Ithric

Finished I'd like to start with saying that I, by no means, wish to impose my ideas on others and these are merely suggestions put it into a fancy, RP-styled format. It's a book written by a traveling alchemist, yes, but that doesn't mean I've made that in-game with bookworm or I'm trying to cram the ideas down anyone's throat. I just wanted to present it in a more creative way than just posting it bluntly. At any rate. I should probably get into what I'm actually suggesting, rather than stating how I'm suggesting it. ;) Now what I'm proposing here is lore for the alchemical side of life. The side that doesn't seem to be all that used, or completely fleshed out in Lord of the Craft. I say this because on the wiki there's not much on it in all honesty, and there are no extravagant or fantasy-oriented plants and herbs listed on there either, making alchemy a little harder due to how most people associate it with the mixing of herbs and the such. Furthermore, there isn't exactly a neat-o listing of ingredients that could be used in alchemy either. So, put simply, what I am proposing here is that Me, Alikdoril, and Geo take this into our own hands. Whether others wish to add is up to them, but I strongly believe that we can really set up some good alchemy lore. And hey, if you really hate it, just leave some constructive criticism, and remember; this is only an idea and not set it stone. Alright, to finish off my rambling I'd like to say that I'll be posting the chapters one by one to gauge people's reactions and adjust it accordingly. So without further hold-ups, allow me to present to you our idea for the Alchemy Lore. The Tales of a Traveling Alchemist (Oh and yes, this'll most likely be a wall-o-text, but I'll try to make it easy to read) Current Authors: Inquisitor Ithric, Geo(The Perfectionist), and Alikdoril The Tales of a Traveling Alchemist Table of Contents: Foreword(finished) Chapter 1: The Fundamentals of Alchemy(finished) Chapter 2: Asulonian Botany(finished) Chapter 3: Example Recipes(finished) Chapter 4: Homunculus and Chimeras(finished) Chapter 5: Local Myths and Legends(finished) Foreword: I have heard many a man ask why one, such as myself, would take such interest and dedication in the art of alchemy when there are ready-made spells that could do just the same, if not better, a job than an apothecary’s potion. My response to this statement is rather simple, whereas one must have a certain gift for spell-slinging, rune-craft, and spirit-speaking, one mustn’t need these frivolous commodities to use a balm to mend a wound, shroud themselves in a nigh-invisible cloak with the swig from a bitter bottle, or set someone ablaze with bottled flame. Alchemy is not merely reproducing a wizard’s spell, but it is shaping the spell in a way for the common man’s use. While magic still has its place in our world, Alchemy allows those without the gift to reap the same benefits as any mage might. Chapter 1: The Fundamentals of Alchemy Chapter 2: Botany of Asulon Chapter 3: Potion Recipes Chapter 4: Homunculus and Chimeras Chapter 5: Local Myths and Legends Credits: Main Author: Twistedonslaught (Inquisitor_Ithric) Helpers: Alikdoril - Did some cross-checking with his vast knowledge of everything Fantasy, and added in a few plants in the botany section Geo (The Perfectionist) - Provided amazing feedback during the process Questions, comments, and constructive criticism is quite welcome.

One of my favorite musicians and favorite books fused into one song, of course.

8/10 for purple B)

A fine plan that I intend on backing! I try to fit in a good bit of voting each day, among other things. Looking forward to all the new faces and characters we'll be getting!

