Xarkly

I didn't watch the video but Article 13 and the proposed legislation were rejected by the EU Parliament.

I think raids are important and there's a definite place for them on lotc But There are SOME raids that go like this; >nation holds event, advertised in advance >raiders show up for sole purpose of derailing event >event is ruined and most likely ooc bickering This **** serves no purpose other than to sour peoples time and need to be fixed

if you wanna do some event related **** for it hmu

what will become of the vaeyl

Harold's brought it back as some project. So far Marimbamonk, z3m0s and LPT are apart of it.

MARKEV HOUSING LIMITATION ORDER Issued by his Highness the Royal Steward, Edward Audemar Barbanov, and enacted on the authority of his Majesty, the King Sigmar Lothar I of Hanseti Ruska Va Birodeo Herzenav, By order of his Highness, the Royal Steward, Edward Audemar Barbanov, citizenry of the Kingdom of Hanseti-Ruska are henceforth limited to the possession of one residential property and one commercial property, including stalls, in light of the unprecedented population explosion under the prosperous reign of his Majesty, the King Sigmar Lothar I. This order will remain intact until a time where more housing is made available for the general populace, and exceptions can be sought by contacting his Highness, the Royal Steward. IV JOVEO MAAN, Iv Joveo Ehr, 1657 Signed, His Majesty the King Sigmar Lothar I of Hanseti and Ruska, Grand Hetman of the Army, Prince of Dules, Lahy, Sorbesborg and Slesvik, Grand Duke of Vanderfell, Duke of Akovia, Krajia and Aldersburg, Margrave of Rothswald and Adria, Count of Karikhov, Baranya, Kavat, Karovia, Torun, and Kaunas, Viscount of Alamar, Baron of Vsenk, Valwyk, Rostig, Esenstadt, Krepost and Kralta, Lord of the Westfolk, Lord of Markev, Protector of the Highlanders, etcetera. His Highness, Edward Audemar Barbanov, Prince of Hanseti Ruska and Royal Steward of Markev.

