Shadeleaf

Disregard all said then, and hella good luck x3

You've created a previously existing culture around it. You can try aye. But in general you'd have to work it out in rp in such a place, also you trying would logicaly also provide better rp. My advice? Start this up as a group and set into the north to create this culture. Maybe you'll get somewhere and some rp out of it instead of just the unrp'd claim.. lol (())

I hate to say this is impossible... but this is damn near impossible. With corrupted bohra, Harbinger roaming around, Drakes, the Drakkar, and all other sorts of beasties [such as the giant zombie hord resting in a valley]... I doubt this would be possible. (())

Shae'tan sighs as best it can. "This time you're aiding us... or I swear upon your wings we're letting them take the books" it states to the gigantic nose of Setherien himself. Snorting in return, perhaps acknowledgement? Perhaps apathy... we'll find out.

42

A council of three sat within the northern waste lands... atop the highest mountain and the coldest peak they joined in communication, silent as the wind-whisked snow that lay about them. Yet... as a whole, their minds were somewhere else. Far to the south; the thoughts of Shae’tan, Absolution, and Dumamis wandered with their objective was clear, and their methods calculated down to the last fall of a tallon... now, now was the time for execution... --- Within his abode, High Shaman Broxigar Kaxil sat stagnant, in perfect meditation and connection with the spirit world, yet... this day, something felt wrong with the waves of the underlying fabric of spirits. Those constantly near him in such a state seemed to wander, seemed... to falter, and fade away at questions that would normally be answered in but a heart-beat. His age worn eyes of 1000+ plus years lazed open, the pupils below greeting the sandy environment that he called home, a distinct chill rolling through the air. Few sluggish movements later, the Uruk was upon his feet, staff in hand and ready to face what ever might come his way... well almost anything. Exiting his home, Broxigar rounded the side, expecting to be greeted with perhaps a stray Scatternack, or a necromancer of sorts, yet what met his eyes... none would expect this far out. Three Harbingers stood Sentinel, armor bleached white with speckled patches of orange and yellow, staffs all readied and coursing with frost fire. Shae’tan strode forwards, boots digging into the sand below not unlike the snow of the north as it spoke “‘“Kaxil...”’” it began, form flickering with a wave of black mist. At this the Shaman already began to take an offensive, muscles beginning to bulge some with enhanced strength, and fire about his body generating in small specks. “‘“The Flame in the North has chosen you... be honored.”’” It swooned as those behind it fanned out to the sides... the battle had begun. --- Roaring in anger, the Shaman raised his fists to the air, bringing them down violently onto the ground as the very air afront of him rippled with unbridled power, sending the light suit of armor which encompassed Shae’tan flying backwards, skidding to a stop with a debilitating screech. Stumbling back a step, Broxigar then turned its attention to Absolution, rushing towards himself with his staff leveled, bladed side protruding outwards. It was at this point... the harsh rattle of bones might also have been heard by the Shaman. Keened hearing helped distinguish the presence of three servants of the Drakaar, all shambling towards himself at a steady rate from behind. A moment of concentration later, Broxigar swiftly side stepped the incoming Harbinger, sending it straight into the oncoming servants, leveling both of its targets partially. Upon the same spring of momentum, the Uruk sprung into the air, enhanced muscles and swiftness aiding in the motion as it landed upon the back of Absolution, worn and calloused fingers gripping about the Harbinger’s helm as it flailed beneath. A roar of determination and a small prayer later, the Helm shattered beneath Broxigar’s hands, the resulting mist partially freezing them, while whisking off to the north; 1 down. Turning to its side, the Shaman thereafter faced Dumamis, now just recovering from the summons of a rift... it stood, ready to fight. Twirling his hand downwards and with sheer anger upon its face, embers began to condense within his palm, a right out flame generating within moments, Durnamis following suit with its own frost fire. The two advanced slowly towards one another, and when they met... it was near world bending. A hand and a tallon extended, the two stood, locked in what could be coined as a void-clash. From Durnamis’ side, a tainted frost fire stream, and from the other, a wave of spiritual energy of pure, unabridged flame. For no more than 10 seconds did the clash last, yet with equal power and determination, Broxigar was forced to call upon his final asset... the spirit of force. With the bolstered power, the Shaman effectively threw the Harbinger clear into the distance engulfed in flame, its robes becoming incinerated and freeing the dusky form within. Two down... yet something was wrong. Silence. Head on a swivel, Broxigar scanned the area, finding only the shimmering sands, and nothing outstanding, except... nothing. “‘“Pretty isn’t it?”’” A disembodied voice seemed to emanate from all about the Uruk, eyes flicking from side to side as he kept his composure. “‘“Its such a shame it had to end this way too.”’” it called, seeming to come from behind and afront all at once. “Wub latz wunt!” the Shaman called to the sky, constantly on guard now as the discourse continued, the Uruk slowly backpedaling to his home, “‘“ Me? Oh... I want nothing... yet for you to be just a tad more observant of your surroundings. That’ll come in handy very soon it will."’” It called cheerfully, and just so soon as the Shaman’s gaze locked upon his house... it vanished. A growl rumbled in the Shaman’s throat... the beginning of one at least. --- Shae’tan stood stable in the sands, clocked by its beloved illusion as the Uruk walked backwards towards it, lured by its voices and the illusion it produced with little effort. As the Uruk came to a stop in realization, it froze seeing its goal having evaporated from sight, replaced instead with the ever consuming sands. With a mental sigh, Shae’tan looked to its gauntlet, working the talons precisely to form something akin to a drill head, raising and holding the point stable towards the Uruk’s chest as it backed up even further. “‘“Uruk!”’” A gruff voice called from Shae’tan, the Shaman’s head swiveling quickly to face it, and for a moment... its helm held the Shaman’s gaze with absolute dominance, a final show of superiority before flesh was rent, and blood flew. --- *plock* The partially living Shaman’s body fell upon the pointed ice before the monolithic dragon head head in the north, Shae’tan taking a kneel besides it as it spoke, short and simple. “‘“Master... what you wish, has been granted”’”. From above the unmistakable roar of laughter, that only a Drakaar could produce came, and there after the flames... --- Proverbial eyes opening to a room afront of it, what had once been Broxigar acclimated to the new light, the new life without eyes and... new motives. “Setherien welcomes you...” the now 12 at once muttered, the being standing silent for a moment, before in a slight, shrieking voice, it returned “‘“Xort... It shall be, Xort...”’”. Tl;Dr/Ooc