The wet sound of quill meeting ink resounds throughout the compact, stone room as the scholar prepares his plume. The wordsmith is of your average breed, a white beard hanging from his chin and dusky, blue and gray robes cling to his quivering form. As his hand approaches the book, his bones quiver from the deep chill that flows throughout the hold, his eyes shutting tightly. When the chill passes, his hand grips the cover of the ruddy, leather book cover; it reads The Way in deep blue letters, a golden trim caressing the sides of the elegant handwriting. His slightly wrinkled sets the cover aside, blank parchment greeting his dry eyes. The philosopher’s quill approaches the parchment, a deep breath is taken, and black, creative lifeblood is spilled on the canvas of the mind. The Way Foreword: Within the confines of this book lie Enlightenment, and the ways of obtaining such as revealed to Ithric, first Inquisitor of The Way through Cithric the Enlightened. But before these bountiful gifts are given, we must analyze what The Way truly is. You may ask yourself, what is Enlightenment? Do I need it? Do I want it? Do I even deserve it? And the simple answer to these questions is the fact there is no simple answer. The notion of Enlightenment is far from a simple one, it is the most complex and most troublesome question since “What is life?” But do not fret, young follower of The Way. You are not alone in your question-riddled mind, and you will certainly not be the last to lack understanding. The Way shall help you learn of what Enlightenment truly is, and perhaps even this book will shed some light on the subject for what is a goal if you do not at least have some idea of what it is? Enlightenment is the destination of The Way, the goal of life, and the purpose of man. It is why intelligent life was given reason and intellect. Enlightenment is achieved when one’s soul reaches a state of purity, and becomes one with the universe. It is the perfect peace. Chapter 1: The Five Tenets of the Soul The Five Tenets of the Soul, or the Pillars of Piety as some have called them, are hallmarks of The Way that all followers must obey if they are to remain on the path of righteousness and not stray into routes of chaos and corruption. The Five Tenets are Justice, Charity, Humility, Trust, and Retribution. Know these well for they shall be your moral compass for the remainder of your journey to Enlightenment. But perhaps we getting ahead of ourselves, we must first analyze what these tenets truly mean before we can use them to guide us in our deliberation. Justice: Justice does not have to be carried out through courts and laws, but can be done through your everyday actions and your desire to do good. Let us inspect a simple scenario and see how Justice applies to us all, even those who do not enforce the law. A ragged man steals several apples from a cart of dozens. He appears sickly and emaciated, the outlines of his bones clearly visible and his teeth yellowed from rot. The man obviously does not have much in terms of wealth, nor does he appear well fed. Now you may think that the apple farmer will not miss those apples, and this man is clearly starving so you should let him go without a word. This is quite wrong, and a strict violation of justice for taking what does not belong to you is not how intelligent beings act, it is how animals act. But should you call for the lawmakers and their prisons? The answer again, is no. You must take this matter in your own hands and make the man give the apples back. Although seemingly cruel, this scenario easily leads us into the next Hallmark, Charity but before we finish discussing Justice remember that nobody, not the law makers, not the poor, and the not the clergy are above the Laws of Intelligent Beings. Those shall be revealed later on. Charity: Charity is a fascinating pillar of the Way in the fact that it is often easy and highly neglected by those that it is easiest for. Let us return to your scenario with the apple thief and say that the tenet of Justice has been fulfilled and he has been forced to return the apples, but the authorities were not notified. Now this man will surely starve and this is partially due to the fact the tenet of Justice was carried out. The Tenet of Charity is what will prolong this man’s life, for to live a life dedicated to Enlightenment, you must be charitable with your good fortune and aid others in their journey as well. A moral being, a being whom follows the tenets, a being whom seeks Enlightenment must give this man a small sum of money, some food, and some drink so that he may continue to live. This similar treatment must be given to all of your fellow intelligent beings, even if you have very little for if one’s needs are satisfied, they will not violate the law in attempted to satisfy them. You preserve one’s soul when you practice charity, remember this. Humility: Humility is a unique pillar for it deals strictly with one’s self. The question often arises, “Why must I be humble to seek Enlightenment? Surely I should be proud of my achievements and abilities!” and at times you should be proud of the work you have accomplished, but a mind consumed by pride is one that has strayed from The Way. The answer to this question is that you cannot learn anything unless you admit you know nothing, and that fact is quite evident in The Way. To seek Enlightenment, you cannot believe that you are Enlightened, for if you were then you would not be seeking it and if you do not admit you know nothing, then how can you learn? The answer is you cannot. This is why those dedicated to The Way must make a Confession of Ignorance to admit to their lack of knowledge. Only then can one’s journey truly begin. Trust: Trust is by far one of the most difficult pillars to practice, for it requires the cooperation of two, or more, souls to fully achieve. Living a life of paranoia and hatred of your fellow beings is not one that will lead you to Enlightenment, in fact it will stray you from the path, turn your soul wicked, and cause you to stray others away from their journey. This is clearly an unacceptable outcome, and therefore you must trust your brothers and sisters. This is obviously a difficult concept for many, trusting strangers is often far from wise but the correct application of trust will earn the trust of others. With this trust doors shall open for other moral deeds, and vices such as animosity will disperse. Retribution: The final Tenet of The Soul, and perhaps one of the greatest, is Retribution. One may think this to be getting revenge or forcing others to atone for their crimes but that is not what this tenet is about. This tenet fits into the life of a follower of The Way through his or her drive to make penance for their mistakes and imperfections. Retribution is giving back what you, yourself took from the world through your vices and immoral deeds. For every transgression you carry out, you must atone for this with more than simply asking for forgiveness, for actions often do speak louder than words. Now let us return to the apple thief scenario. After the tenets of Justice and Charity are carried out accordingly with this thief, Retribution must also be carried out. A follower of the Way should ask that he repay his villainous apple thieving through a moral deed, whatever that may be. Of course if he refuses, then one must be convincing. Never forget about your fellow man, orc, dwarf, or elf for they too must be stopped from straying away from The Way and not only yourself.

Alright. Here's a few pictures of the Hand of Krug, which is a pretty major orc structure. How I'd imagine a rough sketch of the Hand of Krug at night would look like if done by the random passerby: A name for this may be difficult but if I were a traveler (which Ithric pretty much is) that sketched this in his or her journal I'd definitely call it "The Solemn Structure" for I doubt I'd have any clue what it is, beyond being some sort of hand, and the area around it is rather vacant and eerie. Also, a note on the action bar and general UI. I figured it'd add to the aesthetic of a traveler seeing it and sketching it. I just thought it'd be a nice touch, but it's not too obnoxious to take away from the enigma that is the hand jutting randomly out of the sand. At least that's how I see it, hope you enjoy. How I imagine ancient orcs, or maybe ancient Asulonians, would depict the Hand of Krug through mosaic art, or perhaps it'd be a cave scrawling, either way here it is: This I wouldn't really give an official name, due to the fact it's supposed to be ancient and artifact-like. Perhaps left by old Asulonians, orcs, or some such. Hand of Krug by Day would probably be the best option, since if I was RPing an Archaeologist I'd probably call it that. This one I thought hard about and I was thinking that perhaps a traveling artist who seeks to form the unusual and ancient onto his canvas through pastels may draw this. It's a small planetarium-styled balcony near the Hand of Krug in pastels, enjoy: And for this one, if I were RPing a famed artist I'd call it "Aged Heavens" for the fact it's supposed to be an old structure and it's depicting the sky, or "heavens" as some might call it.

