WuHanXianShi14

THANK YOU, So much. When I get shot, I'm down, simple. If I had a nickle for every roleplayer who continued to fight masterfully with an arrow in them like it was a tiny little toothpick in their side...ugh.

Art sifts through papers on his desk, coming to one in particular, he squints his eyes, trying to recognize the writing, he tilts his head curiously. "A Gobo...Ah, why the nether not." A bird returns to Melunz, with a message tied to it's leg. "Welcome to the Frostshields, make your way to Vaerhaven and pick up a recruit's outfit in the armory, you'll be one of us."

*Letters and posters are nailed to the populated areas of Anthos. Salvus, Malinor, but most commonly in Kal Azgoth and the hold of Vaerhaven.* *SINCE THIS IS APPARENTLY NOT UNDERSTOOD, LET ME BE CLEAR. FROSTSHIELDS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DRAW THEIR WEAPON OR OPENLY ENGAGE IN CONFLICT UNTIL OPENLY ATTACKED THEMSELVES. NEXT VIOLATOR OF THIS WILL PAY.* -Frostshield Commander Art. The Frostshields of Vaerhaven The hold of Vaerhaven is a peaceful place, it's inhabitants as colorful as the banners that hang from roof to roof. The place is most often bustling, and very much populated, while managing to avoid the chaos that often resides in other cities. Nevertheless, as in any city trouble can brew, fights can start, and accidents can happen. By the Auxillary act of Urguan, every hold is to have a competent guard force, and this is where we come in to serve. THE FROSTSHIELDS: Duties and Laws The duties and roles expected of those in this guard are of such: 1. Whether off duty or on, always keep a vigilant eye out around town. A Frostshield must be expected to leap directly into a situation on a moments notice, no matter where he is or what he is currently doing. 2. Physical force is a last resort. In rare cases, certain individuals will be labelled as an arrest, or sometimes even kill on sight. However, all Frostshields are expected to keep a level head, a calm demeanor, and unless otherwise specified NEVER draw weapons unless weapons are drawn on you first. 3. Never make a scene. Drunkenness is strongly discouraged at all times, cactus green or other narcotics is strictly forbidden, violators will be stripped of rank. We are here to set a good example, not to be looked down upon. 4. Always, and I will state again, always, listen to your superior officer. A force works best as a group, and if you are the individual who finds he must always to things his way, it's time to swallow your pride and follow orders. Discipline is essential to the Frostshields. Ranks and positions The recruit: To those new to the art of combat and to all of those altogether inexperienced, the rank of recruit will be given. This rank is a transition stage for new Frostshields to watch, learn, and do, and eventually rise to be a full member of the guard. The regular: The Frostshield regular is expected to be able to work his way around a fight decently, he is expected to be smart, sensible and capable. The regulars are the rank and file, as well as the most important role. They provide the bulk of the Frostshields body. The captain: The leaders and mentors, the captains do the jobs the Commander cannot possibly do on his own. Captains are there to direct the regulars and recruits in situations of trouble, and provide the orders and leadership necessary for the guard to remain efficient. The Commander: The individual put in charge of the force. The Commander of the Frostshields ensures the prosperity of the force, and the city they are charged to protect. The Commander's word is followed, and is trusted to make the right choices. Joining: http://imgur.com/a/vRLBb#KVLZquM An image of the various uniforms lies here. ((Before you ask, we were previously known as the Valewood blades before moving to Vaerhaven. If you are a regular please choose between the heavy and light armor skins.)) To those interested in joining the Frostshields, there is a simple form and contract, this binds you to fulfill the duties read earlier. Leaving is as simple as handing in your uniform. ((MC name)): Your name: Your race: Your age: What do you consider yourself skilled in?: Why have you come to the Frostshields?: Do you swear by whatever dieties or other figures you hold dear to uphold and live up to the expectations of being in this organization?:

I dont know why, but something tells me nep is a little airheaded.

