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About iMattyz

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    God Amongst Mere Mortals

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    Wood Elf

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  1. iMattyz

    give me your fkn money

    Full/Clothing/Head/Edit: Full Description/Reference: https://gyazo.com/4e01218695002f4ce4c7d7049146e235 your discord so i can contact you thank you: Matt#2864
  2. iMattyz

    So near, yet so far

    “I was always cursed with being a good fighter.” - Khaine Csarathaire He had been travelling home slowly for years after the escape from his erstwhile enslavers, an often unwelcome pilgrim in a foreign land. Very rarely did the numb figure encounter another of his own kind in this state of transit, causing him to become somewhat more melancholic than usual and inducing a state of profound loneliness. Now he finally neared home and this, whilst the phoenix-clad Elf was happy about the possibility, a sense of dread also filled him about the prospect. For now through, he approached another small village in which lived a decent amount of Horen’s children. ...Clang. The thrusting iron head of a simple Elven shortspear loudly collided with the defensively positioned, shining flat edge of a human’s castle-forged arming sword. The wielder of the spear let out a frustrated growl, his face now set in an eager snarl as he eyed his opponent opposite. He held the middle of the weapon’s handle in his right and the section just below the tip with his ironwood left hand, waiting for his opponent to strike. In a flash, the swordswoman whom he faced shimmied towards him and lunged with a forceful strike directed at the exposed bronzed skin on the chest. With supreme expertise the Elf reached out with his spear’s exposed shaft, nimbly directing the sword’s heavy thrust to pierce naught but thin air slightly to his left. With the opponent unbalanced by this maneuver, the blunt spear-end now slammed downwards with strength, aimed towards the pommel of the blade. A combination of the missed thrust and impact forced the weapon down even more. Finishing his swift series of attacks, a upwards diagonal uppercut with the same blunt end cracked against the swordswoman’s fair cheek, the blow making her go limp and prompting her to raise her hand in surrender. The spearpoint now threatened her until all it once it withdrew, its owner; Khaine, propping the weapon vertically on the ground. “Best of five, knife-ear?” the woman queried in an obviously joking tone, throwing her blade to the ground as she tiredly gasped, the exertion from combat making the woman rest on her knees. The figure from whom the words came was a human of average beauty, with a patch of notable freckles on the cheeks beneath each of her brown eyes. Moreso, she was at least four inches taller than Khaine and just a bit less well built, a perfect sparring partner. Supposedly originating from a village of half giants in the nearby mountains, a questionable claim to say the least, her name was Sylvia. “No, I’m content to quit while I’m ahead.” Khaine replied after a few moments in his characteristically dour demeanor, his attention now distracted by readying himself once more for the road. He wrapped a bandage relatively tightly around his torso, binding his spear that now was fixed to his back. Afterwards, the lean Elf bent down to one knee and began to put a reasonable amount of supplies into a makeshift patchwork sack which sat loose on the ground. An abnormal amount of care was taken by the logistically minded former commander in the amount and composition of food he stocked, but eventually he threw the pack over his shoulder and stood tall. “Let life treat you well, half-giant.” was all that the seemingly introverted Elf would give as a farewell, in addition to a brief wave. He had never talked much since he had been removed from his homeland. As the Ember Druid once again set off from the small hamlet in which he had stayed, phoenix tattoo proudly displayed on his almost bare chest, his mind once again began to wander. He had not seen any of those whom he had commanded, or who had commanded him, any of those he had wronged, or who had wronged him in over twenty-five years. Had his attempted letters reached their destination? Did their recipients even care? What was the world that he had left now like? The unfamiliar worry that now seeped through his unoccupied mind caused his face to twist into a solemn grimace and, to dispel the cloud of thought, he untied the bandages on his chest and grasped his spear with one hand, ready to now be thrown. He would keep himself occupied for a while and take a break from travelling. Khaine’s eyes keenly scanned the sparse woodland around him, and finally they set upon a broad tree which he then stepped towards. Now using his spear as an overhanded javelin, he persistently tested his throw’s power and accuracy against the tree. With each throw a satisfying thud sounded as the sharp spearpoint penetrated the tough bark, and each thud succeeded in gradually decreasing his anxiety. No matter what had occured in his home after his departure, or what state his world was now in, he knew. He knew that he would need to be able to fight again. He threw the makeshift javelin once more... and missed. A frown appeared on his face and a growl exited his mouth. “Typical.”
  3. iMattyz

