ForeverGinger

Well, I think Ketzy's pretty dang dead... ((Or maybe Metztli will reincarnate me as a Halfling... Who knows!))

Oh dear... Well, that happened to all my nice and neat lore! Tl;dr Ketzy died, was poisoned by Mukar. Love you all!

Ja'Ketzawl sat alone in his room beneath the Temple of Metztli, the faint glow of candlelight sending shadows flickering through the room. The wizened Kha' glances over to the large star-chart set above the desk, before returning to his notes. A knock sounds at the door... Ketzawl's heart beats heavily in his chest as he opens the door, reveling the plump form of The Sage Mukar. Ketzawl gestures for the Sage to enter, his body shifting slightly to hide the contents of his desk. And so, things progress... Mayhaps a bit swifter than intended... Mukar enters the room, a large glass held in his hand. He offers it to Ketzawl. A drink, he says... Ketzawl takes the glass and raises it to his mouth. The acrid stench of poison rings through his nostrils. This is a shallow attempt on his life, ill-planned and ill-conceived. You would have me drink this, wouldn't you, Mukar? A faint smirk spreads across his face as he presses the glass to his lips and goes through the motions of drinking, all the while groping about for the dagger tucked hidden at his waist. This time you press your luck, Sage. Suddenly, quick as thought, Mukar's paw lashes out and bats at the glass, spilling the vile mixture down Ketzawl's throat and chest. The priest's eyes bulge as the concoction swiftly takes effect, liquid fire racing through his veins and into his heart. Ketzawl collapses to the ground, his legs failing him. Mukar brushes past him and leaves the room, baring the door securely behind him. His green eyes glimmer faintly as Ketzawl spasms about on the floor, watching to ensure he dies as slowly as is practical. How... How did he know...? Ketzawl's eyesight dims as he struggles towards his desk. His paw rests on a large bundle of rags, and he begins to tear weakly at them, uncovering a large orb of Lapis Lazuli, the azure surface broken by thick veins of gold that streak through it. Metztli, Muuna... HOW DID HE KNOW...? A small creak heralds Mukar as he re-enters the room. The fat priest leans over Ketzawl's slowly-fading form and gently rolls the Orb out of his reach. "The Orb! Thees orb ees drayneeg heem!" He calls out into the empty hallway. Then his eyes return to Ketzawl, eyes brimming with a wild glee, as he slips a long stone dagger out from its sheath. Ketzawl's eyes flick to Mukars face one last time, before the dagger falls, and all is black... ((Well lads, it look's like Ketzy finally kicked the bucket, along with any hopes of usurping Mukar. It's been fun hanging around with all you crazy jungle people and all your crazy jungle shenanigans! Now, I'm off to my next big (or small (hur hur, subtle hints)) adventure!))

[[OOC]] MC Name - ForeverGinger Skype - You already have it Timezone - Pffft [[IC]] Your Name - Ketzawl Title - Ja' Age - 34 Subrace - Cheetrah Housed - In the temple Professions ((Nexus Professions)) - Enchanter, untill SOMEONE decided to nab my enchanting table... Still a bit salty...

A lost halfling spits

Title - Ja' Name - Ketzawl Gender - Male Race - Cheetrah Faith - Metztli Age - 34 Profession - Enchanter McName- ForeverGinger Skype - You already have it Timezone - EST TS? - Yep

Oh dear...

First of all, I would like to thank Moot for this post, which is at least the beginning of reconciliation between the offended players and Staff. To follow up, the main issue I see with the takeover of Goodborough is the fact that we were offered two choices (well, technically three). We were told to either to vassal under Oren or the High Elves at the risk of loosing our land if we refused. We decided to go under Oren, and made a post about it detailing our move. Regardless of this, our land was still taken from us, and was done all through OOC methods for that matter. That is my view of what happened, and while I do not agree that we (being the Halflings) did not handle this situation as well as we could have, neither did those who were tasked with handling this issue.

A lean, robed figure would be seen striding across the crenelated tops of the walls, his right hand alight with the silver-blue glow of Moonfire. The figure would call out into the darkness, his fist held high against the encroaching night, "Red priest awnd eets gawd can cuum! Thee' Kharajyr weel enduur whatever theese voice throws awt theem!"

Well... That's the issue... We were given the choices to either charter under Oren/High Elves, giving them our land, or loose it. We chose to charter to Oren, and even made a post about it. But no our land has been take away regardless... https://gyazo.com/6da811b4a6251edfc8fadb4e13eb23a6

Could... er... Could we (meaning everyone here) try and keep this civil and non offensive? I realize that the Halflings (myself included) are upset, frustrated and feeling betrayed, and I get that! But being rude is not going to help our situation...