Art grumbles. "Hazzah, another group named 'shields', this will do wonders for confusion."

With all these new creatures we need to make the LOTC equivalent of Witchers.

I personally, primarily play as a wood elf. I honestly am leaning towards Cappy on this one. Wood Elves wouldn't necessarily always be shorter than humans, But they shouldn't be upwards of 7ft or higher. And if they were, it would most likely be explained by saying they have some Mali'aheral blood. Art is around 5'9, which is a fairly decent height. As for general physical appearance, in RP, I can usually tell a wood elf by his non-blonde hair. The brown skin isn't really done much anyways, so while the Mali'ame may have a slightly darker complexion, It wouldn't be so tanned. The hair, from what I've noticed in wood elves ranges from reddish to various shades of brown. Like I said, most of this is my general impression of wood elves from what I've seen.

Next person who calls me a redhead gets flayed. ART HAS BROWN HAIR. Anyways, this is quite nice, and fits my main character, who coincidentally is a wood elf, nicely. I hope to see more on this!

Character Name: Artimec Camoryn Nicknames: Art, Arty. Age: 302 Gender: Male Race: Wood Elf (Mali'ame) Status: Alive and Breathing. Description Height: Fairly short, considering his elven heritage. 6'1. Weight: 175 lbs Body Type: Slim, Thin, Agile, but with a wiry strength. Eyes: Light Green. Hair: Rusty Red. Skin: Slightly tanned. Markings/Tattoos: A fairly large scar running over his forehead, he covers it thoroughly with either a headcloth or his lengthy hair. Health: Fit. In good condition. Personality: Rarely smiling and carrying a solemn air about him, Art is very blunt and straightforward. He can often be perceived as rude. An attitude of getting done what must be done. He is a no nonsense and cold elf at times, but can open up to be a little warmer with people he likes. To his lover, or the select one or two people he cares enough about he can be downright obsessive over their well being. Art is also VERY nonchalant and matter of fact. He will openly reveal things and keep others hidden at his own whim. Whether he is reclusive or outgoing is to be judged by the people around him. Inventory: A leather utility belt designed to carry all sorts of potions and salves for field medic purpose. He does not prefer any weapon persay, often carrying around a shortsword of no note, or a stave. He dresses casually, usually a loose jacket, a robe, or a vest. Further Details: He likes fruit. Life Style Alignment*: True Neutral. In the grand scheme of things, Art really does not care anymore. Wanting only for his guild to prosper and himself and his loved ones to be happy. Deity*: Believes no otherworldly being should have the great say in one's fate. Feigns worship of the creator when in Oren. Religion: I refer you to above. Alliance/Nation/Home: The semi-Autonomous Wood Elven City State of Lenniel. Job/Class: An adept illusionist, Art is what you would call skilled in two fighting styles but a master of none. Many times spell and steel work together for twice the deadliness in combat, making Art what one would call a spellsword, or battlemage. Title(s): Luminary of the Hunt, Leader of the Mali'ame. Profession(s): Leadership of the wood elven sub race, illusion and electromancy. Special Skill(s): Art can play a recorder a little rustily. His voice has by some miracle not permanently given out due to all the yelling at wood elven nitwits. Flaw(s): As afore mentioned, is very blunt, and hence is not very good with the subtleties of small talk. He also probably speaks his mind too often, getting him into many avoidable situations which end up criminalizing him. In addition, while often level headed and calm, when it comes to his loved ones he is incredibly rash and impulsive. Weaponry Fighting Style: Defense and attrition. As a spell caster, patience is essential. The simplest spells and magical tricks can work wonders in giving you the immediate upper hand in a fight, often being able to distract or daze your opponent to skewer them with the sword in your other hand. Trained Weapon: Arcanism, the longsword. Favored Weapon: None, whichever is useful. Archery: Deteriorating due to other skills. Current Status: (Journeyman) Arch-type: Arcane Sub-Type: Illusion, Electromancy. Rank: Master of Illusion, Expert of Electromancy. Weakness(es): Smaller quicker to cast spells make the lasting effect of said spells shorter, and weaker. Strength(s): The effectiveness of the relatively faster to cast smaller spell style Art uses allows for more efficiency in a more hectic situation, a la a fight or a chase. Current Spell(s): Manipulating and creating illusions of the five senses to