bro u should apply for et

ET Director Xarkly greets his adoring fans circa. 1670 Hello everyone, forget all those other update logs because your fAVouRiTE tEaM is here! So as usual this is going to be a short recap of how and what the Event Team is doing, from event logs, to evenlines to builder logs. You might be wondering why you haven't seen one of these logs since April. Don't wonder that. Stop it. Stop it now. DIRECTOR REPORT Sooooooo I'll start off by giving my piece, which is usually a general reflection on how the ET is doing and what larger projects we've got in the works that you guys can participate in. TEAM ROSTER Here's the full roster of the current Event Team: Right now the Team is bigger than it has been in a long time, having stood at around 30 in mid-June. This month, we took on @Voidal, @Dardonas, @grubgoth_wud, @seannie, @Kef, @Whiplash, @DivineJustice, @Lionbileti, @paladinxo1, @Capace, and @marimbamonk as Actors, and welcomed back some old-timers as Builders: @drfate786, @BathRugMan and @Cpt_Noobman, joined by a brand new Builder, @Kizaura. (Voidal,, Dardonas and DivineJustice were accepted as Builders too. They're our new hybrid ET models [tm].) We also lost some people, though. Big shoutout to @Treaty and @ImCookiie for their service. We also lost some actual green heroes who, on behalf on the Team and server, I'd like to express my thanks for the huge amount of time they devoted to the ET over the years. So, please give a round of applause to @Skylez1, @Ford and @GrimReaper98 for the huge amount of meaningful work they've done for the Team and server. TEAM ACTIVITY I won't say tooooo much because you can read more about this below, but June has been one of our best months ever. We had a total of 120 events and 48 builds in June. You can read more about this in the Actor and Builder Reports below. ONGOING EVENTLINES There's a lot of eventlines going on this summer that you can and should get involved with. Here's a list of all of them: THE VAEYL ORDER - XARKLY " In the frigid blizzards of the Yatl Wasteland, the Vaeyl Order stirs and mobilizes its forces en masse for the first time since the Battle of the Wastes. Another battle looms, but this time is different; not all of Atlas' people see the Order as enemies and some Descendants have even joined their ranks, though their ultimate intentions still remain shrouded in mystery. From the opening of the Darkway portal nexus to Vaeyl Knights hunting carbarum seals that seem tied to the Ice Wall, the pieces of the puzzle are slowly coming together. " VILKETA'S IRONBORN - DREEK/THE BULTER " After numerous attacks on the Dwarven settlements of Kaz'Ulrah, Az'Adar, and Holm, a new threat was revealed. Each group set off on long explorations of the massive subterranean tunnels known as the Deeproads, discovering that a massive Dwarven Army of cultists was gathering, worshipping a goddess known as Vilketa. After reaching the end of their respective Deeproads, the groups found a great big lava cavern that housed a citadel. Inside they discovered that the ancient clan of Khorvad worshipping Dwarves, the Ironborn, were the ones truly behind the organization of these cultist armies. Their long siege and capture of the citadel freed a cultist turncoat and lead to the death of an Iron Elder herself, Koryk Ironborn. Hints afterward have revealed this was only the beginning, and the figure known as the Gold Commander will soon see his plan completed. " THE QI ARC - ZARSIE " From vampiric monks to giant, carnivorous insects and eldritch leviathans to sentient sewage, the home of the Easterners is full of terrors and treasures. Yamamoto, capital of the Emerald Isles, and its derelict ruins and lingering inhabitants await. Expect a journey to the land of the Easterners soon. " THE PURPLE TREES - SMAWTON " As the many Trees that had cropped up around the world began to fall, the horizon seemed to brim with life. Enormous creatures of wood and leaves pushed their way through the forests, their auras intent on retribution, their eyes glowing with amethyst radiance. " THE RATIKI - D4NNA " The Ratiki, one of the legends passed down that only the followers Iblees have been given is now a reality. The source of the evil lies in the depths, and already some descendants were witnesses of the rancid smell of the plague that came to the surface. The rat-like creatures are particularly alert when the earth is shaken by the quakes of war. No one knows exactly what lies in the depths between the cinder and dirt, but Iblees foul children soon seem to regard the surface as one of their territories. AESOPIAN'S, UH, THING - AESOPIAN " I'm killing everything. It's great. Probably Wonk/September related. " EVENT MEDIA This is something that we've been trying to get a lot more involved in, especially with the return of the Media Team. I really want to help broadcast our events to you guys so that it gives you a sensation that there is something going on in this world and to encourage you to seek out some of these events and get involved. With the aid of the Media Team and good guy we're doing this through forum posts,YouTube videos and Twitch streams. You can read forum posts summarising various events here in the Event Forum; https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/forum/528-events/ You can also