Knight of Elken

Greiret Elverhilin's palm weakly gripped the magical burn upon his face - the one that was opposite to his friend Sarrion's. 

". . . NO! No . . . I knew not that he still drew breath, and now he is dead?! It was my presumption he had perhaps found a way to enter the Void itself. . . But this? Murdered?! . . . Lonelier do I become. . . Lonelier, indeed. What misery this earth has become. Some day. . ." 

". . ."

". . . Some day I will see you again, my friend." 

Despair, grief, sorrow, misery and anxiety was hidden by the stench of strong alcohol - vodka. A glass was poured for himself and another for the golden soul of his friend. 

Sir Milonir of Whitehall missed the man he called friend. Day after day, after day after day, and his comrade, his liege lord, was not to be found. Days turned to months. Yet with each day, strength returned. Yet with each month, clarity, confidence was restored. His resolve to develop his strength was like an endless fire. All in the name of being worthy of the title he had disgraced with his laziness, his gluttony, his stupidity. Bodbmakos was right all those years ago.

Yet, he too was changed, like Walter. He too was malleable, like Walter. He would become the First Sword that House Weiss needed, their pillar of strength. Walter had given him motivation - a thing more valuable than gold. He was the fuel for his fire. The living legend, the First Sword, looked to the horizon. He awaited the day of his return. Walter would find a pillar of strength upon which he could lean on when he returned. A friend.

Sir Milonir of Whitehall's blood curdling howls, like the wolf's, could be heard echoing down the cobbles of Valdev upon hearing the most dreaded news. "NIEEEEEEEET! VE KOENAS EES DEA-" A kind passerby explained to him that the queen was in fact not dead. "Vait. She em niet dead? YEZ! VOOHOO! Oh. She em niet be ve courtings-ledy? Okei. Thet em meaning ve can go for rides on ve horses. Ve go to elfski lends and make them geev us BEEG beers soon." The kind passerby told him that he should probably bring money to pay for those 'big beers.' The kind passerby, who was an elf by the way, was stuffed in a locker. "Ea must go see mea friend soon now thet she em hyaving ve free tiems!" 

Greiret Elverhilin, upon the walls of Morteskvan, could not keep his gaze away from the exact spot where Dagfinn had been taken. His safety had been assured, were they only seconds faster. This shame was his to bear, alone on his watch. He hadn't come to known Dagfinn in his time, yet in the squire's death were his true colors revealed; his unwavering valor. The valor of humanity he had come to respect over his hundreds of years of life. The cold wind blew hollow over his still figure as he prayed for the Skies to take him. 

Sir Milonir of Whitehall heard the news within the Brotherhood's barracks, shadow and doubt taking his fellow brothers. Ever-bold, he chortled at the missive he could hardly read. "HAR HAR HAR! Finelly. Good fight-mens tiems boys. Boney guys em thinking they vey tough guys now, ooo. They em forget eet ees coffin tiem, niet valking on ground tiems. Ea em put them beck een they bed tiems now, okei." And with that, he polished his regular, ordinary steel bardiche. He would not need aurum for these flies. 

I'm going to just bandwagon off of what everyone else has said here. I really, really like the addition of these new spells! They are very cool! They give a lot more flavor, variety, and power to fire evocation. I was actually considering writing up some new spells after I relearned voidal magic, so thanks for beating me to it haha!

It has been my personal opinion that, over the years, the general mood about voidal magic has been to gimp it into oblivion. After all, it is very accessible, and fairly common even to noobs. Hence why I am in favor of buffs like this which do not make the magic insanely overpowered, but give it a needed refresh and slight boost in power with appropriate costs associated (2 magic slots). 

A big part of me finds the addition of an optional 2nd slot very cool and immersive. I like the idea of magical specialization. Feels like being one of the masters at the College of Winterhold in Skyrim, one of the reasons I even got into magic in the first place. Specializing in a certain magic is something that simply doesn't mean anything on LotC. Sure, you can call yourself a master of fire evocation once you reach T5, but aside from saying "I am a master of fire evocation," there aren't any special abilities, or tangible benefits from focusing on only that magic that which would set you apart from any other T5 fire evo dude. Under this lore, considering yourself a master of fire evocation actually means something, and comes with special abilities too. For that, I give my lil ol' +1. 

