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About Wolfdwg

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  • Birthday 07/16/1998

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  1. Well, what’s your name? “Mikias Tamrat.” Aye. And from whence do you hail? ”I come from the Isle of Rhen and have made landfall near the fledgling city-state of Rubern. At the moment their Prince has allowed me to stay as a honored guest.” Alright, alright, that’s a fine place this time of season. How many years have you lived? ”I believe it’s been four seasons since I’ve arrived since on this continent of Arcas, I’ve met many a folk around the area that time seems to simply fly by!” he’d state with a chuckle. Got it. Your ethnicity, good man? I can’t make it out. ”That is strange...” he’d look to his dark complextion before feeling his dreadlocks atop his head, he’d then smile, “I am from the southern parts of Rhen, known to many there as a Rudran.” Mmm. I never would have expected it. Are you literate? ”It is common among my people to uphold scholarly activities compared to our northern neighbors, back home. I believe I know my around the pen and paper, along with word of mouth.” Good, that won’t hurt you. Do you have a wife at home, or children? ”Mh, I had a wife, though she died whilst giving birth to a stillborn, I was young back then. I didn’t even know until after I had returned from my contract of mercenary work. Nai, ne effendi. I no longer have a home or wife since arriving here. I’ve left all that behind.” They call Sixtus the Third ‘the Lewd’ for having two bastards. Don’t be like him. Have you got anything against taking oaths? “A man is nothing if he cannot keep to his word. Mitras as my witness, I’ve never broken my word.” You’re all set. I’ll have this filed away to the Prelate at once. He’s all the way off in Pembroke, at least a day’s trip. Give him a while.
  2. Brother Rafael looked to the stary night sky over the town of Rubern, smiling. The future for Rubern was that of prosperity, but not without many trials ahead. Rafael prayed that the Young Prince would be granted the fortitude to see this come to fruition.
  3. Vulf wishes he could kill some elven mages...
  4. Vulf rolls off a few boxes, falling with a muffled thud, “Ow...” he’d grumble, not noticing the hurried pace that has washed over his home, Brannby.
  5. "Sometimes a lesson is best taught twice..." remarks Vulf, as he hears of the planned invasion on his home by the Orenians... AGAIN.
  6. honestly nothing will come of this as this is just a repetitive cycle. The only thing that will really effect the server is if people stopped playing and moved on. But this is LOTC everyone’s an addict.
  7. who’s ready to get drafted for the iran war :DDDD

    1. Skyrunner


      As ready as I was in 2008, 2011, and 2012, as ready as I was against North Korea in 2013, Russia in 2014 and 2015, ISIS in 2016 and 2017, and Russia again in 2018.

    2. Skylez1


      airman [redacted] reports as ordered
      lets drop some warheads on foreheads

  8. “2,600.” Says a more eager boat-man.
  9. “2,200.” Another boat enthusiast states.
  10. Application: IGN: Wolfdwg Discord: Belko#7648 Skin Type(Steve/Alex) Steve Request Type(See ‘Skins’): Full Body Skin Details(For the love of god, be descriptive.): Need a dark elf with witchdoctor/voodooman Harlem style clothing, with turncoat, bone necklace, and an overall trashy appearance. The main color theme should be shades of green, and brown, with a bleached white for bones. Skin color should be a a darker shade of grey and not completely black. References(Don’t be complicated or I just won’t make it.): Can give you ref pics over discord.
  11. Ronald Ribbit smiles at the flyer, "Now that we have publicity, we can have more sales!"
  12. LSUggCK.jpg

    Any idea what color scheme I should use for my Tempestus Scions?

    1. Salvo


      Red and white!

    2. Heero


      black and gold!