While I was stumbling around on the Steam workshop I came across a music replacer for Skyrim that featured Miracle of Sound's Sovngarde song. It's absolutely -amazing-. But since this is Minecraft, I figured I'd post his minecraft song for people to listen to. I also highly recommend just about every other song he's made, since he's made songs for games from Mass Effect to Red Dead Redemption. Beautiful work, really is. Sovngarde Song Link And my person favorite Joker's Song Link

OOC: ((Link to Entry One)) IC: Entry 2: Laughter in the Woods I write this entry with a pounding sensation in the back of my skull, similar to a hammer striking an anvil, except that anvil is my mind. It’s been a strenuous couple of days, my sleep being disturbed with the previous dream, over and over again but I recently awoke from a new one. It wasn’t as nearly as mystifying as the previous one, for I went to sleep in a tent and awoke in a mighty castle but it was equally disturbing. With that said, I do give a word of caution for this dream may seem jumbled and crazy but I know it must have some sort of complex and divine meaning. As I fell asleep I could feel this emerald essence soaring around my body in soft, fluid motions like a cascade of water washing over my body. Soon I was sleeping but, what seemed like, seconds later my eyes opened and I was standing in a dark forest, trees touching the stars and the only light seemed to come from some sort of phantasmal force, for I could not see it. One thing was for certain, this illusionary light was guiding me and as I followed it the trees uprooted themselves, moving away with creeks and groans. I followed the light for what must have been hours, my eyes locked completely on the luminary delusion and the further I followed, the darker the forest around me grew and the more the shadows began to creep and crawl. The shadows were strange, skittering around as if being manipulated like some sort of marionette. They danced around on the ground, gruesome images of gremlins and ghouls lumbering about and soon I heard a faint noise. No, I did not hear the noise but I felt it. I felt the noise reverberating against my bones, chilling my spine, and boiling my blood. The noise must have been laughter, but not just laughter but laughter and talking. The jargon was undecipherable, speaking in mixed tones and syntax and causing my ears to shake ever so slightly. The noise grew in volume and yet I still continued to follow the light, and there was still more to be seen. As the wicked shadows moved about, I felt more than just noise against my bones but the gazes of many. I looked to my sides, noticing a peculiarity that nearly made me jump; the trees began to take on gruesome visages. I stayed close to the light and my nerves were calmed, but still the trees pecked at my mind with their gnarled bark and ebon eyes. The faces were many, some in the midst of laughter, some filled to their limits with rage and anger, others smirking a wicked, sly smirk, and as the light and I grew deeper into the forest, the tree took on murderous masks. The laughing trees turned into sick, twisted trees whose contortions seemed frighten even the twirling shadow dancers. The angered ones rose above the others in size, limbs thick and their eyes began to ooze a viscous, crimson substance in which I did not even wish to guess what it was. Then the smirking trees, their faces turned more sinister than the rest, became the faces of psychopaths. They became the faces of the predator, closing in on its prey with a grin of self-satisfaction sliding across their homicidal faces. I remained close to the light, still feeling its warm embrace, fighting back the powerful gazes of the trees and the terrible laughter of the shadows. Then I saw it! I saw a clearing, a beautiful sunlit clearing ahead, just waiting to be entered and practically begging me to come near with its warm embrace. The light seemed to pick up speed, and I with it, as we raced to the clearing but strangely enough the trees still became more gnarled, the shadows becoming larger, and the noise becoming louder. I was almost to freedom, to peace, and suddenly my luminous friend began to dim and flicker about, the shadows starting to claw at the orb with malicious hands. I attempted to swat them away as I saw this, my face contorting with anger as I kicked and slapped at the hands to keeps them away from my only light source. As I fought with the shadows, I failed to notice that the clearing had vanished, that the trees had covered the exit, and now they grew around me and my dimming friend. The shadows closed in as well, dancing about with their laughter and, perhaps, even song. The orb started to flicker again, and again. I looked to it with a pained expression, shaking my head as I tried to touch it, trying to think of how I could fix it but there was no hope. My light had went out as I touched it, the numerous laughs and voices grew into one baleful chuckle that shook the trees and brought me to my knees. And then, everything had gone dark behind the dim light of the trees’ eyes, piercing through my soul and watching my torment. I then awoke with a scream, brow sweaty, and body shaking.

