Xarkly

https://discord.gg/jDQTuCJ So yeah quick reminder if you wanna get yourself involved with the close of the Vaeyl Eventline best way to do so is to hop into this Discord to schedule some events. This weekend should hopefully be the final part of the Endmoor Summit which sets the stage for the final two weeks – you can check that out here and if your nation/group hasn’t attempted to schedule something I definitely encourage you to do so – https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/179189-a-summons-to-endmoor/ Other than that stay tuned

https://discord.gg/MFgHWS One of the main problems with the Vaeyl eventline is that it can be hard to schedule stuff given the demand for events and also reaching out to more minor groups. In an effort to remedy both of these issues, one of the things I’m gonna try is to use an event Discord just to organize stuff a little better. So even if you’ve never participated in a Vaeyl event before - even if you’ve never even heard of the Vaeyl – then feel free to join the Discord or just message me to get involved. The Discord contains a complete recap of everything you might have missed to date, and others will be there to inform you too. This post details the next step of the eventline: And quick side note, contest results are out tomorrow.

The Grand Harvest had come with the turn of the eighteenth century, but for years now, the barrier between spring and winter had been blurred. The Yatl Storm, of course, was to blame. The unnatural, endless blizzard that veiled the sky in snowclouds and sowed famine and death across southern Atlas. It had not crossed the threshold of the Cloud Temple, the divide between north and south Atlas, yet the scourge of the Red Vaeyl had expanded the blizzard before, and the fear that they might do so again was as chilling as the frigid cold it brought. Yet while the Red Vaeyl had been shattered with the Descendant Siege of Lasthope, the endless storm desecrating the south had not relented. All throughout the Sleetfells, farms stood abandoned, frost-glazed barns sheltering only the bones of livestock who had succumbed to the cold. Further south still, in the Frozenpines, entire settlements, once home to woodcutters, miners and hunters, were devoid of life where they were not completely buried beneath snow. Now only the Mali’Fenn endured the bitter, unnatural cold. Each passing winter left more farms abandoned, more fields barren, further north into the Highlands. The peasants, driven from their homes and livelihoods by the cold, thusly flocked to the land’s great cities, to Markev and Carolustadt, where another fear soon blossomed: with the southern fields rendered useless, how long could food supplies last? If the Red Vaeyl were destroyed, then why did the blizzard still persist? Where were the White Vaeyl, the supposed allies of Descendants? When was Xarkly going to finish his exams and actually do something with this stupid blizzard? Despite the September Prince’s defeat, Atlas became gripped with uncertainty, it’s populace teetering on the brink of fear, waiting, waiting and wondering for the next chapter of this grim tale. And then, in the cold spring of 1701, that chapter began. For the first time in years, White-Eye banners appeared on the roads of Atlas. Carried by figures clad all in black-and-white plate, the signature White Eye of the Vaeyl Order painted on their breast, the banners flocked towards settlements all across Atlas. Not merely castle towns occupied by lords, but farmsteads and hamlets alike. They travelled in groups of threes, and it was not long before their message spread across the land like fire. “Cyweir irrin fael hyr ys,” they always began in their odd, musical language. It was always the standard-bearer who spoke first. “Syyr ennyn yf arraiv cas Endmoor svaefyn.” As soon the first speaker finished, another chimed in instantly with the same accent, though this time in a more familiar tongue. “If you wish to survive and end the blizzard before famine takes you all, your leader will come to Endmoor, and trade words with the Lord-General.” It was that message that was repeated across Atlas, from the lands in the south already lost to the frost and darkness, to the still-fertile north. [[ All factions and all players are invited to travel to the ruins of Endmoor to interact with the Vaeyl Order. The ruins of Endmoor are found on a hill on the road between Cloud Temple and the old Dominion capital. The spot on the road is marked with tall black/white flags. Contact Xarkly to arrange an interaction. These messangers will also be roleplayed out over the weekend, so look out for them around your settlement. ]]

