TwilightWolf

The Sariant Adjutant, 'Titan', removes her helm and unrolls a long, single silver gold braid. Blood stains her cheeks, but it is not her own. She listens to the Hochmeister intently, nodding every now and then until he silences. "If we do not fight now, there will be no room for living as we know it, Hochmeister. We are pampered, and it is for this reason that I fight alongside you, Brother. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, and so I am bound. Beliae doe king, beliae doe Orden, beliae doe moedor lent." She nods firmly in conclusion, putting her helmet on and saluting the Hochmeister before walking off to clean her blade.

At the turn of the year and deep in the fields of the freshly fallen snow, the Mouth of Dungrimm slumbered in the chilled breeze. The menacing sound of hundreds of feet crunching against the hoarfrost drew nearer, the Legion guards knew the sound all too well. Scrambling from their positions and pulling the chains of the gates to a slamming shut, the Legion erupted into action with shouts shattering the stillness of the air. Messages were sent to every holdfast, every clan hall in the Grand Kingdom of Urguan. Birds took wing, heading to Castle Bealcrest of the Teutonic Order and the shifting sands of Krughanistan. Legion, Order, and orcish warbands fully mustered, the troops proceeded through the icy winds of the earliest part of the year, heading to the grand fortress of Dungrimm’s Mouth. The Dwarves were not alone in the grand muster. In Oren, no doubt, the armies of the Raevir and the Heartlands joined in their uneasy alliance. Troops wearing both the sigil of the feared Imperial Army and the grey-eagle-on-red of the mighty Decterum marched in unison, an orderly withdrawal from the Mouth, back past even the walls of Kaz’ad-Dekan-Waerod. Their full force poured into Tahn’siol, guarded by the walls of their Mali allies. Troops continued to pour in on either side of the conflict, riding on horse, jabbernack, and wolf. Despite the roar of both of the armies’ impending clash, a group bearing the Black Cross guided two lone men from the mouth of the Orenian forces and to the Mouth of Dungrimm. The Sariants calmly marched forth into the Mouth, where they halted before Grand King Midgor Ireheart. Prince Robert and Lord Chancellor Donatien Brunswick looked up, and spoke over the silence of the hushed soldiers. They desired to speak of peace to the entirety of the Bloc. The Rex, Grogmar’Gorkil, with Clanfather Thore’Gorkil, the Grand King and his Council, and OrdenMarschall Wes with a Sariant Adjutant lined before the two men. The Prince and the Chancellor insisted that the Bloc speak with the Empire on their land. Dissent was muttered among the leaders of the Bloc, and after the muttering evolved into borderline shouting a vote was called. The majority of the Bloc could sense something amiss. It was unanimously decided that if the Bloc leaders were to accept their invitation, they would fall to the teeth of an Orenian trap. The Grand King held up his hand to silence the group, and finalized the decision. They would not go. It is important to know that in this moment, after the negotiating was done, both the Imperial Prince and the Lord Chancellor of Oren were surrounded by Bloc troops, armed to the teeth. The orcs bared their tusks and jeered with their cruelly wrought war axes, calling out “Exterminatuhz! Exterminatuhz!” The dwarves and Sariants settled for glares at the two diplomats. But the Dwarf King shook his head. The honor of the dwarves is spoken of throughout the land, and he would not sully it. To the grumbling of the orcs, no harm was done to the diplomats. Not a single hair on their head was dirtied as they were given an escort back to the gates of Kaz’ad-Dekan-Waerod and set loose to join back with their fighting men. It seemed, for the moment, that there would be no peace today, but there would be no great battle either. Perhaps. Then, out of nowhere, after the two diplomats had departed, a sign came from the heavens. A hawk, bearing the sigil of the Third Empire of Oren descended from the sky. In its talon it gripped a scroll addressed to the leaders of the Bloc. It seemed perhaps that peace would be arranged today. The Bloc leaders had their terms agreed upon to meet upon their own territory: a peace meeting was to take place in the Dwarven territory of the Mali’fenn. Solemnly the Bloc leaders marched, a gnawing pain of unsettlement inside their stomachs with the fiasco of the last meeting still fresh in mind. Yet they marched on, giving Oren the benefit of the doubt. Suddenly, the wild roar of a ferociously angry army emerged from the shrubbery along the graveled road to the Princedom. Adrenaline fueled, they swiftly retreated en masse to the Mouth of Dungrimm, shouting for the Legion to open the stalwart gates, pursued all the way by the human forces. Filing inside, word of Oren’s betrayal quickly spread between the ranks, fueling the burning rage of the awaiting army. Amused with their successful trap, the Oreners trotted inside Kal’Arkon gleefully to go about their ‘Exterminatus’. The temptation of plunder and innocents had them salivating over the chiseled roads of the City of Memory. But some were not satisfied with the spoils of Arkon alone. Greed overtook Oren’s forces, and their discipline dissipated before the all-conquering lust for gold and blood. Of their troops, perhaps a half broke up: roughly thirty thousand took the lifts to Alras, storming out of the gates into slaughter. The guards of Alras melted before the onslaught. Carts of peaceful merchants were flipped over and their goods stolen. However, a certain Grand Merchant with his crafty wits managed to pull a lever in the gatehouse, unleashing a hissing wave of boiling oil down onto the soldiers. Their screams of excruciating pain were drowned out by the flow of sizzling oil, leaving fifteen thousand men plastered against the street under the gatehouse, boiled and cooked to defeat. The screams ripped through the air and towards Alras, where their remaining forces scrambled to the lifts to assist their already defeated comrades. The eyes of the Bloc grimly watched the slaughter taking place, men frying alive in their armor. The sizzling smell of burning flesh made some of the troops vomit, using their helmets as buckets to catch the spew. War’s ugliness had never been so plain. A harsh roar rallied the Bloc troops. “Fur Krug!” “Kavir Oz Oren!” “Beliae Doe Moedor Lent!” The gates slammed open, unable to hold back the raging tide of Bloc troops. They hungered for revenge, betrayal would be met with bloody retribution. No blade or weapon seemed to be able to touch the berserker frenzy of the allies. Though the enemy employed weapons of witchcraft such as flaming swords and bows that punched through steel as easily as butter, the Dwarves mowed down the troops of the humans. It was as if the allies were a ravenous beast with a thousand sharpened teeth and the Oreners were its prey. Not a single man survived, save those who fled for the lifts of Alras. In utter disbelief, the remaining men of the Empire frantically clambered to the higher city, and fled to the buildings for safety with the forces of the Bloc hot on their heels. Running for the buildings, they hid inside and grasped their soulstones or jumped off, leaving the city to be secured by the Dwarves, Orcs, and Sariants. City secured, a victorious shout echoed from the armies, quaking the very earth beneath their feet. Medics burst from the ranks and began tending to the wounded, citizens and soldiers alike. As the wake of wreckage was cleared, soldiers reflected on the treachery of the Empire. This day will surely be burnt into the minds of the soldiers of the Bloc. We will not forgive, and we will not forget. ((I'd like to give a huge thank you to Watyll for helping with the collaboration. Good fight, everybody!))