If you're referring to trees? Yes. If you're referring to the actual plants? No. Thats druid magic which will be introduced with Nexus Magic.

--

Shae'tan, having broken from a before mentioned magical prison, stands above the ice wall, besides it more bodies piled up of the very recently deceased, each with a single hole through the chest, straight through and through. Following orders, one thing was obvious to Shae'tan... those below could be had much more fun with than the intended purpose... and so it took the chance. *PLOCK* One of the bodies could be seen falling off the wall, seeming to float down almost before landing right in the center of the hoard., crushing one of the beasts, as the others about seemed to pause for a moment... gazes drifting over to it before all clambered over each other to get a taste of the semi-frozen flesh. With a slight spring of joy, Shae'tan continued the process, hurling another out further with frost fire, and watching the same morbid sight over and over, until it ran out of 'ammunition'. Absolution may have its plans, but Shae'tan would until then enjoy feeding the proverbial ducks... (What a great way to come back~)

((I swear to god Lotc has forced people to learn more about siege equipment and military strategy than the history-classes at West-Point))

Shae'tan sits back and reflects upon its time in the machine... burning the bars, calling in the dark forces of Setherien upon the mortals... surprisingly good times all considered it concludes.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYKUeZQbMF0 “What... What happened...” Silence “Where... no; hah... no.” Silence --- Shae’tan’s pseudo vision slowly flickered to life, the usual bubbly static upon activation persistent, yet... even after the allotted amount of time for normalization; it sustained itself. With a scrambling movement, it picked itself up, oddly enough still contained within its armor, it slumped against a cold, craggy marble white wall. It scrapped its talons slowly down the material, managing to mar it slightly, only to be faced with the fact that it did infact... regrow? Yes that was the term, regenerate. After a moment of refocusing, its gaze turned outwards towards where the supposed exit must be, and indeed it did see an exit, quite a large one in fact. With a wheeze inwards through the cold maw of a near shattered helm, it straightened itself, black mist leaking from its robes and joints of the armor it was contained with, the definition of ‘in rough shape’ at this point. Hobbling over, it stopped a meter or so afront of the presumed exit, reaching a gauntlet out to test what its vision could not perceive, hoping against hope it did not find the expected. -SHREIKKK- The Harbinger back upon the stone floor in a flurry of Blue-white armor and skewed robes, the misty form being forced from its shell, hovering exhausted a moment over the metal mess, before taking itself up, slowly, piece, by, piece, until it once more stood silent, one gauntlet near non-existent, the front two talons melted away in an explosion of holy light, leaving open voids where Setherien’s corruption leaked freely from. Then... it heard it. Or more as didn’t hear it. The ever present hive-mind, the lifeblood of the Harbinger’s and their connection with the lord of Darkness Himself, had vanished. It was alone with its own thoughts, its own memories and every single piece of accumulated knowledge the Scourge had taken from the mortal lands. In Shae’tan’s dazed mind, volumes of fractured knowledge flashed before its sight, overwhelming it for a considerable amount of time, weak screams and near human cries coming from the figure as it stood statuesque, lacking even the energy to allow the armor to fall to the ground. Time passed, and more and more, what felt like nights and days perhaps as the Harbinger came to terms with all it had accomplished and reaped, Setherien still sustaining it