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osumanduas

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About osumanduas

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    the day of reckoning will come
  • Birthday 12/31/1997

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    methuselahs

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    Male
  • Location
    ottawa
  • Interests
    bloodsports, shit-posting, jousting, writing, shit-posting, playing nobles, cake by the fae ring, ithelanen oil wrestling, shit-posting, blackface, Bollywood, keystone excel pipeline, DEFICITS. Expert at running away.

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  1. If you’ve started hopping in skype calls and driving your blood pressure up over a community in a video game; that seems like a good place to stop. Go play CoD or binge Netflix instead because this place isn’t changing and you’ve become too invested. I’ve known a lot of people in my time in this community who stick around far past their point of return. Just reevaluate and come back when you feel like you can have fun again, then drop it again when it becomes too much.
  2. I’d say farewell but we’ll always be friends and so long as we hang in discord I’ll never lose touch. I'm proud o’ you my guy. Keep on the grind
  3. The Count of Rochefort sat on his porch, overlooking the land he had stewarded for twenty-six long years; a snuffed cigar lay in the ashtray upon the ledge by which he sat. His life had been a tumultuous one, and it may still yet to be. But for the time and in future years as his twilight came upon him what appeared was an opportunity for peace and comfort. Yet all he could think of as he looked across to the valley of Cathalon below, the township of Owynsburg that had been made to flourish, the fields made to grow, which now colored the settled land as a magnificent golden hue; all he could think to do was reflect on his time and pray it was enough. On the first he took solace that his brother would choose a worthy successor, his elder brother and all but one of the two folk of his long forgotten childhood who still beget time within his life. Yet now he was in mid-life, not the spotted ambitious youth of his sixteenth year; high on the regard of a newly wife and eager for the responsibilities that came endowed with them. His next thoughts turned therein entirely to family and friends. His children now on their way to adulthood, his eldest daughter Lorena but a paltry year away from it. ‘She will do well’ he thought, ‘no, they will do well.’ He thought again, reaffirming his belief as his mind drifted to their prospects. With any regard, he would try to assure her ascendency to his own former post in the Lieutenancy which he had already promptly resigned but a few moments before. She would do well in any path she chose, and he was content in that, despite the Count’s reputation for the contrary he was and had always been a man of liberal dispositions. The sixth son of nine healthy children, and a boy with nothing but a name to inherit. Which he had levied to the best of his abilities in the industries of both the personal and the political. His son Adrian would serve well as Count when his time came, but not just yet. He would have the time to raise his youngest sons, Victor and William. His daughter Theodora would be given a good life too, or an opportunity to be taken care of so help the Lord. For if the family he hesitantly regarded broke their bond a second time he nary countenance the grief of loss that accompanied the death of most his siblings, his mother and father. It was nothing more than what he had, maybe far more, and he would have nothing less. He had remained strong in his tenure, though it weened and waxed, and his good faith was tested, betrayed, and sometimes paid off. He had accrued strong friendships with the common folk of his Commonwealth, for all but in name he felt assured in thinking of it as such; his country, every grain in Cathalon and every brick in the mortar of Varoche. The O’Rourke of Elendil who had proven eternal in their fortitude, never wavering in their support of the shared project of prosperity for the valley they all loved. Newcomers by all means with no obligation to do so even, yet they remained and guided the land alongside his own hands even now. The goodly Mayor Alexander and the men of the former garrison, whom to his knowledge had all preferred transference to the Navy by which they could truly fight in a force that represented the spirit of their province, a force they could mayhap one day take pride in constructing like he and his had seen to the Commonwealth itself. Though his last thoughts were for his first, a man and women who without their support he would have truly failed before he began, his brief inexperience which would have spelled his doom: the late Karoly, his longtime friend and patriot Laurence Pruvia, and the scion of Dubois Mariana. ‘Though they were sometimes fickle’ he thought, they never abandoned him even unto their departure from his administration. They had been tireless in their pursuits, and their loss would always be a void of government and of his own soul that he knew would never be filled. “Not so bad, I suppose. Not bad at all.” he said the words with finality, his tone soft as he muttered the words to himself. he took one last look at the valley of his people; the Rhoswenii who had taken and cherished the land since his father’s dissolution of the old republic of the past. Though as he had always despised war himself, loathed the barricades that came with the most recent of them, loathed the loss of life that accompanied it. Yet so too did he despise betrayal and favour loyalty. An ultimate paradox, to hate the actions of one’s liege, but in principle to never betray him for it. He had only once done so in his forty years of life, and only in retaliation, Thinking again on his children as that one moment passed before him there was also no hesitation, and then the guilt which soon accompanied the realization of that resolution. With that final thought his contemplation was broken, silently he thanked all before GOD which even then he saw in that valley below him. He thanked him for his opportunity to shepard his people, and while he could afford to do so no longer he would not forget the time he had been given. He left then his rocking chair to the solitude of the lone porch, a glass of whiskey drained and the glass itself cleaned in it’s absence, ready to be washed and reused. It was his time, to lay at rest beneath his figs and raise his foxes.
  4. osumanduas