Vaeyl of Aegis closed his eyes, and sucked in a slow breath before he stepped through the threshold of Lasthope’s ruined gate. The Descendant siege-engines had left the ancient fortress in ruin. The gate itself had been reduced to a gaping hole in the castle’s front, through which the frigid blizzard winds of the Yatl Wasteland blew into halls once lit by scented braziers and mounted with banners and tapestries. Now those halls were dark, absent of heat and light, with the rotted wooden floors glazed in snow and frost and the decorations long since shredded by the wind. He proceeded slowly, each step crunching under the piles of splintered timber and rubble until he found himself in the Great Hall. His heart sank. What were you expecting, fool? He scolded himself as he scanned the gutted hall: blood had rotted and soaked the floorboards crimson so that they creaked dangerously under Vaeyl’s weight; several pillars and beams had collapsed, creating mounds of rubble; and the entire back wall of the hall was buried beneath ice, dislodged from the Wall itself during the fighting. His scouts had told them there were scores of Descendant bodies, from half a dozen different nations and races that had stood against the Red Vaeyl, but he saw no sign of them now. It did not take long, however, for him to spot heaps of ash piled in one dark, frozen corner of the hall. At least they weren’t left to rot, he thought grimly. Slowly, he hunched down at the foot of the ash pile. His mouth opened to recite a prayer, but the words never came. Instead, he sighed through his nose, and drew a cross before standing again. A pile of ash makes a poor monument for all those who died here, he thought as he stared at the jagged ice that had swallowed up the throne at the back of the hall. Despite the glassy surface of the ice that showed him only his own reflection, Vaeyl knew exactly where the throne was beneath all that ice, just as well as he knew what banners and tapestries had hung from the collapsed pillars, just as well as he knew every little detail about the fortress. He had built it, after all, all those centuries ago. Back then it had been a far cry from the behemoth it had become: it had served Vaeyl and his Order only one purpose back then - to climb the Wall. It had been a monument of hatred, a symbol of their sole remaining will to climb the Wall and seek revenge. But after that it had become a monument of hope once they had begun to build their empire - it had been a bulwark of unquestionable safety for all Atlas’ people. More than that - and though Vaeyl himself would never have admitted it back then - it had kept the Order alive. After their had been lost their humanity so long ago, this castle had become the cradle from which the Vaeyl Order nurtured an excuse to keep living, to keep fighting. It had been their own last hope. Vaeyl smiled beneath his helmet at that thought, and it took him a moment to realize his eyes had blurred with budding tears. “Last hope,” he muttered, his breath a plume of pale mist. “Well, it’s certainly ironic.” His eyes surveyed the hall – the hall where he had once built an army purely for revenge, and the hall where he had once built an empire. A ruin, now. The Descendant siege had left it a gutted ruin, collapsed and damaged beyond repair. Vaeyl shut his eyes softly, and let the tears subside before he turned to leave. It was only as he approached the titanic hole in the gateway, through which the wind roared, that he spotted black platemail from beneath a pile of rubble. He crouched down, and began to pull away the collapsed bricks to uncover a red-slashed eye painted on the breast of a Vaeyl Orderman, clad from head to foot in black-white mail. Despite himself, he did not try to quash the pang of guilt that stabbed at his stomach. He raised his gauntlet, and paused in surprise to find that his fingers were shaking. Gently, he pressed his shaking hand against the eye sigil painted on the dead Orderman’s breast. “It’s nearly over now,” he breathed. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, at the ruins of Lasthope. “We’re nearly there now.” [[ Vaeyl Order eventline returns for its final phase starting this weekend. ]]

staff reform is a train wreck. I might make a proper post on it in the future but it’s a horrific misuse of resources coming up to map release. Teams are being shoehorned into a completely ideological structure that makes no practical sense or benefit (Mod and Community less so). Not do the reforms suck but a lot of it was executed in literally the messiest, worst way possible – for example, staff apps were changed without consulting team directors.

Hey so just a real quick update regarding the activity of Vaeyl eventlines: As some of you will have noticed, and I should have posted this earlier, the eventline has been mostly paused for the Christmas break. It’s the busiest time of year for me, since I work over Christmas and college has exams through most of January. So come February the Vaeyl eventline will resume in full force with the blizzard, the fall of Lasthope and what lies beyond that Wall yada yada. So just hold off ‘till February if you’ve been waiting for me to hop online to get some events done. Sorry for the delay, stay tuned

I spent 4 minutes removing your pex that's time I'm never getting back

Application placed on pending. Your scenarios are a little flat. What’s the slimey undead creature? Why’s it in the well? What’s the dark stone given at the roadside? What’s the dark creature in the forest? You don’t need to give a full script here, but you shouldn’t maintain mystery for the sake of it here – we want to see what you, as a potential ET, are thinking and planning when you’re writing these events, so you should really flesh these out more. You’ll get a verdict soon.

Pending. Decent application. We’ll be in touch soon.

Events are a little lacklustre. The bandit one seems a little two-dimensional, the merchant seems to refer to a nebula of events that you’d really need to give some more details on, and while the third is a simple straightforward hunt, it doesn't really prove yourself above other ET. Bear in mind that with these apps were looking to see you show potential for doing unique and engaging events. Granted you’d got a history in the ET that’ll do you well, though your application isn’t outstanding. We’ll get back to you soon.