IC: Entry 1: The Three Faces of Man. Dreams. Dreams are a funny thing, they are. Sometimes they mean nothing, just wisps of the imagination fluttering about in the unconscious mind. That happens to be nine times out of ten. But that one other time, that fateful stroke of luck, or that debilitating curse. That other time is what's been happening to me, the dreams are becoming vivid books in my mind. Stories that simply must have a meaning to be deciphered. I write these dreams down not simply because I wish to delve into them and rip out their meaning but because I desire to share them. I require the outlooks of others, for these are mysteries no single person can grasp. The first dream began with me walking upon a sapphire, silken carpet. Around me were walls of alabaster stone, pure and just, that rose to a darkened ceiling of unknown height, with the only light coming from the numerous masterful windows. As I reached the end of my journey I came up to a throne whose master was an aged, stalwart man. A man whose clothes were finer than harmony, whose face was furrowed and seasoned, and whose hair was brown and elegant. Upon his head sat a golden, almost luminous in perfection, crown with an assortment of precious jewels as numerous as the stars themselves. The man sat in a judging manner, feet planted firmly, posture high, and face rigid with thought. As I stopped he held up one hand and three men appeared from the shadows behind his stone throne and surrounded me on every side but my flank. The first man, the one in front of me, was built like stone. He was clad in iron, nicked armor that showed both his experience and his trade. Upon his belt laid a sheathed blade whose hilt was silver, but tarnished. Something else befouled the hilt, the blood of many. It covered the blade's hilt in thick blotches. Atop his might frame and armor rested his head, which was shaved completely. His white skin was tanned and scarred but the most prominent feature was his mouth. His mouth was sewn completely shut with pearly white, albeit somewhat bloody, linen. It appeared grotesque and as I looked away I noticed a coat of arms, branded upon his cheek in a proud manner but this was no coat of arms I had ever seen, it was foreign and indescribable. Within his hands was a bronze cudgel, which he held in an authoritative manner. The second man, the one to my right, was a paler than the first but showed signs of both age and struggle. He was clad in white robes, as pure as a newborn child. He stood in a proud manner, the robes clinging to his structure like a curtain to a window. His head was held high and he looked down upon me in a judgmental way. Within his right hand was a book. A flaxen colored book that held lies written on promises and bound with faith. He held this book to me as if to preach from it, but all that came from his mouth was unbearable calumny. Within his left hand he held a black whip primed for use. He held onto it tightly as if it was his own child and he brought it up, preparing to strike but he waited. He waited for the third man. I looked to the third man, who was to my left, and he was pale like death and wore purple garments of incomprehensible gluttony. His clothes screamed superiority and his look was one of disgust as he crossed his arms in disdain. His fingers were covered in rings of different crests and family names, adorned with wealth and luxury. He looked me over before shaking his head and scoffing. That was the beginning of my torment. The master of the throne simply stared, as if searching for my soul, when the first man began to beat me down with his cudgel. Again and again he beat me, his lips unmoving and his eyes as cold as Hanseti. Before long the second man joined in with his chastising whip. He continued to utter falsehood against me in a judging manner, his eyes were those of complete disgust. His whip came forth, again and again as I fell to the ground bloodied and distraught. The man in purple simply shook his head, as if I deserved such treatment or possibly as if he didn't care as long as he wasn't the one doing it. But then I felt a presence, a gelid one that caused me to go wide-eyed in surprise. The thrashing was silenced as the muffled footsteps came. I clambered around to see a hooded man, dressed in all black with skin that lacked both sensation and color. As the hooded man approached the throne's master arose from his seat, his posture took one of great fury and his face brought upon a look of animosity. He pointed a judging finger towards the hooded man before he bellowed "Seize him!", which reverberated across the hall. As he approached me he stuck forth his left hand and I sat there, staring blankly. The man in white opened his book of faith and distortion as he began to read from it, slipping the whip behind his back for no-one to see. The man in purple turned around, holding his head high and turning a blind eye towards the black figure. Finally the iron-clad, mountain of a man drew forth his blade. It oozed with sanguine blood as it flew from its sheath, screams fluttering as the metal ground with the scabbard. He pointed the sword towards the ebon figure but there was something strange. His hand trembled with uncertainty, his face pained with ignorance. Before long the sword shattered to pieces, each shard glittering in the light before dropping into the pool of blood. As I took the sensation-less hand the iron-clad fell to the ground with a thump. Renewed vigor rushed through my body as my new friend helped me up, he approached my ear with his hooded face in a way that continued the mystery of his identity. His words were as fluid as quick-silver when he spoke. "The first test is passed, child." His words produced a calming tendril that wrapped around my mind. I was soothed, the pain was nonexistent, and I awoke to the real world, sweat upon my brow and anxiety racing through my mind. OOC: ((Link to Entry Two))

OOC: ((Entry One Link)) IC: Entry 2: Laughter in the Woods I write this entry with a pounding sensation in the back of my skull, similar to a hammer striking an anvil, except that anvil is my mind. It’s been a strenuous couple of days, my sleep being disturbed with the previous dream, over and over again but I recently awoke from a new one. It wasn’t as nearly as mystifying as the previous one, for I went to sleep in a tent and awoke in a mighty castle but it was equally disturbing. With that said, I do give a word of caution for this dream may seem jumbled and crazy but I know it must have some sort of complex and divine meaning. As I fell asleep I could feel this emerald essence soaring around my body in soft, fluid motions like a cascade of water washing over my body. Soon I was sleeping but, what seemed like, seconds later my eyes opened and I was standing in a dark forest, trees touching the stars and the only light seemed to come from some sort of phantasmal force, for I could not see it. One thing was for certain, this illusionary light was guiding me and as I followed it the trees uprooted themselves, moving away with creeks and groans. I followed the light for what must have been hours, my eyes locked completely on the luminary delusion and the further I followed, the darker the forest around me grew and the more the shadows began to creep and crawl. The shadows were strange, skittering around as if being manipulated like some sort of marionette. They danced around on the ground, gruesome images of gremlins and ghouls lumbering about and soon I heard a faint noise. No, I did not hear the noise but I felt it. I felt the noise reverberating against my bones, chilling my spine, and boiling my blood. The noise must have been laughter, but not just laughter but laughter and talking. The jargon was undecipherable, speaking in mixed tones and syntax and causing my ears to shake ever so slightly. The noise grew in volume and yet I still continued to follow the light, and there was still more to be seen. As the wicked shadows moved about, I felt more than just noise against my bones but the gazes of many. I looked to my sides, noticing a peculiarity that nearly made me jump; the trees began to take on gruesome visages. I stayed close to the light and my nerves were calmed, but still the trees pecked at my mind with their gnarled bark and ebon eyes. The faces were many, some in the midst of laughter, some filled to their limits with rage and anger, others smirking a wicked, sly smirk, and as the light and I grew deeper into the forest, the tree took on murderous masks. The laughing trees turned into sick, twisted trees whose contortions seemed frighten even the twirling shadow dancers. The angered ones rose above the others in size, limbs thick and their eyes began to ooze a viscous, crimson substance in which I did not even wish to guess what it was. Then the smirking trees, their faces turned more sinister than the rest, became the faces of psychopaths. They became the faces of the predator, closing in on its prey with a grin of self-satisfaction sliding across their homicidal faces. I remained close to the light, still feeling its warm embrace, fighting back the powerful gazes of the trees and the terrible laughter of the shadows. Then I saw it! I saw a clearing, a beautiful sunlit clearing ahead, just waiting to be entered and practically begging me to come near with its warm embrace. The light seemed to pick up speed, and I with it, as we raced to the clearing but strangely enough the trees still became more gnarled, the shadows becoming larger, and the noise becoming louder. I was almost to freedom, to peace, and suddenly my luminous friend began to dim and flicker about, the shadows starting to claw at the orb with malicious hands. I attempted to swat them away as I saw this, my face contorting with anger as I kicked and slapped at the hands to keeps them away from my only light source. As I fought with the shadows, I failed to notice that the clearing had vanished, that the trees had covered the exit, and now they grew around me and my dimming friend. The shadows closed in as well, dancing about with their laughter and, perhaps, even song. The orb started to flicker again, and again. I looked to it with a pained expression, shaking my head as I tried to touch it, trying to think of how I could fix it but there was no hope. My light had went out as I touched it, the numerous laughs and voices grew into one baleful chuckle that shook the trees and brought me to my knees. And then, everything had gone dark behind the dim light of the trees’ eyes, piercing through my soul and watching my torment. I then awoke with a scream, brow sweaty, and body shaking.

