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About ScreamingDingo

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    the antagonist of player fun
  • Birthday 11/16/1945

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  1. mfw interplanar travel reduced to ripping holes in reality to move 400 blocks away
  2. @Werew0lf We are the men behind the slaughter
  3. The realization of Apotheosis led to the emergence of the pillar of Order, to only be consumed and brought down from the heavens, to the very lands that descendants dwelled upon. The over-zealous and underprepared deity succumbed to the horrendous alliance of Dragon-kin, the mortal enemies of the Lion. Those of the Draconic tore apart the body of the deity, leaving asunder the mark of Deific Death upon the fortress of Tor’Azdraeth. The Citadel where Azdromoth held his truth, was shattered upon his ascension to the skies. Those of Xannic Ilk felt the sensation of dread in their hearts, as the warmth of the bastion of Order faded into uncertainty. Those that were chained in the afterlife of Xan were relinquished of their golden shackles, which were replaced with ones wrought of ash and dragonsflame. Those that once pledged their lives to Xan, found themselves into forced servitude with the now emerging entity. To those of his mortal followers, they felt the embers within their gullet twist and turn. The enrapturing sensation of this ember emerged through their flesh, marking their soul with the marks of Asioth. All those of the descendants that had once blessed their lives with the guidance of Order, now found themselves defeated and broken. Their blessing, manifested into a bleeding mark that could not be rendered from flesh or repaired. A permanent symbol of the Fall of Xan. Mechanics: All currently connected Paladins will receive the ‘Scar of Order’, all MA and TA Xan Paladins will be disconnected from their magic. They will not be able to receive any boons or connections formerly from Xan’s influence, and will be stripped of any beneficial/negative afflictions made by such. Those who were Keepers, will revert to their fully descended forms. Those ‘linked’ to Xan will also be unlinked from the patron, for their existence has now ended upon the ascension of Azdromoth. This ‘Scar of Order’ is an aesthetic branding that afflicts the Soul of former Paladins. There are a few requirements for this, but it can otherwise be altered outside of this. It must, at minimum, be the size of the forearm of the person receiving it. This can be placed on their back, leg, hand, head etc. It must have draconic iconography within it. Whether that is a Dragon eating a Lion, the symbols of Asioth, a stylistic dragon etc. This branding will be left with a faint glow upon extreme pain and/or emotional distress. These colors will normally be red/orange, but can be left up to the discretion of the user. All ‘Holy Deific’ magics cannot be connected to, as the Mark of the God-Eater, Azdromoth is stained upon your soul. This includes magics under the domains of [Malchadiael, Tahariae, Aeriel, Esthael, Apohet/Shamanism] The Scar of Order CANNOT BE: Healed by deific or shamanistic magics. This is a full ‘scorching’ of the soul that manifests itself upon the user’s Soul Blueprint. Even if the Paladin swaps bodies or turns into a ghost, the scars will be present no matter what Covered by Tawkin or altered by shamanistic means. If the limb with the scar is amputated, it will manifest elsewhere on the body. All Paladins afflicted by the ‘Scar of Order’ will receive at a minimum, one of these traits. This is customisable and under the player’s choice Overzealotry of the ‘Natural Order’ Hatred / Fear of Dragons Immense fear of the ‘Skies’ / Lightning + Thunder Depression / pessimism Rage induced by the sight of fire Hallucinations of shadows and creatures being dragons Hallucinations of Xannic Prayers and Visions Other Xannic Mechanics / Stipulations: All player created Xannic Enchantments will be rendered inert upon the release of this post. All items with these enchantments can be ‘unsigned’ by the ST if you submit an sreq for such. If players attempt to use these enchantments in battle, they will not be applicable and continued abuse of this will lead to punishment All Chanceries and Sunwells will go inert, leaving emptiness in where the holy light once stood. Any MArt / CArt related to Paladin Magics will have their power remain, as a small fragment of this power. These are the ones that are currently existing and within player hands. Any souls currently within ‘Xan’s’ realm are purged/destroyed. Past characters that dwelled within this realm as Centurions have either been completely immolated or corrupted to serve beneath their new ruler.