However. That being said, my only concern is that the additional abilities being locked behind a second slot don't really have the weight and power associated with an entire magic slot being taken up, in my humble opinion. They breach into almost like, a half slot of magic being taken up? They are powerful, but not powerful enough to take up an entire magic slot I think. Instead of having a few additional abilities, I could have an entirely different magic to cast, which, to me, doesn't feel appropriately weighted. If there were additional abilities that truly made it bear the same weight as something like transfiguration's 2 slots, I would be more in favor of the optional 2 slot. Sorry to point out a problem I have in mind and not give a suggestion on how to amend the problem, but the area of creativity is generally not my forte 😔

Hello! I am not sure if I am doing this right (apologies in advance), but unfortunately, I haven't been able to get a lore team answer on the matter. I was told by some old magic roleplaying friends I can self teach if I still have an active TA. Which I do! So, um, basically, um, ... pls 🥺👉👈 

MC Name:

         ElkenKnight

Character's Name:

         Greiret Elverhilin.

Character's Age:

         408.

Character's Race:

         Wood Elf.

What magic(s) will you be learning?

         Fire evocation.

Teacher's MC Name:

         ElkenKnight.

Teacher's RP Name:

         Greiret Elverhilin.

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         No.

Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes.

Are you aware that if this magic is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?

         Yes.

Sir Milonir of Whitehall prepares for battle!

Deep in the forests of western Almaris, Greiret Elverhilin, son of Lhindir and Immortal Knight of the Dominion of Old, cast his gaze to the fireplace in the refurbished, once abandoned mage's tower he called home. Funny, he thought. Once he was capable of casting blazes which made this one before him look like a jester's worst joke. Fire's light danced off of him,  as he reflected upon the past - and his current dejected state. He thought of the Enchantry's invasion of the Inferi realm. He thought of his duel with Lefkos outside of Linandria. Cheza. The Bronze Rebellion, Gladewynn and the Dominion. Kairn. Lhindir. He grew uncomfortable, anxious even. This place was not home any longer. Indeed. Home was not solitude, not this place. Not this empty shell of the past. 

"I require pen and ink." 

The Duel to test Vikomit's Mettle, Grand Harvest, 117

=========================================

The grease-ridden, pagan heart of Sir Milonir of Whitehall, the First Sword of House Weiss, swelled four times that day. Immeasurable pride gripped that young warrior from Whitehall. For he and his battle-brother Ikumak, son of Ikumak and father of Ikumak, had been bested by the new Vikomit. The brand new Vikomit had proven far more than just his worth in prowess of arms with that victory. For here was the man that would lead House Weiss to glory aplenty, just as his father did. A man worth following. A man worth his respect.

Milonir winced in pain, healing in his bed chamber from his injuries - a reward from their duel, he thought. He'd muse to one of his Raevir house guards, 

"Mei first utter defeat. Fitting eet ees by the new Vikomit."

Gaze remained skyward, meaty brown orbs shutting in thought as beer was swallowed by hoggish lips. Candlelight danced upon his face in the dark of night, serving to illuminate the smirk across his maw. Laughter, jubilant and rich filled the silence of his room in Zvaervauld. 

"There ees a lesson en theese defeat, mei friend. Thet ve must train harder, and stronger. To be vorthy of our posts - vorthy to our Ancestors. Let heem be challenged no more. For theese battle vill be our bond for all time. He valks vith hees Ancestors, and the Spirits guide heem. Vhether he knows eet or niet."

"Make a prayer to vy GOD. For long life to the new Vikomit. Ea vill ask mine to bless heem vith the longest life possible." 

With status affirmed, Sir Milonir prepared to follow the new Vikomit to death's door and even further beyond. His resolve returned. Conviction unshaken. For he would do everything within his power to bring glory to House Weiss, and the new Vikomit Audo Weiss.

