sean66

As the last Troll player around these parts still, I'm gonna have to be honest and say I don't really like this lore rewrite at all. You take the already pitifully low distinction between Olog and Troll, and throw it out the window. This just makes it all out to be a smarter and better Olog generally which doesn't have to align with issues of being either a whitewash or a Orc Clan player. Also you removed the fun tidbits of their love of mutton and the foul curse set upon them which damages them in the sun. Also the Trolls being distant relatives of any of the Descendant races is a big no go for me, as the Trolls are supposed to be seperate of the Descendants. Primal beings which never developed past a certain point, and were passed on by time and the Descendants. Overall as a Troll player I'd love for there to be more Trolls out and about but this lore rewrite is one which I can not agree with. So sadly I'm gonna have to give this a -1 mate.

Here we go again, will no-one learn?

How are guns Pandora's Box with the magics we have. Magics we have are much more deadly than any matchlock could ever be and they're not even drawn from Nexus crafting or anything of the sort. I think all bits opposing a primitive firearm are rubbish, place restrictions on it to appease the magic and anti-tech advance community and us as a whole community should help self-moderate in calling folks out on bad gun roleplay.

Always imagined them like below, shitty coins minted out quickly (like these models) and lying in large piles in every bank about the realm.

Why bother with Antag events, they never pan out and ultimately just make this bitter community even more bitter.

Be kind to your fellow man and hope that your fellow man is kind to you.

S T A Y W O K E

Rumors of Mauris Conducted by Elwin Gray I. The News “Damn it all to hell,” escaped the mouth of Makariy as he stuffed his clenched fist into his coat pocket. In his other hand lay a data pad streaming a array of text which reflected off his scratched glasses. The central message in a bright white text read, ‘Mauris is dead.’ Ads prowled the far corners of the data pad and consumed the screen once the message closed. Makariy slid his finger along a red switch on the side of the data pad which silenced the LED display for now. The Drifter sat in a silence as a series of magnetic trains shot past near the bench which he sat; his figure made up of a raggedy pair of linen pants which had frayed sewings, a second-hand Navy Blue Veteran’s jacket missing all but one button, shoes which were carefully worked over with wax to keep water out, and scratched glasses which bared a prescription much out of date. His hair so unkempt he worked his whole hand through its rough exterior to push it out of his eyes. His eyes twitched for a second before water began to collect and fall from them. Makariy was once more alone in the world, left but only to return to his mind’s natural state. A permanent state of repeat. II. Genesis A roar of urban centre life erupted around a man with a neat and clean cut standing idle outside a busy starport. A freshly digitally stamped Visa, bearing the name Makariy, sliding into his pocket as he stood in awe outside the central nervous system of Termid. The city not only being the Capital of the planet Eurytus, but also being the host to many refugees from far and wide due to recent developments within the Republic. Makariy was one of said refugees but he did not bare much mind over the label; to him it was nothing more than something which bound him closer to those fellow refugees who certainly must be all around him too. He affixed a metal pin bearing a small flag, which was that of his homeworld, and a silver ‘R’ to mark his current status as refugee above his heart. And with the small bit of business over with he hoisted his stickered and worn suitcase from a small handcart. Beginning his journey to the fabled Menippus District; a supposed hot bed of a political and cultural thought and his new living quarters until eventual relocation to a Prime World. His pace inconsistent as his eyes darted about the busy roads that bustled with a variety of life and oddities. With the roads dominated by a mixture of olive-green Military APCs with humming engines, Police with their eyes surveying everything about them, and Kolarian Preachers adorned with pages of their scriptures pinned to their tunics. Makariy's walk coming to a halt as his eyes affixed to a piece of graffiti in a alley asking ‘Dare we ask?’. The question somehow making him feel unclean as he uneasily shifted his stance and glanced over his shoulder to a police officer smoking. After his third peak over his own shoulder he hurried along as he crossed through five boroughs until he found himself at a green street sign signaling the District ‘Menippus’. In the background a flurry of motion, a man breaking the head of another against the curb as he shouted in foreign speak. Makariy letting a question echo in his head. Dare we ask?

Was gonna try and do a Dwarven Warhammer in Blender for this but got lazy; here have some mini-hot dogs with mustard instead.

The Community; taking it out to the Prairie and putting it out of its misery.

8/10 Literally throws every game he has ever played.

Innovating since the loss of your patent on thanhium Star Wars speeders I see?

Thanks mi compadre; I eventually do have to start working on my skills with respects to the devil magic that is lighting. One day my renders will actually have good shine on stuff and pretty shadows. I do all sorts of stuff buckeroo. Hecc you If you actually want to commission something just message me what it is and I'll get back to you in near-ish future with progress on it or finished product. No need to even spend a shiny Mineman Roleplay Server nickel on the whole affair.