  4. [This vision is granted to all MA holders of Malchadiael’s Templarism. This will be either received in a dream or in-game when you view this post. This is not visible by any other prophecy seeing entity and/or magic] The drifting weight of sleep lingers upon your form as your eyes remain smothered in the darkness of the world. Your skin feels the prickling chill of the wind, and your nostrils flare with the scents of battle. The metallic taste of blood coats your tongue as the lump in your throat slowly cascades down into your gullet. Flashes of light surge across your vision as your body lurches into a sudden dash, your mind merely a passenger in the vessel it inhabits. The bitter cold of the abyssal darkness is interrupted by a gleaming light bursting forth from a gargantuan, golden blade. A melody of incomprehensible sounds follows the movement, an almost alien gargle emerging into the silence as flames of light tear through reality. The never-ending darkness ensues as your body twists and turns, striking viscerally against something beyond your understanding. The bulging form of tentacles warps into a plethora of hands and into limbs that curdle at the edges of darkness, snaking behind the most vile. This was all, yet this was nothing, for the sickening understanding of what was material did not exist here. The flare and fervour of battle broke through the questions of what it was or what it was doing; you simply knew to kill. Your own mind then slipped from the grasp of the abyssal, a descent where its own form shuddered and twisted before being launched into another. The infernal ruins of the jagged landscape lay intertwined with machines emitting red smog, their putrid breath bellowing to the heavens. The alchemical smog plagued the lands, where the red haze became a blanket for the horrors within. The skies were carved with the sigils of the Nether; the clouds and heavens were a tapestry, marking the blight of the invading forces. Your body shifts as you slowly trudge through the landscape, turning your helmet to look at your two companions. Their armour consists of blackened sheets of metal intertwined with copper plating, stained by alchemical oils seeping from the polluted landscape. Imps and various other beasts scatter across the fetid hells, while the constructs of the Great Machine lie scrapped and stripped in the remnants of this former stronghold. Fatigue weighs on you as you slowly trudge through the dust and dirt, climbing over rubble and the husks of robotic constructs. A volley of cannon fire echoes in the distance as barrages of large explosives begin to litter the battlefield near you. The howling of distant death haunts the area as the ground erupts in a violent geyser of debris. The whistles of horror continue as you charge through, your armour ripped apart by the sudden, sharp pain that launches your consciousness from your mind. Ejected like a stone from a catapult, your imagination shifts within your mind. A weird, dull chime echoes in the back of your mind as you lose any feeling of a body or vessel. A singular, lifting presence lingers over the darkness. A sight that continues onwards, where nothing comes forth—except the dull chime. It continues to ring, and when you feel the darkness of your mind slip into nothingness, it is brought back by the lingering resonance. It stops, then starts, then stops, then starts. Familiarity. A hushed voice carries itself upon the sounds, where no light or darkness rests; only the absence of all follows. “The Heavens Clash, may their honourable fight stand tall without interference.” Again, the chime rings out. The soothing voice of Seraphim feels like one that knows wisdom and truth; every word and sound is coated with it. Your existence slowly fades within this chime; your consciousness continues as you feel this strange state. The normal chaos of the shrill whispers in your mind has subsided. No rage, no hatred, no terror—simply tranquilly. As your eyes glance over, you see a simple knight wearing black armour kneeling next to you. Another warrior, another claimant, calmed by the ever-guiding voice that dwells in the darkness. The entity looks familiar in some way—another that felt the calls of the Seraphim in their life. Not akin to Malchadiael’s utterances, but another. Another who dealt with a darkness within, and one who would overcome it all. The challenges of the heavens: who are we to stop the valiant duel of two? Why would we incur divine fate? Why would we interrupt courage? With that, you are awake. Was this a blessed vision or a frantic omen? The heavens stirred with the fate of the descension of the lion to clash against the mortal planes. If this was a destined battle, what came next?