find more event-related content in some of the forum posts that the Media Team have been putting out, like this one: This month we took @marimbamonk onto the Team, who regularly streams LoTC (and other games), event-content and otherwise. You can find his Twitch here, and definitely check him out; Finally, you can check out @Jerome Jonsaeus's YouTube to see some events from a player perspective: https://www.youtube.com/user/markspam54/videos RECRUITMENT The Team's well-staffed right now, but that's not to say that we won't be accepting any applications. However, due to the amount of Actors were already have, your application will be held to a pretty high standard. That said, you have nothing to lose by applying, but note that we review applications periodically, usually at the end of each month. As of the time of writing this post, we'll be taking just a couple of the current applications. If you apply at any stage during July, don't expect an official response until it's almost August. DIRECTOR HIATUS ? On the 5th of July I'm flying out to France and I won't be back at my computer until the 17th. While I can reply to the ocassional Discord query, I won't have any access to the server, and you should approach @The_Broken_God and @SeventhCircle with any questions and concerns regarding the ET during this time. This also means that the Vaeyl Order eventline will be paused until I get back. ACTOR REPORT As mentioned above, June has been one of the best months for events in a long, long, long time. In total, the Team performed a total of 120 events on the server in the month of June, which averages out at around 6.3 events for each of our 17 active Actors. We're aiming to maintain this huge level of activity for the rest of the summer, a lot of which will feature many of the eventlines seen above. ACTOR ROSTER Currently, our Event Team Actor roster, totalling at 19 Actors, is composed of the following: Xarkly RollForWitches/TheBrokenGod Dreek/The Bulter Smawton Aesopian Dardonas Unwillingly Voidal/Izthukii Wud/PoliceStateLOTC Whiplash Lionbileti DivineJustice Kef/D4nna Keefy Overlord8000/Paladinxo1 MarimaMonk Seannie Zarsies/Vvmr Capace - HIATUS FinalHazard - HIATUS TOP DOGS Let's give a clap to the three people who topped the Event submissions this month with the most active performances: SMAWTON - 17 Events DREEK - 15 Events UNWILLINGLY - 10 Events Additionally, shoutout to Voidal, Wud and Kef who are all exceeded their quotas by 2 or more events. Seriously, big kudos to these guys who are working really hard to provide the server with events. BUILDER UPDATE So this'll be short and sweet. Event Team Builders also have a bigger roster than ever before, which'll be listed below, and are pulling significant activity too; a total of 48 event builds were completed in the month of June which is, again, one of the biggest figures seen in a long long time. In terms of projects, major building plans are about to begin for a certain sECrEt aReA. BUILDER ROSTER Currently, our Event Team Builder roster, totalling at 13 Builders, is composed of the following: SeventhCircle Bathrugman Cpt_Noobman Wrynn Voidal Elrith/TitanOfTheDepths DrFate786 HazeOrb DivineJustice Kizaura HortonHeardAWho Zarsies/Vvmr Dardonas BIG BUILD BOIS Likewise, give it up for our top-performing Builders for the month of June: BATHRUGMAN & CPT_NOOBMAN - 10 Builds each Kizaura - 9 Builds HazeOrb - 8 Builds Whenever you see any beautiful builds during any events, the Build Team is to thank for that. They're all hugely talented builders, so it's important that they recieve just as much recognition as Actors, because they really deserve it. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand that concludes our June update! If you have any questions about anything concerning the ET, please feel free to comment down below or hit my Discord up (Conor#8203), but just bear in mind that I'm headed away in two days. Oh, and lastly, don't forget about that ice wall ...

As a torrent of merriment echoed from within the Dancing Crow, Edward Barbanov glanced up to the dark, star-dappled sky above Markev after a wayward wool merchant brought the news from Senntisten. You may have been on the other side, Edward found himself thinking as he studded the array of constellations, but you were a loyal soldier until the end. No man can ask for a better legacy than that. Rest easy, Renatian.

RUMORS OF A GATHERING Poppy Hill -|V|- Through all of southern Atlas, rumors were abound. Rumors that the White-Eye banners of the Vaeyl Order had appeared in the snow-capped forests of the Sleetfells and the frozen depths of the Yatl Wasteland. Rumors that these banners ignored all Descendant Invaders that crossed their paths, intent on marching in one direction with concerning commitment. Rumors that the Vaeyl Order were amassing their banners in one spot, as if for a meeting, or gathering. Rumors that the Vaeyl Order was to convene, though for what purpose remains entirely unknown. Rumors that the Vaeyl Order was marshaling at Poppy Hill, where they suffered their first defeat at the hands of Marna, the Dominion of Malin, and Haenseti-Ruska. Rumors that the Vaeyl were gathering. [Over the next week, players are invited to contact me for an event at Poppy Hill, culminating in a meeting of the Vaeyl Order next weekend.]