    A Heartfelt Next to the Hearth

    “Our curse is not to live forever, it’s the mistakes we have the chance to make in that time.” - Khaine Csarathaire The melodic crackling of sticks and twigs on a fire, it was a sound that came as the most harmonic music to the Elf’s ears and caused a slight smile to materialise on his exhausted face. The flames had always made such a noise in his past life in Atlas, a life to which he now desperately sought to return. Flooding him with such a sensation upon his entry to the dimly lit establishment caused time to go slower than it usually did for the man, who was of course ancient when compared to his majority human counterparts he now inhabited the building with. “Good evening stranger, not often I see kin of mine around these parts.” A strangely familiar and melodic voice of a woman echoed across the open room, as if there were something sisterly and distinctly Elven about it. As if his name had been shouted Khaine’s eyes darted through the dull candle-lit tavern towards the bar’s rear, looking for the one that had addressed him - empty. “Over here!” it sounded again as the Csarathaire became more attuned to the light level in the strange inn, blinking slowly as he did. It was clear the place was only sparsely used; two obviously human common-looking men talked quietly at one end of the bar, each sat on a small stool and drinking a cup of ale each. There were some others closer toward the door but his vision never reached them, as a graceful looking hand wave coming from in front of the gently raging fire attracted his attention first. As soon as his eyes met those of the wave’s origin his brows rose suddenly in some surprise.. Another Mali’ame? He questioned, somewhat in disbelief. Feeling uncharacteristically at ease almost immediately upon seeing the fellow Elf’s demeanor and attire, Khaine nodded in acknowledgement and strode forward with a smile of relief on his rugged face, moving to sit on the fur carpet almost next to the green-clad daughter of Malin. She lay propped almost playfully on her side with one leg folded over the other, looking up at the new arrival with some obvious relief of her own. Covering her form was a long green dress which enveloped her entire body up to the neck, as through revealing anything to the air around her might cause poisoning. Looking at this fresh daughter of The Father made the wanderer Khaine feel quite at home again, full of life as though he had never left and been abducted in the first place. This Elfess was the first real glance he had snuck of the motherland and its people for over two decades, and provoked a reaction in him similar to that a puppy whose much loved owner had just returned from a long voyage. She was undoubtedly beautiful in appearance, with dark brown hair which hung perfectly over her shoulders. Her eyes, a piercing deep-forest green, gazed into his and seemed to judge his soul as they did. The more he looked upon her, the more he seemed to surreally notice her subtle and wise beauty. “Not often I see them either..” he returned with a smile which betrayed his obvious happiness at his discovery, while his words showed a depressing lack of inspiration on what to say. “I’ve been on a long journey, away from home for a long time.” he elaborated on his initial statement before getting comfortable on the turf before the hearth. In a gesture that seemed to have been coming for quite a while, he inhaled and let out an audibly fed up sigh towards the flames, eyes fixed on the crackling sparks which jumped up from time to time. “It seems you have.” the woman observed, giving him a once over. “Is anyone special waiting for you there?” the lady asked tenderly, shuffling to rest on her knees and bringing herself up to his level. Yet she did not smile, as if the question was anticipated to have a sad answer. At this point the tavern was completely empty aside from the two Elves gossipping by the fire, the other patrons having trickled out gradually over the previous few minutes - it was past midnight after all. As the woman’s new conversational partner opened his mouth to speak, she interrupted him swiftly. “Tell you what stranger, I’ll close up a little early and we can talk over a few drinks. Then you can sleep on there, looks like you need a place to stay” she rose fluidly, as though an unseen force had briefly removed gravity’s hold on her; an uncanny trait of Elven women, Khaine considered to himself pensively. What he also considered was the woman’s height, she was significantly taller than himself now she stood aloft, even with no shoes on her feet. Rushing to lock the door before any more late night taverngoers could enter, the woman had almost vaulted the bar and threw a rusty keyring toward the Csarathaire, who was now rising from his fluffy seat. “Catch, stranger!” “Thanks” he chuckled, as if expressing gratitude was like prying blood from a particularly dry stone; and concurrently raising his hand to ****** the flying keyring from the air. With a tired groan he dragged himself across to the entrance door and locked it shut, before tossing the keys back to his host and retreating to the makeshift carpet nest he had taken to so quickly. “And yes, I believe a great many are waiting for me, friends, family.” his voice was one of a solemn longing, though something in it was not sure its goal would ever be reached. “Twenty years... I can barely remember how old I am..” “You too?” the woman responded with a voice that seemed distinctly unsurprised at the revelation. “I’ve noticed it’s my contact mainly with humans that makes my mind fade a little.” she then mimicked Khaine’s characteristic solemness expertly, following his tone and his facial expression of object sadness. “Last time I saw another of my own children was years ago, though I couldn’t tell you how many, time becomes unimportant when you’ve got as much as I have.” as she finished speaking in her musical tones, she let a warm motherly smile form on her face. Looking to the fire, the Phoenix-tattoo’d Wood Elf held his hands out towards the fire and gazed into it in the same manner as his companion had judged him earlier, as if he were trying to gauge some truth from the scorching flames. None came, and so he withdrew his hands. “You have experienced hardship now, Khaine Csarathaire, we expect great things from you. Hearing the sudden change in tone, he turned too slowly and, though his hands were now warm his travelling companion had disappeared while his vision acclimatised once again to the dim tavern, rather than the raging fire. Though double taking, he looked once again into the flames and witnessed with weary eyes the shadow of a fiery bird rising from the embers. “I need rest.”
  4. iMattyz

