Netphreak

A hooded figure walks with caution towards the parchment stuck upon the trunk of a tree; a pair of crimson red eyes scanning over the words written. Curiosity flooding the figures' mind, its head tilts to the right slightly as it continues to read before scoffing slightly and speaking... "Fire Evocation...." The figure regains its posture and takes a deep breath. "Out of all of the magics... Fire Evocation..." The figure finishes. The hooded one turns its' back towards the parchment, a sly grin forming upon her face. "This ought to be easy." With that, the figure continues striding deeper into the forest, into the shadows where the darkness is shelter.

Good luck in the real world friend.

You had stated that you got the 'itch' to role play again, my question to you friend is this.. Why have you abstained from using the anti itch powder prescribed to you from your local pharmacist?

This seems pretty neat; I can see how it would be useful. Quite a bit pricey for the ability however; I'm certain if this ability were bundled together with other potential abilities it would meet the worth of the asking price. I guess minecraft.net will have to suffice for skin changes; nothing really changing there, isn't 'that' much of a hassle.

"At last..." The old and damaged voice reverberates off the cold cavern walls. "Night has fallen upon the lands once more.. This night be the fullest of moons, I've awaited such a night as this.." The Old Man says, as he stares into the fire pit. His figure reflected off of the walls as the flames flicker. Face; old and wrinkly, eyes burdened and weary, his hands guised under the protection of his leather gloves albeit, his hands are brittle and soft; not as firm as they once were. The Old Man's arms are twig like and brittle, hidden under the sleeves of his shredded robes. "Hmm..." The Old Man emits as his crimson eyes turn towards the rigged entrance of the cavern; painfully rising from his wood rotted chair, the sounds of his joints popping add to the crackling of the fire. The Old Man carefully takes his steps, counting in his head how many steps indeed it does take to get to the front. The Old Man eventually makes it to his destination, casting a weary set of eyes up towards his cherished sight, the only beautiful thing around to look at; the fullest of moons. "The night is calm and still.. The air chilled through the forest line.." He takes a short breath through his nose, breathing the fragrance of the nature around him as the chilled air moves through the area. "Frank, can you see? Even in the dark.. Still, light remains." The Old Man says with a whisper, although no response would meet his ears, no other voice would meet the touch of the cavern walls or the obstructing pieces of nature. The Old Man was finally alone. "You've been speaking clearly this year... Yet this final night you decide to silence your tongue..?" The Old Man asks with a huff. Though, looking up towards the moon the Old Man's brows twitch. "I can see very clearly the face of my precious 'Flower'. The fullest of moon's.. Frank.. That is why you don't show.. The memory of her eases the burdened mind I hold.." With a pained motion; the Old Man reaches up with a gloved hand, grasping the hood upon his head and lowering it. His white hair flowing with the current of the chilled breeze. "Creator.." The Old Man calls. "I never ask of anything.. Never would I have thought I would be subjecting myself to such a low place as this.. I don't see you, I don't hear you.. I don't study the book of which your believers follow. If you are... Existent, I'd ask that you'd forget me but don't pity me. The innocent blood I've spilled haunts my dreams that prove my existence is worth less than the dirt I walk on. That is my nature as a Necromancer." The Old Man continues as a tear wells up within his left eye. "If you are as merciful as your 'people' say.. I do ask you watch my 'Flowers' especially my Poppy. Pherak emits a small sigh through his cracked lips, turning his figure around he walks six paces towards a dusty lever, placing his gloved hand upon it. "I have seen my daughter again for the last time.. My heart is at peace." With his request and statement, Pherak pulls upon the old lever, the cogs within spinning until the end result is met, a shifting above the entrance of the cave is felt as layers upon layers of heavy rock fall and pile in front of the opening. Seconds turn into minutes as the land slide continues, building up a mass and sealing the fate of those within. . . . . . . Silence... The Earth stops shifting, the deafening sound of the falling rocks cease and the dust begins to settle. Pherak, stained with the dust of the Earth walks ever so slowly to his wood rotted chair. Grunting slightly, he lowers himself until his destination is met.. Staring down into the calm flames of his fire;he remains. "I can finally.. Sleep." Days become weeks, weeks become months and months become years. . . The fire is no more, leaving behind the ash of its' fuel. Wilted Roses and Poppy's in clay flower pots surrounded the fire pit, the petals long fallen off and deteriorated. The remains of Pherak Roatan stay in the shadow, clothed in the shadow he was birthed and returned to it in his departure. The Lone Necromancer has finally found his rest, his mind silenced and his soul departed within the shadows. Perhaps never to be recognized as his own. The sun continues to shine as does the fullest of moons in the dark night sky. I sure hope that those who encountered this character enjoyed the development of the story as much as I did. This was a long time coming. ~Netphreak