a basic degree, based on sensations and experiences Art has gone through himself. Biography Spouse: Mayilu'llirame Parents: Helena and Ieschen Camoryn. Mother dead by sickness, Father presumed missing. Siblings: Lumina Camoryn (penzin26), Aliss Camoryn (hex37), his younger and older sister respectively. Children: First child, Aria Camoryn (verrenn). Second child: Alexandria 'Wocket' Camoryn (pointx0), now dead. Extended Family: Eleyas Camoryn (crayfishchris) Auberon Camoryn (Garukumus) Pet(s): Snowy the barn owl, from the Ac'talareh owlry. History Excerpt from Art's journal, circa 1456, loss of his memory. ------------------------------------------------------------- Is has been nearly two years since I woke upon a snowy hill with nothing but frozen food, the clothes on my back, and no memory. At that point I felt as close to a newborn child as anyone in an adult’s body has ever felt. I didn’t know how to make sounds, how to move, how to think. It was simple thoughts that set my mind into place. An inborn instinct that taught me the difference between up and down, hot and cold, long and short, and so on. Then came my name: Artimec. At that point I had not yet understood the concept of names. My mind taught itself my own before it implanted names of other things in my head. Snow. Mountains. Stone. Grass. Now with a language to speak and listen in, a name to identify myself with an a body to keep it all together, I set off from the frozen wasteland the old me had chosen to kill his identity in. --------------------------------------------------- The first location I managed to stumble upon was the druid’s grove. I met upon Miss Elorna there. She was the first person I came across whom remembered the person I used to be. She did seem adverse to me at first, for reasons I would find out later on as I learned more about my past, but she gave me a tent to stay in, which was nice. Next I met Alirya...She didn’t receive me nearly as well as Elorna did. Infact, she stabbed me in the thigh. Crazed like a wild animal for some crime which I did not know of, I did soon find out why, however. I then met my son, Caedwen. It was overwhelming to find out I had produced a child. Even more so to grasp the idea of responsibility. I barely had more than words and the concept of speaking and listening, mind you. I refused to believe the boy was mine. Truth be told I was scared to death. Any sort of attachment or affection was an alien concept to me. I spent the next few weeks living among the druids in their grove. I felt like an outsider, there wasn’t much to do. I kept to myself most days, scared to interact with strangers. Hunting for food, sleeping away dreamless, empty nights. It drove me near mad after awhile, having nothing to do. Eventually I decided to face my fears. I had to talk to the boy. I didn’t know a thing about him, but he was my son, as people claimed. He was still mad at me when I found him of course. An eleven year old, what child can comprehend memory loss, especially their own father’s? He did forgive me though. I promised to try to raise him right. I am still trying to this day… ------------------------------------------- Still, there was more than just my son to worry about, I needed a purpose beyond that. And so, to many people’s great suprise, I joined the druidic order. Don’t think I didn’t hear what people were saying behind my back. “The rogue mage, gone druid.” “Artimec...The Delver.” “Hollowed out husk of an elf, addicted to his own power, turned druid, I don’t believe it.” Those whispers made me resent my old self. I hated my reputation. It was like a looming shadow, ever present. One you couldn’t shake off no matter how hard you tried. That resentment of my old self to resentment of what he was. A mage. A festering hate for all things magical grew in me. It devoted me to my dedicantship. I wanted to be a druid. I wanted to show everyone I was not a filthy magic user like everyone thought I was. ------------------------------------------ I moved into Lin’ame months later after a few weeks of deliberations with stubborn members of my kin and the always unlikable high elves. The accomodations were better than my shoddy tent, yet I still felt out of place. The city was always quite empty. Before that however my life had been tearful re-union after tearful re-union. I met some old lovers. Anri. Jesea. Mayilu...Mayilu stood out the most out of all of them. The mother of Caedwen. It did help she was very pretty...A stranger to my memory-absent self, but pretty. Of course, she shared with me our history and we soon became close again. But it was complicated, I guess. As you can imagine, being on intimate terms with a woman you’ve only really known for a short short