The snow was still melting from Sendred's cloak as he knelt on the carpet of the General's study. 'Study' was, perhaps, a generous title. Lasthope had never been a fortress designed for comfort; it had been built to scale the wall, and it was only after that occasion that the fort had been modified to become the defensive behemoth it was today. Comfort had never been a priority, and that showed in the plain furnishing of the General's study; a Cold Bear-skin rug, a sturdy desk and chair, and bookcases lining the walls. That was it. Even some of the fortress' corridors, with their banners and tapestries, were more finely decorated. "Rise." Sendred obeyed, and stood rigidly erect. His side ached; he did not need to look at the menacing creak along the side of his black and white-trimmed breastplate to know it was the cause of his wound. Yet he could not allow himself to sag in front of the General himself, even if it did feel like his side was about to split open. Besides, he had overcome far greater trials that day, and he drew some comfort from that. The memory of his close encounter in the Darkways made his injury feel like a paper cut. Focus, you fool, he scolded himself, and muted his wandering thoughts. Instead, he watched the General. "I admit," the man opposite Sendred said slowly, "I am surprised you were successful, Sendred." In his gauntleted hands, the figure held a large disc of gleaming carbarum, etched with a lone eye surrounded by rings of knotting designs. He studied it appreciatively. "You ordered me to, Lord General, and I obey you orders," Sendred replied stiffly, though he swelled with pride. It was his first time that Lord-General Vaeyl himself had humbled him with such praise. His wound was forgotten now. The General only nodded. He was a tall man, topping Sendred by a hand or so, and clad in the traditional attire of the Vaeyl Order - a full suit of bronze platemail, painted black and trimmed along the edges with white, a black tabard emblazoned with a white eye, and a visored greathelm. From his helmet, a long plume of black twinned with white cascaded down his cloak - pitch black but for the white eye. Around his neck, a chain of intricately-worked black links suspended a white eye of studded opal. The chain, cloak and plume were all that Lord-General Vaeyl wore to tell him apart from the lowliest of the Order's knights. His cloak trailed along the floor as he moved across the room, and laid the carbarum seal gently on a shelf, right next to a perfectly identical seal. "Two, now." For as long as the General had lived and for all the things he had seen, Sendred still found it remarkable that the man was so soft-spoken. "Two, Lord," Sendred agreed solemnly. "Is there news of the hunt for the other seals?" Vaeyl stood there silently appraising the twin carbarum seals for a long moment before he answered. "You are the first to return with one of the Seals. Drochmar has left to seek out Kal'Riad in the old tunnels, Taevynd will find the Seal deep within Endmoor, and once Eyrid has repaired the Darkways, we will send a banner to retrieve the Seal from Old Sevenna." He spoke that last name with a hint of disdain, but Sendred could not blame him. "We traveled the Darkways, Lord, on the way to Yrodholm. Eyrid was not there, and it was crawling with Travellers." An unbidden shiver jolted Sendred at the sheer mention of the Darkways, and the Travellers. Images flashed in his head, from when he first arrived there with the Haensetians, to when they helped him when he fell near to the edge, until their blessed departure into the Yrodholm portal. "That is ... troubling," Vaeyl began, though his conversational tone betrayed nothing. "We will afford him a few days to appear." "And if he is dead, Lord? Taken by the Travellers or lost to the Darkways?" "Eyrid of Caer Baddyn has been caretaker of the Darkways since their inception. No one knows that twisted realm and its portals better than he. I doubt he is gone, but if he is ... We will cross that bridge when we come to it," the General said dismissively. His helmet creaked as he looked away from the carbarum seals, and eyed Sendred. "The Invader. They cooperated?" "They did, Lord," Sendred answered with an eager nod. "In fact, I doubt I would have succeeded if not for their aid. They answered my summons, helped me through the Darkways and took the Seal from its guardian in Yrodholm when I was injured." "Yrodholm," Vaeyl muttered absent-mindedly. His visor was focused on Sendred, but Sendred could tell that the General was looking at something entirely unseen. "What state is it in?" "It is ... a ruin, lord, as can be expected. The residential district has collapsed, but there are some shops left standing. The carpenters, the smiths, even the tailors." "And the populace?" Sendred frowned. "Ghosts, Lord. Gravens, Specters, even Apparitions. And the Golems. It is ... a dangerous ruin, Lord." "I had hoped ..." Vaeyl began, but he stopped himself with a shake of his head. "Never mind. You have done well, Sendred, to retrieve this Seal." "And ... and the Inv - the Haensetians, Lord?" Vaeyl tilted his head. "The Invaders? What of them?" "They have fulfilled their agreement, Lord," Sendred said cautiously. "They have helped us traverse Yrodholm, and retrieve the second Seal. They have repented of their invasion, and of their transgressions at the Battle of the Waste." Even as he spoke, different words spoken by a different voice echoed in Sendred's mind; Do you truly ever think there can be peace between us, Sendred? "That is true," Vaeyl admitted morosely. "I will conclude our business with them myself." "Lord if -" "Thank you, Sendred. I will conclude our business with them myself." He did not have to raise his voice. Turning on his heels, his helm surveyed the two carbarum seals once more. "Two Seals here in Lasthope. Three more remain out of our hands. Endmoor, Kal'Riad and Old Sevenna. Just three more, and the Wall will never be threatened." Do you truly ever think there can be peace between us, Sendred? The Highlander voice whispered in his head. Sendred ignored it. "You can send me to fetch any, Lord. I promise you I will be successful." "You have done enough, Sendred. Return to your patrols in the Waste." With a nod, Sendred turned. He knew better than to argue with the General, but even as he closed the door behind him, the voice in his head, the words of an Invader, echoed like a drum. Do you ever think there can be peace between us and the Vaeyl Order, Sendred?