IC: Entry 1: The Three Faces of One Man. Dreams. Dreams are a funny thing, they are. Sometimes they mean nothing, just wisps of the imagination fluttering about in the unconscious mind. That happens to be nine times out of ten. But that one other time, that fateful stroke of luck, or that debilitating curse. That other time is what's been happening to me, the dreams are becoming vivid books in my mind. Stories that simply must have a meaning to be deciphered. I write these dreams down not simply because I wish to delve into them and rip out their meaning but because I desire to share them. I require the outlooks of others, for these are mysteries no single person can grasp. The first dream began with me walking upon a sapphire, silken carpet. Around me were walls of alabaster stone, pure and just, that rose to a darkened ceiling of unknown height, with the only light coming from the numerous masterful windows. As I reached the end of my journey I came up to a throne whose master was an aged, stalwart man. A man whose clothes were finer than harmony, whose face was furrowed and seasoned, and whose hair was brown and elegant. Upon his head sat a golden, almost luminous in perfection, crown with an assortment of precious jewels as numerous as the stars themselves. The man sat in a judging manner, feet planted firmly, posture high, and face rigid with thought. As I stopped he held up one hand and three men appeared from the shadows behind his stone throne and surrounded me on every side but my flank. The first man, the one in front of me, was built like stone. He was clad in iron, nicked armor that showed both his experience and his trade. Upon his belt laid a sheathed blade whose hilt was silver, but tarnished. Something else befouled the hilt, the blood of many. It covered the blade's hilt in thick blotches. Atop his might frame and armor rested his head, which was shaved completely. His white skin was tanned and scarred but the most prominent feature was his mouth. His mouth was sewn completely shut with pearly white, albeit somewhat bloody, linen. It appeared grotesque and as I looked away I noticed a coat of arms, branded upon his cheek in a proud manner but this was no coat of arms I had ever seen, it was foreign and indescribable. Within his hands was a bronze cudgel, which he held in an authoritative manner. The second man, the one to my right, was a paler than the first but showed signs of both age and struggle. He was clad in white robes, as pure as a newborn child. He stood in a proud manner, the robes clinging to his structure like a curtain to a window. His head was held high and he looked down upon me in a judgmental way. Within his right hand was a book. A flaxen colored book that held lies written on promises and bound with faith. He held this book to me as if to preach from it, but all that came from his mouth was unbearable calumny. Within his left hand he held a black whip primed for use. He held onto it tightly as if it was his own child and he brought it up, preparing to strike but he waited. He waited for the third man. I looked to the third man, who was to my left, and he was pale like death and wore purple garments of incomprehensible gluttony. His clothes screamed superiority and his look was one of disgust as he crossed his arms in disdain. His fingers were covered in rings of different crests and family names, adorned with wealth and luxury. He looked me over before shaking his head and scoffing. That was the beginning of my torment. The master of the throne simply stared, as if searching for my soul, when the first man began to beat me down with his cudgel. Again and again he beat me, his lips unmoving and his eyes as cold as Hanseti. Before long the second man joined in with his chastising whip. He continued to utter falsehood against me in a judging manner, his eyes were those of complete disgust. His whip came forth, again and again as I fell to the ground bloodied and distraught. The man in purple simply shook his head, as if I deserved such treatment or possibly as if he didn't care as long as he wasn't the one doing it. But then I felt a presence, a gelid one that caused me to go wide-eyed in surprise. The thrashing was silenced as the muffled footsteps came. I clambered around to see a hooded man, dressed in all black with skin that lacked both sensation and color. As the hooded man approached the throne's master arose from his seat, his posture took one of great fury and his face brought upon a look of animosity. He pointed a judging finger towards the hooded man before he bellowed "Seize him!", which reverberated across the hall. As he approached me he stuck forth his left hand and I sat there, staring blankly. The man in white opened his book of faith and distortion as he began to read from it, slipping the whip behind his back for no-one to see. The man in purple turned around, holding his head high and turning a blind eye towards the black figure. Finally the iron-clad, mountain of a man drew forth his blade. It oozed with sanguine blood as it flew from its sheath, screams fluttering as the metal ground with the scabbard. He pointed the sword towards the ebon figure but there was something strange. His hand trembled with uncertainty, his face pained with ignorance. Before long the sword shattered to pieces, each shard glittering in the light before dropping into the pool of blood. As I took the sensation-less hand the iron-clad fell to the ground with a thump. Renewed vigor rushed through my body as my new friend helped me up, he approached my ear with his hooded face in a way that continued the mystery of his identity. His words were as fluid as quick-silver when he spoke. "The first test is passed, child." His words produced a calming tendril that wrapped around my mind. I was soothed, the pain was nonexistent, and I awoke to the real world, sweat upon my brow and anxiety racing through my mind. OOC: ((Link to Entry Two))

