DahStalker

Possibly, I know a lot of ppl on LOTC. Are you familiar w Skyfall? Or smthin of that namesake I forget. It was a place a few maps ago. no no I’m ur biggest fan !!! u r goated Norland king larper (please give me tax free land)

@squakhawk @Spoopy_Duck i got a buffalo wild wing gift card what sauce should I get on my boneless wings

Hi Urahra, I am well! How are you? There’s a lot of experiences on LOTC that I’ve enjoyed growing up so this is genuinely a difficult question. One of my most memorable moments on LOTC for me personally has had to be either Helburke as Lucrezia de Falstaff making my wines, or as my elf Lhoris when I started a whole rally to remove a pontiff alongside Jules and Publius. My favorite playable race has to be humans realistically due to how crazy their dynamic is in LOTC, but I really find musin cute and love sm I loved that Chinese New Year parade so much!! It was so fun. I still think of it time to time. I remember Remeron gave me fireworks to set off during it too. Houri/Ljüfvina is my character that took the most unexpected course truthfully. She started off as a refugee of Chaldees and developed into an Elder in the Norland community. Thanks to my friends Hugh, shadowz, milen, foog, and more. She adopted the Norn culture after stumbling upon Solgaard and it has been one of my most recent and fun arcs for a character thus far. I’ll pm you my paypal a v annoying person u and @Trupplermust pvp to the death I really wish I had more emotional maturity and a better grasp on roleplay when I played my Westerlands Queen. I felt like I could’ve produced such a unique and interesting character with her especially as Saint Caius’ mother. But alas I didn’t get along with a lot of people in that community due to racism and just poor behavior. A shame too because there was a small minority of cool people in the Westerlands too that I still talk too as well!! PS: She still lights a candle every night bro 😭❤️ A lot of my old friends have left lordofthecraft. One of the first people who I met on the server is actually @BonesOfTheEarthwho played Lefkos. I dearly miss PapaLiam as well who has gone onto greater things, and my friend kaldwin and may he rest Dantory. But I’ve met many people who have touched my life on LOTC that while we may not be on too good terms or talking terms anymore that I recall fondly and memories made.

I’m like 2 days overdue. But in 2015 on April 25th I joined this server thanks 2 approval by MR @IrishPerson i am now very old on this server yes please feel free to ask me questions and whatnot thank u

ts peak

Isolate and gloomy. That ungodly estate of Carrion clung to the stone perch of blessed mound, said to reach the heavens uptop. It was the first of homesteads one would encounter on the main road prior to hitting Haense then Helena, followed suit by the curvature of the Commonwealth's natural basin full to the brim with golden wheat that stuck to the muddied floors much like babe's to their mothers. The center of Kaedrin was decorated madly with strong licks of red and white and shacks of strong oak where the farmers' lie, though further in the backyard did the chorus of musing chortles echo -- for that is where the aristocrats remained. Often those spoke of how abnormal it may seem that the Carrion Estate was separated by that flock of colorful manors, for one would know surely the young Lord could afford such a gated lifestyle. Yet, alas, there in its shallow silence did that household of perpetual gloom linger, its liveliness stunted by the muted croak of a crow or bristle of a depressing tree sapped of all nutrients. Mariana Dubois had found herself always uneasy at the foot of that estate, having been near it only a sparse few times, and the young Lord even less. She was similar in age, yes, and drawn to him much in a way any would approach whimsical curiosity. But one could not find themselves able to shake off that gnawing dread that loomed anytime she were near the boy. A growing sensation as more years ticked on by. When it came time for that woman to raise her proclaimed nieces and nephews, she found herself gently coercing them away from that Carrion Estate, warning them of bad feelings based on a heavy instinct. Perhaps he was abnormal, perhaps he was cunning, perhaps even kind. But she would not forgo that heavy pit formed in her abdomen anytime she stared toward those closed curtains and gawking crows from afar.

An unyielding love was that of a doting mother. Comfortable under the comforts of a woven shawl did that Scyfling extend her arms forth toward the distant skies, nestled within them afar alongside her fallen son. Her lips held a kindred smile, once more befalling her beloved youth. Faintly did that night capture the aroma of goat milk.

no mention of Crumena? -1

does Manon ever miss her aunt Priscilla dawg who is manons favorite child

what is the build

Ljúfvina is happy. She nods sagely. She tends to donkeys.