Interesting idea that I’d like to try out. I’m no longer Director despite my tag but I’ll recommend you to the new one.

For your scenarios you need to give a bit more structure and ideally variation, like what can happen in the event, how people interact with them, etc. You’re giving us base concepts here without applying them in an event scenario like you need to. That said I know you're a decent dude so I’ll recommend you to Treaty.

“Well. I suppose it was a success, then.” Stood atop the enormity of the Ice Wall itself, Serris of Deep Harbour’s words rang hollow in her own ears. She was only dimly aware of the powerful shriek of the wind as it attempted to pull her to her death, though her sole attention was on a blurred cluster of lights, far below her. She had to squint through the flurried veil of falling snow even to make out the vague silhouette of Lasthope’s towers. She did not really need to see, though – she could imagine the scene perfectly well. Even over the howl of the wind she could hear the din of cheers as the Descendant armies celebrated their victory. Apparent victory, a voice in her head corrected, and she grit her teeth. She could not help. Every time thoughts of the Battle of Lasthope entered her mind, she could not help but remind herself that the Descendant’s only thought this was a grand, final victory for them. She would have liked to pretend that she did not know why she kept having to tell herself that, but that would have been a lie. She knew full well. She knew full well that she told herself that because otherwise she would not be able to live with herself. So many Vaeyl dead, sacrificed, in the name of a greater plan. Toryff, Hythar, Yvn ... all dead, now. Yvn especially pained her -- the two of them had been close friends ever since enlisting in the Order, many centuries ago. It was hard to believe that Serris had spoken to Yvn for the final time just minutes before the Descendants began their assault, knowing full well that they would never meet again. ”You can’t hesitate, Serris,” Yvn said. She was one of the only other women in the Order that Serris had not come to resent as soft, yet she spoke with a disarmingly silky voice. “You can’t have second thoughts now.” Serris was stood before a low-burning fireplace. The dying flames and embers danced as warped light on the surface of her burnished bronze mail. She had her longsword in hand, and was unconsciously twisting holes in the floorboards with its sharpened point. “I feel like a coward,” she whispered through a clenched jaw. “You’re not a coward,” Yvn said stiffly, if with a touch of exasperation. It was not the first time the two of them had this conversation since they first formulated their plan for the Siege. Serris knew it would not be the last time these thoughts plagued her mind, either, but it was made worse knowing that Yvn would not be there next time her guilt got the better of her. Yvn would not even be alive. “The plan be damned, Yvn, I am a coward,” she snapped with much vigour than she had intended. “I’m leaving you all behind her to die for a plan that might not even work.” For a brief moment, Serris thought Yvn would answer with sympathy, but instead came fire. “You’re a commander, not a coward.” She barked and marched over to Serris from the other side of the room, the old floorboars creaking under the weight of her heavy snow boots. “And commanders must make sacrifices beyond those of ordinary soldiers. You’re only a coward if you can’t follow through on that.” “That’s not the same at all!” Rage spurning her muscles, she drilled her sword an inch into the floor as she whirled around to face Yvn.”You’re lying down your lives for this plan, while my role is to run! Like a gutless coward, my only task in this plan is to stay alive! While the rest of you ...” ”You misunderstand.” Yvn’s voice had softened so quickly it took Serris by surprise. “It is easier to give up your life for the greater good, rather than have to watch all your brothers and sisters-in-arms die while you must continue forward, and fulfill the duty that the rest of us cannot.” The rage in Serris’ throat began to falter, and she felt a strange tugging at her eyes. It had been many years - decades - since she felt that tug, but she knew full well what it meant. “We can forget the plan. We can hold off the Invaders right here, right now. One quick order to Hythar, and his Stormsingers will strike their siege engines to smoking dust. Then all we have to --“ She cut off when Yvn lay a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. ”Serris,” the other woman said firmly. “You know it has to be this way. We could hold them off, yes, but what then? They’d try again, and again, and we’d be here for years.” ”We’d cripple their army,” she interjected. ”And then what? We march north, and put all their citizens to the sword? Farmers, craftsmen, children?” Yvn shook her head. “It has to be this way. Only by following the plan can we win Atlas back.” ”Win Atlas back for who?” Serris said coarsely. “It will cost so many of our lives to see it done.” Yvn tilted her head inquisitively. “And do you believe any Vaeyl would hesitate to lay down their lives for Atlas? This has been a thousand years in the making, Serris. Do you know what a meaningful death means to our people?” Serris tried to answer, but her throat had gone dry. Yvn squeezed her shoulder. “It was to be this way, Serris. You’re no coward – you’re a commander. Promise me you won’t forget that.” ”I’m no coward,” she whispered as she watched the Descendant armies celebrate at the ruins of Lasthope, breath rising from her helmet as the snowstorm bore down on them. “I’m a commander!” She roared into the wind, before she took off at a march down along the ice wall, the thick, glassy ice firmed by her cleated boots. She did not know how long she walked, but eventually she left the ruins of Lasthope, and the cheers of the enemy army, behind her. She marched, fists clenched, white-fur cloak billowing in the wind behind her. Finally, she spotted figures standing atop the wall in the distance. She continued, placing a fist above her heart. “Peace and Fire,” she bellowed over the gales. “Peace and Fire,” the other figure – a male Vaeyl – responded as she drew nearer. “Did everything go according to plan, Commander Serris?” She glanced over her shoulder, though Lasthope had longed since vanished in the fog of the blizzard. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes. Everything went as planned. It was … it was a bittersweet victory.” But a victory nonetheless. That’s what Yvn would say. The other Vaeyl nodded. “Good. Shall we make for Caer Caedris then? There’s still much to be done.” “Yes. Yes.” It took her a moment, but finally Serris took her gaze from the direction of Lasthope. She was surprised when a painful pang of guilt lanced through her, though only for a moment; she knew this was goodbye. The Red Vaeyl, her friends, her family, were no more, sacrificed for a greater good. I promise. I promise it won’t be in vain. She grit her teeth. “Lead the way.” The other Vaeyl nodded. In the pale light, she could just about make out the unblemished, White Eye painted on his armour.