OOC: ((Here's the link to the previous part for convenience. )) IC: The biting wind rushed through the barren desert, scattering sand across the two orcs’ skin, scratching against it but they paid no mind to it, staring each other down as they both approached the crimson marker imbedded in the ground. They were surrounded by sandstone walling, atop of these were iron railing to keep back the masses that gathered to watch the event. They gave their typical jeers and yells, raising their fists and letting out various, jumbled cries that were undecipherable to even the finest of ears. The two combatants didn’t care though, they simply eyed each other as they approached and time seemed the slow, they could each see the beads of sweat rolling down their skin, the muscles tightening under their flesh, and the blood rushing in their veins as the midday heat began to bear down its heavy weight upon the two. They then stood still, gripping their weapons and simply watching each other, observing and testing to see who would be the predator and who would be the prey. The orc on the left side of the sanguine square was of a fairly pale green color, sweating more than the other, brown orc. His pale skin was truly an awful sight, as the poison he contracted from the caverns has taken a serious toll, for his veins have blackened ever so slightly and his eyes are deep with pain. His breathing seemed heavy but stable, chest going in and out at an average rate but contortions on his face showed strain, a strain that he could not deal with for much longer in this heat. His fingernails also took on an ebon color, some fallen off and others still decaying right on his hand. He was bare-chested, except for bandages wrapped around his upper chest to protect his wound from the sand, and he wore a leather loincloth, tied with a thick, woolen chord. He gripped his iron blade fiercely as he nodded his head, his tense, pale face twisting into a grin and regaining its color for a split second. The brown orc nodded as well, stepping forward and onto the rubicund square imprinted upon the sand. The brown orc wore a dark purple, crimson, and golden robe, with several chains dangling from different parts but the most noticeable one was the chain wrapped around his waist, with an ornate, steel skull as its centerpiece. The brown orc spat to the side, heaving his heavy iron axe onto his shoulder and ruffling his already dirty robes that seemed to shorten around the legs to allow easier movement. This orc was much more well built than the pale, green one with muscle visible through the robes, a thick neck, an undeniable stench of blood. The orc was healthier as well, sporting none of the defects of the green orc beyond maybe a cut or two on his flesh that seemed nothing more than superficial. The heavy iron axe, the cruel grin, and the stench of blood gave the opposer a chill up his spine, and he would have been fine if he hadn’t looked down towards the skull that laid upon the brown orc’s waist. Its eyes were as black as night, deep wells of despair that seemed to show him his fate. They showed him there would be pain ahead, blood, the ripping of muscle and flesh, but it did not show him who’s blood it was. It did not show him who would fall to the sands in the end, and this was worse than him knowing, for now he had a glimpse of the future and he was even more confused now than he had been before. The green orc shook his head with distaste, spitting to the side with a grunt, passing this vision off as nothing more than delirium from the heat and venom. The two orcs gave each other one last silent nod, not saying a word and the crowd rose to an uproar, the entertainment had begun. The green orc was the first to strike, gripping his blade with both hands as he charged, bellowing a fierce some cry. He ran at the brown orc with his sword held high, ready to strike down upon his head but the brown orc heaved his axe from his shoulder, bringing it up to block the downward slash with the metal shaft of his axe. He easily pushed the green orc aside with the axe, yelling forth his own war cry as he slammed his bare foot into the green orc’s chest as he stumbled back from the powerful block and push. The green orc wasn’t about to give up so easily, regaining his footing in time to parry his battle brother’s next swing, being force to take steps back from such a powerful force. The grinding of steel threw the crowds into pandemonium, some leaning over the railing and shaking their fists towards the two and yelling out jeers and jibes. There was a sudden kicking up of sand and sliding as steel as the green orc managed the deflect the axe off to his side, sending the brown orc to a stumble off to the right. The green orc let out a few heavy breaths, grip softening and then tightening around the blade repeatedly. He shook his head with growl, the sweat that saturated his flesh flying off in all direction and staining the sand. He then charged the brown orc , carrying the sword in front of him at a diagonal, cutting the air as he flung himself against the juggernaut once more. He managed to slash down at the recovering orc, cutting the robe and leaving a nasty gash along his arm, life itself pouring from the break in the skin in a crimson, viscous form. It oozed onto the sand, soaked his robe, and all of a sudden everything grew silent to them, the crowds still in an even bigger uproar now that the scent of blood as permeated the air. The two just looked at each other, both in disbelief for what just happened, the sickened, envenomed orc actually piercing the flesh of the bigger, healthy brown one. The green orc, nodded his head and came down for another strike, this time for the neck in an attempt to sever the head, but although the world seemed to slow for him the following events seemed to happen at a hyper rate, one bloody brush stroke after another upon the canvas of this battle. As the green orc came down, the poison and heat seemed to get to him for his sluggish speed wasn’t all imaginary, the brown orc was faster and this was shown when he let out a grunt and a punch to the gut. The green orc, not expecting such a blow from an opponent on the ground, stumbled back with a groan, his stomach already in pain from the toxins flowing through his veins. The brown orc then threw himself up and with a charge, bashed the hilt of his axe against the right of the green, disoriented orc’s ribcage. This sent him into another stumble, world spinning and with much celerity, the brown orc jabbed two more times with the hilt of his axe, causing cracking noises to be heard from all about. The green orc was now a mess, deep, bloody bruises on his chest and before he could react the brown orc gave one last bash of his hilt to the green one’s nose, breaking it easily and sending him to the ground with a thunderous thump. The green orc tightened his grip on his blade when he fell, holding it up and pointing it at the brown one in an attempt to stave and prolong his shortening life through battle. The blade was easily knocked aside by the brown orc’s axe, his stalwart grip remaining on it. The brown orc then took a step forward, pinning the green one’s blade hand against the sand. He shook his head, spitting to the side and sliding his left leg backwards while keeping the right foot upon his battle brother’s hand. He held his axe high in the air, staring down upon the green orc without a green, without a frown, but with a simple stare and a nod. The green orc so what was to come, saw the sun reflect against the axe’s metal and nodded his bloodied, sweaty head as well and with a sudden movement of the muscle, the brown orc’s axe came soaring down upon the green one from the left. The cut was clear and instantaneous, slashing through the meat, and bone, and muscle with one fatal swoop. The green orc’s head was cut, his life ended, but his grip on his blade didn’t wane. He was dead, he was destined for death, but not by a spider’s poison but by an axe and with a blade in his has hand, the way all orcs must die; in battle. OOC: ((A short story that I wrote up recently for Rokar's death. I'll try to fix any grammatical/spelling errors I see. The story is Rokar was bitten by a spider, spider's poison's fatal, and he wants to die with a blade in his hands, hence the duel. Hopefully it's enjoyable.))