  5. only person who kept me sane during my admin tenure with world team and co disappearing. hope everything has been going great
  6. Reginald Napier the III looks upon this missive eagerly, the esteemed author of various titles such as, "The Forbidden Snaga, Crown or Cuddles and Stuck between an Ostrich and a Hard Place" almost salivates at this sudden notice. A famous story, a plot-point as juicy and filled with such enjoyment for his potential viewers. His readers in Haense and Petra have declined in the recent years, and the longing love of one to Norlandic Royalty seemed like the perfect way to re-emerge into the literary scene. With such, he snatched a copy of the Sugarfoot's notice and began to plot his next novel.
  7. lol paladins aren’t dead yet no need to absorb wyrmstalker and vindicators into a magic with 5 different sub magics
  8. You’re locked out of only the two most deranged deities and that’s it. You can take ANY other deific magic, you can’t just can’t take the super holy purging evil ones. Malchadiael and Xan are ones that would purge cities if it led to their goals, a singular offspring of Moz Strimoza is not worth their time connecting. This stops a singular avenue of roleplay of not being a Templar, and it’s very justified as to why they’d say no. People say “Devils” aren’t “Demons”. But they are influenced and melded physically by Moz Strimzoas influence (and Ixris). They aren’t immortal ladder climbers, but they are something where these deities can be picky about their followers. it’s fine to not be able to play karlach reclassed as a paladin. Make that part of your roleplay, and it normally means that those entities will slowly edge towards being evil from discrimination and that creates much more roleplay than letting you play a tiefling so u can be cute and have horns. (And if people argue that the world is not cruel, remember that all elves and dwarves that don’t align themselves to a deity end up in permanent purgatory in the ebriates)
  9. everyone who said “watch an irl video” of plate armor is a ******* nerd and I hope all your ST items despawn in your inventory. 2 emote bows are absurd if you apply them to the right circumstances, you double the firing output of most weapons in long fight and pairing that with a horse and minmaxxed positioning and you’ll send 5 arrows in 10 emotes while being untouchable. plate armor is only as broken as nerds say it is. I think all we need is a proper plate buster solution to allow for ppl to diversify their armor choices.
  10. A true, Braevosian farmer holds his ears of corn. He utters deep murmurs about how he will never have as much corn as the Xionist Lords.
  11. The remnants of battle lay strewn across this sanctified pocket of the Abyss. Broken skeletons and mounds of eviscerated flesh lie on the outskirts of the black spires that surround the dwelling of the Xannic Berserker. Since the fated incursion from the Titan’s Kin, the presence of the undead have increased with their now frequent assaults against the stronghold. “Isolation” The word carried a weight behind it that instilled determination inside the kneeling soldier, a place where none could truly enter and that none laid around her that could be affected by these constant attacks. None to protect, none to rally and lead, only a lonesome mind that circled in its own thoughts. “Defiance” The Altar of the Berserker laid the bounties of her last hunt, the corpses of Herald, Undead and Frost hung upon bent skewers of wood and metal, looted in the scarce fields of the fallen continent. The gaze of the warrior lingered upon the eviscerated body of the one who tried to strike her, the only act of strength shown by those who dwelled within the Volcanic Hearts of the Heavens. They remembered the words and information told by those assembled warriors, of the Sundering of the Skies, the Uplifting of Flame. “Fear” The Sapphire Flames of the Spire offered respite for the lands within, the warmth of Order felt, known as a suffocating smog that enveloped all that entered. The weapon of the Knight loosely hung from the gauntlet of the reflective figure, a construct wrought of battles and conquests of success and defeats. The dull pain of mercy throbbed upon her upper shoulder blades, as the stakes of pure black iron dug into her very core, their handles made from the crafts of the King of Beneath All. Things were changing, as those in the skies above the darkness dealt with the hand of fate. Yet, nothing changed in the forgotten lands, every day was to Fight and Survive, or Die and live with the shackles of the taunting Lord. There was no silence in death, for fear was not held for death, but the fate that lies beyond its embrace.
  12. “Esthael would banish these beasts to the furthest depths of the Nether if she could. This is not the Aengul that shall show you redemption.” Yokozuna, great Sumo of the Oyashi reads with his various trips to the Grub Bucket ™️. His own overloading of outrageous amount of foods mixed with his wiping his greased fingers upon the missive.
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