    Dreams of Home

    “I hate the ocean. I have legs and not fins for a reason.” - Khaine Csarathaire On an unnamed ship in the middle of an unnamed ocean did the Ember druid slowly return from his long exodus. After escaping from his elite mercenary slavers, the Elf found his way to a small port town from which a ship departed. Where it was going he did not know, as the name was unfamiliar to him, only that the transport carried various spices and wines which the crew would trade on arrival. In an unfamiliar moment of fortune, the captain considered the Phoenix elf’s story to be curious and entertaining, and so allowed him to stow away in the bowels of the ship. Many weeks into the voyage, we find our weary and sickly traveller laying down on a makeshift, and somewhat uncomfortable looking bed of straw. Accompanying the constant creaking of the often unstable feeling ship, the Csarathaire tossed and turned in his sleep. Various dreams and nightmares had tormented him of late, and no doubt they would continue to. No doubt his various bouts of sea-sickness had not helped him. “Aewion, with me, around the lake!” The familiar clanking of steel armour plate and tempered iron weaponry was only eclipsed by an even more familiar voice; his own. But he had not spoken, he knew that, but the command sounded familiar as through it was an echo of his past. Blinking and slowly getting used to his environment, he witnessed the two individuals in front of him. They were recognisable with a moment's glance; Aewion Silma, a close companion and comrade in arms for decades before his abduction, and.. Himself, in front; the military leader of the Dominion of Malin, slightly to the north of the place he now stood. The two did not notice him, and instead he chased them a few hundred metres north. “There, we have them!” the armoured doppelganger shouted with a fire in his voice which was barely remembered by Khaine. He knew what was going to happen before it did. A dozen or so armoured Elves chased another duo of masked figures towards Aewion and Khaine’s past echo, they had been caught in a pincer. The Csarathaire proceeded to deftly thrust his blade into the bandit’s neck whilst his comrade Silma slew a masked Orc a few feet to the left. It was only at this point that the observing dreamer admired their conduct. It was his swift thinking that had led to their capture, and their subsequent inability to bother his Elven people again, and it was their swift and adept fighting that had ended that conflict. For the first time in many years, he felt proud. Back on the makeshift straw bed, a small and genuine smile appeared on the slumbering Elf’s face, a smile which would not last long. The situation seemed to slow, and the doppelganger Khaine span around with a dissatisfied scowl. In a moment, it sprinted up and thrust its blade into its dreaming lookalike, who shut his eyes and shouted loudly in a phantom pain. Upon opening his eyes Khaine’s comrade and his past self had disappeared, replaced by an environment which, while faded in his consciousness, was recognisable as the road to the centre of the Dominion. He saw the fountain in front of him, the shops to his right and the tavern to his left. The fountain, where he had spent so much time irritated; commanding small Elven children to get out of the water. The shops, where he had exchanged his hard-earned coin for arrows to supply his much-loved Virarim from his own pocket, purchased from their Dwarven allies. The tavern… where he never really went, except to keep the citizenry safe in case of a raid, and to check on the emergency equipment supply. All the thoughts made him smile again, and he reached his arms forward in his sleep to embrace a part of the straw as if it were a lover or a dear relative. In front of him, a familiar woman whose appearance brought on an air of sadness to the hardened Elf. Perhaps a tear might have snuck covertly down his cheek, though he would never admit it. His adoptive sister. Long auburn locks were all that was visible of her as she faced away from him. That, and some nondescript trousers and a garment which shielded her torso from view. “Abominations like you will not be allowed to spread!” The words shocked him immediately as they came out of his mouth, had he said that out loud? At the words, the woman turned around, revealing yellowish eyes, one of which was marred by a slash which marked her entire face. With a conversely strange feeling of shame running through him did Khaine run forward, an inexplicable grimace of hatred on his face. A reflexive but short scream exuded from the familiar woman along with a spurt of blood, as his metal gauntleted fist connected with her face. Why had he done that? He didn’t mean to. Regret. He reached out to the woman and opened his mouth to apologise, but nothing came out. Narrowing his eyes, he then reached the same hands to his mouth, feeling there was nothing there to touch. Again, he attempted to scream through his featureless face. “WILL YOU BE QUIET?!” a harsh and common voice shouted down the rugged wooden steps of the ship’s deck. Blinking and rubbing his eyes, the Elf looked down to his bare chest and stared for a few moments at the Phoenix which sat proudly on it. It was a strange feeling he felt that morning, shame and pride merging like water and oil. Following the crewman who had chided him so loudly to the quiet dawn deck, he looked out toward the bow of the ship and smiled. Land.
  5. iMattyz