Thanks a bunch. It has some grammar and spelling errors I'm not too fond of. I'll fix them eventually.

IC: Footsteps were heard, dust being kicked into the air as a guttural snort resounded throughout the cave system. The orc was of a medium build, arms tired from labor and hands covered with callouses and scrapes. His off-green skin was slick with sweat, the warmth of the torch he held at his side was like a small sun, baking the air around it but also illuminating his surroundings. The green orc glanced over his shoulder with another grunt, nodding to a brown coloured one with a heavier build, clad in both chain mail and iron plating, an axe heaved over his shoulder. He walked with some distance behind the green one, the torch illuminating the deep hallway for both of them. The walk was short, but seemed endless as everything seemed to blend, the supports, the walls, even the air felt stale and stagnant. They approached the newest section of the cavern, built and dug out through an endless supply of both blood and muscle. The green-skinned orc nodded his head, turning around to look at the brown one once more “Dis be right place, me thinks.” He barked out in a rather loud voice. The brown one nodded his head, heaving the axe off his shoulder and pointing it towards the walls of the mine, “Get ta work, Rokar.” He stated bluntly, narrowing his eyes. Rokar waved his pickaxe with a grumble, turning around and fitting the torch into its proper sconce as he begin to slam iron against stone, moving what seemed unmovable. He dug for some time, mashing his pick against the stone, removing all the protective layers of rock and gravel that hid those precious ‘shinies’ that the land possessed. His digging was monotonous beyond a few bits of banter between the two orcs, mostly concerning with crude jokes, the brown one giving Rokar a swift kick to get him back on task, and whatever else that may have crossed their minds to talk about to perhaps past this dull, unbloody time. Although the caves seemed lonely and their chatter seemed to only consist of the two of them, Rokar and the brown one, there was a third party listening in, or more so becoming annoyed by the constant clattering of iron and stone and the grunts exchanged between the orcs. The third party wasn’t some sort of assassin, or necromancer, or bandit, or even some sort of long lost menace that’s some how released when one “digs too deep”, but it was a filthy creature. It was a creature of pure ebony, with eight long and vile appendages. These legs skittered across the cave flooring with the utmost silence, and with such speed that it seemed like the true essence of death itself flowed through the stone. This creature was easily gigantic, bigger than both the orcs but certainly small enough so that it might traverse the caverns without trouble. Even if trouble did come in the form of stray rock formations, its hide was tough and its muscles tougher, shattering through anything flimsy, and foolish, enough to stand in its way. The creature also possess two, fat crimson eyes that glowed softy in the darkness, along with coarse hair that covered the hide from head to all 8 of its toes. Its mandibles were sharp and ferocious, a sickly green ooze dripping from its mouth, and coating the mandibles with an emerald gloss. The creature, or spider as one might now call it, grew quicker with its pace as the sound of shattering stone grew closer, the orcs unaware of this beast’s intentions. Then it came, crawling on the ceiling and letting out a faint hiss as it saw the light from the torch, and the orcs extracting their shines. With a swift motion the oversized arachnid practically sliced through the air as it cast itself on the larger, brown orc. The orc, although seemingly unawares has guarded miners before, has fought in battles before, and has certainly bested spiders before so he knew the tell-tale signs of such an attack, the hissing caught his ear but he shrugged it off as Rokar being an ass. Although he shrugged off the hissing, the faint movement of stone above them as the spider picked up speed wasn’t something he could simply put out of his mind, not after the faint hissing and with a quick sliding of his foot, he turned, but a fraction too late. The spider nearly got him by the arm, the massive thing trying to bite and rip at his flesh, but he would have none of that as he sidestepped out of the way, heaving his axe up to strike. The spider knew it had missed as soon as the orc began to turn, asserting its focus on the miner now, Rokar, landing upon him as the orc side-stepped and ripping its mandibles into his back. The motions happened too fast, the pounce, the side-step, the axe, and then the bite. Rokar let out a yell of anguish, rage in his eyes as he thwacked his pick behind him to bat the spider away as the brown orc brought his axe down upon the beast. The spider shifted its weight away from the axe, getting a nasty gash in one of its left legs. Its back now had a few nicks and holes in it, brought on by the pick-axe and so the spider quickly started to get off the miner and onto the wall in an attempt to run, but it had not accounted on the tenacity of the orcs. Rokar turned with a swift motion, face gnarled with rage as he slammed his pick square into one of the legs of the spider, snagging it and pinning it in place. The brown orc saw his opportunity, bellowing at a mighty war cry as he charged the spider with his axe, and with a satisfying squish, he embedded his weapon into the monster’s head, causing it to shudder deeply before heaving downwards and going limp. Rokar fell to one knee, releasing his pickaxe as he clutched his chest, poison soaking his thin shirt and seeped deeply into his flesh. He breathed heavily, nearly passing out before the brown orc grabbed him by the arm, lumbering his way towards the entrance of the cave. OOC: ((This'll be the story that sets up Rokar's death. There may be a few errors here and there, it was written rather late. At any rate. Cave spiders are a *****.))