with threads of life, even through the undoubtedly warded room, just enough to allow it’s life force not to be ripped from this realm, yet near nothing else... It was in deep this time. --- Earlier... Within the preceding weeks, gore and war flowing freely across cloud temple lands, three Harbingers, and something else stand high upon a bridge in the sky. With shouted orders and growled commands, Vak’thuul the Keeper ruthlessly commanded its servants, and the Harbinger’s of Setherien upon the battle field, by its side, Kalgeryas, Sitri’aim, and Shae’tan, all with staffs drawn and frost fire whirling about their forms, deflecting quite a few arrows from piercing their armor. Stepping back, the golden beast of Vak’thuul left the three afront to deal with the incoming mortals, raising a gauntlet as one of the blood shards attached to the mighty, and well christened ‘cloud fortress’ broke free from its bearings, rotating at just an angle as power raced from Vak’thuul, aiming the corrupted Thanic shard towards the far hill. Upon said hill, rested two trebuchets... both of which not seeing what was soon to come. With a pause, deafening silence, and finally a roar to match that of the great Drakaar itself, the being launched the shard hill-wards, slamming it into one of the mechanical contraptions, shattering it absolutely as the other was but rocked by the impact. “It is done.” Vak’thuul hissed across the hivemind, the servants valiantly guarding the high bridge and Harbingers them thereafter, as... a noise, ripped through the air. It was not that of flame, nor that of arrow, but rather that of earth, very, very large amounts of earth hurtling towards the bridge the quartet stood sentinel upon. Lucky to get away, Vak’thuul rolled to safety, retreating within the floating fortress in preparation of what, unfortunately, needed to be done next; the others not being as lucky. Having seen the incoming earth, Kalgeryas and Sitri’aim easily surrendered their holds from the armor they were within, allowing it to crash down into the land and shatter violently, Shae’tan’s own landing upon a soft patch. Dazed, it rose slowly, spikes of its helm flaking to the soil as a boot came down upon it’s helm, pinning it helpless. A voice, “Sir! Bring him!” it boomed. ‘him... who could be him, mortal swo-’ the hive-mind began to theorize, only to be ripped apart instantly by a searing pain, true pain. A web of emerald light and white mist enveloped the creature below its gaze, black mist seeming to try to escape before resigning within the armor for protection from the more-than-holy magic... this was nothing normal, this was of a true anguel. Shae’tan’s consciousness maintained for a moment or so longer, before fading to a limbo state of nothing... --- Back within the cell, the harbinger dragged its opposite gauntlet down the holy shield, the tips of the fingers seeming to disintegrate upon contact, not unlike soft stone pushed against diamond... and yet of course, there was a another voice. “Shaela... you've fallen far dear...” it stated, the voice gruff and low, perhaps even streaked with sadness as a figure appeared in the Harbinger’s static clouded vision, a general outline at first, and thereafter colors and a definite shape. Amealeo It didn't know why, but the name was what first slipped into its mind at the voice, in solidarity from the hive-mind, it was no longer even afraid of what that might mean. “Oh... my darling...” it cooed once more, a hand set upon the force field between them, “Have no worries... I’ll fix you~ Just give me some time.” Now... what ever the voice meant by this didn't truly mean anything to Shae’tan. It wasn't broken, it was trapped... and if this figure planned to fix it? Well... there would be plenty of issues, as so long as Setherien’s power trickled through the variable magic sieve afront of it, it would most certainly not be going down without a fight. Ever. OOC

