Ryloth

So the herald looked on, empowering the sanguine flame through his sheer will that which licked the air in serpentine tongues. The two pupils before him had become greater, and he smiled with the merriment that was this sacrament. Yet, there was still much for them to learn. He would hone them into majesty, a preparation for ascension even greater.

give kha more genus unironically, imo they should have more potent blood given their daemonic corruption. otherwise based

Come to Haelun'or and study magics in our library until you can find a TA to teach you (and until your one-month period expires so you can apply)! We go on adventures sometimes to pick up self-teach books or visit self-teach altars. I recommend visiting the city to commission some helpful items for a journey like that! Our army has a magical battalion and I encourage you to join that! Here is our Discord. Good luck and have fun! https://discord.gg/s64qCNsn

bro these are so good. make a billiards table 😳

fireforged 100 might use for uniform idk

"This wood elf must have Princess Peach syndrome." Haskir muses. "This is probably the fifth time she's been captured."

hmmm

THE ASSASSINATION OF THE TRADE PRINCESS 10th of the Sun’s Smile, Y25 Second Age _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ We waited, having tracked the princess down to their humble palace in the Sutican capitol. Early morning light twinkled through the trees in scant sunrays scintillated in a barely-golden glow. Where we sat, the shadows. An inkling of a thought that she were still here in the palace is what we cling to, hopeful she may step outside to bask in the crisp morning air. A man strolled by, a curious fellow who left the palace gates after what was presumed to be a meeting. She followed. The trade princess herself, standing before us. A heartbeat passed and we drew arms from scabbard, and only our footsteps accompanied by jingling armor and equipment were heard before the call. The assassin spoke smoothly, joined by only one fellow black-shirt. “Sa’vi! We need to speak with you, vneaht'a!” The princess turned, startled -- not a soul was present to bear witness, the man who passed far down the roads and out of eyesight, out of ear-shot. “This is how low you aspectists will dive?” A sly grin coarsed the assassin’s black maw, fangs gnashing behind the dracanium steel of his helm’s visor. “But you can not be found any other time, eh-heh-heh!” A hoarse chuckle rang from his baritone throat. A flourish of his weapon and he stood side-long to the princess, while his comrade posed toe-to-toe. “Well then … shall we do this with honor?” The princess queried, drawing her weapon. “You then?” Her eyes parted from the Kharajyr of the pair and to the assassin before her, and the combat initiated. A strike to her shoulder, devastating and ruthless -- coin was the game, and so he lashed out in most dishonorable of fashions. He was no knight, not here; but a mercenary and hired sword. After a brief exchange of blows, she fled for the palace. “Gate, gate, gate!” The Kharajyr called loudly to his friend, concerned for the likelihood the gates might fall shut. But as quickly as they chased, as quickly did they enter the palace behind her. She reached not the gates, but a dining room door. Swords met, a clash of steel and plate armor ringing through the grand feasting hall. In the ruckus, the princess pushed through their swinging weapons as they slammed to her armor to barge through the door, closing it behind her. “No!” The Kha’ exclaimed, seemingly defeated. But he wasn’t. “Go, outside! She may jump off the roof!” “At once!” His comrade replied, rushing from the palace to peer outside at the battlements. Once then did the pantera begin to assault the doors. To his surprise, the hinges and locks were weak -- door after door battered from their hinges in his personal siege of the home of the princess. Wood splintered, locks tore, even a solid iron door flew from its frame in his wake. Alas, finally, a single door thunked! and jammed against the stone walls in his attempts to blow them down. But the princess heard the sound, just outside her room. This after all was the final door. Fear swelled in her, and she leapt from the windows. “She’s on me! She’s outside!” His comrade shouted, “Ah, damn!” The Kha’ shouted in return, “Standby!” Kharajyr are quick, and he bounded down the stairs, through the palace halls, over the destroyed doors and out the structure’s gates in what was merely seconds. Enough time for the princess to escape, but she didn’t. She sought the kill, and this was her mistake. As the pantera turned to his comrade beaten down by a barrage of arrow fire and sword, he leapt into the fray. Steel clashed a final time, and he kicked her to the ground. Winded, he panted some before raising his sword -- no time for final words, no time for honorifics. Boomsteel blade slammed through her chest, her final moments seen at the end of the Black Falchion. Before her vision could even fade, he swept her head from her shoulder and all was done. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A letter was left on the headless corpse, presumably from the Silver Council of Haelun’or. "Remember our demands!"

