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About Skylez1

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    Deus ex Machina
  • Birthday February 11

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  1. i did not ask for these discord photographs you’re sending me.

  2. 8 ******* years, wow Biggest IC accomplishment? Anything you regret not doing on the server? Missed opportunity, etc. What keeps you here, aka what drives you on to continue contributing/being staff on the server.
  3. Missive on Phantoms ♬ ♪ ♫ ♪ ((Credit to GW2)) [!] A few of these missives are spread about varying settlements within Arcas, however not enough to be present in all. Each carries some minor nuances in its writing, as if they were all handwritten. --+-- Hail. I write this as a warning, hopefully I can make up for some of my recent shortcomings and prevent the shedding of innocent blood. In short, phantoms such as gravens and ghosts are out in the wilds, unhindered and uncontrolled. They number a few dozen, roughly. These are not mindless necromantic reanimations, phantoms are capable of thought, of reason, and subsequently, unreason. With the powers vested in me I had tried to keep them in check, however my tutelage was incomplete and the foundation that tended to these undead was destroyed years ago by turncoats. Overtime my phantasma grew restless and rebellious, a number of their own fell in battle when they aided me to repel barbarians from the far north - perhaps that is when they began to question me. Last Saint’s week I had met with an old compatriot of mine. During our exchange we were ambushed by a handful of my phantasma. If not for the aid of my comrade, I would have likely been enslaved and forced to make more phantoms, or outright killed. I returned to my stead to find the rest of them gone. Currently, their goals and motives are unknown. I know they wish for my death, though I am not sure who else they are willing to harm. I am beginning to get a small group together in hopes of putting down these phantoms before they can cause genuine trouble or grief. ((Credit to Jake Bullock)) No man or woman can truly control the likes of demonkin or undead, many have tried in the past, and many will try in the future. Do not let others convince you otherwise. Keep your gold close, Burn those with a tainted mind, GOD preserve. OOC: Small eventline to come soon, working with an ET based on encounters that happened IRP. More details soon.
  4. Pathfinder Act II: Hellfire and Brimstone ♬ ♪ ♫ ♪ ((Credit to David Chodrishvili)) The shunter struggled to get his breath as he braced on a knee, wobbling as coughs and airy rasps rattled through him. The incantation worked, without a doubt, there he was, a stranger in a strange world. After the aged mechanic collected himself, he looked out to survey the foreign, fiery landscape. He was on a rocky plateau, charred and withered trees dotted the scene, along with ruined structures; he believed a settlement of some sort lingered not to far from his plateau, or rather the remnants of one. Realization soon came to the foreigner: the foul winged beasts that he could barely spot in the far distance, the faint, malformed figures on the hillsides, the hellscape he found himself in, it was all cruel irony. For a man so once involved with the occult, to now be sent to this twisted realm. An unintentional laugh left him at this, perhaps to cope with the unsettling fate that was placed upon him. A hand reached around for the modified slurbow on his back, surveying the mechanism briefly as he took to a stand. Breathing in harshly he set out in an unhurried, yet cautious pace, visored view trailing from left and then right in a gradual search. Soon he descended down the plateau, shifting and weaving down the incline that led towards the ruined place. As he neared he could make out the nature of the crumbled buildings, human architecture it appeared. How odd, he thought, to have a hamlet here of all places, in a malign realm of demonkind: Inferni. “Raku kalkoth!” The shouted words forced him to veer. A vile, black tongue that he vaguely remembered, yet caused him to grimace regardless. Not even seconds later and more pursuers announced themselves; the twisted barks and loud snarls of what he presumed to be zekul, lesser demonkin. He pulled aside, hunkering against what was once a cobbled wall. A hand fell to the side of his slurbow, grunting as he pulled back the small goat’s foot mechanism to pull the cord back within the barrel. A drawn bolt was quickly chambered, one without fletchings. The dreaded sounds of slurred Ilzakarn and feverish canines only closed in, reaching within a pouch at