Sentlit

Cyrus looks up more, his face no longer covered by a shaking shadow from the torchlight. His nose would appear slightly disfigured, and a bit of dark, dried blood below it. He folds his hands behind his back and answers softly "Morality is a superficial notion that is dropped whenever it is most opportune. Mr Camoryn, I do not doubt that you or I have failed in up-keeping a sound sense of good." Cyrus exhales, then continues "As I have seen, the art has only corrupted body, not mind. Perhaps it is an art that many insane seek? Even so, I have met one man who does not fit your thoughts of being malicious and a necromancer. A curious, mute man he was, but kind nonetheless. Mr Camoryn-" He pauses. "I still wish to know... would you hate me if I was a necromancer? Would I become your enemy?"

Cyrus' face tilts upward slightly, his hair parting somewhat to reveal one of his eyes, a brilliant emerald-green contrast to his dark surroundings. His one revealed eye follows Artimec as he paces back and forth. "Mr Camoryn..." he responds, disregarding the man who peeks into the dreary crypt, "I would use that power for the furtherance of mortal, and my own personal knowledge. Nothing more, nothing less. What do you believe I would become if I were to practice such arts? A murderer? A defiler?" He closes his eyes, realizing that he had already upturned someone's grave. Cyrus exhales slowly, mumbling to himself "For the furtherance of knowledge..."

Cyrus looks down in the dimly lit hallway, his hair casting a shadow over most of his face, including his nose injury. The torches flicker in musty air, giving an almost lonely ambiance to the atmosphere. He stands with both hands at his side and with a rotting corpse lying at his feet. A broken coffin lays behind him. Silently Cyrus stand for a moment before asking "What would you say if I was a necromancer. Would you strike me where I stand?" He brings his sleeve to his pale chin wiping off blood that had dripped there. He snivels and adds "Well... the answer would not matter. No. Not necromancy. I imagine that everyone in Ac'talareh will be assuming this... - especially now that word has spread that I have been spending time in the crypt..." Cyrus plants one leg forward, the light tapping of his shoe echoing throughout the hall "But I would still appreciate an answer, Mr Camoryn." "What if I was a necromancer?"

Cyrus' hand remains over his nose, and the blood stops dripping. He mumbles to them as Eventa turns to run "I am not a necromancer. Please... please don't tell people that..." He sighs, looking at the ground, seeing that the cracked bricks on the floor are dotted with blood. "Damn... I was hoping that this wouldn't happen..." he mumbles to himself.

Cyrus stands up silently, still holding his nose. Bright red blood trickles down his wrist and drips from the bottom of his chin more slowly than before. "Yes... I suppose that's a good thing." he responds. "I would rather not have been badly burned..." "Research, it was..." He stands silently once more, one hand up by his face and the other hanging by his side. Cyrus then turns to see if Eventa actually took his somewhat blood-stained papers.

Cyrus sits up by himself, covering his bloody nose with one hand, mumbling "Who was being secretive..?" He does not show any effort in stopping Eventa from reading the papers. Cyrus continues "There is nothing very secretive about opening a coffin and-" he cuts himself off, not really making himself seem less suspicious. The papers would begin to detail the corpse, even showing a basic sketch of it, noting something like: 'Wrinkled, brownish skin. Wrinkles create almost basins with round high points and oblong shaped low points. Small spots of darker pigments along skin. Thin frame, hugging to a bony shape. Sunken cheeks, and no eyes. Hair thin and tangled, lips curled and peeling...' It would continue with detailed descriptions of the corpse.

Cyrus, still dazed, lies on the ground. The new light reveals Cyrus' identity and a quite bloody nose. Next to him lies the broken frame of a coffin, a rotting corpse, and some scraps of paper with writing upon them. It would appear that some of the papers even have some smudges of blood upon them as Cyrus would grasp them. Again, he lies silently but this time closes his eyes, awaiting Eventa's next action and the dwarf's reaction.