Sir Milonir of Whitehall's scouts, the Fat Boys, reported to him the size of the cake the wedding was to have. His eyes grew as wide as dinner plates upon hearing the news. 

THE DREAM OF THE ENDLESS STEPPE

5th of Grand Harvest, 116th Year of the Second Age
 

Sir Milonir of Whitehall leads a Raevir warband of Weiss House Guards to hunt the Harbingers.

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“PRO MARIAAAAA! Dnes dosáhneš svého konce, ďáble! POMSTA ZA MARII!”

The clattering of a warhammer, slamming into steel. The whinny of a steed. A clattering of blades. The muffled sound of a tackle to the ground. Steel clatters, and two warriors make ragged grunts. Groans of pure exasperation. Howls of pain.

Slit.
 

The setting of the mellow sun cast a rosy hue in those golden southern waves of Almaris, serving to illuminate the triumph in the gigantic northern warrior’s fat, beady brown eyes. Sir Milonir of Whitehall, the colossal beer-bellied Northman, arose from his kill. Below him lay the body of the the Harbinger of Fear, who was responsible for many heinous acts across the lands of Almaris alongside the other Harbingers. One such act was the foolish decision to take the arm of his Liege Lady Maria Weiss in the Red City of Karosgrad. House Weiss does not receive wounds unanswered. And now, that Harbinger knew this. The others would soon know, too. 

Valkskej i Ghaestenwald, the amber jeweled, black longsword burrowed its way out of the mess that remained of that Harbinger’s skull, and back to the gloves of that valiant Knight. Yet... The reward of triumph fled, as quickly as it set in.

A throbbing, all-encompassing pain. Panic, terror replaced triumph.

Crimson ichor oozed down his ginormous, mud-caked figure – painting his neck in a deep crimson. Adrenaline coursed through his veins no more. Reality set in. There was a hole in the side of his neck that would not stop flowing. The cost of his vengeance. It was to be determined he must pay this blood price - fluid he had never seen flowing so dramatically as it did now. Desperate, hysteric pants escaped hoggish lips, masked only by the sound of crashing waves. 

The abyss reached for Milonir. Bells tolled. He was cold. Pale as a ghost; pallid. Crows circled; they found their next feast. The night was coming. The Bogatyrs of Old called for another to fill their Great Hall in the Skies. His soul would soon be theirs. What a fitting end, it would be. Rewarded with the unending throng of battle with heroes of legend for all of time. And he saw them. Beckoning. Despite this warrior’s end, for the first time in years, he understood true fear. He was afraid. Afraid of what truly awaited him in death. Doubt cast through his mind of the abyss that surely awaited him. The Harbinger of Fear had succeeded, inducing fear, and terror which gripped the very fiber of his soul even in its death. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

He was spiraling. Spinning, growing dizzy. Milonir needed to find a way to clog this hole. Fast. Make it stop, he panicked. You're going to die!

Mind racing a million miles a minute, his consciousness was polluted with waves of terror and hysteria which washed over him like the sea. He was losing a lot of blood. Milonir desperately spun, searching for any end to the pain. He had to think – and fast, before shock set in. Deep in the recesses of his mind he remembered the words of that medical prodigy, Haus Weiss – stuff it, apply pressure. Yes. This might just work. It is my only option. Vibrating, shaking hands gripped that ornate longsword Valkskej i Ghaestenwald, cutting a selection of cloth from his undershirt. And so entered that grubby cloth sleeve to the oozing hole in his neck. It was thick. Thick enough to absorb the blood like a sponge. The agonizing, hysteric cry of pain was heard for miles - like a dying animal's screech. In an act that saved his life, he applied pressure to his gaping wound, locking an x with his arms around his neck to prevent that wound from flowing. And so, with an oozing hole now plugged, and tremendous pressure applied, that river of blood turned to a dribble. 