his side, a handful of caltrops were chucked where he believed his hunters would round the corner to meet him. “Nirhk kalkoth kaaga!” ((Credit to Vladyslava)) He tenses at the spouted dialect, even if he did not fully understand whatever the hunter yelled. Kaevryn caught a glimpse of one of his pursuers, a dog-like thing with a charred hide and jagged bony protrusions along its body. It’s snout was dug in the ground near another destroyed building, no doubt trying to continue on his trail, the hunted presumed. The marksman shifts, propping the barrel against the ruined cobble. With a swift depression the bolt shoots off, digging hard into the inferni’s outstretched neck. It howls out before falling onto the charred ground with a whimper, black fluid flowing in the place of lifeblood. He dips back, already at work reloading the slurbow, gradually yielding back the lever that guided the cord within. “DIIZM!” A new cacophony of alarmed barks and black tongue erupt. Another four-legged zakul charges on as the machinist reloaded, rounding the corner before it came tumbling onto the ruined brickwork below, having rushed right into the caltrops laid earlier. It let out a short series of pained snarls and growls, though silenced as a sole came crashing down upon its skull, finishing off the impaired hound. Deeming his position compromised, he pushes on from there, sprinting for another ruined alcove to obscure himself as he pushes another bolt in the barrel. The third demon-hound caught up in little time as the man pressed for cover, leaping over the ruined wall where he was once posted. A set of twisted teeth clamp down upon a boot, right at the lower calf. They prick at his skin underneath, staggering to a knee. His own teeth grit, the hound’s maw violently shaking to and from as the beast tried to wrangle the heavier man. Shakily, a hatchet was ripped from its holder as he awkwardly twisted to get a better view on the zakul. A wild swing was sent out for the thing’s head, connecting. With a throaty whine it fell aside, letting free its foreign quarry. As quickly as he came to, the loaded slurbow discharged, lodging its bolt within the cranium of the dazed hellhound. With a slight limp he pulled himself into cover, back pressed against the blackened stones that once made a home’s foundation. A hand went for the loader as the times before, even despite the clatter of heavy footfalls against the ground beyond. ((Credit to Isaac Belt)) A Zar’ei crashed into the crude wall, flinging cobble, debris, and Kaevryn aside. The one who corralled the hounds. He felt for the ground in his throbbing daze, disarmed of his slurbow. A deep bout of laughter emitted from the olog-sized demonspawn, as it seemed to simply watch the discombobulated foreigner scramble upon the ground. He managed to hoist himself up, spying his shooter a brief sprint away. Even still the horned Zar’ei just spectated as the man did so. It did not seem to move a muscle until the moment the weapon was within the invader’s hands. The hunter broke into a sprint, chasing after the armed man with its oversized polearm in tow. Sweat rolled down his face as he fumbled with the lever, jerking it back and forth, jammed from the earlier collison. Luckily, the demon missed his swipe, carving into the ground nearby right after the engineer flung himself aside to avoid the swing. Finally he yielded back the lever, the cord finding its grove with the distinct click. He looked up, trying to keep sight on the fiendish pursuer. It was turning back, closing the distance between the two in hurried strides rather than a full on charge. A shaky hand felt for another bolt, twitching as he slotted it into the chamber and lined the stock up to take aim. The projectile hit center mass, though it did not halt the Zar’ei in its tracks. A maddened houndmaster swung out, smashing the flat of his polearm into the side of his quarry. His vision blurred after colliding into a destroyed foundation, sluggishly keeping sight on the encroaching demonspawn. A crude chain was pulled from it’s waist, and only an incoherent word was given instead of finishing off the foreign invader. “Vorhz” His vision gave way. End of Act II, Act III coming soon. Act I:
  5. ={ OOC }= MC NAME: Skylez1 DISCORD: Skylez#7187 TIMEZONE: CST ={ RP }= NAME: Adelhardt of Endaen AGE: Old enough RACE: Human NOTABLE SKILLS: Veteran Reiter, joined in Calais, Axios. - Cavalryman in the Battle of Jornheim Fields. - Archer in the Battle of the Bloody Road. - Cavalryman in the Battle of Rochdale. - Breacher in the Siege of Vjorhelm. - Two excursions into the damned city of Mordskov, along with the Manticore initiative.
  6. Excuse me sir?

