excited

I appreciate this opportunity, and the many people who came out to support my application. Thank you so much for all the kind words and positive feedback. I remain resolute in doing my best to be a positive contributor to this community, and shall not stray from that mission for my duration as GM.

What is your favorite RP you’ve had? Do you have a favorite video game?

Malus leaves a note, ”Mali’ker are always welcome in Dark Hollow and Elvenesse. Signed, Malus Corrin”

Since Nikolai was a boy he had an affinity for the mystical, the esoteric, the out-of-place. One such interaction was with the Nephilim, the first of his Azdrazi-blooded kindred, Alistair. Like Nikolai, Alistair was not gone, his only vestigial influence a stone statue in a volcano. The Inner Flame of the magnanimous knight now quenched by the fires of the magma in the volcano that had claimed him years before, upon the death of his one true love - a fiery patron of the arts who had stolen his heart. In life, the fickle Dragonkin had done very little apart from bring about the existence of his people once again after the genocide perpetrated by the Emerald Dragaar, Taynei'Hiylu. Upon the loss of his one true hoard, the beast had given up on living, casting himself into the fiery depths of the volcano as though it was a bashful first kiss. He had lost his father, the Archdrakaar, long ago. He had lost his other half, a dainty being with brown tresses who taught him of Humanity - the things he had not learned, being dispossessed of his free will at an early age and encased in stone as the last savior of his people. Through some mystical means, the dreaming Alistair remembers the boy with black hair and the funny accent, the one who helped him fetch raw materials. The one he was to make his Herald, and perhaps to adopt and take on as his own progeny - a new Draziman for his flight. He considered now how many centuries it must have been, contemplating whether or not he was alive, dead, or in some sort of mal-adaptive daydream. The statue released a single, salty, muddied tear. It slid down the stone cheek, quickly evaporating upon contact with the lava, sizzling and disappearing as quickly as it came.

Paul is displeased.

Valē, Ivan the Outlaw St. Arpad 'The Dancing Bear' Carrion Sir Konyves Ivanovich Sir Dmitri 'Dima' Ivanovich Baron Andrezj 'The Black' Ivanovich The House of Emperors' Bane.

1. Malus. He is the most nuanced character I've played because I gave him a very complex ideology and beliefs. 2. My biggest regret is warclaiming LionBileti's Norland after he spared my life IRP. 3. therapy

Heroic.

IGN: Excitedly Character Name: Ferran Mariano Rivadeneira de Almeida Character Race: Human Discord Tag: yk yk

Malus readies himself to menace the many nations of Almaris with his keen harmonica. Panic.

Speaker of Dark Hollow, Malus, uttered the following words in support of his cultural ally Jarad. "You know things go. There are many invisible concerns. Among them, whoever might be hassling you. If only they spent as much time they spend tying your hands to tie their own shoes, maybe then they wouldn't haphazardly trip over their own words."

"Barony of Cherskavy, and respectively Elector of Ivanovich" "Andrezvich," uttered Pavel Ivanovich. "Nobody has involved myself or my family, yet."

Malus Corin simply uttered to the Druid Ainmhí within the cave dwellings of Dark Hollow, "Those who coyly rip down the posters are but reenacting the trivial behavior of their Irrinite and Aegrothondi forefathers. Perhaps, these slaves to the yoke of their intrepid leader's plow ought to be as bashful to you as they would be to their own chieftains, lest they seek instead to once longer find themselves supplanted, their lands stolen, fertile and lush lands razed and salted as done by the great kings of old. "This would not be the first time, in their hubris, that they have shunned and killed other elves under the mere pretense of 'bad affiliation'. Trivial, really."

IGN: Excitedly Category: Creative Writing Artwork:

THE PRICE OF HONOUR Igor Sventitski “The populations of dying empires are passive because they are lotus eaters. There is a narcotic-like reverie among those barreling towards oblivion. They retreat into the [degenerate], the tawdry and the inane, retreats that are momentarily pleasurable but ensure self-destruction.” — Hedges Prologue Pavel was a boy when the Brothers’ War kicked up in all of its ferocity. Pending the death of his lordly father, the Baron of Cherskavy, he had found himself a member of the reconstituted Royal Army of Oren. He still remembered the day that he enlisted in the army, a proud young boy puffing out his chest. “Yam will serve,” he told the Royal Officer, Darius of Vienne. With all the other Revolutionaries, he remembered the battlecry released from his own parched lips upon the capture of the Emperor and the succeeding Battle of Providence there afterwards. “Ruskija!” The youth boomed, proud of his heritage as his heart beat like a drum, the fury of war loosed in him like a tide of malignance. “Ruskija! Oren!” Him and Andrezj, his young cousin-of-sorts, sallied to the banner of the Mardon Watch and put an end to the Empire once and for all, mirroring the actions of their patrilineal ancestor Sir Arpad the Dancing Bear centuries earlier. The nationalistic fervor was so persistent that the young man had found himself on the other end of one aging gentleman — Floryan Carrion — and released a bolt into the man’s cranium, thusly ending his life at the climax of the battle in Aster Hall. “I will die with you my liege,” the man had cried, his life fading from hazy, glassy eyes. Pavel Barrow was legitimized for his bravery. Now the Squire Pavel Ivanovich — no longer a Barrow — was mentored by Sir Gustaf of Acre. Together, the two had many adventures, journeys into Hanseti-Ruska accompanied by the horrific blood rain, along with forays into the woods to train together in preparation for when Pavel would be knighted. It would seem that King Frederick would not be the only one enacting penance for his own actions during the Brothers' War, however. In much the same fashion, Pavel undertook a spiritual journey across the land, discovering that knighthood held little appeal to him. And so the two men Gustaf and Pavel parted ways, only to find themselves on opposite sides of the battlefield years later. Another throne room, brother against brother, cousin against cousin. Pavel could see his distant relatives, the van Aerts who claimed descent from Corsair Prince Martius Vilacz on the other side and felt more alone than he had ever been in his life. Captain Pavel’s Last Stand, by Angelo Marco Derfey, a famed painter The Battle of Vienne Ape Titan Captain Pavel steadied his horse, drawing out his large mace and steadying the charger by its reins firmly. The Price of Honour. To fight against all odds to preserve those that you care about. The mutant’s curled fist grew thick with a scale-like chitin, metallic and grinning coldly in the dim light as it was held aloft, the horse rearing back as the Ivanovich prepared to descend upon the Acrean Host which consisted of levymen, farmers and pikemen from Acre, Haense, and beyond. Only Andrevich, Ivanovich and Iomharach sallied for the King. The rest? Nowhere to be found. No, I am not a Knight. I am descended from Knights. I am descended from Kings. The bastard of a bastard, of another man’s bastard. I am The Wall; the last defense of the noblemen in Oren against an ignoble cause. And so his charger ushered in the battle, as he rode towards Sir Gustaf, the Champion of the Ivory Alps. A warrior of renown, yet in his mind a knight of dubious conduct. What good is knighthood without a Crown to serve? No, I would sooner die than surrender this ornate chair and the Novellen King. Hadrian van Aert, the Champion of Blackvale, intercepted him and the battle grew fraught in the tight building, people streaming outside of the wide, ornate gates that had been opened by a Balianite traitor mere minutes earlier, granting access of the palace to the enemies of Oren itself. Despite claiming descent from some of the most vicious murderers in Imperial History, Pavel bore no such prowess. His loyalty was a curse. He was not the warrior his father was, nor was he the Dancing Bear of fable, the greatest enforcer of Emperor Aurelius who could kill throes of enemies within minutes. Simply, he was Pavel, the half-elf urchin, a failed knight-to-be, some well-intentioned and kind lout far from home, fighting a battle that dwarfed himself in comparison. A battle he was wholly unprepared to fight. Pavel reared his horse as his brothers died around him, vastly outnumbered as an ancient Teuton adage rang in his ears amidst the clamor of war: Always outnumbered, never outdone. Though he wounded a few men charging around wildly on his horse, he was now seemingly the last of the Orenians and at the head of a fallen force. The last man in the throne room, the last man who seemed to be fighting, and as vicious as he tried to resist his former brothers-in-arms, he was laid low by the indescribable powers that be. He was knocked from his horse from the powerful blow of Hadrian’s cavalry assault pike and landed on the ground. Without mercy, the warrior slammed a freshly drawn sword deeply into Pavel’s body, rending his flesh and running him through. The Red Rain. He thought to himself. Why am I here? Is there truly a God? Yet he did not cry or scream, he found himself numb. He swung his metallic fist wildly, before he did wildly spasm, going still as his body was bleeding with its guts scrambled. His horse screeched and wailed, sauntering off into a steady gallop, as now the former protege of Sir Gustaf was once again abandoned for the umpteenth time in his life. Gilded armor parted in shattered abscess, crimson stains abundant running rivulets of blood, he lay in a pile of corpses as the world itself seemed to celebrate the demise of those few brave soldiers who dwelt within the castle and shouldered the burden of their honoured King until the last. And then he was plucked from this untimely doom by a figure bearing the regalia of House Ivanovich, a brown-haired youth bearing the icy eyes of Ivan the Outlaw, and carried away covered in potatoes atop the back of a wheelbarrow. Do they know of the countryside? Injured, on the cusp of death and holding on by a mere thread, Pavel the Skinless mused to himself before his consciousness faded away, claimed by the oblivion of the dangerous, soft soliloquy reticent to his thoughts.

Antonious Patracolus Derfey is unsurprised.