Whether it was GODAN, the Spirits, the Father, the Bogatyrs of Old, or perhaps simply luck, none could say. But powers beyond the mortal realms saw it fit to keep this young Knight alive long enough to receive aid.  Whoever it was sought more valorous deeds from this wretch of a Knight. They were not satisfied with his accomplishments yet. There was still work to be done before he was permitted entry to the Great Halls in the Skies. This would not be the end of the glorious song of that Champion of Whitehall. Those Skies would be left without Sir Milonir – for now.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The way to Talon’s Port.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

There was only one town close by: Talon's Port. The forested town of shamans who had healed his Liege not one day before. It was not far now. Under cover of moonlight did dogged, crimson painted warrior be pulled towards that mystic town of Talon’s Port atop a horse black as night called Stargazer, the Wonder-Steed.  Rider and steed shared a bond that surpassed words, and that steed galloped as fast as her legs would take her. 

It was a miracle he hadn’t fallen off of that midnight steed on the thickly wooded path there. He fought the haze of unconsciousness long enough to make it to that town of farseers. Milonir was now with the dark elf shamans in that opulent, mystic town of brick. The shamans were met with a rider who appeared on the verge of sliding right off of that steed, crumpled against her mane. He successfully clung to the little life he had left. 

A truly mysterious elfess of ebony named Lenora flanked by another named Gusiam were unflinching in their duty. Lenora the guide did not hesitate to lead the Northman and steed through those streets of Talon's Port. Gusiam retrieved an offering to the Spirit of Akezo. A ritual to save his life was to take place. Through delusion, and near unconsciousness, Milonir mistook Lenora as his mother. With breath practically a whisper, he asked, 

“mamej... did ea... become...”

 “...Bogatyr... mamej?”

“...Yes, my son,” resounded within his head. His life was now in the hands of those shamans.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

360 pounds of highlander and steel collapsed to that poor white medical cot that dutifully supported his tremendous weight. No hesitation was made, as that hideous wretch Milonir became surrounded by the mystical silver and peach mists of the farseers Lenora and Gusiam, engulfed in their ritual. Chanting surrounded him, in a language he was not conscious to listen to. The duo invoked the Spirit of Akezo, who deemed fit to bestow upon to Milonir the gift of life. Blood flowed from him no more. He was truly safe now. Sealed. Whole. Stable. Delirious days of healing, Blood Lotus soup and broth awaited him. 

He was unconscious for an entire week.
And in that time, he was in the land of dreams. 

Dreams.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The holy, endless steppe of dreams.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Milonir was lost in the endless steppe. He wandered for days. He saw Bodbmakos, Koeng Georg. Lord Felix, Audo, Haus, Sir Onon, Sangilak, Ikumak, Veronica, Via, Sierra. All joined him on this journey. After what felt to be years of wandering, he saw the Bogatyrs of Old. They were in two columns, stretched to the horizon over endless hills. Thousands of blades were raised, forming a tunnel endlessly long to a destination unknown. Friends, Lieges, and Bogatyr alike welcomed him to traverse the tunnel of swords. For the path of blades led to an ocean of golden grass. It was familiar. He knew this place. Somewhere he had not seen in many, many years. It was the grass of his homeland. His home was right over the horizon: Whitehall.

He knew what awaited him in Whitehall; his mother. Milonir, atop that steed of midnight, galloped with might towards Whitehall, towards mother. Blades retreated with thundering hooves, as he cantered past those Heroes of Old. They who roared, relishing his name endlessly: Milonir, Champion of Whitehall. 

The road home was not to be made without a fight. For past the hills of heroes swarmed an army of one million enemies as black as death. Banners as black as their armor were raised, and in unison, chanted a dark, evil language. Sir Milonir faced the army utterly alone. Or so he thought. On his sides an army of one million did appear, all atop horseback. All manner of warriors from his homeland were present. Glorious Haeseni Hussars, their armor gleaming like gold. Grim, unflinching Raevir knights remained true, composed. Men and women adorned in the colors of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl and even Czevuskoving warriors and shieldmaidens of Whitehall joined the army, with shields as wide and thick as oak. And his Friends, Lieges, and Bogatyr alike did accompany him. Warriors unflinching prepared to charge, atop eager steeds. In his quiver lay a million arrows. In his hands a lance made of unbreakable gold. And under him, that horse as black as night; Stargazer. The golden sun of the endless steppe penetrated the eyes of the enemy, dousing the glorious army led by Sir Milonir in divine rays. Days of battle ensued. The battle of Whitehall. The battle of dreams. Sir Milonir was invincible, indomitable. 