    1. Show previous comments  3 more
    2. lev


      let him die for his country in peace...

    3. Skylez1


      [Zogbot initializing]

      What do you want Parker.

    4. Parker


      The leaves rustle, the dogs whine as they are cooked. Birds chirp upon singed treas marked by the Americano bombardment.


      Oi skailaz.. wat do?

  7. Name: Siegwald Belfroy IGN: Skylez1 Discord: Skylez#7187 Age: 25 Position of interest: Scribe
  8. Name: Siegwald Race: Human Gender: Male Intent on joining (Temporary/Full time): Full time If temporary, how long do you intend to stay?: N/A If full time, do you agree to taking on all aspects of the monastic life? Yes, I do. Do you agree to follow the rules of the Monastery? Failure to do so will result in immediate eviction. Of course, they will be followed.
  9. First. We need to hang out more often. I’ll be dropping by come November-ish when my leave hits. See you on Discord until then.
  10. A mutant pens his close comrade over the abundance of twisted wildlife. @SourDough
  11. Footnote: This small piece of legend lore can be used as one of the several reasons why rituals such as those from Necromancy/Mysticism/Blood magic/Naztherak/etc, fail and can provide consequence to their failure, should an ST member make an event of it. Also can be made into a potential eventline for a lesser antagonist against dark mage types. - ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ((credit to an unknown artist)) The waxing moonlight drew in above the robed ritualists, numbering four in total. They were an experienced bunch, seasoned with several seances, callings, and communions they had performed with the dead. Dim candlelight complemented the moon, nestled about them in a crude circle. A sacrifice had already been rendered, blood viciously rent from an innocent woman they had snatched from the nearby hamlet. The ungodly chants began in their foreign, black tongue. The four wished to perform vivification, to dredge up the past spirit of their cadaver and extract knowledge from the agonized thing. Years passed on and on since his arrival into the unsightly, washed out realm of Ebrietas, a domain of the Archaengul herself. This damned spirit had tried to cling their morality in unlife, donning a shroud of red and taking up arms against the mindless and malignant undead that plagued the realms which the descendants set foot upon. However what he sought to destroy in turn destroyed him, rending the phylactery which he carried upon himself to feel alive, as if human once more. Vengeance, determination, and sheer hatred overcame the displaced soul, pried from the seven to reside within bones, only to be finally damned to Ebrietas itself. The spirit bore the name Mercaius, not too much unlike the one he had in his unlife. To die fighting the eternal enemy was not enough for the disheveled soul, so he gathered the remnants of himself and set out within the stagnant realm of spirits. Through willpower and displays of savage brutality the black spirit dominated several lesser souls to be within his legion. His ultimate goal was to draw the sights of Aeriel herself onto this upbringing of souls, from there he hoped she would descend from the soulstream to quell this insurrection. While far fetched, the deranged spirit believed she could be bested and slain if pitted against a vast legion of these forsaken souls. During one occasion of his conscriptions he met a great horned spirit, after being revealed to be a maleficar Mercaius’ wrath broiled and he set himself as well his ramshackle legion against the horned fiend. ((Credit to ChrisCold)) Ebrietas The uncanny chants and incantations progressed, urging louder and louder. Their tallow candles began to flicker, momentarily fading only to return. They had performed this rite a number of times, with only little nuances varying in between. A harsh gale rolled through the forests and over the occultists, and then utter silence. With a twitch and churn, the corpse within their circle begun to animate to some degree. Slithers of dark smog radiated from it, converging above the body to form some mass that could vaguely be described as humanoid. Inhuman cries and the occasional shrill sounded from it, wracked in agony from the seance. The ritualists’ questioning began. However, the horned lord fielded a legion of his own, though numbering less than Mercaius, his forces were composed of souls far greater than the common rabble of Ebrietas. An apparition, gorged on perhaps hundreds, tore into the ranks as devilish fire burned dozens. Those that did not turncoat began to flee as even fewer remained in the strife. Mercaius’ forces were decimated, though not before the bitter soul struck a grave blow against the horned lord. As he peeled back amid the fray a small trinket was dropped. Mercaius managed to acquire the device before he too had to flee, the remnants of his legion crumbling. The goal of dethroning the Archaengul had been destroyed alongside his forces. Now the demented spirit wandered for years furthermore, keeping to his own in the bleak wastes that is Ebrietas. The trinket he had plundered