time. Pretty or no. I guess I felt I had a duty to her, just as I did to my son. ------------------------------------------ Back to Lin’ame...It’d grown into a lively town. But we were living in the shadow of our ‘pure’ brethren up in the blue spires of Tahn’siol. We’d fought attacks off our walls. Bandits, orcs, the usual. I had even used my magic once...or twice. I started to doubt myself then. Was magic really all that bad? Were the scars on my palms really such a large price to pay for the power to slay those who threaten what I seek to protect? Am I the bad person for simply using a tool to defend? I think Elorna took note of my self doubt. She is a perceptive one after all. A day came when I tried to end the life of an uruk whom broke into our city. A mutant. The same kind of whom would happily slaughter our children. I skewered the mutant in the gut, but an old coot threw me out the Druidic order for it. Maybe I’m not meant to be a peaceful person. I fought myself to impress those treehugging bastards. I tried to stamp out a part of me that maybe I should never have sought to kill. Why was I running around doing pointless errands for a cult of fools when true power lay in myself, so easily within reach? To nether with them. I am Artimec Camoryn. I’m not another pawn in a cult of treehuggers too afraid to embrace power strong enough to protect themselves and their loved ones. ---------------------------------------- Excerpt for Siri: Siri, I intend for you to read this someday yourself. So I’ll write directly to you, as opposed to about you. To be honest, If you asked me how I felt about you, I wouldn’t know how. You’re lovely. I always want to be near you when I can. You have a positive outlook and cheerful way of seeing thing I wish I could have, but could never hope to match. I do have feeling for you, but I hate myself for it. I hate myself because I have a devotion to the mother of my child. I hate myself because I let myself fall for not only a woman who wasn’t her, but a high elf. The forbidden fruit, so to speak. Maybe I should have said something sooner. Even if you knew, only bad could possibly come out of it, so it was best left secret. I hope you can forgive me for that. ----------------------------------------------- We’re at the current present day now. I have been expelled from the only order I had meaning in post-memory. Siri is being ripped out of my hands by elven Apartheid, Mayilu still won’t talk to me after I threatened to disown Caedwen, and how can I possibly face her? I let myself fall for another woman. I can’t face Miss Elorna either, not after dropping dedicancy. Some Mali’ame talk of seeing me as an example, even a leader. Maybe once I was a leader. Not anymore. They are good folk. I hope they find someone more capable to lead them. ------------------------------------------------- It has occured to me that maybe I should start recording the dates of these journal entries. But I can barely keep track of days passing, so I dismissed that idea. Phaedrus seems to have let the idea of representing the law go to his head. Hopefully I’ll take up the bronze soon. Sol acted like a child today when he drew a knife on Phaedrus though. I tried to mediate between both. So naturally I expect both despise me now. I managed to convince Miss Elorna to put Sol on trial as opposed to outright expulsion. I suppose I’ll have to speak in his defence. ---------------------------------------------------- I’ve had random snippets of my memory returning recently. Not nearly enough to make sense out of. Today I saw myself behead a man on an execution block, surrounded by men of all races dressed in blue tabards. Delvers I assume, people have told me all about them and my part in their guild. I would be more shocked if I hadn’t already accepted death as a necessary and unavoidable part of life. Today I learned I was an executioner in my past. ----------------------------------------------------- Caedwen has been forced into marriage by his ladyfriend’s psychotic father. I will see that man burn before I let him marry off my son. I fear my mali’ii will elope with the girl again. I may have to disown him to teach him a lesson. No amount of pleading or assertion on my part ever gets him to listen to me. Mayilu is mad at me because she believes I’m pushing Caedwen away as well. I don’t know how to explain to either of them that sometimes I am simply unable to interact with people, and just prefer to be alone. Childhood ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Art's childhood was neither grand nor exciting. He was born a little ways outside Ager, the second child of two wood elves. His mother was a farmer, regularly walking into market and selling fresh