From the southern depths of the snow-capped Sleetfell forests, bright silvery lances sprouted from the the clouds and lit the sky. At first, that was it. That was all. Bright pretty lights; a lightning storm on a particularly clear day; a firework display. Something mundane, no doubt. Nothing to worry about, of course. At first, that was it. _______________________________________________________________ With one last heave of his axe, the tree heaved, and slowly began to topple. "TIMBER!" Toffer called out heartily. There was nobody there to warn; he just liked shouting timber. With a satisfying crash, the tree collapsed into the ground with a chorus of splintering bark and snapping branches. Clicking his tongue, Toffer shouldered his hefty iron hatchet as he advanced towards the felled tree. He had always found it curiously ironic that, as a Dwarf, he made a better lumberjack than he did miner, but he enjoyed it all the same. The lush, forested hillsides outside Holm, with the open, crisp mountain air was always more appealing to him than cramped tunnels. Whistling to himself, the axe blurred in his hands as he began slicing the splaying branches of the old oak. It was then that something caught his eye. Toffer blinked beyond the trunk, through the trefoil leaves. A gleam of white stone. He frowned; he was far from a miner, but he knew that there was no quartz, diorite or marble so close to Holm. Even from here, he could see the stout walls of Holm thrusting upwards into the pale mountain sky. Curiosity and conflict knotted his stomach as he ran a hand through his auburn hair. "Somethin' of value, maybe," he murmured to himself, though unconvincingly. Hatchet gripped firmly in hand, he vaulted over the trunk, and treaded towards the hint of white. It led into a dip in the land, a small cave in the hill. Standing at the foot of the hill, his breath caught in his throat. "That's nae stone ..." ________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Drok squinted across the rolling plains of sand as he trekked through the Knolls beyond the walls of Krugmar, kicking up pale sand as he went. Occasionally, he glanced up towards the star-studded sky and picked out the largest, towards the north, to ensure he followed the right path. His crimson skin itched as the night cold caressed it; after all these years as a hunting Uruk, he could still not wrap his head around how the desert boiled with heat during the day when the sun was a ball of molten gold, yet at night the moon was a beacon of ice, and the Knolls were as chilly as the Yatl Wastelands. It was ironic, then, that he preferred the heat, and yet the best time to hunt was at night. Yet he was not here to hunt; not tonight. Clutching his spiked cleaver, he stifled a vexed sigh as he spotted the wooden palisades on the approaching hilltop, over which the black-and-red banner of Krugmar stirred limply in the cold wind. He lumbered up the slope, a frustrating feat in the thick, loose sand, and half-sprinted up the final stretch until he stood at the foot of the palisades. As usual, the constant snow that dusted the sun-baked wood unnerved Drok. He had never seen such snow, and he had no wish to see in the depths of the desert. Eyeing the white fluff sourly, he stepped within the palisades, and froze. It was his duty, assigned by the Rex himself, to check on the portal that they kept a close watch on, yet what he saw in the archway was not what he usually saw -- normally, a shimmering veil of bright purple, like a million sparkles, hung over the white arch, but Drok found himself staring into space. _______________________________________________________ For as long as Ioryth could remember, his mother had warned him to stay out of the ruins of Endmoor. Yet he was a grown elf now - nearly thirty-five years of age! - and he had grown sick at the sight of the walls of Caras Eldar, sick of peddling mushrooms at his family's meagre shop. Surely, inside the ruins of Endmoor just a day's walk from the Dominion, he would find adventure. He wound find treasure. He would find something to lift him out of his ordinary life and into a special one. Of course, he had heard the rumours about the apparitions; whatever had left the fortress city in its ruined state, it had been a bloody affair, and now tormented souls walked the forlorn streets. Ioryth was not sure if he beleived it -- he had never been the superstitious sort, but he supposed it was better to be cautious than dead. Unconsciously, he tugged on the bowstring of his supple yew flatbow, and continued his ascent. Boots crunching against the gravel, he continued up towards the city. Even from the winding pathway leading up to him the abandoned city inspired a sense of unease, of impending dread. Thirty-five years, Ioryth had to remind himself. He was a grown elf, and a grown elf did not hide from old dusty cities. He eyed the pale marble statue of the figure overlooking the cities gates from the hilltop. Briefly, he wondered who might have been, but it was impossible to tell, given the millenia of erosion. Before he knew it, he found himself at the gates. The portcullis stood open. "A grown elf, a grown elf ..." He took a breath, and stepped inside the city. He found his treasure straight away.

From the perspective of someone who hasn't really looked at the war system in depth since February-ish (so feel free to disregard if I'm overlooking something), a large part of dissatisfaction with wars comes from the rule side of things. Things like the official alliance rule seem pretty not great to me and others have well-articulated gripes with CBs. I can testify to the latter; its genuinely a process like a legal matter, riddled with complexities, dependant on wordplay and burdened with certain rules and clauses that are vague and sometimes even nonsensical. You could address these more significant issues by getting rid of literal pretend red tape like the alliance rule, and perhaps take an alternate approach to CBs. Maybe simplify the process, but look at reducing the outcome of war from total destruction so nations won't fight tooth and nail to deny CBs and you're not left with a lot of unhappy and displaced players. Obviously its not quite as simple as that but my point here is that this isn't really addressing the problem with wars. This update is fine. Just OK. It doesn't tackle any of the obvious issues with the war system that are upsetting people.