  13. Wolfdwg

    Our Dues

    ((Art by the wonderful Dominik Mayer)) All that Lyonel had ever known was war, bloodshed, and suffering. These very things corrupt good men, as they are blinded by an endless need for power. After all this world is only meant for the strong. Before war and slaughter, Lyonel was a musician and bard. writing poems and songs for the people who’d listen. He was not the most successful, nor the most talented, but he enjoyed what he did. On the eve of that fateful day, where all of the world set its eyes on Helena, Lyonel would let war consume him. As what seemed like the world ending around him, he fought valiantly in the name of Norland and his Renatus allies. He was nearly slain at that battle by a young Haense militia man, had it not been a stroke of luck the poor boy slipped on rocks, and was proceeded to be gouged by Lyonel’s long-axe. He remembered when it seemed like all hope was lost, and the last of the defenders made their preparations for their final stand. He could recall it as clear as day, the rebel charge towards the last defense, hearing the cries of his courageous comrades, where he hid in wait among the rafters. It was then he and fabled Renatian heroes, along with a tyrant of an uruk descended down and slaughter the celebrating rebels. He had cleaved a reiver mercenaries head off, but had lost his axe in the process. He had seen a Carnatian rat begin to run from him. He threw himself on the fleeing man, and began to choke out the terrified man. Lyonel shook with anger and adrenaline, as he simply smiled seeing the life fade from the man’s eyes. “Enjoyment of another’s suffering,” “It’s what was coming to him,” all these phrases raced through Lyonel’s mind. And finally he heard the snap and looked down at the now deceased man. He was pulled too as he was lifted out of his state by the blue uruk, and he grasped at a discarded blade. They ran outside the now torn apart palace looking out into a smoldering city, watching the last of the rebels being chased away by pockets of defenders. The day was won, but at what cost. Lyonel would go on to be dubbed a Champion of the Renatian people, but was all but unknown to the Norfolk he had fought in name for. It was then that he had found out about his past lineage, linking him to one of the ancient clans known as the Freyssons, and it was here he had put forth his claim at various moots. However the chiefs would simply mock and laugh, discarding the man as a vagrant and a vagabond. Vandel, his uncle however was family, and did always talk to Lyonel, seeing as they were of the last of their kin. However something never seemed right with his uncle. Something behind his eyes told Vandel would do something foolish, and would endanger the rest of the Nordish folk. It had been two proclaimed king’s passings since the fateful siege, and Norland looked for a new leader in desperation. Three had put forth their claim, Edvard, Vandel, and Lyonel. It went as could be expected from any other moot before. The other two names got their votes, whilst Lyonel was overlooked. However it was Aeyn, the High Keeper of the Red Faith, and the holder of the Eriksson vote that was caste for Lyonel. The voting had came to a close as Edvard and Vandel were tied. The tie-breaker vote was given to Lyonel. A dilemma none the less. Lyonel looked about the room, eyeing its occupants. Edvard was supported by the Imperials, and a vote for Vandel would certainly upset them, perhaps even provoke them. He then looked to Vandel, his only member of family and stared at the man. The Nordish folk were chanting for an honor duel between the two, but was this right? Two good men, less alone family, fighting to the death over a vacant throne? No. He turned his head to Edvard, whom he’d caste his vote. It was then if on cue the Reiver Mercenaries burst into the throne room, clambering to disrupt the moot. A vicious fight ensued as Lyonel simply sat at a seat, dazed from his choice. Either way he’d have voted people would’ve died. It was then time passed as he had been named High Steward of Norland. Seeing to housing and carrying out taxation to its people, raising funds for the Norlandic crown. However the sounds of war came back to haunt Lyonel as the banners were called once more, an offensive was to be taken. To take back the lands of the Empire of Man, and re-establish order under Emperor Godfrey III. Norland had a series of in-fighting since that day, and had many setbacks. Seeing its population either fleeing Dunharrow, or simply ending up in the grave. Bloodfeuds were declared, and defections ran rampant with its military, severely crippling the fledgling Kingdom. But nevertheless the people pushed on, a sign of their will and determination to honor their word. It was at the Battle of the Silversea where the rebels were handed another swift, and sounded defeat. The combined forces marched on Reza, intent on laying siege to the capital, but Lyonel was at his wits end. He wanted peace. He wanted to return to his old-life making songs and being merry. He looked into the lake’s water looking at his reflection, seeing a completely different man than what he once was. He looked primal and savage, where once his hair was long and lush, now shaved and tattooed with tribal images. He longed for a life without war, and set off into the woods. Fresh snow began to fall, blanketing the northern forest, casting it in a field of white. The blackened figure of Lyonel would trudge through the deep forested soil, mumbling under his breath. He had snapped, under stress and pressure. It was then he came to a cliff edge, overlooking a sea of pine trees. The sun was setting over the horizon, offering warm and radiant rays among the rapidly dropping temperatures. He felt his shadows and demons beckoning him to return to the front, but their temptations fell on the deaf ears of a broken man. It was when the last rays of light went dark, that Lyonel leaned forward.... “We all think death won’t come to us, but we all must pay our dues someday.” OOC
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