hotbox_monk

MC Name: Hotbox_monk RP Name: Muhammad bin Saud Discord: hotbox_monk#8587 Skills/Reason for joining: Mushallah.

A lone Dwarf has a seizure from the terrible formatting in each comment.

An old grumbling and rather short black Dwed made his way to his chambers. There, he would rest his noggen against the bear skin rug before the hearth fire. A sharp exhale escaped him as his smoldering gaze wandered and his mind pondered. The vision he had saw of Urguan had become to set into stone. The Frostbeards would have assumed total control of the State and it’s Powers and that would be all that was written for his home. No longer did the great defenders of His Kingdom stand on their own soil, they were divorced for winning a war? His questions merely turned to more questions and only one answer remained in his mind. He coughed exuberantly as blood splattered against the ashen palm of his hand and embers, heat distortions and smoke alike came in company as plumes from his maw.

A thing laments; It then shudders with a shriek for no apparent reason after brekkkie.

A Herald-In-Retirement gasps!

Marcian of The Mud grumbled thereafter downing the contents of whatever wretched brew that was in the tankard. He offered a slight nod in regards to that of the mustache’d man beside him @KBR. “Where is the solace?” He said with a scoff followed up by a sharp inhale as his gaze bounced to and fro from his tankard to the exit unto the depths of the sewers. “S’pose I’ll take watch tonight river-side.”

This hurts me.

A son of Sola would ruminate on this matter within his forlorn cottage within the lands of Savoy. He would take to the side of this Philip who lay claim to the seat most high. “The Weak Should Fear The Strong.” He said to himself whilst he prepared for travel to San Luciano. Such words hadn’t been spoken since the days of Dour Watch.

Rhaezaiil Doomforged pondered for a short while about glory, Brath and gold. War is Coming.

Good work champ

A certain forerunner of East-Meets-West shook his head feverishly as he tore the page to shreds and lit the remnants aflame in the fire. “It seems there are some vermin afoot. . . Tread lightly, ‘Would-Be’ Heralds of The Arch-Wyrm.” The voice suddenly abated itself alongside any sign of his being there. Soon, the tide would roll in high and with it, it would carry the ashes back into the Sea.

Within the depths of a dank cellar was a shadow cast against its walls. Footsteps approached the The Magi’s carcass that lay breathless in a finite state of rot and decay. It’s forehead marked with that of a black tree and roots that dug deep throughout its flesh. Soon a voice sounded. “Within you I could have sown. . .” As the candlelight casted an incandescent illumination upon the side of his visage, it would give revelation to a pale gaze staring down the parchment. A corner was offered to the candle’s flame and soon the missive was set ablaze within his cold grasp. A figure clad in sanguine robes emerged from the cellar and just behind him a quaint homestead burned to ash. As the light of Ebriaetes shown down, so too did Ukita’s silhouette wane from sight into the stygian wood. He would await, Him.

With Bated Breath There the ship with crimson sails tattered from an unbeknownst time begins to crest a horizon unto Almaris’ Seas. A figure clad in Stygian robes and pale as the moon above him stood at the helm; Crows met the ship at the peak of it’s mast. Ukita Ranmaru, or Paul as he had come to be known in these foreign lands in which he had come to travel far and wide in search of those he would suffer with. An exile born in the darkness and embossed with ancient dogma of The Godless. He awaited The One and his coming and it would be with the flock of The First Prophet did he get to rejoice and revel with. Through sheer will would this Eastern Forerunner find enlightenment. With Bated Breath did he wait. To Grow is To Learn - To Sow The Seed Ash, Primordial. Fire, The First and The Last. In His Wake, an adumbration of a sanguine paradise is seen in prayer and rumination. A Wayward Exile, Estranged.

A certain man loosed an arrow which would sail true and pierce the heart of a Great Stag amidst it's retreat from the scourge of Vasoyevi. As he neared his prey and began the Rite of Gutting as he called it he would withdraw his blade from within it's cloth and begin removing the innards of the stag's carcass. As he fastened ropes about the solar plexus and then around it's crown he would begin to tread away from the cities borders and back to his encampment. A wayward mortal of East-Meets-West merely feeding the body his thoughts roamed within.