A note finds it way to the author of this very missive. “Hello. I am interested. -Lhoris.”

Ljúfvina lofted a palm against her brow, glancing upward. It were times like these — when the frost lay atop the ground in a fresh sheet, and waters coursed against the sands of the shore — that she became somewhat reminiscence of the past. It was then she thought of her old brethren and friends, and enemy. She would eat and drink well tonight in their honor. She didn’t do much now beyond tend for her donkeys. For decades she continued and care for them, making them more resilient to the conditions of her home Norland. Some would be successful cases, others not so much. Her hand went to stroke the mane of one particular donkey: a strong jaw, muscular legs, silky mane, and a furious heart. It was a good one, strong and good for labor, mighty and in well health. “Conan. . .” She said lovingly, twelfth of his name in donkey-lineage. ”HERRRRUIUHHAAAWWWW.” A cringe laced her features, side-eyeing a less… impressive donkey. Its legs were stout, maw ruffled like a pug, scent rancid like a pig, and hooves caked with callouses and teeth crooked. Its belly was rotund and flabby with fat. “Jay Amaranth the Sixth….” She said begrudgingly. And then she went to go get a snack.

To Father Pontius de Senna, newfound mentor and friend. O’GOD how often I have loved You, O’Lord, as you stand strongly present at every turning of my days while the sands of time cascade and pile away. Now again the Saintly chords are strung and their year is renewed, and eagerly do your children speak of change, of new tidings, and of aspirations fashioned by their own merit and resolve. But I ask you, O’GOD, what is the worth of a new Saintly-year if the heart remains old and stagnant? What divine profit is there in counting days anew if the soul wanes from righteous path? For I know verily, and certainly within myself, the capriciousness of the will of Man. Our hearts, made for You — does not always seek You. Rather, it finds itself curved inward, loving itself more than facing piety, taking delight in fleeting things rather instead of eternal joy. This is the plague of our spirits: a disorderly love away from You. I see, O’GOD, how much those around me desire much, though how poorly they love; seeking fullness where there is only scarcity. Thus, even when they sought the resolution to change, they remained divided— one part longing for You, another clinging tightly to habit. How often do we promise renewal, only to return once more to what has sinfully enslaved us? Yet You, O’GOD, do not abandon the restless and neglect naught our sin-riddled heart. You call us not merely to improve our lives, but be made new. Growth is found not in outward alteration alone, nor in the discipline of the flesh while the soul remains forsaken. True growth, it is rebirth, where the turning of our will toward You is our pivot into healing - that slow reforming of divine love. We are not struck with rebirth once. For it did not come to me and never again; it returns each day we surrender anew. For we are not transformed in a moment nor truly ever cemented in transition, but renewed as often as our heart turns back to You. O’GOD for my own path — I shall confess this plainly: I did not raise myself. Those around me shepherded me, and from spirit did they further raise my will. Once weak, even if awakened, my knowledge in all its clarity was powerless. Only Your grace accomplished what I could not. From my spine did you beat out my pride, rid of my weakness, and gave me the power to love what I could hardly ever imagine to grasp. Faithfulness, then, is not confidence in oneself, but humility before You. It is not a foul boast of achievement but the trust of dependence. Without you, O’GOD, I fall back into myself; with it, I am carried forth in a flurry that even when I stumble those very currents carry me. We all do. When I acknowledged these truths of the world, to love You above all else, everything else found place in my life. My loves, once scattered and disordered, were gathered and allowed to flourish. No longer did I cling to the anxious idea of stagnant resolution, desperate in that world. Fearing what it lost, my heart was heavy and unnurtured. O’GOD, in your love did I find salvation and continued transformation, learning that growth is not the absence of contentedness and accomplishment, but the root of ordering it. When You are loved first, all other loves become light, more truthful, and no longer enslaving. Therefore, let the turning of this Saintly-year not deceive us. It does not erase the past, nor does it allow us to save the soul through stagnant resolve. It is simply a reminder that the sands continue to cascade and trickle forward, and we are called to move with it — toward You. Renewal is unyielding. Transition is continual. The heart must be turned again and again, until it lays in rest fully within You. It is you who crafted us from your four sons, O’GOD, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You. I pray this Saintly-year shall not be a promise of self-mastery and arbitrary growth, but the confession of need. Let no celebration of strength outshine the renewal of our surrender. For when we turn toward You, we become naught someone new. O’GOD, we become someone who we were always meant to be. United with You. Child of GOD, Kieran Victor Elendil

