Andartus Orvar

Andartus Stag-Headed, High Priest of the men of the Northwood, and Clan Orvar's Gorunprestr, carries the standard of his Battlelord Morvan Orvar. The snow-white stag-skin cloak and hood that gave him his name is wrapped around him, and woad of the purest white daubs much, if not all, of his visible skin. He is there to advise his Battlelord, and mutters fervent blessings to the Gods as he marches.

Clan Orvar's High Priest, the Gorunprestr Andartus, sits at Morvan's side. He watches, and listens, white eyes bright within the shadow of his stag-skull hood, the ice-rhimed hide of Andarta's stag pulled in tightly around his shoulders. His hands lay on the skull and and haft of his hand-and-a-half warhammer, tapping concentric rings into the iron of the hammer's stag-muzzle gently. Before any words are offered from either side, he forms the symbol of Gorund over his chest, fingertips to the base of his palms, thumbs joined between to form the iris of Gorund's eye, before speaking up to offer blessings of the eight Gorundyr gods, wishing peace and prosperity upon all present.

As the guy that built most of the town, thank you to every commentor, for their compliments to the construction, and especially to Owyn for the justice he brings with his shaders. <3

A man, with the stink of sweat and blood about him, finds his way into the meeting. His blank, white eyes, lost beneath the stag-skull helm, dart across the congregation. In a bandage-wrapped hand, he holds a crumpled, mud-stained note. The Gorunprestr had never been an intended recipient of such a note, but by luck, chance, or perhaps the desire of his Gods, the abandoned note had found its way to him, and he had made the long trek from his clan-home in the mountains to find answers. Attempting to hide himself away as best he can, the High Priest of the Gorundyr, Andartus Orvar, stands, and watches the gathered clerics, hoping that one may eventually help him in the advancement of the strange new powers he felt his Gods had seen fit to grant him. He takes to rubbing his braided beard as he listens, for the solace and distraction the familiar action brings, that would only otherwise come with the brandishing of the heavy, single-handed warhammer, shaped to resemble the skull and sweeping antlers of a stag, the hangs from his belt by a leather strap. None of the ancient Priesthood of the Northwoods had ever considered themselves a 'Cleric', but the Gorundyr weren't of the Northwood any longer. With the brave new world, a few brave new actions must be taken, and their Gorunprestr could do little but attempt to learn from these odd, and different people.

Right, so. Me and the rest of the Orvars have our own town. I built it, we've got different buildings for different craft professions, and each different Orvar has a different profession. And we all have wood-cutter far higher than any other skill. Our fisherman pulls up a lot of fish, but some of these come from a separate plugin so cannot be cooked, instead having their weight in pounds rather than the countdown until they go bad. Our blacksmith hasn't been online, yet, so I can't tell you about smithing, but I hear it's quite the wait. I intended to play an alchemist, but because alchemy stands cannot be crafted, I can't even start to do what I wanted to do. Because the server resets every three hours, and every time the server resets, anything that is being crafted immediately is lost, longer wait-time items can just vanish after all the time sunk into their crafting. While harvesting lumber, and mining, and many other things, many different vines and flowers have dropped, which I hope to be used in alchemy, but so far, they're just filling up chests, which cost a worryingly large amount to make, and can be burgled easily because we still don't have Nexus plots implemented. One thing in particular that I think should be changed, making them even easier than in the normal game, is the crafting of signs. because signs are so inherently necessary in every part of roleplay on the server, I think they should be very nearly free, or at least make large numbers in very little to (preferably) no time at all. So, while I starve to death because our farmer hasn't logged in in a while, and if we touch the crops he's been growing they vanish into puffs of slowly, slowly, slowly growing smoke, I leave on this last note: 3.75 is a Beta map for 4.0, and so far, the Beta has me itching to play the full game, but right now, it's just not finished yet. I can't wait to see the improvements you make, and I really look forward to seeing this new plugin system working!

So, do we have an update on when the nexus plots will be working properly, and when we are going to be able to get town pillars? Also, I assume that some of the professions aren't fully coded yet, which is why brewery stations can't be crafted? I'm really looking forward to starting down the path of the native tribal healer =D Top notch work so far, chaps and chapettes. I, for one, love the plugin. Awesome work. Well worth coming back to the game for <3

Rain hammers down. A sword slashes through, the blade trailing water, and a slice opens up. Wheat puffs up, and slowly trails down, turning gently gravity catches the fine fronds. The sword pulls back against his panting form, as he begins to whisper. "..Oknar, hyour craftsmen prove hyour prowess." The man smiles, turns his blade around, and with a snikt, the blade slides away into a soft leather sheath. He wqipes his forehead, panting ever so gently, a trickle of rainwater spattering off the fanged maw of his wolfskin cloak's hood. Turning, he moves back to his shrines, and continues his work. Only so much time can be spent on entertainment, when the Fates are disinclined to offer solid futures. It is his task to converse with the Gods, to gather and focus their intents. He makes the sign of Gorund, hands curled around, over each other, thumbs intertwined, before the shrine, and bows his head. His mouth begins to move. Prayers are spoken, almost silently, but Andartus Orvar knows that the Gods can hear them. He knows it. He's the priest, after all.