The ancient fortress of Thandvar in the Yatl Wasteland. "Peace and fire to you, Taevynd of Yrodholm, and to your command," the encroaching voice called. Stood atop a north-facing plateau of ancient stone, cloaked in snow and ice and eroded by centuries of harsh wind, a stone colossus of a fortress rose up behind Taevynd. Thandvar, once one of the biggest military outposts of the Vaeyl Order, rose up from the ocean of white snow like a four-pointed star and scratched the cloud-veiled sky. Its massive, tiered keep acted as the best possible windbreaker in the Waste, unless one stood at the foot of the Wall itself. Thandvar almost equaled Lasthope in size, and dwarfed it in grandeur; even with centuries of erosion and inactivity, the star-shaped fortress was a sight to behold. Only now it was a ruin, claimed only by golems that had once served the Order - and would again, thanks to Taevynd. "Peace and fire to you, Drochmar of Kahaer, and your command," Taevynd replied once the figure had close enough, and ceremoniously placed a fist over his heart. Mounted on a white-skinned polar bear, Drochmar, clad all in bronze plate painted black-and-white, paused at the edge of the plateau. His bronze scythe was raised skywards, as were those of the dozen riders behind him. Just two soldiers remained of Taevynd's own command; they had lost five trying to reclaim the fortress from the malfunctioned golems. Behind them, they had hastily hung a banner of the Vaeyl Order - a white eye on black cloth - from an eroded ledge manned by stone gargoyles that hung from Thandvar's north wall. At the front of his dozen bear riders, and the only man with a white plume in his helmet like Taevynd's, Drochmar surveyed the party of three that stood afoot Thandvar. "I worried I would find none here but more golems. You were successful, then?" Taevynd nodded wearily. "We lost five brothers, but we scaled to the top of Thandvar. We retrieved the Command Lexicon." He raised his left hand, where a cube of solid gold, decorated with tiny inscriptions, gleamed in the pale light. As if to demonstrate, he channeled his thoughts into the Lexicon; from behind, there came a large clap of stone as a hulking, eight-foot humanoid all made of stone lumbered forward. Its open helmet, carved akin to that of Vaeyl footman, exposed a face of motionless stone features. With a thought from Taevynd, the stone titan raised its hand, and lowered it once again. Taevynd simply had to think of it with the Lexicon in his hand, and it happened. "This is good. This is excellent," Drochmar exclaimed. He was not a man of much emotion, Taevynd knew, so his raised voice was the equivalent of others bursting into a celebratory jig. "The Vaeyl Order will have its stone titans once more. Are there many left in the fortress?" "Some. We had to destroy many to retrieve the Lexicon." Drochmar nodded thoughtfully and turned his visor towards the top of the looming fortress. "How is it you managed to retake the fort, Taevynd?" Taevynd hesitated. He did not need to look behind to know his two remaining soldiers were exchanging uneasy, perhaps even ashamed, glances. "We ... we had aid," Taevynd answered at last. With a metallic creak, Drochmar looked back down to him. Behind him, his men sat on their bears in dead silence, as did Taevynd's men behind him. Vaeyl Knights knew never to interrupt meetings of their officers, but at that moment, the only sound for a long moment as the howl of the blizzard as it swept across the Waste. "Aid? I did not think the Lasthope garrison would have Knights to spare." "It was not from Lasthope that our aid came." "Then where? My banner was the nearest, and you did not call for me. After that, Sendred's banner is closest, but he is miles away, preparing to deal with the Black-and-Gold Invaders." "The Black-and-Gold Invaders, they ... they came into the Wastes, to Thandvar." Drochmar, and a good many of his men, visibly stiffened at that, but Taevynd went on before they could protest. "We could not fight invaders and golems, Drochmar. We made a pact. It was thanks to them we could reclaim Thandvar, and the Lexicon." "Taevynd," Drochmar began slowly. The gentleness to his tone was sinister. "Invaders are not allies. Especially the Black-and-Gold invaders. Do you forget who halted our attempt to reclaim the Sleetfells? Do you forget who destroyed the Oathstone?" "We have a pact with them, do we not? With their king?" Taevynd challenged him, and made a vain effort to reign in the heat in his voice. "We do," Drochmar answered tentatively. Taevynd was not sure if it was his imagination, but Drochmar's men seemed to tighten their grips on their scythes as their commander went on. "But only until Yrodholm is reclaimed. There is another Lexicon there; that is of paramount importance. The invaders can be dealt with once the city and its jewel is ours." "It was necessary to reclaim -" Taevynd started, but his time Drochmar did not let him finish. "I will not tell Lord Vaeyl of this." Though Drochmar spoke near to a whisper, it was like a roar in Taevynd's ear. "But it will not happen again. If they come again, you will slay them, golems be damned. They are our enemies, Taevynd. They have taken our home, and our Oathstone, and if we let them, they will take all. Do you understand me, Taevynd of Yrodholm?" For a long moment, Taevynd simply stared across at the mounted Vaeyl Knights. Finally, he inclined his head, and stifled an exasperated sigh. Drochmar healed his bear forward until it was just a pace from Taevynd. With just a slight motion from its rider, Taevynd knew the Waste-bred creature could clamp its jaws around his helmet without much trouble. Instead, Drochmar extended a hand. "The Lexicon." Unconsciously balling a fist, Taevynd placed the gold cube in Drochmar's hand. They were of equal rank, but with his liaison with the invaders made known, he felt like a squire who had miss-stepped in front of Vaeyl himself. As soon as the bronze digits of Drochmar's gauntlets closed around the Lexicon, Taevynd half-turned to one of his remaining men. "Oevrick; show Drochmar of Kahaer and his command to our fires." With a stiff nod, Oevrick, whose armor was battered and dented, turned and stalked towards the fortress. Without a word, Drochmar and his men dismounted, and led their bears after Oevrick. For a long moment, Taevynd stood alone on the lower plateau with his last remaining man. "Yharron," he addressed the last soldier. "Was I wrong?" " ... Wrong, lord?" "Was I wrong to ally with the invaders, to reclaim Thandvar and the Lexicon. Should I have killed as soon as we could?" Behind him, Yharron shifted uncomfortably on the frozen stone. "I ... do not like speaking with invaders, lord, or even seeing them. But we would have perished today if not for their aid." "I ... I see. Go to the fires then, Yharron. Go and rest." Without another word, Yharron nodded, and vanished in the direction that Drochmar and Oevrick had gone. Taevynd himself remained stood on the plateau for what felt like an hour, but could have been a minute - in this eternal darkness, time was a trivial thing in the Waste. He simply thought. No matter what Drochmar and his riders thought, no matter what Sendred and his assault force near the invader capital thought, no matter what Lord Vaeyl, Horen's own anointed, thought, Taevynd would remember what happened here today. He would remember his peace with the invaders. He would remember the Alliance of Thandvar, however brief and hopeless it had been.