    HOUSE HOREN

    John Renault Horen-Johan, descendant of the second son to PETER II and the obvious true-born heir to the line of the Johannians after the Emperor Aurelius squashed his two year old, three times great uncle’s head against the wall of his nursery like a melon shook his head very disapproving, as his bloodline was not gone nor dissolved. “All those descended from the line of the Duke of Furnstock Charles Elliot or the baby murderer Aurelius I are snakes and thieves who’s very existence supports the killing of infants and the bedding of sisters. Just ask Paul Varoche.”
  5. @Gusano This is why we need a down-vote option.

    1. Gusano
    2. Lyonharted™

      Lyonharted™

      I take cash, debit, or credit.

  6. “If this man was king of anything but Sutica I would commend his constant prattle and petty flexing. But honestly, a ruler of cowards, merchants, and sister shagging degenerates has no real feet to stand on in any talk of actual military strategy. What a cray-sunken sucker.” noted dragoman Stefan Morovic, always very contemptuous of Renatian baby butchers. ”Only facts here is that your mother was a dumb ‘hore with a fat arse. If you think the good Emperor’d the same as he did when you yourself were a tot with spots you must be snorting something far more potent than that Sutican white. Bloody ‘Blood Raven’ is right, only title this buddy ever bought he couldn’t even take proper until eons after he’d claimed it when Renatus was still breathing. Even then you had to be bloody elected, so this bloke better not speak of conquest when the only clout he ever got was by taking Sutican shaft up ‘is rear.” His Lordship Morovic then characteristically spat unto the ground, having regressed back into peasantry due to his long stunt in exile.
  7. Aneir’in Ithelanen for the first time in many years saw himself exorcized from the path, spit out from the wilds like a a hot iron from the forge. In his wake his heart of lupine fervour set the trees and plant-life into madness, like a choir of angels beating their branches to his battle spirit. The batshit druid would arrive quickly, ready to find fellow clansmen to halt the heretical ceremony; the pride of Irrin’s kin who sought to bend the will of his gods to their mortal fibre. “The withering eagle has flown his corpse cart too close to the sun.” an Aldemari passerby might hear, though the elder Ithelanen too was becoming just so, less a man, more a bulwark of faith; a simple pillar of ancient antiquity and the culture of his ancestors.
  8. The blessed Everard II smiles the sun’s smile as he looks down from the Seven Skies; saluting the poor nun who was probably still burning eternally in some depth of the Nether. Uttering a few words to his goodly Inquisitor-General St. Michael of Cordobe he spoke: “You did good my boy, you did good.”
  9. “All the folk with critiques to chat, it’s near possible that they’ve nothing better to do than drool over one city’s simple proclamation.” comments the Count of Rochefort, puffing of his cigar as he sat watching over the valley ‘neath the shadow of Cathalon.
  10. That’s definitely it then. As without the context of how the Archdaemon actually got from ruling the Nether to Moz Strimoza isn’t explained and the question of where this place is just wouldn’t be clear for anyone who hasn’t been on the LT and also gone through a deep dive. It becomes a little hard to grasp otherwise, given what’s being done with prior lore. As for who gets what plane, Ebrietaes is to Aeriel what the Nether is too Iblees. It isn’t a stretch to think he’d pick up and leave for somewhere else. But I think it is a bit of a bend to say the Nether wasn’t his first plane to begin with. The story of Iblees is very specific in his fall to the mortal plane and his subsequent confinement to the Nether itself. If the origins can be elaborated on a bit more with the reveal of that proposed deep-lore than it would solve everything really; just knowing that fills in things quite nicely. Having gone from one to another is also kind of interesting too, given the implications of what might happen to his previous realm once it had been abandoned. If it can be explicitly stated at some point as to how he conquered / moved to this new realm that would probably be the icing on the cake.
  11. ff3ea1c4fb37689a98bfa0ec0ab838ba.png

    Edited by letmeboombro
  12. osumanduas

    The Summons

    Stefan Morovic prepares to catch a front row seat in the war to come: @Malaise @Zarsies
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