Noer

Asgoslav woke, his eyes opening for the first time in years. His sweat dripped from his brow, his mouth quivering as he rose. He looked at the world around him, and the possessions of his at his feet, and furrowed his brow as his face was filled with confusion. He had awoken in a land, far too strange for his taste, somewhere on the border of reality and fantasy. The realm had trees like his, the water completely normal, yet the geography was random, with mountains in places next to plains, and deserts cut off directly by grass. It was a strange land, a strange land indeed. Asgoslav looked upon the world, seeing strange beings float by in the air, translucent and seemingly insentient, floating by as he walked. He felt hungry, yet the grass would not harbor him wheat. He grew tired, yet the ground was hard and unforgiving, so he marched onward. He held a pickaxe in hand, his only weapon as he stumbled upon the opening to a cavern so grand and intricate that he did not know how he failed to lose his bearings once he entered it. The cave held more iron than he had ever seen in his life. He walked through it, mining as he went, and his pickaxe did not seem to break, and his stomach stayed in its state of contentedness as he ran faster and faster. He recalled his life as he walked, first the life of a rebel, then the life of a auxiliary, and then, finally, the life of a soldier for a just cause, the only cause, the cause of The Creator. He watched the cave stop abruptly, only to give way to a grand ravine, which he extracted the iron from with haste. The iron was much like the one from his normal world, the one of Athera, yet he felt as if it weren't real, for some reason. He mined and mined, somehow discovering over some 300 veins, to which he extracted to his pleasure. Mining, he thought, was the must satisfying thing a man can do, something to take his mind off the war that his life was plagued by. Just as he was about through, in front of him appeared a grand portal. The portal was strange, and to which its origins no man would know, yet he knew it was godly at least. Out of the portal stepped his father, a man by the name of George Drakonscar, a man whom he held such disdain for that he would never speak of him with any of his friends. "Asgorath, your time has come." Said the apparition, its ghostly figure walking through the pillars of stone around him, floating up to Asgoslav. "I will not go wherever you may, filth." He retorted, disgust on his face as he looked upon the man. "I will not go with you to this land, for it is for those whom have something to prove. You died far too soon, Asgorath, fighting for men whom you worshipped like the Creator himself. It is time, my son, for you to make a difference." As he said this, the man disappeared, and Asgoslav stood in front of the portal, looking into it. He saw his death, as an orc lay impaled next to him, and a dwarf without an arm fleeing like a wounded deer. He saw the breath leave his body as his life did, and he looked back at the apparition that was there only moments ago. He took a step, walking up to the portal, and put his hand through. "I shall return to this world, and I shall make amends." (TLDR/OOC:) I was recently unbanned, and when I logged on for the first time I was on Asgoslav's persona, in a strange MC generated world on the server. So, like any normal person, I explored, found stuff, and was warped back to spawn. It's good to be back.

NOMEN: [Your name] Johnathan RACE, FOLK: [Your character's race] Human AGE: [Your age] 20 PRIOR EXPERTISE: [Your experience] I fought in the civil war, am a trained farmer and was educated under the de Bars. [OOC]: MC name: Kid_Mackin Skype ID or Steam name: jojomack11/ kid mackin Do you understand that you will need to be on teamspeak during battles for comms? Yes. Do you accept that deaths involving legitimate roleplay generally mean you must PK your character? Yep.

Johnathon wonders if this would include himself.

" The sun beat down upon the cobbled and graveled roads, and wanderers of all sorts drifted in and out to the lazy thrum of the city. The bustle of the city seemed even to have a lilt, a musical taste to the activity. Smile had been passed from person to person; jovial children ran in the streets, exuberant; merchants called into the dry air, selling their goods! " Johnathan thinks for a moment, "Such a strange thing, every time I go to Felsen nobody is there!"

John remembers the original song, the Elf of Malinor, which recalled the sacking of the once great city by the White Rose. "Disgusting."

A wounded Johnathan Suffolk signs, his writing poor as he is forced to use his left, fully functioning hand.