produce from the family plot, his father, a hunter. Ieschen and Helena Camoryn were no saints nor daemons, they were parents and they did their best to care for each other, as well as their newborn son. Helena envisioned a man to tend the farms and drive the oxen. But her husband had different ideas. Art's earliest memories revolve around hunting. He was taught the skills of marksmanship barely after he had learned to walk. His mother did not approve of the exercise, nor did she try to stop it however. Every second day, the evening after a day of chores, Ieschen would take his son over the hills, and they would lose themselves in archery, the hunt, and the wild. Art was taught that to take a life must be backed up with purpose, and a life killed is not a life wasted. The meat from dead deer would be eaten, skin used in clothing, bones in utensils, et cetera. Alongside his parents Art grew up with an older sibling. Aliss, of whom was eccentric at best. Needless to say he became the favourite child of sorts. Aliss was wild, needlessly rebellious and above all reckless. She left home when Art was twelve, leaving him with faded memories in the future. Twelve years later and Lumina was born. For the first few years Art grew resentful of his newborn sister. Absorbing the attention and the adoration from his parents he once had all to himself. Soon however, he learned to love her, and they grew close as siblings should. Where Art was rough, and blunt, Lumina was kind, and softer. She was the extroverted one, always seeming to attract the more friends and attention, but Art did not mind. He wound hunt, she would cook and clean. Together they grew and became the adults of the house. At 21 years of age Art's mother grew sick. What may or may not have started out as a common cold quickly grew into violent coughing of blood and phlegm. Ieschen and the two siblings did their best to find their mother treatment, but they fact of the matter was they were a poor Elven family living on the outskirts of Oren. The Camoryn family grew dismayed as Helena grew weaker, Ieschen took to drinking his sorrows away, an act that often made him dangerous to be around. The scar that runs across Art's forehead, the one that warrants the bandana he wears, is a result of nothing more than a kitchen accident caused by a drunken stupor. A year later and Art's mother had passed away. Father Camoryn had truly broken, only drinking more and more. Lumina had seemed to take it the hardest, never leaving her father's side, despite the resentfulness and abuse loss and alcoholism can induce in a man. Art would hunt, as usual, he would work the farms and he would continue on with his life, but it was hard, and things would never be the same, not with the memory of such an untimely passing lingering in the family's minds. One particular day Art would walk back home carrying a string of rabbit carcasses to hear screaming, not fear, or sorrow, but screaming of rage. Lumina promptly stormed out the house shortly afterwards. Lumina was to leave for Crestfall. She had decided to abandon the family to start a new life, the seperation would stir up old resentment in Art, and for the first time in nearly a decade he would need to make do without her. He remained on the family farm for one more single year, putting up with his deteriorated father, doing twice the work entailed from his sister's abandonment. And on the winter's solstice, he finally decided enough was enough. Art left home that day, following his in sister's path. He would go to Crestfall, leaving his father to live alone, and his farm surely to fall into disrepair. Asulon - The beggining of actual events that happened in RP. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The trek to Crestfall was uneventful. The town was far livelier that what he'd grown used to, but the layout was nice and tidy. It did not take long for Art to find a house by the river, marked with the sign Lumina Akkaris. The door was not locked and Art entered, loitering for awhile. He would eventually find his sister at the door, mouth hung open and groceries dropped to the floor in shock. In Crestfall the two siblings supported each other as they had before. Lumina would tend the house, harvest the farm in their backyard, and Art would continue to hunt. It was as peaceful an existence he could hope for, they no longer wanted for minas, or food. Until one day his life was changed forever. Art was not used to seeing others of his kind, having never left Oren, but when walking down the river from his sister's home, he was indeed approached by one of the Mali. It was Kalenz Uradir, a high elf and arcane illusionist. The Mali'aheral very promptly offered Art a position in the Arcane Delvers. Art's