-Max-

Food has now become a neccesity, you no longer go down to one heart. If you're starving, you can't use bandages or seek medical help. You need food.

Everyone can make bandages from wool/grass... and they heal 4 hearts. Please read this response

Please read the response I made to you.

hunger goes 50% slower, and bandages will be in abundance for ALL players. Also, the monks will heal noobies and, I assume, anyone else.

Replies in a conversational tone, happily lightening the mood. "I participated in the campaigns of Mandarin's March and the Salvus war, though my bowmanship was an adopted trait passed down from my father, long before I had any skill with a sword. It was through a number of teachers that I matured a love for the blade, however it was only after the shroud of youthful ignorance was taken from me that I developed more passive qualities." Feeling hardly compelled to supplement the man with Alai's full story, and slightly discomforted by the hollow and emotionless glare, Alai leaves a few holes in the short statement as others at the table greet Alexander.

you can sleep to regen health.

Great changes, good job! I'm glad to see that our pigmen won't be traveling at the speed of light. Reference: livestream

Alai replied suavely, using a polite and small nod of his head as he speaks. He realized with approval that Alexander accorded him at least some attention, however this is what courtesy demanded. "Alai Mortis, Your highness. I am not well archived within the books, as mine is a short line of insignificant nobles stretched thin through assassination and plague. I have landed myself as the Count of Rienna, however I also found talent as a diplomat of House Vallark. Our two families are old allies since the first years of Seventis." As he finishes, he leaves the topic of his prowess with a blade still up for discussion.

Alai leans forward slightly to give his attention to Alexander, a thin and almost indistinguishable frown drawn on his face. "Excuse me, your highness. I use the term with no ill intent. For where I reside, it is simply formality for myself to address anyone as such. It was ignorant for me to impose this dialect in my greeting, especially to someone with as much prestige as yourself. Titles that would imply lesser quality shall not be issued from my lips again." He finishes concernedly, his face lifted of it's frown for a second as he ends the apology.

Alai flashes Alexander a startled look, quickly composing his features and according a dry smile. He stood with no lack of reluctance however, as his incipient hatred for Alexander and his brutality had matured abruptly. He rolled his shoulders as he approached, but in no suggestive manner to imply that Alai needed to be at all limber. In fact, he had settled quite comfortably and almost fell asleep to the harmonic blending of silvery voices of men and women. The edges of his pants, which were meant for, astonishingly, a larger man, dragged tiredly behind his steady feet. His eyes gleamed like sun struck opals by the light of the torches, and hinted no emotion beyond their brown complexion. Alai rounded the table, and came slowly from behind, intercepting the gaze of Alexander. Flattening his arms to his sides, Alai forces an amiable smile with the courteous nod of his head. "For what purpose do I have the pleasure to be in the company of you and your wife this evening, Sir Alexander?" He asks politely.

Entering the tent once more, Alai kept his face composed, his eyes darting between Aerios and Alexander, remembering the smirk that followed him as he exited the room, embarrassed and furious. If anyone at the table had issued the servant to the task of spilling the wine on him, it was tantamount to a major insult, discharged through necessary means in which would mend the hostilities. Combat, Alai hoped. For a pulse beat, Alai wondered if the man ,or woman, responsible was deliberately provoking him to such unnecessary measures. No, such hasty and foolish acts of aggression were for the incompetent. However, he had a few enemies at the table who would be foolish enough to carry out the act, and most of them cunning. With this conclusion, he now settles restlessly at the table, shooting very brief looks at the Countess Ariana, of whom would remember better than most when Alai claimed Rienna. His pendant still dangles loosely around his neck, tucked into baggy and mute clothes that Alai was made obliged to dress into, so that he may quickly return to the meeting. Turning back to the table from politely nodding away a servant, he shrouds himself deep in thought. Considering it once again, Alai supposes that it would be unreasonable to think that Ariana is the main culprit, however more unreasonable to rule her out. Over the twenty years that divided them since their last dispute, she had made no attempt to contact him or bring him any grief, and would have no reason to embarrass Alai here and now.