What's your favorite niche of RP? I enjoy small plot lines and world building primarily. Namely, the affects that actions have, and the butterfly effect. Who is someone you admire or look up to on LOTC, whether or not they play anymore? @Langobardi In 2011, Gaiusmarius8 was frequently releasing storied histories about the Teutonic Order, and it is from some of his RP that some of the most consequential events in Human History have ever happened on this server. The interesting part? Gaius is overwhelmingly an individual without scandal. The Moderation Team certainly hated him at the time, and acted to vilify and subvert him; but I remember witnessing his forum posts when I was twelve or thirteen, and it helped shape my own style of writing quite a bit. Namely, taking inspiration from real world history to devise settings. The history of the Teutonic Order for instance has some of the best writing on the server. So does his thread he wrote about the era before, during and after the Duke's War, The Wayfarer's Odyssey. He involved me in many of these events when I was a hamfisted and frankly stupid Elven noob. This allowed me to learn how to write and create projects of my own. I learned a lot of grammar, creativity, etc. What's your most memorable RP encounter? Once, some elven woman held up something that "looked like a pencil". I guessed it was a blow dart so I lifted up my shield. They accused me of meta-gaming. So I asked them how would I meta-game? Did I read your mind? They shut up. What's your favorite place to RP at? DnD. Why do you enjoy the current community you play in? Oren is led by people who have role-play in mind first, and world building second. It has allowed people to really occupy nice builds as well as having significant social mobility. The people talk, game together, and there's very little bickering. How has LOTC grown and developed since you first started playing? Emphasis on settlement-driven RP, rather than spontaneous RP. The server used to be very tight-knit and people would interact with many communities on one character. Now, many people play four, five, or six characters. Nobody actually invests time into a single character: they grind different things like bounties in Destiny 2, picking up new stuff and never really fleshing out their character or adding dimension to their setting they play in. The amount of nations is insane. There used to be four nations: Malinor, Krugmar, Oren and Urguan. Now there's so many settlements where people have to stay to boost activity percentages. This has really killed the diversity you used to experience. There used to be a clear distinction between say, a Dwarf or Elf player, and now they all play in one another's groups to progress their own political agendas. Character driven RP is less frequent, now all RP progresses the "state" (factions). Before, only a few niche groups acted this way (the Flays, Pugsy's bandits, etc). PvP used to be the name of the game. It was encouraged that if people knew they'd not get along, they'd PvP something out and just get it over with. Now, there is little PvP except weird laggy skirms. PvP, once upon a time, was fun even for role-players because the skill cap wasn't insane - now there are "career PvPers" whose only value is that they sweat a dead game. People used to teach and engage with noobs. Now, noobs are swung into some state military, and then conditioned to f**k with and hate other groups. Why do you play LOTC? I enjoy criticizing bad behavior, as well as engaging with a few of my friends on here that I deeply care for. A lot of my fun on LoTC comes from helping my friends. I do not play actively, and when I do it is mainly to support people I am close to. The ship has sailed for me playing any type of "serious" character archetype, I just enjoy satire.

I had numerous people approach me (the original Azdrazi creator, and a person with the Disconnection Ritual) out-of-characterly to disconnect you. When confronted, they cited: "This is not how Azdrazi should be." "He is doing [x, y, zed]." "This threatens the purity of our group." "He is an enemy of my faction [redacted]." For the sake of coherency, and to not throw other people under the bus, I will make it immensely clear I did not tolerate this charade, and openly told people one thing essentially: Who cares? You cannot disconnect somebody for being an annoying personality or doing something that may be interpreted as cringe. I made it clear to these people that if we were to disconnect, say Qizu, for being "cringe", "not in line with the lore of the creature", or what have you, all the present-day Azdrazi would be disconnected for the same thing. Nobody left, bar perhaps Jentos and Spoon, role-plays the creature according to the spirit of the old, original lore. It's a bunch of facetious cute boys with horns who grip handlebars and abuse fire-paladin spells to get ahead in Mineman Politik, with no regards to the original mission of the Azdrazi, and with no regards to the original intent of having a playable draconic species to begin with. I personally call upon @SquakHawk and @ScreamingDingo to shelve the creature. It has been seven-years of belligerence, misuse, and abuse. At this point it's absolutely futile to un-**** this creature race, and it ought to be removed.

Derfey, grass roots legislator, is proud of the work being done by his Barcloid allies. "The best people, I'll tell you." He combed his orange receding hairline back, his wide gums visible beneath his obscene lips, a narrow veneer of flesh that hardly obscured his glinting, grinning yellowed teeth. "Love to have them in Oren, I do. Emperor Phil would be the proudest, the proudest I tell ya."

Pavel enunciated the following despite his thick Raevir accent, "Yam would be pleased to be Excommunicated if this truly was the case. No true churchman would sell out to the Dragonkin. The Mother Church has soiled itself by ruinously involving itself in political affairs."

North "Atlantic" Derfey, famed cartographer, is puzzled. "Urguan and Balian are literally located in the South."

that's not true because you're friends with me caught lacking, zarsies

me and nectorist and charlemagne would be happy to attend your podcast

Derfey scratches out 'Heard' on one pamphlet and corrects it to 'HERD' in bold, before dusting off his hands and wandering away.