initial fear of having no arcane abilities were put to rest, and he agreed to take the job of mageshield, protectorate warriors of the mages. Art had not been moved too far from his sister. The Delver's home base was only a minute's walk down the river from her home. Adorning his flashy new blue and gold uniform he would do tasks, stand for mages when needed, as well as continue to support his sister. Art had killed, he had snapped the life out of game and other animals of all sort, but he had never seen one so close to resembling himself murdered in cold blood. But it happened. Glandir, a mageshield who had joined alongside Art was executed for treason, and trickery. Art was among the many who had been fooled by him, almost being provoked to make war on a town for Glandir's own personal gain. The man deserved death, and Art knew that, but it struck hard. Art's remaining days in Asulon were spent alongside his sister, or amongst his fellow Mageshields, uneventful until the worldwide call to leave. Anthos, becoming someone. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Reuniting with the Delvers ------------------------------------------------ The trip to Anthos started with a promotion. The rank of High Mageshield was quickly given to Art after the transition into the new lands and he suddenly found himself in a position of responsibility over dozens of men, scrawny or tough, old and young. Kastoria became is new home and there the Delvers quickly built themselves a grand hall and tower for their own, known as the Ac'talareh pass. There are resided. Living daily amongst the mages as various alchemical and arcane experiments and studies happened around him. Meanwhile, he would tend to the Mageshields. Do drills, spars and exercises all to keep them in shape, and by extension himself. Art was fitter than he'd ever been, and had grown exponentially as a swordsman. The downward spiral started on a harmless trip to Malinor. Drunken mageshields had apparently been causing a scene in days prior, and when Art along with the Delver brass, Polgrath and Kalenz made a trip to Malinor they were very promptly beaten and restrained by the Sentinel guard force. It was something of a thrilling battle, and the largest one Art had been in so far. Escaping custody was easy, an Illusionary trick or two and the guards were happy to let Polgrath, and by extension Art, out. The battle out of the sentinel complex, was messier. Lynweneth Vithsil, a mali'ker, and one who had hounded Art mercilessly for a decade was slain by his hand in the fight, riddled with arrows from his bow, and finished off with a hard stab into the head, one broken door later and and the trio of Delvers had made it out. But they had a trailer. Art was the first to spy the seemingly young red headed girl in the tree, she wore Sentinel armor and seemed to have been injured, a quick climb later and he was staring into the face of the terrified spy. To this day Art does not know why he didn't kill her. Maybe it was the pretty face, or the fear shown in her eyes. But instead he took her in, found out her name: Hera. And the rest is history. It turns out the Mindlord Polgrath had not taken too kindly to the assault on his person, and soon the entire Arcane Delvers guild had rallied for an all out attack on Malinor. Weeks they prepared, with Art in the centre of the fray, training and arming as he had been before. The war was bloody as wars are. The Delvers made it into Malinor, and they charged, cleaving anything in their way. It was in the council room they were routed, and driven out. The first battle of Malinor was lost. The most important lesson Art ever learned, was not to get involved in the ever trapping spider web of politics, but that's exactly what he did, and soon he found many different factions and even nations with unsavory thoughts towards the Delvers, and himself. They left Kastoria after the battle, and the Delvers were homeless. Polgrath simply dissapeared. Kalenz retreated into the city of the High Elves, and Art was left alone, to hold together a guild single handedly, with no home. Grace period -- Vaerhaven ------------------------------------------------------- One of the most stressful, but at the same time most eventful period of Art's life lasted for about an elven month. Art could only be in so many places at once and with no home the delvers were slowly drifting apart. Art tried everything. Licensing the mageshields to join the Valois Valiants, becoming a mercenaries guild, they even did a stint as Vaerhaven's guard force. He was spread too thin, and if not for some external help, he would have snapped. Nienna Calm was a healer and high elf living in Vaerhaven, as well as an old friend of