*CRASH* Shrieking rose from the deepest caves in the north, Shae’tan’s gauntlets dragging across a stone slab, drawing sparks from the plate as it once more fumed in what it assumed to be ‘anger’. The room was dimly lit, brewing stands all about littered with paper and and multiple stacks of pillaged books, in the corner lay a variety of corpses, at this moment sitting stagnant in the room, filling it with a slight rotting stench. The purpose of the room would soon be clear to the mortals, very soon it hoped, yet as with all things this had a separate purpose. Upon the now cyan streaked table lay three things... A map, a ring, and but of course a blood shard. The composition of the ring would be that of what appears to be marble and gold inlay... a dulled emerald about the top which was obviously worn down from years of use, and years thereafter of interment into the earth. The map besides shown 5 more locations, along with 4 sparkling emerald points upon the paper, despite being made in ink, blazing with a glory of no other. With a proverbial sigh, Shae’tan once more returned to it’s position, hunching over the table with creaks of armor and the sound of crackling, iced over robes. With one gauntlet it pulled forth the shard from the table, its glow intensifying within its grasp as power seeped once more within. “I can take it back... but for the right reason.” a soft voice sounded within the creature’s hive-mind, despite all pain accumulated from the action, taking up the small ring in the other set of talons. Now, other than not being able to truly touch this ring... it had quite a few separate effects upon Shae’tan. It’s sensitive pseudo-vision began to blur whilst it came into contact with it, the streaks of disguised skin it kept prevalent at all times fading with shrieking wisps of black, and finally... the memories started to flow once more. Flashes of golden armor, the booming commands of Vak’thuul echoing with mortal dissonance, and the sweet, salty smell of the sea were all mixed with the great flapping of leather wings... then blackness. Shaking its helm, the creature plunged the shard into the center of the emerald once more, corruption and light fighting each other in a vicious battle of near unlimited power, flares of light and void like darkness flaring about the room before, once more, the creature was forced to relinquish its hold upon the object, cloke showing signs of smog flowing more freely through the pores, the the armor upon its very being seeming to almost sag. Exhaustion. With a slinking motion, it abandoned its armor, what sight it had now being reduced only to blurry outlines of shapes a few meters afront of it, and the omnipresent influence of the Drakaar only intensifying on its unshielded form. Though the armor may have been designed to contain, it was also useful to protect from the full brunt of it’s designers power for those held within, a blessing in a way. The smog that is Shae’tan made its way to the side of the cavern, seeping into one of the cast aside corpses with a fluid motion through a hole in the chest cavity, undoubtedly made by the Harbinger’s very own gauntlet.For a time, it practiced freezing and thawing areas with perfect control to make the lump of flesh sit bolt upright, its eyes already having been frozen open, allowing the Harbinger to enjoy some sort of semblance of mortality... an unfortunate side effect of being around that damned ring. Forcibly raising the hand of the corpse up to the face, the Harbinger within for a time enjoyed what it was... what the immolated figure was once before this time of darkness... --- The night dragged on within the cave, frost fire flying out at time until the very sun rose, and with a final shriek of apathy and degraded will, a small speck flew from the interior, landing a ways away with a small eruption of snow at the spot of impact. The emerald now scratched and much more dull than it was as of previous, the ring sat sentinel in the snow... waiting once more for a wearer, yet as fate would have it, this time drew closer than it would have imagined A figure clad in white and emerald cloak approached through the snow, weeks having passed from the past incident as something caught its eye. Within the snow, the ring shown out with a wave of emerald light... The figure strode forwards through the packed snow, taking up the ring in one hand shaking hand brought on by the anticipation of what luck may have befallen, it searched it over. Upon the underside of the ring, lay scrawled a single name “Shaela” With a sharp exhale, the figure gripped it tight, the name ringing in its mind as if it were muttered but the day before... he realized what needed to be done, and with that, set off into the deeper north, in search of answers, and more so that of an old mentor.