Vargs don't exist

Really good work! I hope to see this implemented in the future. The vibes too based! +1

A single figure ruminated by himself atop a hill, against a tree which bore no fruit. He was accompanied by four dogs and they were mangey muts, but they were the first to have met him in his arrival to this strange land. They would follow him for some reason he did not know, but they looked out together and he would wonder in thought about the world and it's undying cycle. "This. . . This is what I fear."

+1 from me. Seriously, I have an attachment to this lore piece I’ve always thought it to be such an interesting aspect of the server that combines so many great and immersive points all into one. I really hope the ST take this one into serious consideration because it was truly reinvigorate a certain player base to find some enthrallment in their rp once again along with installing an exponential amount of mystery and wonder beyond what can be achieved through beastsmithing.

Gonna miss you @Treshure. My time on CT, however brief. Taught me how to a better member of the community and how my own actions can inspire others too, as well. Sad to see you go… Ave de Sola.

A lone wayward sage ruminated, but only for a brief period before setting a smoldering gaze back unto the missive. “GET OFF THE LAWN.” He would exclaim.

The Draken Assembly (Hellblaze, by Douzen on DeviantArt.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0Xf_sFAYuQ “As once the great Setherien tried to swallow the sun; so too shall we swallow the earth. An earth that belongs to us, an earth that has been conquered and stolen from us.” The Book of Epochs Draconic Sway & Influence As once the ruin of Tor Azdraeth was the seat of draconic power and influence upon the world of Vailor, the Assembly can trace its ancestry to the work of the first Nephilim who awakened from their slumber within the bowels of the destitute, ruinous keep. As stated clearly in the Book of Epochs, a litany of scattered historical texts rediscovered by Draakopf Doomforged during the Herald’s search for draconic artifacts, “It was with great ardor that He (Azdromoth) brought his gaze down unto the creature that was scorned… The child, once a man, had been born again in the embers of the Nameless One, urged now to create more progeny for the Black Titan. A gift granted to Man under the fabled banner of Horen, a gift squandered - falling into disuse with the coming of the decrepit Eldari. To make things right, the firstborn of the Titan’s progeny wrought his powerful knuckles around her horns with fury, shattering them like handlebars and casting the former Elf Giantess to the ground with a forceful heave of his arms. Azdromoth basked in the glory of the triumph; Man had overcome the Eldari, and had proven the will of the Nephilim to be resolute.” The many teachings of Tor Azdraeth, and by extension the inception of Asioth - the pursuit of draconic knowledge, are found to be the most crucial lessons imparted to Azdrazi, Heralds and their allies. The abovementioned passage, the Triumph of Ardraeth, makes reference to the first coming of Irrinites seeking to gain power within the Azdrazi inner circle. Ardraeth, one of the firstborn Nephilim produced from the blood of the wily draken Alistair, thwarted one such creature’s attempt at gaining the Archdrakaar’s favour. In turn, the ritual of the Mul is reenacted,a question of might makes right. If two followers of the Old Ways find themselves at odds, they are to battle until one cedes victory to the other, and only then by strength might the truth be decided. The Assembly is an organization that was founded to model the Order of Nephilim from ancient times. The Aims are the core creeds that guide the behavior of those enlisted within the order, principles that are intended to work towards the protection of all remaining Dragonkin that are alive in the world today. It is mandated that every member of the Draken Assembly act with temperance and restraint. The Aims Toor Protection Flame. A force that burns, a true and pure light that triumphs even over the light of wayward deities such as Tahariae and Xan. What hope is there in mimicking the translucent, powerful rays of the sun if you cannot impart any actual change? Fire was the gift to Man from Azdromoth, and it burns fervently in the hearts of his descendants and their followers. As once Dragonkin had been chased to every corner of the earth and hounded by the Athnas and their followers, now the Heralds are so numerous that they inhabit every corner of the modern world. Flame perseveres where shimmering, pretty magic tricks do not. The false icons of Xan and Tahariae are imposters, and the petty Magi cannot hope to mimic the eldritch secrets of the Dragonkin. All draconic creatures are to be protected, saved, and defended by the followers of the Draken Assembly. The genocide perpetuated by Xan in response to the flight of his mortal wife is a kind of jealousy to be scorned. The Paladins plead that they perpetuate Order and Guardianship, yet they have time and time again placed the world in darkness. Order is not freedom. Order is the subjugation and annihilation of all things that do not