Art's. Simply hiding in the corner of her clinic became a habit of his, and she became something of an eccentric older sister figure. Kaila Horen-Hightower was royalty and amongst the type of people Art had never imagined associating with. On top of everything he had also been tasked by Kaila's mother, also an old friend, to keep her daughter safe, which he did gladly. It was yet another job, but it was simpler, no politics, no organization. And finally: Anri, a mysterious woman, and one of very few words. She had been a delver before the time of disbandment and an acquaintance. She lived in Vaerhaven, dejected, and even at times suicidal. Art helped, providing confidence when she needed it. A thing led to another and soon the two were closer to each other than ever, blooming into a full relationship. The day came, when Hera, the very same girl Art had decided not to kill that faithful day ran back to Vaerhaven with news. The Delvers had a new home, and Art could finally relax. New home, The trouble with love. ---------------------------------------- All was not well in the Delver's golden age. Art's relationship with Anri had been straining, and not because either of the two failed to love each other. Anri kept the company of assassins, misfits and members of the Dark Brotherhood. Very likely not by choice. As much as this was no secret to Art, Anri still refused to speak, and showed un natural loyalty to the leader figure of said assassins. A man who had attempted at Art's life several times. Art had implored Anri to stay with him in the Delver keep. And for the most part, she did. They lived quietly more the post part and enjoyed each other's company, but it never lasted. She would leave for days on end, returning with a look Art knew to well, a person abused, and who had abused. Each time she returned Art would go to more and more drastic measures to keep her with him. He managed to convince himself he was not being selfish, he was doing it to help her. And one day, Anri slipped through his fingers again. And this time, she didn't return. A month later, and Art finally heard news, though none good. Anri was presumed dead, or at best missing. The news struck him hard, and so much as a smile became a rarity to him in the times to come. The True Golden Age of Ac'talarah. --------------------------------------------------- The life of Artimec come the following years was a series of isolated adventures, each more absurd than the last. An expedition east had pitted a crew of Delvers against an overgrown shark, nearly sinking their great ship. Necromancers deigned to cause trouble in the keep, resulting in one having steel shoved into his eerie mask several times. Art stayed along for the ride, having taken the title of one of the Mindlord Polgrath's six trusted Regent lieutenants. However this newly reformed guild of thrill seekers was not what he wanted. Nevertheless, he continued to lead and the ruin of which had at first seemed overbearing and intimidating, he grew to know as a home. And despite the delving, beast contracts and politics, Art found himself settling down somewhat. Polgrath took him under his wing as an apprentice of Illusion, to his suprise. The idea of learning the same art of Magic he had been a glorified bodyguard for all this time was almost surreal, nevertheless he improved and soon became an adept mage in his own right. The problem with Politics ------------------------------------------ A good decade after the move into Ac'talarah, the mindlord Polgrath dissapeared from the lands of the Delvers with seeming no word to anyone, but of course Art. He had left him with seven words. "Make me a nation, by my return." And so, with the backing of a militant guild and a large swath of occupied land, Art set out to do just that. The first step was to plant Malinor as a harbourer of assassins. This was not hard as the Delvers had collected hard evidence the then leader of the Malinorian Guard, Bircalin, was a member of the Dark Brotherhood. Then, the gathering of allies. The Kingdom of Oren, despite weakened at their recent defeat in a large war against the Dwarven Empire, lent their support to Artimec, and the Delvers. The creation of what would soon be the independant Magestate of Ac'talarah was becoming less of a pipe dream and more of a reality. And hence the Magestate was created, Artimec's duty was done and the Delvers, a guild of mages, were now a major player in the political workings of Anthos. So he waited for Polgrath to return...but he didn't. ---------------------------------------------- ----------((this shall be continued later))-------------------------- Artwork

Might I suggest adding tower shields? For those RPLY strong enough to wield one.