The server came up, I wasn't whitelisted, now it's down again... The server's updating, people.

A splash of water from the well, into the mortar. A few petals from Andarta's Grace, freely given and carefully taken from Her shrine, bathed in moonlight. The pestle grinds them down, tearing and weeping and spreading in the small stone bowl. The steady hum of Gorund's shrine, the gently pulsing light, gives him all that is required for his work. A thumb dips into the mortar, and comes out paler than it had ever been. The paste spreads across his canvas, curving a gentle bend. It spreads well. Beneath a white, braided beard, a smile spreads. The horsehair brush, 'borrowed' like so many of his possessions, takes the paste far better than his thumb could. It spreads cleanly, evenly, as gentle as a mother's caress. His own mother's pendant lies beside him, his muse and his reference, and the paste forms yet further curves. Outlined, the hare leaps ahead of its brethren, overlying the leaves expanding from the bukl, the central boss. The white paint begins to fill it, the hand that of a precise warrior, but never a craftsman. Time is taken. Patience is had. He finds the mind concentrated by the simple act. The voices of his Ancestors, the voices of the Gods, return to him, even if they are only in memory. White forms a circle, spreading an inch from the iron rim of his canvas. The brush gives the gift of moonlight, the hares forever dancing beneath Gorund's crescent eye. A touch of paste leaves even the most bloodstained part of the flat, leather-covered skjǫldr almost as pristine as it had been in the Saavar. His hands take his work by the iron-bound rim, lifting it, tilting it. The ironwork glints, glistens as though it had been submerged under Draug's fountains. The boss's dome retains a patina of the blood given to Ancou as sacrifice, yet has suffered no damage to disrupt Oknar's blessings upon its craftsmanship. The solid wood beneath is light, comfortable to carry, the life of Lagara and boon of Andarta giving the strength of the living forest to its bearer. He slides his arm through the enarmes, his fist clenching the foremost grip. It is light, wide enough to be practical even on a hunt of Belanus. Overhead, Argal begins to weep for his brother, as he so often does, the rainfall striking the campfire with a hiss, pattering off the structures of the encampment. A candle guts out, birds take shelter beneath the vast canopy of trees, but the paint does not run. Andartus Orvar stands, the shield strapped firmly to his left arm, his mother's pendant hanging from his closed fist, the matching shapes overran with rivulets, as Argal's grief reaches new heights, his turmoil shattering the skies with blinding flashes and withering crashes. The rainfall hits hard, but the paint does not run. The three chasing hares will forever adorn the shield, for they have the Gods' graces within them, and from their blackened eyes, Gorund's gaze is unrelenting. (The image of the pendant comes from thecelticheart.com, and it is this that covers the shield of the Orvar Clan-Priest Andartus. Thank's for reading.)

Andartus, at this moment tending the great, marble shrine of Gorund in the Gorundyr camp, blinks. His eyes catch on his hand, its shakes and shivers, sudden jitters. A familiar tickle scratches at the back of his neck, a shudder spreading down his shoulder. He blinks, and his eyes are blank, white glow bathing the statue before him in the darkness, the little visible hair beneath his hood illuminating the camp with a sudden, fierce glow. "...Gorund, ve thank hyu."

I look forward to this, new space, new plugins, the whole shebang. What I have to ask now, though, is why in the blazes is the server still down? Is there really no-one that can bring it back up?

Ten Thirty PM in the UK and it's still down.

Andartus Orvar returned from a foraging expedition with his brother to a scene of chaos. Flames licked ever upwards from the tavern in the center of the town, and citizens were sprinting to and fro, driven wild with panic. Dropping the swine he had felled on his trip, he took to the blaze with bucket and blanket, beating the flames as best he could. He did not hear of the vents that had taken place until long after the fire had been successfully curtailed, and at that point, he retreated to his Clan-house to confer with the other members of his family on the actions of the night.

One particularly angry, grey'd ginger hair'd Adunian, far taller than most men and women of the towns he trails through ever could think possible, leaves a simple alteration to every poster he finds. Adunian Rangers is scribbled out, replaced with the words "Ildacian Order" in incredibly precise, jagged script.

Ceannasaí Eideard Eilthereach of the Ildacian Order spreads word amongst his friends and allies, after the tip from a Ranger he decides to keep anonymous, about a missing child. He heads to the city himself, meeting with the Ranger several times to compare notes as he takes to his own inquiry, paying particular attention to the older folks, the drunkards, and the local Security.