Smithers

Really makes you think.

Updated.

Updated.

Active Personnel Validation Recognized Affirmed and Current Marked Men in Axios For purposes of diligence and scrutinization in contract validation. FROM: Hexicanum Personnel Desk TO: AXIOS School of the Ouroboros (Founding School) School Master Adeon of Rhoswen (MIA) Marked Man Iatrilemar Elervathar (MIA) Marked Veteran Valahan de Grey Marked Man Ikur Seregon (MIA) Marked Veteran Atlas of Westfall (MIA) Marked Man Argent (MIA) School of the Stag School Master Coren Isil (MIA) School of the Fox School Master Adeon of Rhoswen (MIA) Marked Man Abelas Caerme'onn Marked Man Aegon of Yharm Marked Man Kepri (MIA) Initiate Jin Initiate Rykov Tanet Certified Hexicanum Contractors Marked Man Renuald aep Dyffryn Marked Man Vicelin of Redmarch Marked Veteran Victor of Svengard Marked Man Alfred Maynard Marked Man Mikolaj de Saltpans Dead Marked Men Morris Gerald Elgan Robert Chivay Roland Sparrow Oan Frondson of Brevis Gansem Therist Initiates Haddock Plissken Peyton Abney Yosi Sam Maelgwyn Dietrich Konigsberg Martin Alexander Bedevere Casey Shaw Siegfreid La Valette Gibs Viktor of Redmark Wallace Patrick Garrett Arcite Alcher Collins Abbe Sterah Roopak Lithren Stillwater Torian etc. and unrecorded initiates. A seal of a sparrow is bound to the document with wax.

Bon Voyage = = = = = It was a dim, frigid morning nestled in the early days of the Amber Cold and the seas were out of their usual character. Their waters were veiled by a cold, cloying fog, thick like pea soup - the final death throes of the last evening's sudden and furious rain squall. The pastel-blue breaking through the twilight sky was edged by the barest hint of rusty gold, promising a magnificent sunrise within half of an hour. For now, however, the seas sat unperturbed. An unnatural breath of air broke the wall of mist, sending small eddies whirling off in many directions. The disturbance was heralded by the oily orange glow of a ship's lantern, then followed by a dull, white canvas sail. It thundered as it billowed and caught the wind, finally freed of the murky fog that had confined the boat's progress to a crawl. A shouted command floated across the quiet sea. The shadows of men swarmed up the rigging and a half-second later the fore staysail fluttered, forcing the ship two points into the wind and silhouetting it against the rising sun. The vessel was a striking one - a schooner by title but built in the agile character of a sloop-of-war. It sported a single gun deck and eighteen ports, at which sat poised a ballista each. It was newly tarred and painted, with a black and yellow stripe stretching across well-lacquered chestnut beams. A small party of men stood on the quarter deck. One man - stern-faced with a greasy mustache - bellowed an order. His golden epaulet and cocked hat betrayed a position of rank, which he carried with the type of entitlement granted by merit. The other three men stood by, idly but alert, at a position of ease. All three men carried two swords each, sheathed across the back and rising past the blade of the shoulder. One of the three men stood at the head. His appearance was grizzled - his face was scarred, and he lacked an eye. The one-eyed veteran turned and spoke in undertones to the man with the cocked hat. The man in the cocked hat roared. “Close-hauled on the port tack!" A throng of men surged to the mizzen shrouds and braces. The topsails danced and grabbed at the wind before clawing their way open and driving the craft trough the water. It pitched towards the lee shore, tactfully cutting its way through the sea. A few minutes later the man barked again. Two flags flew up her halliards - the first, a striking sparrow with its wings spread, and the second bearing the sigil of a manticore. The boat - and her crew - lapsed into the quietude coming with pursuit of mission. Over the span of an hour, the schooner bit its way through the smooth ocean towards the shore. It seemed to move at once both lethargically and with urgency. Soon, the officer directed her to lie hove-to. She slowed in the wind and came to a placid stop. After a pause, she dispatched a quarter boat. On it sat three men, each with two swords. The veteran grimaced and stepped onto the soggy, blighted pier, flanked by his two companion hexers. He slipped his hand to his belt, palmed something, crushed it, and tossed it to the sky. An otherworldly flare screamed into the heavens and crested beneath the clouds, burning with the passion of a newly-birthed star. It cast its brilliance for leagues. The cry of "All sail!" reverberated through the wooden decks and carried across the ocean. The small boat peeled once again off to sea. The three men cast a last look at the vessel before turning towards their own path. They began abreast and moved with purpose.

[!] A name is added to the wall of the dead. "In memory of Haddock Plissken, who lost his life in the line of duty. May he rest in peace."

[!] A name is added to the wall of the dead. "In memory of Oan Frondson, who lost his life in the line of duty. May he rest in peace."

[[FM: Guild is currently active.]]

The MANTICORE Initiative Great threats require great men. On occasion, greater threats require groups of significant, motivated men to mitigate them effectively. In a Realm under threat, it is critical that an element with capable assets and defined methods and objectives manifest. This group of men will operate in denied areas, in hostile conditions, to hunt the enemy behind his lines, kill his ringleaders, burn his home, and degrade his center of gravity to expedite his fall. In a crisis, good men don't rise to their expectations, but fall to the level of their training. In a well-planned surgical war with a righteous cause, they will do both. The missive ends with a brief protocol for reply and directions to several locations for letter drops. This letter presents the three sigils of the Marked Men and the seal of a Manticore, side-by-side. [This organization will operate under a PK clause.]

This would make sense - if this was how a spawn tavern functioned realistically. Earlier in the thread, somebody aptly used the term 'roleplay sink' - that is exactly what spawn-based roleplay hotspots have become in every map where they have existed. This isn't an arguable point. Some spawn areas have functioned better in this regard than others by virtue of better guidelines and management, but a spawn area will *always* draw roleplay from other areas by principle. The idea that a spawn tavern or similar hotspot functions in a way that damages roleplay in a location is easy to argue against simply because it is not possible to determine where the players would be otherwise were there no such institutionalized hotspot. However, common sense indicates that if players are in one location then they are not in another, thus drawing RP towards a single point by virtue of special protections - in a bad way. Speaking generally on the implications of this proposal, it is correct that the single best mode of player retention is to jumpstart the new player's immersion into a roleplay setting. A spawn does not have to be large or overly built - it should function only to get players to roleplay centers as quickly as possible. A protected spawn area where loitering is encouraged is not the best way to facilitate that. If only a single capital for a race exists, spawn the new player in the most consistently populated area in that capital. In the case of multiple, spawn the player at a racial crossroads. In this manner, retention is also built in map layout and ease of access to roleplay centers. This can all be handled without the introduction of a spawn-based roleplay hotspot, which is damaging in the long-term and provides new players with a false impression of LOTC's roleplay atmosphere and systems. Those players that prefer to stick to tavern-type roleplay can do so by creating their own centers with their own groups rather than relying on an area where detrimental special protections are institutionalized.