Cyrus remains perfectly silent, his hands trembling in the dark at the words of the silhouette. His thoughts race at incredible speeds: 'What do I do? I cannot let people assume the wrong thing... but I was being almost treacherous about it.' and other similar thoughts. Cyrus only manages to drop the arm that he was lifting in the air and stare at the short figure before him. A sudden sharp noise fills the air, the screaming of a young Mali saying "ROBBERS IN THE CRYPT!!!" Cyrus' heart skips a beat at this sudden noise, but not before a cloud of sand hits his face and chest. Miraculously it hit all but his eyes, yet it still did not do him good. He did not see the small fist hurdling toward his face then smashing into his nose. Cyrus falls backwards from his sitting position and hits the ground rather dazed. A warm, sticky substance runs from his nose. He tries to wipe it, but it only spreads further over his face and his hand. Cyrus stares up from the ground, perhaps to see what hit him.

Cyrus runs a hand through his hair, a recent project troubling his mind. Though he hates to do it, he defiles a grave by opening it. He checks nervously left and right to see if anyone is in the Delver crypt before he continues. 'I only need to study it... just a little bit...' he reassures himself before pulling a coffin off of the wall. In the dimly-lit hallway, a crash is heard as the rotten wood of the coffin breaks upon hitting the floor. Cyrus cringes and looks around again, hoping that nobody was nearby to hear that. He lifts the broken frame of the coffin from the corpse and tosses it to the side, then begins to inspect the rotting flesh of a Delver that had passed long ago. Lifting an arm with two fingers, Cyrus inspects the decaying skin, writing notes upon some scratch pieces of paper. His heart stops, hearing footsteps coming down the hall. Slowly he turns his head to see the silhouette of someone walking toward him. Someone had heard the crash. ((Who heard the crash and how will they react? FRP it out!))

I suppose Mali'laurir is more accurate than Mali'ata. :3 at least Mali'ata is what the Mali'aheral call it last time I checked.

Cyrus arrives at his desk to find a foreign piece of paper there. Upon closer inspection, it would appear to be an application written by a prospective member of the Delvers. He mumbles to himself "Interesting- I don't remember these being sent to my desk..." And letters a response. 'Dear Mr or Ms Vithsil, It is a curiosity that one by the same last name once was or is a member of this guild. All coincidence aside, this response is penned to notify you that your application has been reviewed and found capable of being accepted. Your task now is to find the ruins of Ac'talareh and ask to find someone with the title 'Regent' and talk to them about an additional task as to solidify your membership. Thank you for your consideration, ~Cyrus- Regent of the Arcane Delvers' The letter is then sent by bird to somehow find its way to one Mali'ker, namely Namera Vithsil, who likely is waiting upon the response.

Cyrus looks up to the hanging head, his eyebrows furrowing. He mumbles to himself "Make a mental note to never be alone in Malinor at night..."

Cyrus chuckles as he hears people bidding prices that would make a dwarven king sell his crown to buy some dusty old tome. "Never before has there been such a lively amalgamation of fools willing to throw their purse upon a fire just so their eyes might be confused as they see odd symbols called 'letters'- perhaps so they appear to have at least a grain of intellect. The irony of it." He mumbles to himself, passing by.

Do you make a call to the police just to say hi? :P Anyway, this is a fairly good guide IMO. I hope it will prevent unnecessary modreqs from being made and to save the GM sweat for important modreqs.

Another good job, LoTC-BC. *applause*

Now THIS is brilliant. *applause*

If this was a Holy Grail reference, I love you so much more. You're now at least... 20% cooler.

The High Elves of Haelun'or have a very petty, pretentious culture very far from PvP-based conflit. Making a High Elf could be lots of fun if you're into class an sophistication. Even if you're an impure Elf, there is much RP to be found in the capitol of Malinor. The Halflings have been known for friendly, happy, cheerful RP that is quite far from conflict. From what I've heard, their community is great for new members. These are the first two that I thought of when you said you wanted to avoid PvP. Good luck making a new character, and I hope you have fun with it! :D

Cyrus approaches the poster, saddened upon being reminded of Druids of the past. 'Dedicant Alika' he writes.

I imagine the offset being due to the original graphic of lying down existing in a bed. I would imagine it's trying to retain the same height off of the ground that a bed would.

Things are looking up for Duloc.

*applause* How's that for unresponsiveness? Well done staff. Thanks for hearing the cry of your people and sparing us from your mighty wrath!

#Elfmasterrace