Victorious in endless battle, a reward was due. Entry to that nostalgic village of Whitehall. Yet, in dreams, victory in battle was to be the only reward. For he was not met with Whitehall, nor his mother he so desperately wished to see. He was met with a smoldering ruin. And silence. Heroes and his immortal army vanished to dust. His friends and followers were gone. He was alone. And he looked to his hands. He was a kid once again. Stood before him was his father. He was flanked by two Harbingers on each side. Father’s face, as still as death, donned a mask as black as night and took lead of the Harbingers. All charged with blade in hand. Milonir, no longer Sir, was defenseless. Those blades of both his father and the Harbingers plunged into the chest of that screaming, fat kid.

The child was dead. 

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He awoke screaming cries of agony, tears streaming down his portly cheeks. Milonir was covered in beads of salty sweat as the pale, crescent moonlight shone like a silvery claw through silk purple curtains. He was alone. Just like in his dream. Brown orbs gazed to his shaking hands. It was just a dream. A nightmare. The Harbinger of Fear’s reach gripped his psyche. 

With the guidance of the farseers, many offerings to Akezo were made by Milonir in the following weeks. The Spirits had won a new follower. After weeks of ritualistic healing chants, visits from his friends of House Weiss and his personal Raevir guard, as well as many discussions on how best to venerate the Spirits, Sir Milonir found himself atop Stargazer, the Wonder-Steed. He bid farewell to those dark elven shamans who had saved his life. This debt would never be forgotten, and he would find a way to repay their kindness and venerate Akezo and the Spirits. He was a new man, who possessed new convictions and beliefs. For now he too counted himself amongst the believers of those Spirits. Gone was that stupid, oafish kid. Killed in dreams. Yet gloom followed him like the plague. Fear cast through his mind. Where there was unending confidence before, doubt, weakness rooted themselves in his being.

He could be killed. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Yet, he remembered why he had started this path. His love for House Weiss. The defense of his friends. His conviction. His pride. The unending, soul-burning desire for vengeance against the careless enemies of House Weiss. This all-encompassing vortex of emotion controlled every part of him.

Suffer not the Unworthy.

Stand against the Long Dark.

Venerate the Spirits.

Hold GODAN above all else.

These tenets gripped every fiber of his being. Sir Milonir was not allowed to fail. He must be unflinching. He was on a righteous path toward becoming a true Bogatyr and he knew it. Conviction restored; every wound received to Lady Maria and House Weiss would be returned with limitless fury. There would be more blood spilled. Sir Milonir, Hero of Whitehall was prepared to lose every drop of blood in his body to this end. But it was time to return to Zvaervauld. North.

Northman and steed began the long path home. Yet, reaching jungle's end, they paused. They observed endless golden grass beyond the cover of that humid forest. This land was known. Milonir and Stargazer were in the endless steppe from dreams.

The Stargazer and Knight stared skyward at the blanket of stars that stretched to infinity for hours.
 

He knew peace unending. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The infinity of stars.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Harbingers thought it would be they to assume the role of hunter.
Not so. They would soon learn they were the prey.

Woe unto them.

And woe to the enemies of House Weiss.

There would be

Vengeance for Maria.

 

Hi. I'm Elk. Let me first start by saying that I do not wish Roller_TS to be banned.

I don’t know if this behavior is worthy of a ban. But I do think it’s been pretty weird, toxic, and certainly motivated from Out of Character reasons. Allow me to elaborate on why I believe he should receive either a formal warning, or a villainy blacklist.

I have been involved in two CRPs with him now. The first CRP was in Karosgrad, in which roll combat was utilized. I rolled a 20/20 critical strike with a warhammer. He rolled a 2/20 in defense. This, apparently, only caused light bruising to his character’s head, and a small gash, emoted as such. While I probably should have argued that, it was about 2 AM for me. So I let it slide. Everyone involved in the CRP was pretty tired by this point and wanted the CRP to end. Things ended pretty amicably for all parties, and I thought it was a pretty fun CRP that could lead to an interesting story as a result of the consequences. A story I’m following up on in an RP post I am writing. But I did take note of Roller underplaying damage.