fall under the demesne of their Godless Adjudicator; their Cuckold Lion, a gilded prophet who heralds weakness and deceit. As was the mission of the first Nephilim, the goal of the Dragonkin and Heralds in the Draken Assembly is to safeguard those who cannot protect themselves, whether they be Man, Dragon, or otherwise. Resolve Sanctity of Life Without resolve, the Xanite shall whisper honeyed words into your ear and beg for peace. Their women may pressure you, come before you even with shards of their forsaken Lance once again while pleading for a ceasefire as you triumph over their order of squalor and deceit. Forget not the crimes of all enemies of the Dragonkin; Xionists, Xanites, and decrepit New Canon Gospel. For two creatures can create life in this world following the death of the One True Creator. Dragur imparted this boon to Azdromoth, who by means of the Inner Flame was able to do something no other Dragonkin has ever accomplished - create experimental life. From the husks of Man emerged a stronger and more resilient species, a species intended to act as philosophical shepherds to break the god-bound chains of the Descendants. No longer would Fate and Truth be left in the hands of uninvolved, impartial and immoral deities. No longer would murder outside the Rite of Mul be condoned. (Volcanic Dragon, Andrea Piparo on Art Station.) Azdromoth lays waste to Amaethea on the Arm of Malin, Almaris. Freedom and Absolution “The only true order is Chaos. Social stratification, systems of law, arbitrarily decree the existence of the Other; the Other who is responsible for all crimes, all death, all sickness, and all pervasive social ills. The Other who is Elf, Man, or Dragon. The Other who does not exist in the social order.” The natural order is a world without bureaucratic creeds guided only by the morals and absolution of its inhabitants. As the Dragonkin have been pushed out of their habitats and ostracized from the social order, so too have they resisted and pushed back against the new civilizations that have attempted to terrorize and subjugate them. All who follow in the footsteps of the Dragonkin are free to join the Assembly, and free to engage in their own pursuit of Asioth. No matter what background, creed, or allegiance - as long as you owe your loyalty to the preservation of Dragonkin, you are welcomed into the order with open arms. Ordainment & Sacrilege Heraldry is a boon bestowed to those who pursue Asioth, and pursue the teachings of the Firstborn, the intrepid Black Titan himself Azdromoth. The relationship between each individual member of the Draken Assembly and the covenant they form with the Drakaar is up to their own discretion; but once a Herald forsakes their draconic heritage in favor of a sacrilegious creed such as Xionism or Athnacism, they are severed from the body of Draconic Canon. Their names are struck from all official records and they are given an epithet to which they shall be referred, as the individual they once were died the day they performed the sacrilege against their noble peers. Ordainment, the opposite of sacrilege, is when the Herald’s body of work is proven to be more than sufficient to the draconic cause. Through acts of compassion, nobility and hard work in their respective field of studies. Whether it be the defeat of anti-dragon agents or the collection of knowledge and other crucial informational works. When a Herald is finally granted Ordainment, they are granted the moniker ‘Inquisitor’, an illustrious name to reward their body of work - whether it’s being a profound hunter, metal-worker or studious scholar. (By Kaesi Bird, Pinterest.) Hierarchy In the Draken Assembly, there is a tree that dictates who is closest to the draconic forefathers, those who dabbled in eldritch magics as predecessors to the modern day mages and deities. Those of dragon-blooded heritage and inner-flame, the Drazimen, Nephilim, or Azdrazi are at the top of the tree due to their close relation to the Archdrakaar, the celebrated first son of Dragur, Azdromoth. Beneath them are the Draken, also called the Heralds of Azdromoth, and beneath them are the Whelplings, those who have been newly introduced to the Flight and seek to become Draken or Drazimen themselves. No one class is above the other and all three come together to form a unique whole. Within the Dragonflight, whether it be the Draken Assembly or elsewhere, hard work, ardor and nobility decide the outcome of a follower’s station.

A certain Harbinger of Fire remained at the edges of the city looking on as he grasped at his wounds. . . His smoldering gaze flickering as his life began to leave him now. There he remained, though felled not by fate he knew he would have to see the coming days through. He thought to himself "RUIN." As he continued to ruminate on the victories of His Father, Azdromoth The Firstborn of The Dragaar and Champion of The Slumbering God he would feel his eye lids shutting and slipping away into a state of rest he did. . . Flesh was scorched from his visage, arms and the rest of his body. Crudely fashioned bandages were hastily fastened to his wounds as he awaited His Father's next move.

Video is smackin 🤩

A lone figure revels.