Treshure

you got me

in reference to this thread and recent events. On mobile pls excuse lack of format yo like guys can we at least pretend this is a roleplay server and keep it IC? This goes to both sides. I’m already seeing a **** slinging fest and it’s only gunna get worse from here on out man how ducking cool would it be to see big rp posts and people keeping this beef IC? way back when this actually used to happen. I remember a few instances were NLs met over Skype and agreed to keep things cordial OOCly ofc you might say I’m some idealistic nostalgic but I’m trying to say that it’s possible. So far the events of the rebellion HAVE been IC as of last night let’s try and keep it like that w/ good vibes for the rest of the war, at least try im in no stretch a saint and will probably be hypocritical of this post at one point or another, but really man let’s not make this like other toxic wars we can keep it fun xoxo love you all bless, treshure

@Ougi @Jaeden Textures: Conquest Shaders: Sushi Shaders

Sometimes I think people forget just how beautiful this map is.

back when quotes weren’t mandatory mm

my lotc endorsement contract ended..

Thexan braces for Pond’Rex to die for the Nth time

Sir Pious the White Knight receives this missive atop his crystalline castle. A white dove fluttered into the room, handing into his perfect Caucasian hands with supreme elegance. He opens it, letting out a squeal of horror. He immediately pens the mali’ame back. “M’lady requires saving! I shall deliver her to you at once! Know that your one and only grace has come. Signed, Sir Pious.” The Knight immediately rode from his Lawful Good abode above the finest machinery, heading for the dark lands of the Dominion.

- THE ATLASIAN BOUNTY COMPANY - Wanted: A pair of bandits. Threat level: Easy – Medium Suggested party number: 2-3 Description of beast(s): A duo of bandits have been on the rise after the robbery of a poor peasant, Hobs Gullyworth, outside Carolustadt. They are armed and dangerous. Inquire with Hobs in the small village outside of Carolustadt. Perhaps he has more information. Location: The woods around Carolustadt. Rewards: What meager mina the peasant can procure.

Bounty completed.

- THE ATLASIAN BOUNTY COMPANY - Wanted: Druid of the Wonkawoods Threat level: Difficult Suggested party number: 3-4 Description of beast: Infused with the power of the Elven Mani, this Druid is very dangerous. He has been seen dragging away wildlife and even Descendants for living sacrifices, only to retreat into the savage Wonkawoods in refuge of his sorceries. The Wonkawoods is an extremely dangerous territory, near to the September Prince. Approach with wit and caution. Location: The Druid resides within the Wonkawoods. The nearest settlement rests atop the mountain at the wood’s edge. Rewards: Various unique items and relics, as well as one thousand mina.

Thexan reaches out beyond the emerald sea, “elite snipes.. why have you turned.....”

Hello, AGiantPie. Though these circumstances are odd, I’d be more than willing to lend you out my wife. Contact for more details.

easy fix to the problem. call this friend of mine: https://www.ice.gov

“Proclaim your neutrality all you like. Your government propped up Caerme’onn pretenders as soon as the prominent members left for Gladewynn. Your state bleeds; the fright is evident in every word of this missive.” says Brutus, scribe of the Enclave.

think Joe Rogan but mineman history

One of my most favorite memories as a noob was sitting in TS, listening to veteran players recall famous battles, events, or just fun **** that happened in the past. Always sparked my imagination and kinda made me look through their eyes. So what if I put that in a “podcast” format? It wouldn’t be formal at all, and the conversation would be loose. But the general idea is to bring on some veteran players, shoot the ****, and kinda go over the stuff they reminisce on and remember about. Might be fun to listen to and there would be interesting things to learn about past LoTC events from firsthand participants. Interest check. Thoughts?

Make an RP post, there will be others who’ll take you up on the offer.