Between school and the war shenanigans, I won't be able to make the deadline. I will most likely get around to drawing Lucion regardless, but it just won't be today. Sorry!

I think the only one I see compatible with my potat- Erm, Mac… Is Guns of Icarus. I'll give it a whirl. (Coming soon?) EDIT: This will have to be finished after class, I'll post the final product some time this evening

((Joking aside, 'twas good fun.))

​My favorite restaurant hands down is The Crab Shack. (Not Joe's) I used to live really close to it before I moved down to Florida, it's mostly southern food and low country boils, but they also had this crazy gator… exhibit? Pen? I don't even know, but it had a crazy amount of gators with $1 feeding booth thing. And the bird house, cannot forget the crazy bird house. I'd post a picture of my last time there, but I've since lost my phone and a ton of my photo albums. Luckily it's fairly well known to have pictures plastered all over the internet. That grill looks delicious though… I should probably look into dinner.

"Sister, a letter has arrived for you!" A plebeian exclaims, weaving through the stone halls of the castle towards the dining hall. He halts sharply and salutes the Sariant Knight, presenting the note. Titania plucks the letter from his grasp, nodding for the Plebeian to return to work. She scans the letter repeatedly, unsure if she can trust her eyes. She scoffs to herself in disbelief. "Hah… What? I thought you were to marry that Pern woman… And how the nether did you get the okay to invite me of all people?" Her grey gloved fingers gently tap out a half baked rhythm, sighing as she recalls some rather distasteful encounters in the silver city. "Alright… one last time." She retreats to her room to write a response, all the while dreading the idea of having to go through the gates of Tahn'siol.

Titania retreats to her room, reflecting on what the nether she just witnessed.

Within the rows of Sariants, the single Sariant Knight nods her head solemnly and regretfully as she thinks back on the eve that she had to assist in throwing one of her own brothers into the dungeon. She gnaws on the inside of her cheek as she trudges through the stone halls; she was the one who had to face the ire of the Hochmeister and expose Lion's actions. "It was my duty." She murmurs sternly to herself in an attempt of reassurance, yet she releases a rueful sigh as she reaches of the door handle of her room. Glancing back toward Berendan and Darion's room, she nods once more and retreats inside. "Soea brauechen beu leekkua ue…" Sliding into her chair as she speaks, she strums her fingers along her wooden desk. "I can't linger on this." She declares softly, reaching for a sheet of paper and a quill. Squinting in the low candlelight as the quill etches a short note across the parchment, her expression melts into a gentle smile. Satisfied with her message, she whirls out of the chair and trots across the hall to her brothers' room. She simply slides it through the crease of the door, knowing the recipient is sound asleep and will eventually read it... "Kags uened soea, u peti solv."

