ScreamingDingo
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Posts posted by ScreamingDingo
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Artifact approved. Please contact me for your in-game item. This comment and the thread's title will be edited within the next hour to display what MArt number it is being designated with.
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Artifact approved. Please contact me for your in-game item. This comment and the thread's title will be edited within the next hour to display what MArt number it is being designated with.
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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.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Denied.
Character has been PK'd prior. Please use a new character for this transformation.0 -
Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Under review, a verdict shall be given in around a week.
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Under review, a verdict shall be given in around a week.
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Under review, a verdict shall be given in around a week.
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Artifact approved. Please contact me for your in-game item. This comment and the thread's title will be edited within the next hour to display what MArt number it is being designated with.
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Denied.
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Under review, a verdict shall be given in around a week.
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SPOOKS ON TOUR: The Pampo Parade
in Miscellany
Posted
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.