Alai lounges silently at the table, one hand firmly grasped around the head of a glass of wine, the vacant being move to run it's fingers over the smooth intricacies of his medallion. Looking up to an approaching servant, he notices the man stops in front of him, swaying back and forth with some hesitance. Alai draws breath to speak, but does not let out his words before the servant stumbles next to him, sending bright red wines all over his clothing. Alai hastily pushes himself out of his seat, looking down at the mess of soaking and stained attire than he now wears, his mouth slightly ajar in disbelief. He looks up to the others at the table, his arms stretched away from his sides as his sleeves drip, his previously relaxed expression now supplanted with something a mix of horror and shame. Meticulous in his nature, Alai sought the looks of the others at the table, attempting to spy any who could have assigned the poor soul to such a task. Having not the slightest suspicion of who could have done this wrong doing, he composes himself out of such an uncharacteristic stature. Leaning over to speak quietly and briefly with Aerios, he swiftly exits the room to change.

Alai spreads his hands on the table in front of him as the final few nobles dribble in, his right being cocked in the habit of a professional swordsman. As they enter, his eyes flicker at each piece of clothing or jewelery while he attempts to recall names and faces.

Alai silently takes a seat besides Aerios at the table, keeping his eyes fixedly upon the Emperor himself. He hadn't traveled with any compatriots of his own, and instead shuffled in behind Aerios as they arrived. As the meeting commences, Alai gives a few fleeting glances to the Duchess Helaine and Duke Balian.

-A small sheet of paper is pinned loosely to a few notice boards in Salvus, Arethor, Seventis, and the cloud temple- Hail, traveler If you are oriented with the textile industry or have any sort of tailoring prowess, then read the rest of this poster... A steward of his Lordship Duke Aerios of The Holy Oren Empire, I have found myself short on proper attire for my regal position. If you wish to submit a creation, then deliver it to Tahnaki castle. I am looking for a dignifying and warm coat and pants. If you leave your name and location below this note, you will be sent 1000 minas if you deliver the winning submission. If no submissions satisfy, then it is my right to reject payment to anyone. However, I am not horribly specific and quite lenient in what I will expect and accept. (( Description: An aging man with a trimmed brown beard and hair, speckled with spots of grey that accompany his old age. Attire must accompany the fact that he is nobility, and is preferred that no hat is added. ))