"CAAAAVAAALRY! REAAADY!" With his lance thrust skwyard, the Deep Cold morning gleam gleamed palely on the spiked aurum head. Vaeyl's hobnailed boots dug into the ribs of his white-skinned Cold Bear, prompting him to lumber up and down along the lines of bear-mounted riders. Clad all in their black plate with white-trimmed edges, the Knights of the Vaeyl Order - his Order - sat mounted on their bears, cloaked in white-and-black, with the white plumes of their helmets billowing in the bitter wind. Flagpoles fashioned from tree trunks were erected through the wave of white-plumed riders and intervals, upon which a white eye was emblazoned on flag cloth. Just behind the ride of riders, heavy infantrymen in that same black-and-white plate, and kiteshields painted with the Order's white eye stood ready, and behind them lines of cowled archers blackened the slopes of the snowy hill. "READY!" An officer from the front line of riders barked back and, in unison, the riders thrust their spears towards the snow-veiled sky. "Hoo! Hoo!" They bellowed. Vaeyl turned to glance across the impending battlefield. It was a stretch of grass frozen so that it crunched like glass under the weight of his bear, and it was ringed on either side by snow-cloaked spruce trees. At the far end of the field, frosty grass and snow vanished beneath a horde of black. None of the Morghuul were mounted - Vaeyl thanked God for that much - but the forest around them could have concealed anything. Had it been up to him, Vaeyl would have scoured every inch of land with his scouts, but they had stumbled upon the Undead army by sure happenstance. The fiends had marched straight through a blizzard while the Order had been forced to camp just beyond the hill. It was a miracle that Vaeyl had managed to get the Order into some formation so quickly, and with so little notice. Indeed, the army of ghouls did not look big, nor threatening, but that was what unnerved Vaeyl. It seemed almost too simple. "INFAAANTRY!" he roared back. He could not let his doubt show - not now. "REAAAADY!" "READY!" came the officer's reply from behind the riders. Shields clanged against the frozen ground, and deafened the wind with its odd drumbeat. "Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" Echoed the infantrymen as they clanged their swords and maces against their shields. Vaeyl let them continue their chant for a moment. The wind blew at their backs and towards the enemy, so he was happy to let their preparation reach the ears of the baying Morghuuls. Unconsciously, Vaeyl's fingers anxiously drummed on the shaft of his aurum pike. His bear, too, could sense his unease. Between the painted mask, black-and-white, of course, that clad his face, the bear glanced up to him with wide eyes. Stifling a sigh, Vaeyl patted its neck with his free hand. He wrenched his eyes from the Undead, and looked back to his Order before he shouted with renewed vigor. "AAARCHERS! REAAADY!" "READY!" Though the archers stood the furthest back, they replied with volume equal to the Knights just a few feet from where Vaeyl stood. "Hoo! Hoo!" For the final time, Vaeyl turned from the lines of Ordermen and wheeled his bear to face the Morghuuls at the other end of the field. A niggling voice in his head insisted that this was too simple, that he was overlooking something, but he ignored it. There was nothing to be done now. Nothing to be done, except to win. He pushed up in his stirrups and held his lance by the lower end of the shaft, so that he and the aurum spearhead could be seen by both every Orderman and every Undead. "WITH ME, THEN! PUT THE FEAR OF GOD INTO THESE ABOMINATIONS AND GRIND THEIR ROTTED BONES!" Vaeyl leaned forward, half-kneeling now, and lowered his lance. "VAEYL ORDER! CHARGE!" He did not even need to heel his bear. The sudden torrent of indistinguishable cheers and shouts mingled into one deafening tide as the bears charged forward, turning up snow with each heavy step, as the standard-bearers raised the Order's white-eye. With Vaeyl at the head of the charging lines of bear-mounted Knights, their aurum lances lowered and their streamers flickering like black-and-white flames, the Undead lines rushed to meet them. Yet as the bears closed in on the walls of black shields, toothed with hooked pikes, a geyser of earth suddenly burst from the ground barely half a dozen feet from him. A Knight let out a strangled scream as he was engulfed by the geyser's cloak of steam and snow. All around Vaeyl, the ground burst with pillars of earth and fire. Overhead, the sky roiled with brewing lighting. "MAGE!" he cried out urgently. "THEY HAVE MAGES! PUSH -" He cut off abruptly as a silvery lance of lightning descended from the sky, and struck the ground just in front of him. Intense heat licked at Vaeyl beneath his armour as he was thrown from his bear. Time seemed to slow as he sailed through the air, watching the Undead break their line of spears-and-shields and advance. Then he hit the ground, and his vision went black. _ With a gasp, Vaeyl bolted upright in his chair. The wood creaked in protest as the bronze points of his gauntleted digits unconsciously dug into the armrests, and his breathing was deep and heavy. "Nightmares," he murmured reassuringly to himself. "Just nightmares." He remembered that battle well -- it had been one of the only occasions on Aegis where he had nearly lost a battle. He well remembered leading his cavalry to plough into the Ibleesian lines before they could wreak too much chaos, but that nightmare had been one of many where it looked as if he had lost a battle that, in reality, he had won. He even recalled a chilling vision one night where Iblees himself, with wings of storm clouds and eyes of smouldering coal, killed him. "Just nightmares," he repeated adamantly as he unsteadily pushed to his feet. He did not know why nightmares of Aegis haunted him so - Atlas was as far as he could possibly be from Iblees, the Undead, and decades worth of maddening memories. With a glower, he glanced towards the back of his chambers, where glassy ice marred the stone. Over the centuries, the ice of the Wall itself had crept through the castle's sourthernmost face. As always, he was left with a hollow knot in his chest when he woke from his nightmares. As horrifying as they were, losing to the Undead time and time again, he had been flesh in the dreams. Proper human flesh, not like the artificial form he was bound to now for the sole purposes of fulfilling his duty. With a ragged sigh, he flexed his fingers. The false flesh beneath felt stiff and unresponsive, like he was a puppeteer pulling a string, whereas the gauntlet itself moved so fluidly it was like the cold bronze metal responded before he even thought of moving. "I am more metal than man," he whispered hoarsely. The sound of his words echoing with the walls of his white-crest greathelm only enforced the words. The door of his chamber swung open to admit a finger clad all in bronze plate, painted black and crested with white. On his chestplate, the white eye of the Vaeyl Order seemed to shine in the dim light of the Yatl Wasteland. The entrant fixed the thin visor of his greathelm on Vaeyl. "Lord," he said stiffly. His words echoed inside his helmet as much as Vaeyl's did. "Captain." Vaeyl made a vain effort to expel the groggy sleepiness from his tone as he straightened up. He was surprised, too - seldom was he ever disturbed within the heart of Lasthope. Sometimes it felt like he slept for weeks at a time, besieged by nightmares all the while. "We had another incursion, Lord," the stiff-voiced Captain said matter-of-factly, his tone devoid of the merest implication of emotion. "They breached one of the doors before we drove them off." Vaeyl inclined his head, before he wearily crossed the room to where the north wall was replaced by a stone balustrade that overlooked the entirety of Lasthope, and beyond that, the white ocean of snow that was the Yatl Wasteland. He could occassionally spot a cowled archer stalking along the walls, a flatbow strung on their shoulder and quivers bristling with arrows, and a heavily-armoured infantryman hauling buckets of frozen fish to where they stabled their bear mounts. "We have to find the other crypts," he said after a moment. "Lord?" the Captain sounded skeptical. "The other crypts. The ones in Kahaer, Yrodholm and Cirann." He would damn himself to the Nether if he used the names the Axios invaders had given the various regions of Atlas. "We need to find them. We need the warriors there. Lasthope won't hold for much longer. Not without aid." He had the men who called their lands 'Haense' to thank for that -- had it not been for the Battle of the Wastes, the Vaeyl Order still would have stood several thousand strong. With the Oathstone destroyed at the hands of one of the invader mages, they were reduced to a few mere hundred. "Lord, would ...would that work?" The Captain asked hesitantly. "Would they answer us? Most of them were only auxiliaries, Lord, and the exact locations of the crypts are lost." "Auxiliaries or not, we must find them." He glanced over his shoulder, and beheld the Captain appraisingly. "Do you think we can last much longer? Sooner or later, the invaders will find a way to take this castle. We must be ready for when that happens." Even as he spoke, Vaeyl was painfully aware of the looming wall of ice upon which Lasthope was built. The Captain glanced to the ice on the room's south wall with obvious uncertainty. "You will send out riders and scouts," Vaeyl went on as he turned back to look out over the balustrade upon the castle and the Yatl Waste. "to Yrodholm first, then once we establish our footing, to Kahaer and Cirann. Once we establish the location of the crypts, we will invoke the Oath." For a long moment, silence hung in the room as the Captain simply stared. Vaeyl rigidly kept his back turned, his eyes on the white wasteland. "See to it, Captain." His answer came in the form of the creaking of armour as the Captain bowed his head. A moment later, the door closed. With a heavy sigh, Vaeyl relaxed his body and leaned against the balustrade, as if for support. "Just nightmares ... Nightmares end, sooner or later." He squinted down to one of the castle's courtyards, where one of the few remaining Knights was applying armour to his bear. "An end. Sooner or later, one way or another. An end."