Haskir cleans his boomsteel falchion of blood burnt and caked to its blazing surface, watching as the Ferrymen fled the lands of Elvenesse. A strategic victory and in no way pyrrhic regardless of any losses, their forces repelled from the city with the aid of Haelun'or and Oren. Oh, how the ferrymen run!

THE BATTLE OF STONE BRIDGE 12th of Sun's Smile, Y25 Second Age _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Two helpless mali'ame women, peaceful as the stars sat captive at the docks of Elvenesse as the forces of the bronze guard rallied, sending word by letter pigeon to the Silver State of Haelun'or for aid. And swift we came, boarding warships to arrive on the coast of the great forests of the West to march batallions of Sillumiran to the call. Expected were the orcs of Krugmar, but instead they found Ferrymen. The Ferrymen company once again sought the heads of innocent life and in thus the combined armies rallied within the great city. No more would the Elvenessi face persecution of the interlopers dwelling in their forests, craven to their people and livelihood to instead walk as bandit and low-born criminal in the woodlands and countrysides of nations they prey. Finally, a significant foe stood before them as a giant. Volleys of arrows were exchanged as the skirmish began, pelting the docks to send the Ferrymen wandering for a way to scale the walls. None were found, the forces meandering the thick brush and thickets of the undergrowth like lost mice. The forces of the elves changed position, the vanguard moving for the gate. We'd give them a fight, like they wanted. We'd make our statement. Out marched the most honorable, not an elf, no- but again the Dog of Don, Bread Knight, and noble knight of lands-a-plenty. He rose his bastard sword, contesting the commander of the Ferryman only to ounce him into near-carrion, sending him fleeing in utter confusion at the might of the skilled swordsman. No honor! Oh, how the Ferrymen fled. The Bread Knight stood his ground, beckoning the elven forces to approach. The time was now! Lashing out onto the stone bridge parting the capitol from the countryside forests, Sillumiran and Elvenessi bronze guard thunderously clashed against the Ferrymen. The fight was long, winded elves and Ferrymen both circulating in fresh troops in the fray to slug the battle in a frenzy of swordplay. The frontline pushed into the city gates, then back across the bridge, and back into the city again, and back across the bridge. A tug-of-war, until they broke. Oh, how the Ferrymen fled. Orenian forces arrived on a singular mighty warship at the mouth of the river, Orenian forces that which tore the morale of the Ferrymen asunder. Scattering into the trees at the meer sight of the empire the rat bandits went, bounding through the bushes in complete chaos and disarray. Stragglers were tagged and pelted with arrow fire, and finally the relentless elves let up, the final of the Ferrymen bandits fleeing by canoe down the rivers from the stone bridge. The battle was over before fresh troops could even rally, the honorless forces of rat and mouse shattered. Haelun'orian, Elvenessi, and Orenian alike cheered in victory: Oh, how the Ferrymen fled! _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

listened on 100% volume for the immersive experience.

"LOOSE!" Haskir commanded, the elves unleashing a volley of arrow fire at the fleeing musin. After the arrows struck, he advanced to the weeping creature to carve a claw through its throat before the other elves could bludgeon its tiny body into a bloody pulp. At least he showed that much mercy. Truthfully, Haskir saw a snack -- and he'd never tasted musin, whereas he had many other races. Somehow though, he felt a smidgeon of regret. Was it right to kill a musin? He didn't know, for this was one of the first he'd met.