After he, and his character’s group of villains chopped off the arm of my character’s liege lady in this initial fight in Karosgrad, my character set out to avenge this. My character happened to stumble upon Roller’s character after searching for the Harbingers, and CRP was engaged. The mode of combat selected was roll combat. It was a nightmare. What happened was about 4 to 5 hours of CRP, arguing the semantics of CRP damage and wounds, the rules of roll combat and perhaps the most damning, ignoring the verdict of poor frankdh who was brought in to moderate twice. See, my character successfully drove a longsword through Roller’s character’s head after tackling his to the ground. Twice. You would typically expect to be dead after the first time you get a longsword through the head. But Roller refused to let his character die, despite my successful rolls. Before emoting dying, which is what should have happened from my successful roll to drive a sword through his character’s head, Roller insisted in LOOC that we now utilize the damage system defined in the rules for roleplaying wounds. This had not been utilized earlier in combat, and wounds had been defined roughly by the numerical difference between rolls as most CRP tends to go.
 

And stupidly, I conceded to changing the rules because it was late. I also thought it might be against the rules to not do so, and that it might be able to more rigidly define how Roller’s character could die since he refused to die from wounds that should have killed. After rolling a 17/20 on his roll for damage, my character’s longsword through the head somehow did not kill his character and instead inflicted a heavy wound as defined in the roll combat CRP rules. After somehow drawing a dagger with a longsword lodged in his character’s eye, he was able to make a successful wound with a knife to my character’s neck. I once again rolled to stab his character through the head and succeeded once again. He insisted that it should be 3 hits to kill his character, despite the wounds being a ******* longsword through the head twice. It was at this point I had to try and modreq Roller’s character to finally be dead, and even had to go into Balian VC at around 12 AM to plead for frankdh to make another ruling while I knew they were occupied with other matters.

Thankfully, frankdh messaged me on Discord saying that Roller’s character was indeed dead from that action. And he refused to uphold that verdict. Through sheer desperation, he messaged anyone. He messaged frankdh on Discord, after they had gone to sleep. He messaged Orlanth. He messaged OOC chat. He messaged admins. He messaged GMs. He hilariously messaged VIPs. He simply refused to uphold this verdict. He desperately tried to have this verdict overruled. I was genuinely speechless, and completely optionless. One of my close friends in VC, Ragonath, was the only thing keeping me sane. And finally, after threatening to write up a ban report on him did he concede.
 

His character died, and we both messaged LOOC and had as much of a make-up as was possible. I told him that I wished we could be on good terms someday, and that I was sorry things got so heated. It ended with both of us saying peace, and I thought things ended okay after everything happened.
 

But it doesn’t even end there. Fast forward to the next day. The next morning, I woke up to messages from Roller on Discord, starting the debating again. The semantics of whether or not my character would be alive, why he wouldn’t have recognized him, why my character couldn’t take his head. He tried so hard to make it so that he would not face any consequences for his character’s actions since he would not PK and tried to remain completely anonymous despite having merked him. He opened a new modreq to have what was originally agreed upon changed – which was to have my character cauterize his wounds and seek out more serious aid. Okay, fine. I will admit that does seem reasonable even if it didn't feel that way at the time. 
 

frankdh presided over this ruling once again. They ruled that I was not allowed to take anything from Roller, and that I was required to find a valid way to have my character’s life-threatening wounds quickly healed in an attempt to appease both sides – which is a decision I can understand and respect. I personally did not agree with this ruling, as I thought the first longsword through the head should have killed him, effectively voiding any dagger wounds made to my character and thus giving me the ability to continue the story I was developing with Roller’s head and sword. But despite my desire to continue this story in the way I wanted to, I would instead uphold and respect that decision frank made. Voiding that dagger emote would have effectively ruled that Roller was powergaming by still remaining functional and combat effective after having a longsword lodged in his character's eye. But that is another debate entirely. I was required to find a valid way to heal my character’s life-threatening wounds as a result of the roll combat wounds my character received on the (really dumb) damage system, which was done through shamanistic healing in a town very close by to the CRP by my friend Bethinwonderland’s shaman character, accompanied by PrinceJose. Yada yada, not important for this report. And this is finally where I thought it wound end. I was relieved I wouldn’t have to continue debating Roller after many, many hours of such.
 

That was when I discovered Roller’s hilarious hitlist, as shown to me be by my friend Bethinwonderland late last night. It listed a number of individuals being targeted, with Tilly notably being targeted for ‘OOC reasoning.’ After being asked about it, Roller cites my character’s name being on that list as a result of the initial CRP I mentioned in Karosgrad at the start of this post. But curiously, none of the other participants in that CRP are on that list. Not Ragonath’s character Sangilak, teawithFrisket’s character Maria Weiss, or the two other participants whose usernames I unfortunately do not remember. Only mine. After we had a messy OOC fight, and CRP. And I killed his character. Strange.

I am really not trying to character smear here. But Roller_TS is a player who has proven that he will try and change the rules of CRP to their benefit, has demonstrated a pattern of powergaming by underplaying wounds, and most egregiously, ignores the verdicts of GMs to try and create new verdicts and only concedes after being threatened with a ban report. Roller has tried to intimidate me in LOOC by saying he was streaming on Twitch in our second CRP, harassed some of my friends in House Weiss by consistently messaging them despite being told to stop, and makes people feel uncomfortable by some of the messages and things he says as some of the others have reported in this post. He refuses to apologize for his shitty behavior, and I do not think that should go unnoticed either. 

It is as I said originally. I don’t think this is ban worthy. But maybe that opinion is too merciful. I agree with frankdh, and what they said to me in DMs – I think this is an extended case of bad manners. But this behavior needs to stop if he wishes to continue roleplaying on this server to any significant capacity. I feel that a villainy blacklist is more than warranted on account of his OOC targeting hitlist, as well as a formal warning to cease this toxic, winner’s mentality behavior at once. I do not think behavior like this has any place on LotC, and it is not conducive to the collaborative narrative we are trying to build on this server. If the mods see it fit to ban him then so be it. But that is what I think, and that is my experience with Roller. I would say it has been overall negative, and I hope he realizes the harm he has caused. 

I want to thank Tilly for bringing light to this topic. And the number of other people coming forward to comment their own experiences. I originally dropped my own ban report I was using to make Roller_TS comply with frankdh’s ruling as I said. But I now realize the importance in bringing light to this behavior, and not allowing it to persist on our server. And I hope the mods can see that too, and factor that into the verdict that results from this. 

Sir Milonir of Chadhall, the Greaseheart, Hero of the Petra, Devourer of Kitchens, Slayer of Beer Cans, and Generally Large, Heavy Man, looks to his tremendous storage of garlic bread in Zvaervauld. Ravenously. 

together, we shall fight mineman wars again some day, brother. until then, I shall keep the fire going 🔥🕯️🔥

Lore like this is so fun to me, and provides a unique ritualistic alternative to FTB. And some options for The Gays TM. We're in a fantasy world, and stuff like this makes it feel like it. I love this so much +1,000,000

I don't think sexual roleplay of any kind has a place in regards to the story that we are trying to tell on LotC. As adults, we have a responsibility to not expose children and minors to sexually suggestive RP. Period. It's literally that simple. And FTB's are exactly that; sexually explicit, suggestive roleplay. Regardless of whether or not FTB's lead to ERP on Discord, this type of RP should never be allowed in the first place, as it can expose children to sexually explicit content, and in my opinion, be an enabler for pedophilia to occur. Sexually suggestive roleplay has no place in the grand story of LotC, and in the worst case scenario, be a doorway to enable sick, pedophilic behavior. If we had a server of 18+, a lot of the concerns we have on this thread wouldn't be a problem. But that's not a luxury we have. 

As it currently stands, I don't think formal rule changes are going to stop ERP and pedophilia. Because all it takes is one message on Discord of "uwu dew yew wanna ERP >.<" outside of the server and the moderation team's control. But what I do think, however, is that removing FTB will bring a halt to children's exposure to sexually explicit content on the server. And that is extremely valuable to me, and a good start in making our community safer. This is why I support removing FTB. 

I don't have a good solution to removing pedophilia. We all want these sick fucks gone. But unfortunately, these cowards hide behind closed DMs on Discord and scare their victims into staying silent. As my friend @excitedsaid, finding new ways of outing pedophiles should be a focus for our community. As I see it, the only way we can out pedophiles currently is to have victims of pedophilia report these behaviors from private DMs, which is often an incredibly scary process for a minor. Increasing the resources that are available to children in reporting pedophilia could be a focus of the server, as well as even more inventive options like STING operations on suspected pedophiles and creeps alike (LotC STING operations, go ahead and laugh 😅).

Furthermore, I think pedophilia and this type of sexual focused RP in our community is stopped through cognizant observations about who is roleplaying with who, who is making sexually explicit comments, posts and sexual characterizations of their characters in Discord channels. I think our community should all be focused on these sorts of observations, as it makes it easier for us to all spot creeps and observe when a minor may be in a dangerous situation so we can out these individuals from our community. 

Posts like this always tend to bring up the important topic of being cognizant of who you're roleplaying with, too. It's extremely important to remember that you are roleplaying with children sometimes, who should under no circumstances be exposed to topics suited for adults.

I originally voted no on this thread due to my assumption that children, aside from new characters, could only be created through a FTB. But realizing how much harm FTB can cause, I change my vote to yes to ban FTB (unfortunately I can't switch my vote after it's been cast though, apparently). FTB causes little good, and can enable pedophilia and sexually problematic behavior. Additionally, there have been a number of really inventive, creative proposed changes on how RP kids can be brought on to the server which are all very good, safe alternatives to the current rules. And they can be creative, and pretty funny too 😂. 

Sir Milonir of Whitehall, Hero of the Petra, prepared to watch his Prince slay this dejected shadow of an archduke. 

The Zvaervauld Lilac Honey Boys ® send in their registry form. 

Sir Milonir of Whitehall, Hero of the Petra
Lord Audo Weiss, Slayer of 100 Rozanians @Frostdrop1
Lord Marshal, Lord Felix Weiss, Heroic Inferi Demonslayer @SethWolf
The Legendary Sir Paul Montalt, Hero of the Petra @excited

The now Ser Milonir of Whitehall is rumored to have slain 25 rebels that day without a scratch, along with his knight-elf friend, Ser Onon the Fearless who is rumored to have slain 30. They accompanied their Prince Marius Audemar back to Karosgrad, ensuring safe passage on Star-Gazer, the Wonder-Steed. Jokes and delightful banter were heard all along the roads back to Karosgrad. 

Shadow and darkness controlled Milonir of Whitehall's visage. Night set on the BSK keep in Karosgrad. Candlelight danced off of the lad's acne-ridden cheeks, as the news of these RIDICULOUS summons were told all throughout the BSK barracks. A comrade, who had just returned from saving the entire world, was being summoned to answer ridiculous charges. The fire served to illuminate the white-hot rage that burned in the young armsman's eyes. Anger radiating from every pore of his body, the portly young guard set out to collect his allies and closest friends to make sure this was made right. 

"Is outrage. Audo iz hero of entire realm, agree many. Vould never harm eny vithout reason, and risk position. Ser Bishop gone too far." 

 The 15 year old Brother Armsman of Saint Karl prepares to stand with his friends in House Weiss. 

Milonir of Whitehall, one of the guards who kicked the children out, would tremble in his boots. He knew full well the cruelty and merciless, wanton violence children were capable of producing. And he was in their sights. 

A chubby, overweight teen adorned in the familiar yellow and black stripes of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl armor clatters on the sight in the skies, terrified of the onslaught surely to come. Heart pounding, and duty-bound,

"Zhere iz no courage without fear. GOD zave us poor souls."