What character do you most enjoy playing? What's your favorite type music? What are your thoughts on my character?

I agree with you here somewhat. We have two bathrooms designated for two types of bodies, male and female. In my opinion, it does not make sense to use a bathroom that was designed to cater the needs of a specific sex (like a man using a women's restroom). There are things in each bathroom that are specifically designed to meet the needs of that biological sex. It has nothing to do with what gender you see yourself as, it's more along the lines using the restroom that is most equipped to suit your body's needs. And idk about you but seeing a woman try to use a urinal just sounds silly.

Yep! LoZ: Twilight Princess is my favorite game, so I based my name from Link's wolf form. Nothing, really. I just needed some numbers after my name so I slapped the last two numbers and the first two numbers of the number line on my keyboard onto my screen name. K. As far as I've seen, Blake's a pretty well fleshed out character. I chuckle every time I see him going after some new girl. Titania doesn't like or dislike blake... she's pretty neutral about him overall. And lastly,Blake, you're a great role-player. I only wish I bumped into you more so that I can see how Blake's doing. Pretty goooooood.

I think so? Step 1, Get Horse. Step 2, Horse You're vaguely familiar... I really don't remember, sorry :/ Yes to all of the above. When I arrived, I seriously didn't know what to expect. I creeped on y'all all the way through Aegis when I would watch Emberhard play, and he finally convinced me to join after like a year and a half of me saying "No that sounds stupid." I was a really awkward player when I first joined, I really didn't know how to roleplay with other people very well. That changed really quickly when I got involved in Malinor, and eventually led me all the way to about nine months of nation leadership... whew. I'm really astonished at how far I've come now that I look at it. Because it's a culture.

Depends on the starchiness of the adjacent spud. Titania thinks Artimec can be hotheaded and impulsive at times, but they've had a lot of interaction over the years and she looks past that and views him as some sort of weird distant brother.

I've always seen Haadi as an interesting character. I only wish that I had more interaction with him to see how fleshed out he's become, since last I RP'd with him he was like... a teenager. Titania unfortunately didn't ever /really/ get to know Haadi, but she enjoyed watching him grow up, and saw a lot of potential in him. Elad, you're a shining roleplayer and a great player to talk to (the few times that you actually use your mic, silly.), you've given me many a laugh.

I have no idea what this means >.> -edit- Wow, just got it... Uhm, sure? I really enjoy Kris' character, he always stood out to me back in my Malinor days. Titania's opinion of Kris? Hehe, he's certainly earned her respect for one, and she considered him a fairly good friend before she retired. And finally, crayfishchris, you are awesome. Please stay that way.

I have found that taking into account the surrounding environment really enhances the experience and opens up some options. Soon, now that I am done moving and have my birthday under my belt!

So I've been here for a bit now, and I tend to post on the forums maybe once in a blue moon. So after enough boredom stockpiled, I decided to join the AMA trend. Ask away!

Two more rather crude sketches are slipped through the front gates of the Conclave via blue fegobo delivery service. "Dub muur snagaz. Du nub mayk miztake ob ignuring uz." ((Two more captives. Do not make the mistake of ignoring us.))

A scrawny blue fegobo scrambles up the stairs to the Conclave, and feeds the letter through the bars of the closed gates to the first guard she sees before pattering off back to the Azog fort with an excited squeal. - “Fair thee well Conclave, it appears that the Azog have expanded their military arm to reach the caravan paths as I write within a cage at their Trog. It appears they have demands and I’ll have to rely on you all to pay it, I may be a Valah and an old one at that, but I pray you still have care for an elderly old man. -Hussariya Khagan” - At the bottom of the letter, crude and sharp orcish script shadows the finer handwriting above. “Dub stakz ob irun blokz agh dub stakz ob emeruld blokz. Latz hab dub twiggie hourz.”

A pair of familiar ruby eyes followed the OrdenMarschall as he trudged past the small animal enclosure that Titania leaned comfortably against. Though she knew there was something amiss and she yearned to speak out, her lips remained sealed as he continued on through the beginning snowfall. Wondering if he had even noticed her at all in her cozy corner next to the lowing cattle, she paced gingerly towards the battlement, grasping her hands around the frozen merlons… Her answer came with the slam of an iron gate and the distant crunching of boots against layers of snow. Denial forced her back to her duties, back to the stone halls and to sleepless nights. Uncertainty dragged her back to those same front gates, and amassing angst caged her there. With every creaky opening, a lie veiled in hope, she loathed them even more. There she stood, seemingly frozen in time while glaring numbly towards the chilled iron bars. Occasionally a Sariant would saunter in, offering a dispirited shake of his head and a melancholic half smile. Moons passed, Edric's hand landed softly on her shoulder, offering a halfhearted squeeze in shallow reassurance. She remained still, half wishing that the cold would take her. "Why?"