Either way, like 50% of the server is without parents :P

Hello everyone! My name is maxthebeast11, and in game I play Alai Mortis. I've been reading through apps for a while since I've joined LoTC (I'm not an application team member) and have pretty much pin pointed the most cliche and unlikely scenarios that characters are put in throughout their biographies. I'm not here to slander or remark, but instead turn these overused experiences into something fun. Throughout this topic I will be doing one page "chapters" following the cliched life of Annabelle (insert random last name). The length is to accommodate the how short biographies are. Though if these at all seem incomplete, I'll surely dedicate to a more described and interesting story. Why am I doing this? I'm doing this to receive positive (or negative) feedback from the LoTC community on my writing skills, to promote myself to write more; which is something I've been failing at the job on since I decided to start creative writing. If I don't get my writing out there, then how will I ever improve? This is an experiment to do something creative and fun for myself, so enjoy and leave feedback! CHAPTER ONE (The parents killed by bandits cliche) The first of the bandits lumbered slowly into the room outside of the closet, his footsteps and breathing becoming more defined to the three quiet dwellers of the dark coat storage room. Small and fragile, Annabelle clutched her bear tightly to her breast, shooting a pleading sidelong glance up to her father, who now held her firmly in his lap in the heavy dark. The outside footsteps had ceased once more, stretching the silence dauntingly. Somewhere a few feet away, however, the slow opening of the door to the room accompanied the next pair of footsteps as someone else entered. The two men now accorded each other somewhat of a greeting grunt, and their pacing starting once more as they rummaged loudly through the room. Annabelle quivered with adrenaline, curling up her knees and tensing in her father’s lap. He seized her protectively, crushing her against his chest as he held his breath anxiously. They all three had retreated to this small closet without hesitation, after the mother had identified the shapes of men from outside of her kitchen window, rounding up her husband and child as they were both ushered into the dark closet. Having barely a moment to spare, the father had groped for the weapon in nearest reach, as they knew these men would quickly be upon the house. It was common for bandit attacks to occur along the furthest Oren farmlands at times, though the family was not quick enough to heed to the warnings, and decided to take their chances on their own. The family sat there in tense anticipation, and peering out of the small crack in the door with watchful intentness. Down in her throat now, Annabelle felt the distant tingling sensation of a cough rising involuntarily like hot air. She clamped her hand across her mouth, stifling the roaring cough that would give them away. Noticing this, her mother across from them clenched Annabelle’s hand tightly, while the pale and inky girl nodded feebly in understanding. Her mother nodded sharply in return, glancing inwardly to the father. Now though, without chance to stifle it, Annabelle released a hoarse and wheezy clearing of her throat, making her father cross his muscular arm further around her chest. Upon hearing the noise, the two men immediately identified it as something other than the wind or the house settling, and both exchanged hurried comments as they tried to localize the sound. Both eyes of the women were wide with horror and realization, as the father shoved Annabelle away into the darkest corner of the closet and the mother wrapped her up protectively. Wielding his small hammer determinably, the father shook off any doubts as to what would happen next. He glanced back over his shoulder to the small girl huddling in the corner, turning to face the men as the first one laid his hand on the knob of the closet. And then… a sudden flare of rage made the father hurtle himself at the man in the first moment that the closet door flew open, pinning the larger man into the ground. “Hey! He’s in here!” the other shouted, alerting the other members of the party who were sulking around the house; rushing forward briskly to assist his companion. He was too late, however, to halt the savage blows that landed hard upon his comrade’s skull with a sickening thud. Annabelle still curled up silent in the corner of the closet, keeping her eye lids fastened like a dam against a river of tears. The mother gaped silently at the scene unfolding, the alerted voices of the bandits sounding hollow and reedy as she stared at the men who begun to pour into the room. In a flash, the father was able to give the second man a glancing blow as he quickly spun around, and fell the now injured man to the floor next to the closet. Regaining his footing, he stood covered in blood, to face the bandits coming out of the doorway, one lurching forward to seize his wife from the closet and grasping her by the hair. Annabelle had not opened her eyes to witness what had happened, but had still felt the weakening grip of her mother as she was torn away from Annabelle. Breaking out now, a tear peeled away from her cheek as Annabelle wept too softly to hear, convulsing to the sounds of the cracking skulls… (To be continued)

Did they... JUST change that? cause I'm sure that at one point you had to be VIP.

I feel this detracts more than it does anything else... This adds the advances and responsibilities needed in a real life situation, where you dedicate your time to the project. Unlike some people, I don't GET to spend all day on my projects. The only established blacksmith for 1000 blocks doesn't log on at the times I do, so this would request that MORE people become blacksmiths. This takes the other blacksmith out of the competition, and creates an unreal scenario where half of the people in this setting become blacksmiths... I can understand some changes, but unless we get an influx of 100 more players that could be on to do these jobs, we should retain our independent reliability. Edit: I own a pretty booming town with around ten citizens right now, and we just started. This small and quaint town worked perfect in the old system, and allowed two miners to do the work that is now required of the cooperation of everyone in town. When one of my miners wants to mine, what does he do? he waits for our craftsman to get on. What does that craftsman do? he waits for the lumberjack to get on to supply the materials. By the time the lumberjack is on the miner logged off. the product is a complete collapse, and production breakdown. I quit the starwars MMO because it took much too long to get anywhere and get anything done. That is where I'm seeing this going right now, In my daily life I can't wait two hours for the sufficient number of people to log on so that I can furnish a house. ONE LAST EDIT: btw, I'm having these problems and I'm american... think of the Australian playerbase.

I'm more for improving combat systems and skill pertaining to it, instead of "Hey, I have the biggest and most expensive weapon."

I count... 30 people? dayum

We shouldn't write anything for Norjun until this whole usurpation business is settled. This all is going quite well, by the way.

It was alright. pretty exciting when it was building up, though there was too much lag D: