Trey

Aratakrast is STUNNED.

Lisan al Gaib

Finally, revenge for me and Gashadokuro's excessive griefing.. The thread of fate is restored.

"What a shame... Will I begin to outlive those whom I once befriended? How interesting it is.." Aratakrast contemplated upon a dark throne whilst he'd been told this information from an informant. He lingered as he looked at the jewels and rings embedded into his bones and upon his skeletal claws. "Perhaps I will bring you back into this world for your assistance when I was still just a human.. But, perhaps I shall convene with thee first, I wouldn't want one whom dare disobey.." He seemed complacent for now, tending back to his duties that had since forth been set for him, unknown to others.

A Dark Elf had pondered the tree before eventually mustering the courage. So forth did he walk, placing a wooden, ashen doll crudely shaped to the form of a woman. It rested upon a root of the tree, slouching slightly once placed. He did not make an attempt to fix it. "Will this truly be the answer?" He said, clearly thinking out loud. He lingered a moment at the base of that tree, pondering if this was the clear path he should take.

I don’t quite see how having no romance would otherwise constitute that your character is suddenly bland, if romance is what makes your character interesting you might wanna try one of the many dating simulators on steam. Roleplay is what you make it and the progression and appeal of your character can be met by a great many facets. We are not discouraging people to be creative with their character, however for quality purposes and to uphold what we believe is an important disposition with the magic, we posted this. *fist bumps

it is time to move forward and improve, this is a step in the right direction. I cannot completely control who all becomes a dark spawn, but we can help keep those who are in check. :) smiles bigly

Ok

The Archlich Aratakrast peered upon the missive and gripped it with boney claws, crushing it upon reading it. "These petty kingdoms will bring destruction upon themselves, without me even needing to lift a finger.. Pathetic." Aratakrast peered upward to a bubbling brew of green liquid, sizzling within a giant pot. He moved to turn a paddle within it.

Amidst a make-shift play upon a small stage within a cave, skeletons dressed in clownish outfits and performer attire, moving mechanically and with the chitter of bones with each step. One is dressed as a bard, holding up a skull similar to his own in Shakespearean fashion. Funnybone sits upon a wooden seat next to a table, seemingly watching this orchestration as though he were to expect anything different to happen despite being the controller of these undead. He slouches in his chair, resting his head on a closed fist which rose from the table, a rested elbow to support it. Reading the missive, the jester frowns beneath his mask. "I wonder what would've happened if I stayed with you.. Lanre." The Jester remarked to himself. His gaze turned up to a Flesh Golem entering the stage with powdered make-up plastered upon its decrepit face. It began to twirl like a ballerina.

"Shishishishi!" Echoed from a distant evil lair from the Jester, burn scars still hurting upon his back.