explosion and telekinetic command are hella cool

can i find parthurnaax at the top of one

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The belfry rang into the skies, regal magnificent aura of the glistening Silver City changing in the blink of an eye to domination and chaos. Haskir donned his dragonscale armor and strapped falchion to belt, peering from his home onto the main city street which was flooded with not Sillumiran -- but Ferrymen interlopers. Response was quick, the march of allied soldiers heard as the denizens of Haelun'or amassed from the surprise attack in the Upper District and city's Sillumiran Districts. Ferrymen had already began to clash with innocent 'thill, but for their crimes did they meet the sword. Haskir met with the Ferrymen as Elvenessi and Orenian armies arrived simultaneous to the charge of Haelun'or's valiant Sillumiran, the four armies thunderously meeting in the streets in a pincer against the bandits. His sword met Banjo's, and the Ferryman captain he so dotingly loved for his comedic missive signature drew back to rush for the city bank. A great clash of steel cried out in the main city square, and finally the force of Ferrymen was broken! They fled in all directions, scattering like rats into the sewers -- but Haskir gave chase with Haelun'orian Sillumiran, Dogs of Don, Imperial State Army, Dragon Knights and Elvenessi bronze guard in tow. His mace crushed the skull of two Ferrymen in the sewage tunnels, the darkness of the murky city depths seeping into his visor and sapping his vision. But oh, how they fell! How the dishonor of the orcs became known as captive after captive was brought to the city square. How the Ferrymen swung when they hanged from the balcony of the Silver Bank. How the last and final greenskin of the raiding party was blasted asunder by the High Prince of Elvenesse. How finally, the combined forces got what was theirs: vengeance. He recanted how the noble Sillumir Eradus had been slain by these same Ferrymen and Krugmari orcs, and he gave no quarter to those foe that fell around him. "Indubitably."

Haskir received a note from the Kharajyr some time before he'd passed. He never knew he'd gone, never knew he'd not be back. Eagerly waiting for his return, the pantera did as the letter had requested and made off to watch his home. Somehow though, Haskir found some semblance between Tletl's departure and others before him -- who never returned, oft of journeys spanning the seas. He wished he'd been there to tell him to stay, to not seek out adventure. Adventure always ended in the deaths of his friends, fun as it were. Haskir would stow the letter sent, safekept on a bookshelf with the rest.

Again they came, and again they fell. As the greenskins screamed for WAAAAAGH at the gates of the Silver City, Haskir tugged the lever within the gatehouse. Klink-klink-klink-klink .. The chains battered the mechanisms above the portcullis to raise the gates between two opposing forces -- ten nasty Krugmari raiders stinking of pig sh*t, and twenty-eight of the finest soldiers and allies of Haelun’or. Elvenessi and Orenian men joined the Sillumiran of Karinah’siol as the army spilled from the city, erupting onto the battlefield to clean the forces of Krugmar from the homefront. Haskir charged forth from the gatehouse after lofting the city defenses to unleash a barrage of arrow fire, sending volley after volley into the fray like no other -- only stopping once to watch as the champion Dog of Don carved down the greatest stinking warrior the Krugmari had to offer. A tear crept from an eye. How beautiful, the might bestowed. He did warn mercy would not be so easily-won the day before. So it hadn't.

Haskir recalled when he'd confronted the Army captain amidst the brink of war under the Iron Accord. He recalled how no weapon was aimed, how instead he held an alchemical bottle in a lax hand. How they were allowed to walk free, never detained, never harmed. As he thought back to the moment, he smiles for a brief second before settling the treaty aside on a shelf in his humble home. "I wonder how that dame will fare when she sees this treaty." Haskir exhales a sigh then, looking across the waters of the ocean West to its foggy horizon, the capitol of the Empire of Oren visible from where he stood. "About time we made friends again with the winning side."