from the horned spirit began to vibrate and convulse as Mercaius neared a font of vague energies. Later, he would refer to these as rifts, tears, or waypoints, arbitrary places within Ebrietas in which a strong connection between the mortal realm and that of the damned was had. These waypoints sprout up from successive rituals from magi that attempt seances, vivification, or somehow understand how to forge a link between the two, and so on. ((credit to an unknown artist)) The tortured spirit gave them their answers through tormented wails and cries. The occultists would seemingly never be satiated as question after question was forced upon the soul they dredged up. Without forewarning the candlelight died, though not a wind blew upon the forests or them. The sounds of the distant wildlife soon faded away in addition, but a stillness hung within the stagnant air that rank of blood and rotting flesh. Lastly, the vivified spirit receded, convulsing violently before its aura dissolved into mere dust. ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ After probing and prying at one of these waypoints the nature of the horned lord’s trinket was uncovered. By willing himself directly into one of these rifts, he was wracked with pure agony that threatened to destroy the soul. Nonetheless, he found himself in a new, unforeseen place. A dark attic littered with innumerable tomes, unlit candles, skulls, and other occult paraphernalia. It was abandoned, though realization soon came to the spirit regardless. This was a place of dark rituals, of blood offerings, and seances. Confusion turned to rage and he set to destroying the vilified place. An hour or two transpired, perhaps a little longer before the maddened spirit was torn back into Ebrietas as it is believed the trinket can only grant a brief amount of time back upon the plane of the living. In his wake laid the destroyed attic, barely anything at all was able to be scavenged when the ritualists returned to discover the violent mess. Now he continues to roam the blasted lands, gravitating towards the rifts wherever they could be found, however sparse and far between. The soul finds some modicum of respite within this, traveling for unknown leagues only to enact a limited fraction of his anger upon those that try to tap into the realm of damned souls. ((Credit to benthedwarf)) Confused and agitated the practitioners elected to begin their seance once more, putting the blame on one of their own that was the least experienced. Something else dwelled within the adjacent forests, manifested from the abundance of otherworldly energies they used to vivify and summon forth a spirit from Ebrietas. Unsteadily, the ritual began to commence once more, straining the invokers. A bloodcurdling, inhuman scream broke out from the treeline of the clearing, prickling at their ears as they jarred to a halt. Warily they drew out their weapons, perhaps believing it to be some night beast in their panic. Following after the shrill, a hazy, black spirit clad in translucent armaments charged straight for the four. One of the cultists managed to strike at the demented soul, yet the mundane weaponry did seemingly nothing but draw the ire of it. A rusted blade raised high before smattering harshly upon him, again, again, and yet three times more, making the ritualist into a bloodied display as his compatriots were paralyzed in horror. Never before had they come across such a thing in their rituals, though finally, the spirit had met the practitioners which fiddled with the realm beyond their own at least a dozen times over. One managed to flee as the others fought for their lives, having not precaution, gold or blessed objects to truly injure or stave the enraged soul off. Several days later the sole cultists returned with a number of hired anomaly-hunters, armed to the teeth with gold and sanctified scripture in hopes of banishing, or outright killing the crazed spirit. Much to their dismay (as well as relief), the thing was nowhere in sight, or in the surrounding regions for that matter. Only a sickening display of unrestrained brutality was left in its wake. He was off, back within Ebrietas. The next rift was miles and miles away from the last, yet the thought of revenge, even if only for an hour, was enough to make him persevere in his long travels. “Take precautions as well preparation when you conduct your rituals, my mystic, lest you summon the mad stalker instead.” - Barrowlord Volkantir of the Synod Small piece I wrote for fun, always down for feedback, questions, criticisms and so on. Legend format:
  12. “What the ****.” Says a disgruntled genestealer
  13. Looking into setting up a guild preferably within a human nation, OOCLY gauging interest if the leadership (Renatus/Oren) wants such a thing.
    Hmu on discord if so: Skylez#7187

    1. Temp


      You gotta stop selling drugs, man.

  14. Name: Siegwald Belfroy Race: Human Gender: Male Former Affiliations: None Former Titles: None Sect wishing to join: The Inquisitors ((OOC)) MC Name: Skylez1 Discord: Skylez#7187 Timezone: CST
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