Word spread through Santegia like wildfire. It first, it had just been the fishermen who worked the trawlers that tried their chances furthest from the safety of the Santegian harbour. Over cheap rum in run-down alehouses, they proclaimed their tale amongst themselves, though it was quickly dismissed by any decent folk as drunken hearsay. But the flame spread. Before long, merchants who had come from the west spoke with sailors and captains in the taverns and inns about what they had seen in the hopes of confirming that what they had seen was real, and not some illusion induced by long weeks at sea. Before long, the coastal city was ablaze with talk. With the talk came theories. It was a ship that carried the specters of the Vaeyl Order, sailing north to reclaim their homeland from the Axios invaders, No, no, it was a ship manned by blue-skinned Sea Elves scouting ahead for their armada of iron-hulled galleons. No - it was a ship from the World of the Dead, haunting the seas and reaping the souls of the drowned. For every man that spread the tale, two more put voice to their wild theories. But the story remained. The tale persisted. There must be some truth to the talk. Talk about a ship that had appeared, in the ocean to the west of Santegia. A hulking colossus of a ship. A ship that had not a single soul on board.

For the third time that day, Harryl cursed his luck. For nearly a whole year of the Norlandic War, he had been cooped up in Senntisten, left as a minor garrison officer while the rest of the army followed the Horenic banner down the Timberwoods Road with the might of Renatus-Marna behind them, bringing holy death upon the pagan populace with each skirmish fought and won. The unstoppable tide of righteous steel rolled over all Norland, and Harryl had been left back home to guard a city left with only old men, women and children. Every day, at sunrise and sunset, he made his way to the Adamant Cathedral and prayed that might have a share in the glory before it was too late, and every pagan lay dead and buried. He was granted his wish, in a way -- but being deployed to Norland long after the capital had fallen to keep the peace had not been his idea of glory. There's no sense in wetting your breeches if you have to wear them afterwards, he thought begrudgingly to himself. That was what his dear nan used to tell him when he let his complaints get the better of him. He supposed it was not all that bad. He had his own command now, even if it was of only a dozen men. They trailed after him now as he made his way down the Timberwoods road, not far from what remained of Cyrilsburg. Mounted on his pale-skinned gelding, he glanced over his shoulder to find his unit - common horsemen, clad in chainmail and gambessons with the royal Renatian crest sewn onto their breasts and open bascinets framing their common, hard-featured faces. With their lances held skywards to scratch at the clear but warmthless sky, they chatted amiably with one another for the most part, exchanging lewd jokes and reminiscing about home. None of them particularly wanted to be there, but unlike Harryl, they managed to smile about it regardless. "Keep up," he barked over his shoulder. Nearly fifty feet lay between him and the rest of the unit. "And enough yappering. Are you lame swines here to keep the King's peace or chat like women over tea?" With grumbled protests, the men dug their heels into their mounts and cantered up to join Harryl. The sprawling copses of old trees that characterised the Timberwoods gave way to a sloped field, with the trodden road spearing through it as it ran towards Norland proper. Swathes of colourful flowers bloomed in the places of trees, and a salty sea wind rolled along the plains, sending the black-and-purple streamers tied to the soldier's lances snapping. "Eugh," came a grunt from one of the riders trailing Harryl. "Which one of you passed gas?" His face was contorted in disgust, but he was smiling all the same. "Oh, sweet God, I smell it too," one of the other men echoed him. "Smells like Jaem." Laughter rippled out among the men as Jaem, the youngest of the soldiers, hurriedly began to protest that it had not been him. His voice became drowned out by the laughs. Damnable fools. Harryl grit his teeth. Instead of fighting under my King's banner, I'm left with these louts arguing about their damned farts. "Actually, it smells more like one of Juilan's to me," another man said. Conversation continued to bubble between them, but Harryl was not listening. He had frozen in his saddle. "Eh? Captain?" came Juilan's voice he nearly ran his horse into him. "That's not a fart," Harryl hissed. As the wind picked up into a gust, the smell stung his nostrils. "That's the smell of decay." The smiles melted from the soldiers' faces. Pushing up in their saddles, concerned glances scoured the field. Harryl sniffed the wind, and caught the scent. "This way," he growled, and heeled his gelding off the road, and up the gentle slope. Exchanging uneasy stares, his men followed suit. It took just five minutes of cantering up the slope, trampling flowers beneath their hooves, until Harryl spotted something just passed a solitary windmill. It looked like a stretch of field just like any other, only it was shrouded in thick mist. One of the soldiers balked. "Mist? On a Sun's Smile day, at only noon?" Fingering his lance, Harryl slowed his gelding to a walk as he approached the mist. The air grew thick as he neared, and the sickly-sweet smell of decay grew heavy. When he realised his men were not following, he craned his neck back and gave them his worst scowl. "God give me patience! You're all ball-less bumpkins, are you!? Scared of some bloody mist and a bad smell?" With inaudible murmurs of protest, the man gripped their lances and hestiantly followed. All their mounts - Harryl's included - began to wicker and bray nervously as the first white strands of mist touched them. "I think this is close to one of them mass graves, Captain," Jaem intoned uncertainly. "Where they buried all them pagans after the battle." "That would explain the smell," Harryl said pensively. But not the the mist. Just a few moments passed until they were engulfed by mist on all sides. It fell them on like heavy fog, so that Harryl could hardly see the next rider just six feet behind him. The air was filled with the sounds of nervous horses, but Harryl heeled his gelding forward regardless. His heart began to pound like a drum, and then a figure shifted in front of him in the mist. A brief second later, and it was gone -- but Harryl was certain that he had seen the figure's face. "Nan?" he called urgently. "Nan! Nan! It's me, Harryl! What are you doing out here, Nan?" With renewed vigour, he pressed his boots into his gelding's side and galloped into the mist. He heard his men calling out in alarm behind him, but their shouts fell on deaf ears. Suddenly, the mist parted, and for a moment Harryl could not believe his eyes. He stood on a peninsula, facing a bridge of stone that spanned out towards a walled city on an island. The summer sun glistened against the soft waves as they gently lapped against the grassy shore, and gulls filled the air with their shrill chorus. H-how can this be? There was no mistaking - this was Metz. He was at his childhood home once more. He moved down the bridge, his steps staggered with awe and shock, but he moved like he was in a dream. The streets and the houses melted around him, forming misty but familiar images of the place that Harryl had grown up in. It seemed like just a few footsteps before he found himself outside his nan's purple door. It was open. With shaky breaths and his heart pounding like a drum - though oddly Harryl could not deduce why - he stepped inside. There, in her spacious parlour, his grey-haired nan sat cradling a porcellain cup form which curls of steam rose. "Harryl!" she exclaimed in her warm, frail voice. It was edged with a distance, though, as if he she were shouting inside a cavern. "Come, your tea is ready!" She began to shuffle towards him. Her movements were slow, and almost blurry, as if she were moving underwater. "Nan," Harryl breathed, and he smiled for what felt like the first time in months. With a gauntleted hand, he reached out to take the cup. It vanished into tendrils of mist in his hands, and there came a sharp, searing pain in his chest. Robbed of breath, Harryl glanced down to a see a long, spined claw slicing through his gambeson. He glanced up to his nan, but she was not there. Instead, a tall, hunched figure with elongated limbs and tight skin pulled over a misshapen face looked at him with round, oval eyes. The scenes of Metz and his nan's house vanished in that same plume of mist; Harryl stood on the trodden fields near Norland where they had fought their skirmishes, and he felt the blood pump out from his wound. In front of him, the Boggen gnashed its teeth and licked its lips in anticipation. For the fourth time that day, Harryl cursed his luck. __________________________________________________________________________ BOUNTY: THE SPOILS OF WAR Following the Norland-Renatus war and the death toll incurred, necrophages have flocked to the former frontier to feed on the dead. Most notable of these creatures at the Boggens, beastial creatures that form a mist that creates illusions to turn its prey mad in the moments before death. There are three Boggen Dens near the roads leading from Renatus towards Norland, though the Boggens will often dare to attack unwary travellers on the road. If left unchecked, the creatures will breed, and spread to other parts of Atlas for feeding. DEN ONE: THE WOODS ______________________________________________________ DEN TWO: THE FIELD ____________________________________________________ DEN THREE: THE SWAMP ___________________________________________________________ Players can participate in this bounty by locating one of these dens and contacting me, preferably on Discord (Conor#8203). Happy hunting!

= 1 and a half asses

if it aint green ....

Hey everybody, this is just a little contest I came up with earlier and thought would be fun. It's pretty simple: What are your predictions and guesses for events surrounding the huge ice wall at the map's southern edge? Whoever guesses the closest thing (this will be decided by ET Management when the time comes) will be rewarded with a unique, signed lore item relating to the wall. Just leave whatever you think might happen, and feel free to leave some suggestions too. Bear in mind it won't be for another good while until events about the wall go down, so results won't be released for a few weeks if not months. hint: it will involve recapturing Constantinople xoxo

Can you submit creative writing in forms of like novel chapters?