    Warriors and Mercenaries

    The blurred flash of a sword being swung and tearing into flesh ripped through the air as the unarmoured warrior finally took his chance, a chance to return home. Reaching forward with some urgency at his prey’s collapse, he cradled his victim’s still-warm corpse and lowered it to the ground carefully. With a disgusted grimace, the ex-prisoner’s hand grasped twice, once for a small bag of food, and once for a compass which hung around the Captain’s neck, before making a half-hearted attempt at burial. It would give him time, but not much of it, to escape. West. He needed to reach the coast from where he had come so that he could now go home. Fortunately for the now half-naked figure with tanned skin, though it had been twenty-one years, it was Autumn, the same time of year as it had been when he was taken. Because of this, he recognised the region still, no doubt the physical training that his former masters had put him through in this region had helped - something he could thank them for. The thought reminded him of the value of his blade to the mercenary clan, they had sunk so much time into forging the scarred Elf into a deadly weapon that they would not likely let him go easily. There was a slight chill in the air due to the looming presence of winter, but his tanned form functioned as an effective camouflage against the orangey-brown hue of the molting forest around them. He would have to suck it up, though he was used to the warmth of his Caras Eldarian home - a luxury the veteran had never quite grown out of. Remembering the old city, a sigh was audible only to those creatures closest to him. What was also audible were the occasional shouts and barks, no doubt those of his pursuers. Nevertheless, he kept trekking and planting false tracks, with only his shortsword issued by the mercenaries to keep him safe. Their stalking was little trouble, his time spent hunting had been adequate preparation for this. After six hours, he reached the edge of the forest, and the shouts became less and less frequent. Less and less loud. The pine trees and vegetation parted while the landscape dipped in altitude rather swiftly after the treeline was far in the distance. These were coastal plains in front of him, he had seen enough of this type of terrain to know that, and with that realisation came a pang of hope, a taste of home. The flatland which expanded in front of him was filled with large fauna. It was all well and good to feel relief at being free, but not if the Elf starved to death before he got there. Placing his calloused hand to the sanguine phoenix tattoo on his chest, a reverential and grateful smile was offered to the heavens for his fortune, and the aspects which he believed in so fervently. An hour later, three javelins fashioned from wood were strapped to his back, and another he grasped tightly between his fingers. He only required one to spear his next meal, and another hour later he was full, well stocked and ready to move. “Aspects, grant me not strength, not stamina, but luck. Grant me the luck I need to get home.” pleaded an almost unfamiliar voice, though it was his own. It seemed more humble and less incensed at the world, but still with an air of ferocity which he always had. After devouring his meal, Khaine Csarathaire raised the grandest and tastiest section of his kill, before dropping it into the fire as a sacrifice. Retrieving his shortsword, he also sliced open his heavily scarred hand once again, dripping the fluid into the flames. “From the ashes to the skies.” he whispered, now becoming accustomed once again to his own voice, eyes drifting to the distance where the blue water of the ocean lay. The Elf set off towards it, leaving his imprisonment behind him and not looking back. The Thairic Prince was going home. .. “I am on my way.”
  6. Hey, I have an idea about the map after the next. Can you message me so i can tell you more?