Somewhere along the lands in a shadowed place; Pherak sips upon a steaming cup of tea, oblivious to the events that have unfolded as he remains in his moments of zen.

*Sarah Malik signs with a careful hand.*

A hooded fellow would seem to have acquired a note of sorts by fate it would seem... His crimson red iris gaze glances down to the quickly written letter. Glancing toward a notice board, he'd simply walk up to it, pull out a writing utensil and begin with a well written response. "To whom it may concern, your willingness to delve deep into the shadow will be the end of your life... Not death entirely, however it would be the end of what you would find to be a 'normal' life. Wouldn't you wish to find yourself a counterpart.. Start a family, join something Noble and honourable? These things you must ponder before you even consider trying to seek out a bastardised form of a being to pass along the Secrets of the Dead. Ultimately.. The Nature of a Necromancer is Death, nothing more and nothing less. You would be better off with some form of Voidal magic instead of the Darkest of Arts. Believe the words written above and change your life to walk the path of peace and happiness; a life that is free from the burden of Death and those whose minds have been twisted by the lusts of the Shadow.. Power is not always everything, it never will be everything.. Leave well enough alone, steer clear from the corruption of your Soul and remain in a position where you can have a possibility for redemption and happiness." The response would seem to end there, a few scribbles upon the bottom of the page would prove with close study to be that of a singular Rose and next to it would be but a simple femur bone drawn hastily.

A little time would seem to pass within the gathering up until a lone figure would appear. His figure would remain slouched to an extent, bearing darkened robes whilst wearing a reflective mask of iron. His breathing is labored from the trip and his steps are careful as he transverses closer toward the coalition; coughing out for sometime before his voice booms from behind the mask. "Even the 'Brothers of Lost' find their way back to the source of which their nature has transcended above normal means..." Shortly after his vocals have died down, he would take a glance around, spotting the others with his crimson red iris gaze. Having yet to speak his name, he wanders around until he finds a suitable wall to lean against as he's done so many times in the past, sliding down the wall until his rear reaches the ground; emitting a huff behind the mask of iron and coughing a few times more before going silent.

First, this is NOT Menerra's fault so quit putting the heat on her, this more than likely was an entire staff team agreement amongst the GM's and Admins. Second, Apps wouldn't be needed if the community itself were self moderating and played by logic rather than have a 'I have to win' mentality. Third, moderation is ABSOLUTELY needed due to the prior statement above. Fourth, I believe this to be a proof that one takes the time and opportunity to positively write down and/or create (If you hadn't already) a /BACKSTORY/ to your character instead of having a random one with no logical reason to go around being psychotic and killing sporadically. Fifth, as the rest of the changes have been made, a phrase had always been used, 'Give it a chance'. Sixth, I believe this to decrease the amount of the 'mina or die' scenario's which in the first place were /never/ taken care of. There can be a whole bunch of good that can come out of this, if you all are too lazy to write up applications with logical and legit backstories to your characters then you shouldn't be out there trying to provide villainous or magical RP because each takes a good amount of responsibility and dedication to learn how to do so correctly. There is my two cents, come and attack me now, not the staff.. They've done their part to try and better the server, now it's time we do our part to cooperate. ~Netphreak

Pherak strolls up at a local notice board, his crimson iris eye taking a glance at the words upon the parchment. Pherak folds his arms after having finished reading the message, he emits an irritated sigh and mutters. "Hmm, it would be very interesting to join up with this group of people... I wonder how desperate they are, then again, Oren is quite the despicable host of new travelers whom only wish to cause chaos and slaughter in the name of some blinded faith. Oh that reminds me.... I believe I have to feed those rats I've captured.. Speaking of Oren.." Pherak unfolds his arms and places his gloved hands within both his pockets, he turns about and strolls off.