Bat Druid

Aengudaemonic magic can only be given by a powerful user of that magic. The ritual is connecting the Aengudaemon(s) (in this case the Aspects) to the person, which allows the magic user to channel their power and thus, use their magic. Now, a reverse ritual can be completed by users of the magic once more, that removes the connection to the Aspects and will render them unable to use the magic. I may be wrong about what I have said, need confirmation take every word I have typed with a grain of salt or two.

Nobody knows... But, seriously, I've been pretty inactive as a community member for oh, about, one and a half years. But, once I created my current main character Oropher Deathsbane I got a lot more active on the forums and TS. I went from 'that guy who was in the Platinum Guards (if anyone even remembers them)' or 'that guy who plays the old Kharajyr' to 'that darkie kid in purple clothes' and then 'that darkie kid whose blind' and then I was actually noticed. People realized I existed. It felt nice. At least, that's how I remember it.

Oropher facepalms.

The Bat Druid crosses his arms, raising his voice once more. "One thousand one hundred minas on the Goblet!"

A certain Mali'ker with two different coloured eyes raises his voice. "Eight hundred for the goblet!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0e4Crth_Hb8 Yhl’Kirilenko Therkul lay in his bed. The old Pantera released a series of hacking coughs, remaining wordless. His grey fur covered most of his body, old yellow eyes glancing about as his tail lay motionless. The Yhl’ had experinced so much over his almost one and a half centuries of living. He reflected on it all. His birth, and childhood. The many arguments his parents had over him, which eventually lead to his mother’s death at the hands of his father. The years of grief spent afterwards as he wallowed in pain and sadness. The hundreds of hours he spent praying up to the moon, begging Metztli to bring her back. The days of his youth, he and Khago hopping about the trees in pure joy. Him hunting the monsters of the night for profit, back in the desert of Va’Khajria. The death of Khago, leading to him taking up blacksmithing. And, the fateful day in Asulon where his tongue was removed, rendering him mute. The days of him fishing, on the wall of Va’Khajria. The war with the Orcs, leading to the destruction of the island. The sailing to Anthos, upon Xerdun’s Flight. His life on the kharajyr’s island of Anthos, as the Kun’. Him having his own kittens, seeing them grow older and wiser and having a happy life. The destruction of the new island, with him having no home. He pondered all of this, as he closed his eyes. His death was near, but he would be granted one last thing… A dream. And in this dream, was something of value. It was true hope and realisation that his time upon Anthos had come to a close. It started out in a room, with no doors or windows. It was lit by a fire, which was surrounded by a set of chairs. Beautiful stone chairs with various carvings on them. Kirilenko was seated upon one of the chairs, glancing about the room. The walls made of sandstone, stone bricks, gold and lapis, all of them intricately carved in various patterns. Some of which, may have had meaning, some of which might not have. Vines crawled over the walls, giving them a look of age. Slowly, however, the vines began to un-grow, becoming shorter and shorter until eventually becoming non-existent. Kirilenko’s fur went from a grey, to a black colour as he became youthful.As he did the empty chairs began to fill with people the Pantera once knew. Ones who had died decades, if not a whole century before him. He saw as they all appeared, in a circle. Once all of them had appeared the room aged rapidly once more, as they began to vanish, disappearing without a trace. Once the room returned to its state as it had before, Kirilenko stood. He remained silent as he approached the dying flame, which quickly crackled away, leaving mere embers in its wake. Kirilenko peered down into the fire, as the logs upon which it burnt fell into a dark oblivion. The room began to fall into the same abyss, as it crumbled all around him. He glances about, filled with a mixture of fear and anxiety and...hope. The room had all but been destroyed, other than a few mere chunks of stone under Kirilenko’s feet. They promptly decayed away, leaving him falling into a dark void of nothingness. In Anthos, however, the Kharajyr breathed out one last breath, as his body went limp. His eyes fluttered close as he left the world. Kirilenko’s body lay in his bed, awaiting discovery. ((All I have to say is that it's been a fun, sad, spectacular, horrible, exciting and generally awesome ride. Over a year as Kirilenko and his story must finally come to a close for a variety of reasons. But, nevertheless, it has still been a fun ride and I hope that you all loved Kirilenko, the Pantera.))

Oropher would go to the party, if it wasn't for his lord and master Arzar having to do stuff at the time. If only it could be done one Elvish day later... ((Aside from the jokes, I can't make it at that time. I mean, if you could move it one day later, that'd be amazing. Of course, you don't have to move the time for one person, but if possible that'd be awesome.))

Acorn sits, eyeless, ear-less, and with a lack of blood. He wonders what happened to his blood...

I couldn't figure out how to make my avatar a gif. Thank you. +1

Oropher raises an eyebrow, before nodding. "Ah. Alright..." He says, leaving out the amount he'll pay. If he pays. (())

"I agree!" Says someone who agrees.

You have a Calvin and Hobbes forum avatar so you're okay in my books.

Oropher Deathsbane stares as he robotically places a note. "1250 minas if we can meet at the Conclave of Malin right now."

Oropher is physically a Mali'ker, which makes him Mali'ker. Although, he doesn't act like the new Mali'ker and prefers to act on his own accord instead of following their teachings. ((Arzar also hit 400 posts with this. Hooray.))

Oropher, one of the least Dark Elf like Dark Elves, blinks. "Ancestors?"

Oropher wonders how these two read the posters which were torn down by wolves and ripped to shreds which had red paint thrown on them and then some were eaten by a goblin.

Another blow to free speech was made this day, the review was given to a wolf. The wolf viciously shredded the review without any mercy. At all. Oropher succeeded in destroying all the reviews.

Oropher has a nice chat with Mori about the Mori. He tells Mori to weave a web that says "Thank you. From Oropher." The next time she and Daniella are in their house.

Unfortunately for free speech, this is true. Every single copy that is placed up would be torn down by a wolf and then shredded. Violently.

Oropher sighs, raggedly. He adds a little note just under the review. "Please forgive me for being slightly annoyed at being STABBED. -Oropher Deathsbane. P.S. Druids can talk to animals. Mirror and I were having a nice discussion about the geopolitical quagmire that is Malinor." As he leaves he stops for a second. He promptly continues on his way.

But Staadnau is dead and if you are dead your brain doesn't work and if your brain doesn't work you can't remember things. Logic for the win?