It’s not being cancelled that’s probably the worst thing you could do with a big eventline The rest of the eventline is being overseen by ET management to make sure there’s no more lore whoopsies and to try make it more broadly enjoyable for those who disliked past installments

Around this time last year, we made the transition from Axios to Atlas and to commemorate that and to make it look like I’m doing something, here’s a contest!!1!!!!!1! Following on with the ideals of our previous contest in that we’re trying to make these more relevant to the LotC universe, the theme of this contest is locations in Atlas. You can interpret that in aaaaany way you like, so like as your entry is even remotely related to any particular location on Atlas. I’ve included a full list of all Atlas’ regions below, but you can be much more specific in the location you chose (so long as you title it in your entry). THE RULES To enter, post on this thread with either your art or writing (no word limit) State clearly the region/place your entry is based off in the title or at the start (full list of regions below) All entries must be original Writing and art entries will be judged as separate categories with 1st. 2nd, and 3rd place prizes available for both categories You're free to enter both categories All entries must be submitted by midnight EST on Sunday the 13th of January The location only has to be a basic inspiration for your entry LIST OF MAIN ATLAS REGIONS (Nation Tiles & Event Regions) The Springhills The Southdowns The Sleetfells The Swaymoors Huckery Highlands The Wonkawoods The Bolemounds The Frozenpines The Loftywoods Shrieking Drake Island The Chalk Alps The Timberwoods The Yatl Wasteland The Mixed Knolls LIST OF LESSER-KNOWN ATLAS TILES The Twin Highlands The Pridelands The Barrowdowns Eastbight Tide Isle The Lobster Isles The Gules Mountains The Lochmoors Hiisht Isle Coral Peak The Serpentwoods The Jade Peaks The Wilderlands If you know a good spot but don’t know it’s name, all you have to do is head over there and type /rg info to find out. Remember that the location only has to be basic inspiration for your entry -- you could write about a whole fight scene that has no real relevance to the region other than that it occurred there, for example. PRIZES 5,000 Mina | Creative Wizard Tag | A Parrot | A signed item related to the location of your entry 3,000 Mina | A Parrot | A signed item related to the location of your entry 2,000 Mina | A signed item related to the location of your entry Unlike last time it’s a little bit unfeasible to include a screenshot of every prize items, but I’ll post a few below to give you an idea: So that’s just a flavour, bearing in mind that each region has its own item, and some of them might be subject to change depending on lore reasons. A quick question, though – is there anyone out there that fancies themselves a bit of composer? It was suggested to me that it might be worthwhile opening up a music category in future competitions, so if your skills are more in that department, post here to let me know how many people could compete in that category. While this is also the anniversary of LotC 6.0, it’s also nearly been a full year since I became ET Director (yikes). In light of that, December’s actually going to be my last month as Director before I hand it off to someone who can do a better job after burnout’s gotten the better of me since college started back up (I’ll remain on the ET, just not as bossman). With that said, best of luck with your entries, looking forward to seeing them.