+1

The Jesters dilemma Coire Luther, or, Funnybone to most, was a funny and silly figure. By all means someone to depend on and trust. He was seen as someone who looked to bring joy to people, one who knew how to understand the trifle and problems of others and seek to aid that pain. He often would embody an identity other than he himself, to portray as something different and take upon the both metaphorical and physical mask to others. For so long, he’d merely thought of and worried about the feelings and pain of others, for it was his job and purpose. To consistently worry about how to change the opinions of others, to know how they think, to constantly read social situations and what it means to exist within these societies. Heavy do his shoulders feel to burden these worries and secrets of the common people, to know that in light of their problems and mistakes, that it all was for naught. Who would be there to burden the problems and feelings of this jester? That, in all he has done for others to help them burden their daily lives, none had thought to truly find out if he himself was okay, that in light of everything he still knew what it meant to be happy. There was one figure within the life of this jester who truly sought to wrap his hand around the throat of the feelings he felt void of, to take advantage of his situation and emotions, Gashadokuro. This Archlich had turned him from his normal daily life and corrupted him, that through worship to Iblees and devotion to the cause, that more than a sense of belonging could be found. Eventually his soul was tainted a dark black and he was exposed to the dark arts, fully enveloped in the cause that this Archlich had spurred upon the world. From this point forward, Coire Luther was exposed to a grotesque and evil life. Horrors and evils he’d never managed to even muster within the imagination of his mind had manifested themselves into reality. Through this craft he’d witness and learn, the sanctity and importance of human life were torn apart, he’d learn to manipulate and control these aspects. In fleeting moments a life that had such great potential, was destroyed and repurposed for a dark craft, to push the wishes and desires he’d pursue for. The mind of one who adopts this dark art was in constant war with itself, slowly changing for the worst. Moments where one would easily discern right from wrong were now skewed and anything was left up in the air to be somehow twisted to fit the narrative that it is the right path. Yet, in the height of this learned dark art, a great change had occurred once again. No more did Coire believe that another great change could occur upon his life, for that would seem to pale in comparison to that which he’d experienced so far. In a single night, witnessed by himself, his master was sealed away by an opposition. The Archlich, although wicked and insane, had provided a sense of safety and purpose for Coire. That through his dedication and continuation to prove himself, there were higher goals and aspirations to reach. But in this sealing ritual, all of that was taken away from him as he was left with a sense of dread and loneliness. That which posed as a great evil, also acted as a pillar for his steps, and it was not until he was gone that did he then realize he’d been working in his shadow for so long. Coire after this all had found himself in a great sense of fear, anxiety had ridden his mind and he was not himself. He felt as though those who could possibly offer some council and guidance were truly in it all for themselves, that perhaps he would be betrayed and lose himself. He now felt like he had to seek anything, to reach out and grasp anything he could both physically and spiritually. To seek guidance in Iblees where he could and hope that the empty space with which he called into would beckon a return and hopefully free him from the prison he had built for himself in his mind. The River of Souls Upon finally resting, with all of this in mind, he’d taken off his mask, wiped his makeup and taken off the costume that others so clearly view, stripped to only himself and his nightwear. Coire finally slipped into a sleep, it was often that he had peculiar dreams, but likely never terrors or nightmares, such were reserved for more typically within his young age. This particular night, his physical body bore sweats and shivers. It writhed with pain that conflicted his mind, he was under attack through mental stimuli and could not escape it. Coire woke from his sleep, to find himself in awe. He was presented with the view of a gigantic cavern, its height vastly superior to any cave of legends, its corners and ends were unforeseeable, yet the ceiling of the cavern was to be seen. Within this vast cavern were strewn ghastly seas of moving and glowing white and blue mass. The cavern itself was filled with a deep fog which clung to its walls, yet allowed some sight with distance that were left open from vast walls. Coire’s ears were filled with faint screams that although heard, were not vastly loud or piercing, they were merely distant cries that seemingly consisted of the main sounds which rang and echoed throughout the cave. The first thing that encapsulated Coire’s vision was a shadowy figure that lingered yet beyond the fog, coming into view eventually. The figure was a hooded skeletal figure, a single finger poked from its cloaked sleeve to reveal bone fingers, pointing towards Coire. This figure was upon a large canoe that sailed closer to Coire, gliding upon the ghastly river that was strewn across the floor of the cave. Coire sat at his position, unable to muster the strength or mental willpower to dare question what had happened, upon his contemplative sit, the figure fully arrived before him in the water. First, it pointed directly to him, then to the boat, as if to beckon him to come forth. Coire, dared not challenge what being he had been shown and hesitantly entered the canoe, taking a seat upon its backside. The canoe then similarly moved as it were before despite there seemingly being nothing to row it or propel it forward. The two of them had moved forward into the cavern, deeper, upon Coire turning around to see where he had come from, he saw an opening in the tunnel that was not yet apparent until that point. The opening was a light, one might assume it to be an exit, dread fell to Coire as he’d thought he had blundered such an obvious happenstance, attempting to recall the possibility of it existing before. After some contemplation, he looked back to see the figure who guided his boat. It was then that within view straight ahead that Coire had seen an unholy view, one that would haunt him, it was a hellish landscape with tormented souls, screams and the like. An unsightly hell that was void of flame and lava, and evil and fiendish all the same. Monsters and unsightly creatures tormenting souls, their cries made heard through screams. The man had found himself within a juxtaposition, yet he clearly sailed towards the evil part of the cave against his own will, it felt as though he were defenseless. In a harsh attempt, he tried to grab and stop the figure from yet piloting him to his dark fate, but it had a force much greater than his own, swiping at him away with a great force, almost knocking him off the boat. As he peered off the side of the boat, the ghastly sea which lay underneath him threw grasps at him in an attempt to bring him into the pool of souls that ferociously sought him. Coire recoiled from the sight, sitting back to his previous spot and turned to the figure in an attempt to beg for his escape. “Please, just let me go, why am I here?” he loudly exclaimed, but the figure had no response, it seemed inhuman, there was no warmth or forgiving nature to the figure as it moved mechanically like a puppet. The Eye As the boat continued forward within this sea of souls, more became clear in view within this hellish landscape. The cave was expanded by this point, gigantic in its entirety and vast so far that the sight of it was unable to be seen, mountainous landscape had obstructed the view to peer beyond the horizon. The thing that had encapsulated his gaze was a tower, upon the top of this tower roared a deep red and black flame that created the illusion of an eye. This eye burned brightly and illuminated the landscape around it, more than that of the lava reflecting off the scorched and dark terrain. The eye would peer upon those within this realm and as soon as Coire noticed this, he was given the eye’s gaze, the immense feeling of fear had washed over him as it seemingly made him tremble with each passing second it stared. The gaze lingered as Coire felt his vision shift and the presence of the eye was great, encompassing him within a shadowy hue. The peripheral view of that around him was clouded in a wispy black flame-like shadow, which illuminated only the eye to be seen. Great heat was felt as he heard the eye speak to him. ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴀʟᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴛ? ᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴏʟꜰ ᴀᴍᴏɴɢ ꜱʜᴇᴇᴘ. Upon hearing this, the wispiness and deafening gaze of the eye had gone away. The surroundings had now been presented once more as he peers to a gigantic chasm with the soul-flowing waterfall, he along with the boat were casted into this great abyss and crashed. Only then did he awaken from his nightmare, agonizing pain had struck him, sweat and anxious chills taking over his body as he clung to his heart in hopes this would not be the end. It was then that he knew what had to be done, to cut the eye. He grabbed his etched dagger and held it above his eye ready to slice, yet hesitated. He slowly hyped himself into this vile act and screamed as he cut, colors of red flowing until he could see mere nothingness, he wept as he knew not what overcame him, and more importantly.. What he had done, his sight robbed of him, and what did he have to show for it? [Feat Application]

MC Name: knuckles547 RP Name: Kar'ma Skype Account ((PM me if you wish for it to be private)): dr.rainbows547 Timezone: EST Profession: Soldier, Chef, or Blacksmith Do you have Teamspeak?/Are you willing to download it?: I have it. PK Clause Agreement ((Yes or No)): Yes

((IGN)): knuckles547 Name: Kar'ma Age:(In-Game) 32 Chosen Role: Rogue Race: Elf, Woof-Elf ((Do you have skype and/or willing to get it?)): I have skype. dr.rainbows547 Skills: Agile, Small, I don't bring in much attention nor commotion