ScreamingDingo

This lore has been denied. You will be sent a forum PM regarding the reasons for denial within the next 24 hours.

This lore has been denied. You will be sent a forum PM regarding the reasons for denial within the next 24 hours.

This lore has been denied. You will be sent a forum PM regarding the reasons for denial within the next 24 hours.

going to be honest magics and creatures as a whole need to become way less of a time sink to allow for a cultural shift of ppl learning and not being so attached to characters bcos you have to commit 10-20 weeks to learn a magic

This is a prophetic vision accessible to seers, naztherak, farseer shamans, vivification clairvoyants, and mystics with hexing per Prophecy lore. This vision is also bestowed upon characters that go to sleep after interacting with the event-site that this link appears on. The world itself extends to the landscape of endless dunes, with mountains that tower high above the clouds. The skies lay entwined with clouds that stretch across the surface of the world as you look down upon your own body. The pale, scarred skin stretches over your arms, adorned with strands of rope and bone that rustle with every movement. The distinct garble of foreign tongues echoes from behind you as you walk through the endless dunes. Your fingers wrap around a crude weapon of stone, its sheer weight causing heft upon your upper arms, the strain of muscle against the burden it holds. The winds themselves scorch upon your eyes, the grains digging into every crevice that adorns your face. Your nostrils flare as you squint your eyes against the endless onslaught of nature, to hide under the shade of your own flesh. The soles of your feet crunch against the dunes, branches, and such, breaking beneath the weight of your form. Your chest fills with air in slow and controlled breaths, the scent of charcoal and blood holding a faint linger upon the horizon as you continue to drudge through the ever-growing expanse. The strain of your body continues to swell through your form, the ever-lingering beast of fatigue felt upon your back. As the winds continue, the beating drums of the hunting party fill your ears, the deep percussion causing the world to feel its heartbeat. The clouds slowly part as your fingers ensnare around the crude weapon instinctively, a reflex of the hunters of yore. A shriek from the heavens thunders forth as the clouds break from their refuge, revealing the prize of the hunt in the skies. The large, golden hawk descends from the horizon with its ever-beating wings, the winds following its sharp descent towards the group. The wind batters against your body as your own heart thuds deep within your chest. There is excitement and adrenaline as the Great Hunt has begun. The roaring of drums intertwines with the sharp cracks of wind that emerge from the beast as the howling of the desert lions embarks across the landscape. A simple stride is felt as your feet carry you forward; right upon left, they dash upon the sands with the agility of none other. The surrounding area warps into almost a blur as your eyes narrow towards the target of your passion. The thrill is felt in your very bones as the colossal beast continues its swooping descent, the back of its feathered wings outstretching across the gaze of the sun. A twist of your wrist raises your spear as you run, the energy surging through your body as the small strides turn into a leaping sprint. The stretching of muscles is felt as your shoulders lock and your head cranes as you dash upon dunes that collapse beneath your feet yet do not impede you. The warband’s drums continue to beat as the hawk continues its descent, the sands themselves exploding into geysers stirred from the heavens. The wings continue to thud against the expanse of the skies as their talons outstretch from their retracted state. A momentary glimmer of fear grips your heart; the reality of death dwells upon your mind, akin to a lingering stench. Your lungs take in a gust of air as your legs tighten, and your shoulders slacken for only a moment. The opportunity now finds itself in your mind. A twist of your own hips propels your body to a sudden sharp turn, where the momentum of your spear is swung around akin to a hammer, its weight causing strain upon your upper back as the weapon of war trails to face its opposition. The call of the hawk continues to cascade across the sands as its body lifts slightly off its intended flight path, the beaded eyes of the entity narrowing upon your form as you finally understand its purpose. “To clash, to bring chaos, to hunt.” The hunter's will manifests as the spear exits your hand, following the momentum of your throw. The strain on your body heightens as the sudden expulsion of your burdens lifts from your hands, the spear itself plunging itself towards the torso of the beast. Your feet turn with purpose as you adjust your body from the throw, skidding across the sands as the sudden squelch of flesh and shattering of bone echoes from behind you. The beast itself plunges overhead, ramming its pierced body into the dunes of the desert themselves, all as exhaustion floods through your chest and lungs. You grasp to keep your breath, but the thoughts continue to flood your mind. “To unite, to choose, to decide.” A sharp breath only fills your lungs momentarily as a wave of nausea floods your body and the beating sun scorches against your flesh. Was the cause of your breathlessness the onslaught of fatigue, or was it the adrenaline that ensnares your mind, gripping upon your throat to restrict its purpose? Your eyes squeeze the grains of sand that embedded themselves into the corners of your vision, all while the final thoughts echo. “For what is fate but the choice of one?” Your last moments in the body of the hunter are followed by the strangling darkness and the weightlessness that comes with non-existence. A sudden shunt from this reality to your own catches your mind. You awaken, with the experience of one you knew not of before.

“Remember the atrocities of Boomhill and the Haensian Cannibalism of the poor travellers!” Rudolph, a descendant of the Boomhill Mining Company laments over the news of Haense military cruelty and brutality.

Staggered emote entry into CRP is the king of this so someone can potentially kill and run if the reinforcements don’t arrive

spook MAs and CAs deserve no rights and TSA security should be mandatory to ensure they quit and stop playing their characters and we can have normal, mundane rp again.

This lore has been denied. You will be sent a forum PM regarding the reasons for denial within the next 24 hours.

Shit if that’s all it takes to remove the dwarven player base give me a second.

Moved to Denied Events.

Moved to Denied Events.

Moved to Denied Events.

what the actual **** this thread has been dead for four years

This lore has been denied. You will be sent a forum PM regarding the reasons for denial within the next 24 hours.