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yIX7RQoeaVE --- The setting was that of usual... darkness sweeping over the landscape, with the unmistakable stench of death in the air. From a tree hung secured corpsed, decaying and rotting into a blood red pond... this was the cloud temple. Even the air above shown signs of corruption, wisps of black smoke swishing about, signaling the presence of Setheiren’s lieutenants, and the shrieks in the distance indicative of corrupted bohra being worked to near death... and back. Drawing closer to ruined temple, it would be noted that the air around is filled with the dissonance of the blows of picks, repetitive and biting to the ears, the sight producing them being many times over more grizzly to say the least. Besides the temple main could be seen the equivalent of cragged cave, carts of ore being driven out and enslaved boar-men dragged in. What was peculiar though... was the gems were being used for nothing; not trade, not reinforcement, not even for decoration, but rather tossed to the side in favor of what might lay deeper. Only further into the mine would you see what was truly taking place, as down, down, down a spiraling tunnel, past servants carrying brutally heavy pickaxes, would stand the form of three Harbingers, and something... something else. With scaled armor and blood red skin, surrounded in flaked, crimson robes stood the form of Setheiren, lower jaw laced with jagged teeth protruding from a partially gapped maw. In one clawed appendage it held that of a mortal pickaxe, and in the other nothing but its obsidian black talons. With a gesture and a muttered growl, all stepped back from the Drakaar, servants being trampled in the process as the Drakaar gathered a glowing red ball of corruptive essence in its one free claw. Working its jaw a time, cracks would be heard from the figure, the energy being absorbed into its very being through its scales, before thereafter a torrent of flame and corruption rushing from its maw, not unlike that which created the very Harbingers which held the squealing boar-men back from the frontline. As the flame was sustained, dirt and stone were quickly eaten away by the corruptive force of Setherien’s power, clearing a solid path through stone, before abruptly stopping at a flat surface, producing a deafening screech, that of warding against corruption. Despite the noise, the being sustained itself, its flames weakening after what seemed like several minutes, a solid, monolithic door standing sentinel afront of it. At this, the Drakaar stepped back, feet digging into the bodies of unfortunate Bohra who perished on the job as it exited the cave, growing more and more dragonesque as it neared the entrance, finally taking off into the skies and returning North from a job well done... --- The hive mind buzzed with constant thought as Shae’tan took its place from the line of Harbingers, flanked there after by Orokana and Marak, as they stood but meters afront the lowly humming door. From its cloak it produced a small fragment of paper, a crude sketch of a map, the location directly upon their position marked with a frozen through hole. It examined the door afront of it, streaked with emerald and gold inlay, and clearly warded from anything it, and perhaps any mortal could do, the feeling produced was nothing scarce of elation though. “Brethren...” it hissed, reaching its staff out towards the door, resting the cyan tinted blade against the metal, “We’ve finally found it... The time of Anthos draws short.”

Arzota stares at this a moment, taking a sharp breath in, looking to the wooden staff in his hand, having since replaced the charged iron. He takes up a note underneath "Speak to me of Pyromancy.... A.K." the last letters being written in a very, very, notable shade of heliotrope.

(( This was spectacular and perfectly dramatic. Thank you for this, and the rp that was provided from it; its the stuff like this that makes Harbingers shead a tear, and more importantly Arzotas. ))

After a moment... Shae'tan glances about, helm quickly seeming to dissolve into elven features, a rough copy of one of the previously observed guards who's armor was... eerily like its own. "The debt will be paid in full, deliver kalameet to the center of Old Malinor so we may exchange mina for said leader. The time is up to you." the own note is signed with crisp blue writing, Shaela Sacartia