THE LAST RESIDENT OF SUTICA OPERATION: SUTICAN STORM Issued on 10th of The First Seed, Y25 of the Second Age Another day, another raid. The Trade State of Sutica failed to meet the demands of the tandem Silver State of Haelun'or and nation of Elvenesse. As promised, worse was to come. But how? In the dead of late-night did the Sillumiran of Haelun'or set out by warship with an Elvenessi entourage to the bay of the trade state, the murky sewage-infested waters touched by the crisp dawn of daylight in their arrival to the capitol region of the tiny unsustainable nation. In a shroud of silence despite the crimson-pink sunrays pouring over glistening thillsteel and bronze, the war party rushed to the city walls with grappling hook and ladder. Moments passed before the interlopers scaled the city walls uncontested .. uncontested! How? How could their walls be unmanned? How could no citizen bear witness the arrival of their warships? How could no trade vessel glimpse the great sails of frigates on the horizon? Sutica is a ghost town. The attackers leapt from the walls and into the city interior, rushing forth into the city marketplace. Swords drawn, shields raised and arrows knocked in bows, the soldiers of Haelun'or and Elvenesse prepared for a fight! It was a tavern night after all, certainly the city would be bustling with activity! Alas, the attackers stood uncontested .. uncontested! How? Sutica is a ghost town. A singular citizen stepped from the tavern, a lone soul. Our men wrapped around them in a rush, eager to take them captive to usher a rally of soldiers from the cobbles of the city streets. Did they cower in their homes? Was an ambush prepared? The lone tavern-goer was bound and taken over-shoulder, and the soldiers loosely walked around the empty streets once more in an attempt to find someone ... anyone. Alas, the attackers stood uncontested .. uncontested! How? Sutica is a ghost town. After thirty minutes of patrolling the streets, not a soul arrived to contest them. Soldiers began to walk around the city, knocking on would-be family homes only to discover cobwebs and rodents, the city devoid of life in what was supposedly a capitol. Disappointed and confused, the attackers began to wonder if there was anyone at all to pay the demands to the Silver State of Haelun'or. Who lived here? Who? Alas, the attackers stood uncontested .. uncontested! How? Sutica is a ghost town. The only life in Sutica, captured! The captured individual was released unharmed after mass-producing military equipment for us in our dungeons. The Trade State of Sutica has failed to meet demands sought after by the Silver Council of Haelun'or and the government of the Silver State of Haelun'or. The following demands will be met or additional raids will occur, if we can find anyone in your empty city: 2500 mina to the Haelun'orian Treasury. 1500 mina to the Elvenessi as compensation for making empty threats. 640 units of ferrum ingots to the Haelun'orian Sillumiran. The Trade State of Sutica will issue a formal apology to the Elvenessi Crown. 10 full suits of ferrum chainmail armor, 10 ferrum longswords, 5 maple shortbows, and 320 units of arrows. In addition, we encourage the vassals of Sutica to declare their sovereignty, since there appears to be no existing government body or army of Sutica. SIGNED IN ACCORDANCE WITH: Commander Kiljarys an Iarwaïn Okarir’sil of Elheial’thilln Captain Zelios Viradiraar Okarir’nor of Elheial’thilln First Sergeant Malithor Nullivari Okarir’san of Elheial’thilln Corporal Valindra Liavyre Okarir’maehr of Elheial’thilln

"Indubitably so, I will come!" Haskir pins the missive to his refrigerator, marking the date on his calendar!

Haskir recalled the moment he'd fired so many arrows at the Krugmari raiders that his arbalest tore apart, falling to pieces in his hands before lofting a second crossbow to continue launching bolts forth with. His horse trampled the Haelun'orian earth, armor jingling as he loaded another bolt on horseback to fire it into the fray post-haste. Thunk! He struck an orcish warrior, but their armor stood strong enough to withstand the weapon. Thunk! An arrow returned from the greenskin cracked against his shield before he prodded his stallion on. He recalled when he pulled the lever of the gatehouse mechanisms, steel portcullis thundering down to slam atop the orcish interlopers and trap a single orcish soul inside the city -- only to be cut down by valiant Sillumir to soil the never-tainted ground with foreign blood. He recalled when before the orcish raiders arrived, he had captured the uruk Burgharz'Grat to inquire about the unbecoming dishonor in Elvenesse, the murder of a Sillumiran corporal in cold blood -- though mercifully releasing him rather than taking his tusks, flaying his hide, removing his arms and legs. Next time, though .. mercy would not be so free. Haskir cleaned his weapons and armor for yet another day, but this time his ire for the orcs returned once more.

"It is not vanity. You can not be vane." He muses after Kael'thas handed him the missive in person, "It is envy. Envy of the impure ... they lust for what you are -- pure." As Kael'thas flexed his arms in response, Haskir added on, "And you're strong as an olog." "The impure hates." Haskir looks to the statue of a fair maiden gazing skyward in the center of Haelun'or's main city square where the centerpiece Kael's Average Day sat as the pinnacle of Elven stonemasonry. Reaching into the bushes alongside the art piece, he plucks a dumbbell from within. Haskir gives it a curl or two, before laughing. "They wish they were us. They wish they were me."

Haskir strikes a pose, rippling with muscle as he flexes his herculean form. "So much envy." He changes the pose, on-lookers swooned by the absolute alpha nature of immaculate display that is the pantera. "So much disdain." Grasping a rope connected to a large bronze ball, he spun in a circle before performing a hammer throw, launching the weight some forty-five meters. "They wish they were me." Ironically, the Kharajyr sweats from his padded feet and hands, and therefore he still smells like roses unlike the propaganda's claim. After the crowd around dispersed, he weakly took a seat to pant in exhaustion. Being beautiful was tired work.