Lhoris writes a letter. ”Hello. I vacation a lot these days. Good luck in job hunting. Hope you’re well.”

To Bernard II. My hopeful mentor and friend. Thank you. Admirable and Holy are You, O’ Lord, and greatly shall thou be praised. You o’ so generously bestow unto your flock riches without envy nor without reason and take them without cruelty, and to each spirit you provide what it requires for salvation— Although often we mistake Your gifts for our own accomplishment. I therefore speak naught only of gold and mina, nor wonders held within the Seven Skies, but of the mercy and workings of a man of whom you saved. A saintly-man named Tobias. For Tobias was born not in luxuries, nor was he ever truly rich in himself. Born in low estate and raised in service, he carried within him what all sons of Horen bear: a restless heart, an unquiet spirit, wounded by ancient sin cursed into us by Iblees, desiring fullness yet seeking it in inherent sinfulness, in what often pass away. When abundance came upon him in flourishing torrents beyond measure, his soul did not grow satisfied but alas more inflamed, for wealth heals naught the will - it tears such asunder and reveals it. Thus did he wear himself in gold and silk, gazing upon his own gifts wickedly, loving the gift more than the Giver. O’ GOD, you o’ yet you, who dare not abandon those even astray further than the reaches of Aeldin or Anthos, struck not his body but his spirit. In the midst of his dominion and prosperity, You taught him that the hunger of the soul is fed not by gold nor mina nor praise even. That this was not his doing, for no man turns himself unless You turn him. By bounteous grace You bent his will, and in that bending he was made anew. What he renounced outwardly — pleasure, lineage, honor — had already been feverishly renounced inwardly, where salvation first takes root. From his rebirth flowers charity, not as cold burden but as a joyous delight. No longer did Tobias possess his wealth; rather, he was possessed by love. What had once been a distant idol had become an instrument, and all folly of gold and mina had learned obedience to mercy. Churches were hoisted from the soil, the poor were nourished and fed, the lost and wayfarers found shelter, and knowledge was preserved. For it was not because Tobias sought righteousness, but righteousness had seized him. Salvation does not remain hidden in the heart; it moves the hands and reshapes the realm. But, o’ Lord and o’ reader even the redeemed remain mortal, bearing in their flesh the consequence of our Fall. Tobias was laid low by disease, and his body, once obedient, became a source of suffering and waning rot. Yet here his salvation was not undone but perfected. For when his needs were in its greatest flurry, and his strength was the least, he chose love over life itself. Giving his meal to the hungry, he surrendered the final claim of self, and so passed from this realm as he had finally learned to live in it: jolly, charitable, and free. Thus he is called the father of Tuvmas, a holiday centered around feast and giving, not because he scatters toys like a merchant of joy, but because he teaches what the feast truly proclaims: that GOD gives Himself. As you o’ GOD willed his salvation in poverty to enrich us, so Tobias learned to rejoice not in having, but in giving. Children sense this truth in their wonder, though most cannot yet name it, for joy always follows charity as light follows flame. Therefore let none praise Tobias for his riches, nor even his miracles, which were signs given by You and not powers possessed by him, nor look down upon him for his inherent sin. Let him be praised in his saintly chair only by this: that by Your willful grace and benevolence his loves were reordered, his spirit healed, and through the effort of rebirth will his soul be brought to rest in You. For this is salvation that we celebrate merrily in Tuvmas — that the heart, long divided, is gathered back to its source, and finds peace not in gold nor mina, but in you o’ GOD. Praise be, AMEN. Child of GOD, Kieran Victor Elendil @LordofCabbage