Reserved

The Halfling town of Goodborough is a small, peaceful place. Little people busy about with their day-to-day chores: cleaning burrows, sweeping porches and weeding the numerous fields. All is good, and all is quiet... Until that fateful day... It began like any other. Halflings wandered about the rolling hills and chatted with neighbors. There was much work to do, and many more who were eager to do it... Then the magic began... It began quiet, subtle even. A faint rumbling in the distance echoes through the village, causing wee folk to stop what they're doing and look up from their chores. What could that be, they wonder, turning to neighbor and family alike did anyone else hear that? They went back to their work, oblivious to the horrors that would soon come... The roaring grew louder through the day, growing into a wild crescendo of noise. As the noise roared in the ears of the village, so did something else. A wave of magic like nothing the peaceful inhabitants had ever seen washed over the sleepy village. Magic evil in nature and vile in purpose... The wave was heralded by the Skygods, who lead and guided this malevolent force to envelope the defenseless township. And so, perfection came to Goodborough... The magic seeped into hill and vale, into wood an pond like worms burrowing into a fresh corpse. The wave crashed over house and home, working a spell that entangled the very fabric of reality. Clocks ceased their ticking. Birds were caught mid-flight, frozen in the sky they once navigated so freely. The fields refused to grow, even the wind itself would not blow... Goodborough was frozen in time, a twisted playground for the Skygods... On a nearby hill, outside the confines of the magic, the Halfling refugees surveyed their once-prosperous village. One among them falls to his knees, and begins to sob. "W-why? Why would ye doo this t'us?" Perdric Wanderwine crys out, peeking through his shock of bright orange hair "We did all ya' asked of us! We went undah' th' bigguns! Now we've lost evreh'thing! Where are we t' go now!?" Who can answer that question? ((On a sad note... it seems Halflings are finished... Would any nation be willing to share a bit of land with us? Pretty please?))

May I ask, do you really need our land this much? At least give us time to move before destroying us.

Now to be perfectly honest, this seems a bit... well, mean. We belived we were getting our land back, just to have that promise yanked back in one big psyche. Edit: Help us, before we vanish for good...: https://www.lordofthecraft.net/topic/132214-a-small-cry-for-help/

Perdric Wanderwine sits besides the ruins of the Halfling village, shaking his head. "Wif no warnin'... They jes d'stroyed it all! Now, we's gonna take it all back!"

Very fanche! I approve!

Mc Name: ForeverGinger Skype: You already have my skype Hours: Hmm... when school starts, I may be able to get on for 2-2 1/2 hours a day, but as for now maybe 4 hours a day. Timezone: EST {IC} Kha' name and title: So'Ketzawl Age: 20 something Commitments: None Previously a Priest?: Currently being taught by Ja'Mukar Reasons for Joining: Ketzawl wishes to serve M<etztli as best he can, and if that means taking on the mantle of the priests, he is more than happy to do so

Attention all bakers! Stroke your ovens, flour up your rolling pins and get ready for the FIRST ANNUAL BAKE-OFF! Anyone can submit a pastry for tasting and judgeification by our panel of professional judges! When questioned on what he hopes to see in the competition, Mister Fumble Willowbottom, one of the judges, replied "I don't care, but it betta' not be shite!" All pies must incorporate professional-grade baking pumpkins in some significant way shape or form. Participants can retrieve their pumpkin from the cart located right outside the sheriff's office! Good luck to all who participate! Entries may be turned in to the judging table located at the inn! This message was approved by Garmel, the baking legend!

Posters hang from every tree and bush in the entire town! They bow from bushes, rustle from rocks and toss from trees! You snag a poster as is floats past you on the summer breeze. You give a faint chuckle as you view the contents of the poster:

Name- Perdric Wanderwine Race- Er... Halfling! Political Party- Um... A feast?

Perdric sheds a tear for his dead amigo ((It was a fun run Heff! Can't wait to see what you spring in 4.5!))

Perdric Wanderwine sheds big, halflingy tears from his stowaway position on the boat. "Mista' Fumble's dead? When'd tha' 'appen?!"

A small Halfling sits perched on a stump outside the Druid's Grove, his tiny legs dangling above the tall grass. He gazes vacantly past the road, as if deep in thought. If a member of the Order were to pass by him, the Halfling would turn and ask them a question in his ever-cheery voice. "'Elo there mista' (or miss') Drood. Wot did'ja doo fer yer Grand Task?"