Out-Of-Character Minecraft Account Name- Twistedonslaught How old are you?- 20 Time-Zone/Country of Residence- Eastern Time, USA Do you have a good grip on the English language/good grammar?- Well I would hope so. Sadly, I do make a mistake from time to time, but then again, we all do. Small 2-3 Sentence Description of yourself- I'm currently a student and when I'm not engrossed in my studies, I like to hop on either Steam or Minecraft to play something. I also RP on MMOs such as WoW to pass the time and relax. I've also been know to read from time to time, but that could simply be a rumor. How much would you be on the server weekly- I always have free time on the weekends unless something major comes up, but on the week-days I usually have about 3-4 hours of free-time each day. How long have you played minecraft- I've been playing since about patch 1.2 What do you know about roleplaying- Role-Play is when you are In-characte(IC) and assume the role of your character and act as he/she/it would act in that circumstance. It also involves building a story and a background for the said character and acting according to that background and your character's personality. Things said In-Character should be said with grammar and not by using things like 1337 speak or lol. Out-of-Character, or OOC, is when you speak (usually in brackets) as yourself and not your character. Things said OOC should have no effect on what you know IC or how you act IC. What do you expect this server will be like- I expect this server to be, quite frankly, pretty good. I've heard amazing things about it from some friends that play on it and it seems to be a bit better than the RP server I used to play on. What other server(s) have you played on and why did you leave them- The Yogscast RPG server. I haven't really left it, but honestly it seems to be declining lately due to malfunctions with mods and the new updates and what not. Have you read, understood, and agreed to the rules- I have indeed and I do understand, and agree to these rules. Name the 4 races on this server- The four main races of this server are the Orcs, the DWARVES, the humans, and the elves. How did you hear about us- I found out about this server from my friends that play on it whose minecraft account names are Alikdoril and Cindavein. What is your The Lord Of Craft forum account name- Why it's none other than the fabulous Esmeraldo! In-Character: Character Name- Esmeraldo Redpick What is your Race- Dwarf, Mountain Dwarf Biography: So you wish to know about the Amazing Traveler known to most as Esmeraldo Redpick? Well then you've come to the right place my friend! The traveling merchant, and to some extent scholar, Esmeraldo is a gem among dwarves. No pun intended. Back when he was a lad, living in Kal'Alars, he was a personable young man with a beard as red as fire and a tongue like quick-silver. He could negotiate with the best of them, mine with the best of them, and of course drink with the best of them. Some might say he was strange, always looking for new friends and having such a friendly and outgoing tone and spring to his step, but whomever spoke against him he'd simply ignore and press on. His father, a strong miner with an equally flaming beard, taught him how to hold a pick but his passion for knowledge and mercantile was sparked on his own when he learned his knack for sales when he worked under an Artisan blacksmith. He'd get his hands on all the books he could throughout his life, trying to learn more about the world around him and the other races but most of all he just liked to be the dwarf in the room that knew more than just eating and mining. Now he sets out onto the world as a strapping gentleman, for dwarven standards, ready to put his knowledge to use. He travels about, selling his wares and offering his affinity for mining to whomever can pay for it. He's not a warmongering dwarf by any standards, quite contradictory but true, but is capable of at least defending himself against the occasional monster or two from his training back home. His age is about 80, doing only a little exploring here there after finally finishing his long training and studies, ready to take one the world and its gold! Character Age- 80, a fine age for a dwarf whose ready to explore after years of hard study and labor. Character Personality- Esmeraldo is out going and curious, always ready to make a new friend and find out new things about people and the world around him. He also isn't the war loving type, like most other dwarves, and prefers to settle things with his sharpened tongue and wit, rather than his axe and blade. Your Ambitions- Esmeraldo wishes nothing more than adventure and gold! He travels about the world with his pack of goods, selling, exploring, and experiencing all that the world of Aegis has to offer him and any whom he chooses to travel with. Can your character read or write- Well of course he can! He's quite capable of both reading, since he simply loves to read both ancient and new texts, and writing down legal information for sales and letters back home to his aged father. Can your character mine- Of course my character can mine! A mountain dwarf without a pick in his hand is like an orc without a blade in his! Are you a capable builder- He knows a few ins and outs of setting up small tents and what not, but he's not a superb stone mover like his brethren back in Kal'Alars. Can you wield a sword- Being a dwarf he is capable of holding up a blade to some creatures, but he isn't a master by any means of the word due to his love of studies and transactions, not blood and war. Enjoy Farming- Well he's read books about it! But no, the Fabulous Esmeraldo isn't the best farmer in the world, granted he hasn't really tried it but he knows only what he has read which isn't too useful unless he puts it into practice. Plus he'd rather be selling and studying. Does your character have any special skills- Does he have any special skills?! Beyond a quick wit and the ability to read and write he really doesn't. Mining and swordplay come natural to dwarves, so he wouldn't count those as special. A screenshot of your skin-http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/195/20110930221657.png/ Other Information- Nothing worth noting.