“I am the blood of the Aldersfolk; I alone invoke the name of Old Gladewynn. By my rite, the Seven Songs will sing again.” Kairn, Prince of Alders Woe to Elvendom, for your sorrows run long and deep. Your fathers did not inherit this legacy of tragedy, but rather witnessed it on their lonesome. The terror to remember is fresh in the eye that beheld it. May your sons and their heirs remember now and evermore; it is all that remains within your power. The elves of yore remembered their elder lands as the green kissed paradise the Gods had lent; emerald hues and souls to enjoy them forever. These elves now lie beneath the ground. The living descendents of Old Gladewynn remember otherwise. ”Histories of the Alderfolk” – The Wardens were said to be a once powerful army. Brought from the plentiful lands of Elvenesse, they drew the collected strength of a united Elvenkind: boundless and terrifying. In those days that Malin walked the earth, Elvenesse was pure and true to their purpose. They, noble as their racial cousins. But those days are no longer. Cursed is that Demon’s tongue, who is called Iblees: by his words, Elvenkind’s light fades. Sewn into Mali culture was the excess of life. The elder elves were buried far into the droves of forests and wildlands, enjoying respite from churning tides of war that engulfed the rest of the world. They spread far and wide from Malinor, drawing from the earth druidic powers to amplify nature’s bounty. They drunk evermore on the lust and comfort their lengthy lives afforded. The elder elves sat, fattened, and weakened. What was a proud bastion of the Wildlands sunk into pits of depravity. The Great Tragedy loomed as a hidden beast; each act of wanton ardor and surplus fed the unconscious nightmare stirring aneath. In these days, the power of Humanity was nascent. Yet it was clear the strength of Horen and his sons grew. Soon, their ever expanding eye turned to the sleeping state of Malinor. Rich, old lands ripe for the bounty; wicked elves bound for the cross. Purple and coal banners, the Black Dragon, the White Rose. Armies forward, the cross alight, the Crusade set. Forests afire, wails, woes. The Sack of Malinor had begun. A black drudge settled above the sky, blotting what perfect blue hung above. Smoke billowed from the Eternal Trees of Old Malinor; screams of doomed souls to sing amongst burning embers. All along the carnage lay the banner of the Black Dragon, that who smote the elf high. An Imperial presence hung there for it's first and it's last: decimation followed the Black Dragon, and none remained. No secret or ancient wisdom was saved reprieve from those consuming fires. Butchery was set upon ancient elfdom with little to escape. Within this chaos, the founding clans convened. When the news had reached Har’el and his kin, few were surprised. Elvenkind had remained scattered for nigh centuries. The home of all mali, Old Malinor, laid bare and exposed to the eastern Kingdom on her fringe. They came by many names, though all will remember them as the Rose. There was little time to act. Summoning the strength of the Ichorian clans, Ithelanen led the Alderfolk into battle. What hopes and ambitions laid in defending Old Malinor were utterly destroyed. For every elf fought a dozen men, pouring in droves with the fire of their god inside steel helmets. The native elves were distraught, relying on the ancient powers of the Druids and Mani to defend the city. Great roots tore from the grounds below. Rifts to rend the land asunder; beasts of the wildwood to defend what remained. It was not enough. Ithelanen retreated from the front gate’s breach. Vanethelan’s numbers reduced to almost nothing by the Emperor’s own western sally. Corrin retreated to the city’s rear by a retinue of Carrion. The remaining four clans, split and pushed by the White Rose. Half the day had passed before the defenses were nearly overwhelmed. What remained of the Ichorian clans coalesced in the city’s rear, mounting in sum of their strength a final defense. They surrounded a massive stone known as the Aldersrock, preserved since the ancient times of Aegis. It was not enough. Utterly driven by the assaulting forces, the Ichorians fled southward towards the secret exitways amongst the the Southern Walls - obscured in vision from the Imperial assault. There they climbed cliff and tree, losing their attackers and gaining both ground and safety. Turning, they could not imagine a sight as this. Malinor burned. A thousand times they had looked on evergreen pastures and comforting woods - only now to see the dread and black consume what souls lived beneath. Their home set aflame, and all was lost. There, the Ichorians mourned. Their fragility was shed; their hearts turning cold as tears dried on elven cheeks. To each clan, a song was sung - seven voices in haunting harmony whilst Old Malinor fell to ash and flame. In this time, Old Gladewynn quickened within the womb of Malinor, birthed on His mother's dying throes. No Malinor forthward would be recognized to the Seven Clans - it had died that day, buried amongst the rubble and sins of dead elves. Old Gladewynn was created in the wildwoods; the old forest far from Man - far from anything. But there would be one last return to Malinor. In the ruins of that city lay the Aldersrock, stained with the blood of Ichorians. Those of Ithelanen took the stone, hauling the relic to their young settlement. There, the Chieftan of Ithelanen would proclaim himself ruler of this stone, its history, and those who bled upon it - that he would become the Prince of Alders, and all beneath the Aldersfolk. Thereon the stone was inscribed with the histories and songs of Old Gladewynn. By it, all would know their past. All would sing the Seven Songs, just as their ancestors had in years past. In time the stone would fade; sections of inscriptions would wipe - and with it, their histories. The Seven Songs and her clans were partially lost, though not forgotten. -- When the light settles, seven fires are lit. When elves mourn, seven songs are sung. What forgotten magicks were birthed in Old Gladewynn, only the dead know. What ancient spires and Old Gods of the wildwoods - what hymns, and lovely things, and the dead and black things - our mysteries, our heritage, and the Songs that bound us all together. The Aldersrock alone shows.

Been saying I’d do this for a while. My work has ended, so yeah, esketit. You got my Discord, Zhulik, shoot me a PM. You too Temp