    1. iMattyz


      I’ve added you on discord bro, easier to talk on there as I’m content moderated on the forums atm

    2. CrownedLime747


      Thnx, was wondering who that was.

    3. argle-bargle


      Don't do it Matt he's a snake!!!

  7. Just some screenshots I took years ago, and that have been sitting in my Imgur account doing nothing. Figured I'd share. Oren fighting against Alras + Dwarves + Teutonic Order + Snelves near the Dungrimm’s mouth fort Slaying Black Scourge minions ‘Raiding’ the Dwarf/Alrasian plateau city Heerozero firing an antag spell at me Decterum days Mount Augustus and surroundings Vailor’s northern castles A random map I made during Oren’s 4.5 empire ruled by Esterlen
  8. iMattyz

    The problem with the Empire

    I know the ‘oh, just replace all the leaders with other people’ isn’t going to happen, at least with how things work at the moment, and I don’t necessarily think it has to. That’s why I also asked for said leadership (and there is a persistent core of players) to maybe next time just try something new in a small, maybe aesthetic way. Maybe some bullshit revelation makes canonism obsolete or some innovation changes the structure of the Empire a bit. Idk, but it’s been the same low fantasy budget games of thrones tier RP forever now. Not like that’s bad in itself or anything, but it gets old when it’s done to death.
  9. iMattyz

    The problem with the Empire

    There’s at least one problem with that plan, my friend. Give it another 6 months or so.
  10. iMattyz

    The problem with the Empire

    It works a bit too well I think is part of the problem. When something is this routinised and efficient, a lot of the sponteneity and creativity goes away.
  11. It’s been a while since I’ve been around, but every time I see this it continues to be a problem. The Imperial cycle of the server’s human race must change, as it is incredibly stale. There have been seven or eight iterations of the empire up until now, most of them run by the same OOC clique of people usually backed up by a reliable core of PvP goons. The faith of the Empire is always the Catholic copypaste of the Canonist Church, which itself is incredibly stale and boring. Any effort to establish a new religion is quashed immediately, and any creativity becomes grey and dull. The rulers of the Empire are always the family of Horen, usually with Mogroka or Maly as the semi-permanent god-leader until he sees fit to delegate power to his carefully curated, appointed successor. This is just how it has always been. The same old nobility roleplay, the same old houses, the same old system. After a while, the inherent boredom and staleness of this form of the Empire (which gets more stale with each iteration) begins to attract people to a coalition of people who want to destroy it. It’s only a short thread, but this message goes out to both the coalitions who fight the empire, and the core Imperial leadership who always seem to consolidate the power when humanity reunites. Make something new. Coalition? Don’t fight as separate pvp goon entities, make a new culture and fight to make your own unique RP empire. Same goes to Mog and the Oren leadership clique. I don’t use that phrase as an insult, but just as something I see. You guys have the OOC creativity and administrative talent to make something unique and fun to play in. The Empire and its religion as it is can never be that, from where I am standing. At the very least, the Red Faith of Norland is something relatively original, which I think others could take something from. Just something I’ve seen for years now and that I thought I’d point out. It’s also not an attack on these guys, I was a part of them for a while. I just think something new is needed.
  12. The £1 million oil money bribe encourages me to say yes to this application