Johnathan suffolk kneels amongst the corpses, an arrow in his shoulder piercing the chain mail covering him as he looks around, his arm mangled and a giant gash along his face. He drops his sword, his hands growing weak and shaky. He focuses his gaze on Guy de Bar, one of the survivors, standing above him as his Ordermen rally. He frowns, his expression growing ever grimmer by the minute. "I was wrong, it would not be who would give the gift of death... It would be you." "You have given me the life I lived, Lord de Bar, and now it is your duty to take away from me my life." ((Waiting for altiak to respond, need him to kill me or spare me.))

On a finely made roll of parchment, Johnathan Suffolk, First of his Name, the Former Ward of Guy de Bar writes this denouncement. "To both the King of Oren, Olivier de Savoie, and Grand Master of the Order of St. Amyas, Guy de Bar, I send you this letter in order to perhaps warn you of what you have started in this war, and how you attempt to crush half of your nation in one fell swoop will not be remembered in the Histories as noble, it will be remembered as the rulings of two men forfeited to Lunacy in order for the strength of a dynasty to remain as it was. To Seguine Barbanov, I write these words not for you, nor for your name, I write for your people, the Raevir, to whom I was born into, but taken away from and put into the hands of Guy de Bar. I do not understand how this man, whom has fought you so furiously, and seems to be winning the war, can kill those whom look like a boy whom he grew dear to over so long with such passion that there seems to be no reasoning with him." "I write this letter as a declaration of my allegiance to Adria in these times of great strife. One who has known of my story, and one who has known of My former Wardfather's, might taken into question why I am doing this, and so I must elaborate for these former and perhaps future friends of mine. Guy de Bar raised me from the point of Childhood to Adulthood, and I seemingly owe him a debt for this. For years I stood by his side, his friend, perhaps a son in every meaning but literal, and I remained dedicated to him as I watched his mind unravel. I saw his eyes widen over the years as the kingdom split, I saw his veins bulge and his speech quicken, like a panicking man close to death, and now I see that he is acting like a madman in the war. I've seen him grow a sadistic grin, as his adversaries were mysteriously assassinated, such as the Pontiff himself, the messenger of The Creator for whom which the order is devoted to. Lord de Bar, I do not hate you. You have given me the gift of life, and I have grown to love you as a father, mentor, and friend. However, to see you like this pains me so much that I realize you will never recover from what ails you, for it is the punishment for the crimes you have committed, the soul you have sold to Iblees. I do not just denounce you, my Ward-Father, but I accuse you of Killing the Pontiff, and tainting the order that your predecessors created. It is far to coincidental that your enemies have been killed, while in Felsen no less! I believe that no men are completely righteous. I also believe most men can be forgiven. However, for you, my father, the only forgiveness you shall recieve for your actions is from me, for driving me to the point where I must end your life. You have given me the gift of knowledge, life, and pride. I will repay the debt, with the gift of the sweet release of death. If you lose this war, It will not be a man from Adria who kills you, it will be me, and I will hold your corpse in my arms, and I will cry for you. Sincerely, Johnathan Suffolk.

How can you think about making a rap without kid mackin, the dopest rapper this side of the Mississippi?

Idk what that loser is talkin about Bro, you're like a 7/10. As for keem, don't know ya, so I'm gonna give you a 5

Somewhere in Anthos, A ghost of a young man mutters "M-Muh Golden Aged Rebellion...."

[New Goal: Assassinate Guy de Bar.]

Never met you, so I'm gonna give you a 5/10. >Inb4 some elf gives me a 1/10

Banned for what appears to be anime in your profile picture.

Somewhere in Athera, in an unmarked grave outside what was once the red rose tavern, Asgoslav rolls in his grave.

Please note that colin is giving me his slot, due to being incapable of participating due to work.

I love it how when the big nations don't get what they want, they just sorta shrug it off and keep rping while the Tavern RPers celebrate, and now Big nations get what they want and all Tavern Rpers can do is complain about how "this doesn't work!" even though it promotes strong governments to control RP, as it should.

You should really get some good player bases to back you up beforehand, or you'll be less active and less powerful than Adunia.

Jarkarll.

Best Dogger since Legoface.

Tythus told me that the only job Menarra was supposed to have was lore admin....