing his lensed eyes up from the sheet toward the fire that roared in front of him, as if he expected her to be there behind the letter she wrote him. But you know she wasn't. And not too soon after, the silence of the guild hall grew evermore unsettling, save for the sound of the splintering wood that roasted hearthside. And the longing smile he held across his countenance faded shortly. Loosing his pinch against the farewell note now, the paper sunk to rest atop the others, the glasses over his eyes falling the same fate. A hand of his pressed to clamp his shaved scalp, thumb resting deep against his temple as he sought to weld his water-logging eyes shut now. Stoic in expression. Catatonic in motion. And so, the man just sat.

Albeit, none the wiser to her passing, a Southeron man would start to reflect fondly on the Rhenyari woman he acquainted himself with all those years prior. "I'll try to see her the next I'm in Oren." A passing thought remarked, moving on soon after.

Kai, bro.. Bittersweet moment, for you too I'm sure. Part of me wants to say, "noooo don't go bro!" and the sane piece says, "not soon enough." I just want the best for you and all the homies, if the best for you is 'not on LOTC' (and that is best for all of us, yes) then please. Can't say I won't miss you but I'll find reasons to hit you up and thank you for the stream of RP opportunities you gave me I'll always remember where I came from

have you figured out how the Vortex Rich Loamy Soil works? I'm trying to get Vortex rope but I'm pretty sure that you have to make the Vortex Ropewalk by placing two Vortex fences down at about 4-5 blocks apart, taking the Vortex Saw and right clicking against the Vortex fence- from there you should see the Vortex dropdown menu and you select Ropewalk on each one, if you don't do this on each one, then Vortex will bug out and delete your Vortex cotton threads, reverting them to regular vanilla Minecraft string. You don't want this. Once you create both ends of the Vortex ropewalk, you then place the Vortex cotton thread against the Vortex rop

bro??? this is a f***ing boat????????