The King Of The Moon

Somewhere amidst the stars, a doom-scrolling natural philosopher peering through the many windows of the Planar Dictate comes across an arcane advertisement for 'Dragon Fist IPA'. A thin smile spreads across his lips as he puts down a trans dimensional delivery request for a four-pack.

The priestly shadow of a once red devil gawks at the same surnames and begins his hunt. This tapestry of blood, he thinks, reeks of prophecy. Not if I find them first.

Malflame burns anima into malleus, not ectoplasm. The reason most phantoms are harmed by malflame is because their souls are effectively laid bare in an ectoplasmic body (which offers far less protection than flesh). You're conflating ectoplasm with anima. You can find the differences between the two here: Further, this line you mention as an explanation is very clearly targeted toward CAs, as well as magics linked to Aengudaemons that would not abide mysticism (e.g. Paladinism). It explicitly allows everything else. There's plenty of IC as well as NPC/ Worldlore precedent for both present and past mystics that were and are: -Seers whose souls are claimed by the Daemon Vaasek -Wielders of Voidal Magic which marks the soul -Wielders of Voidal Feats which alter the soul (ie Scions) -Devils/ 'Cursed Children' whose souls are marked for taking by the Red Prince (the progenitor of Naztherak and the inferi, importantly) -Necromancers whose souls are Darkened (and are only incompatible in the current iteration due to slot requirements; there are past player as well as current non-player characters capable of doing both for a reason) -Naztherak themselves, past and presently played, both with and without pacts promising their souls to the Pentacle since it was written. Though I agree this specific redline could and should be written more clearly, there isn't really much of a lore argument for being unable to do both. Also given as Unbaed has already pointed out they cannot be cast alongside eachother, as well as the realities that neither offer any combat advantage when not casting to my knowledge, as well as the reality both are already restrained by multiple slot requirements, there's not really a balance argument for it either. A mystic or naztherak filling their other slots with most any other combat magic would be far more potent in conflict than one who'd committed themselves to these two largely ritual and CA-creation centred magics. There's a case for both pertaining to Zar'akal and Wights respectively as being unable to use the other magics in their current forms, certainly, but not the average living person. The Synod perceives naztherak as antithetical to the 'higher calling' of mysticism because it condemns souls in an irreparable way to Moz Strimoza, a condition arguably worse than Ebrietaes, but this is entirely rooted in character culture and morality, not objective 'cans' and 'can'ts'. If someone wants to be giga evil and pervert that dark magic to an even darker, less subjectively immortal cause, then they absolutely should be able to. Will it ultimately impact my roleplay or anyone else's if this gets passed at this moment in time? No, probably not. But taking away the potential for roleplay stories to be told without much justification beyond "it seems weird" isn't a valuable use of lore, in my mind (and yes, I'm sure people will try and find a hypocrisy in me taking this stance).

>I've been dead 5 minutes and the guy who ate my soul is already beelining toward my mori hotwife (I see everything through his eyes and am powerless to intervene)

Ted Bunion spits out a mouthful of grouse upon hearing the new laws, having just poured his life's savings into Balianese goosefeathers which he had intended to resell on the international market. "I'm RUINED!"

Those That Feed In Red. The Imp Parasite. "He was a Jack-in-the-box. Sunset up, sunrise down. And repeat, forever and forever. He was a thing in a box in a cold deep cellar. He was a container for red wines. There was no label on him, but there were little drops of red liquor upon his sleeping lips. He was the contents of a mahogany box, in a cellar of webs and upside-down things hooked to the ceilings. He lived in a land of dripping midnight waters and soft grey web. He was a white hand, a rouged mouth, a glass eye, a set of white teeth and a cold heart. He was a pedestrian who walked the nights. He was a sleeper with original ideas as to hours. He was a leaf, a pelt, a flame, a wing." -D Everett Evans par·a·site /ˈparəˌsīt/ Noun An organism that lives in or on another organism (its host) and benefits by deriving nutrients at the host's expense. Those that dine in red. Leeches. Parasites. Those are only but some of the names these ancient creatures have gone by. Legends, myths, and stories past down from generations have told the tale of these beings, exaggerating them to lengths only man could do. "Officially" regarded as "The Imp Parasite", it is a creature as old as the land itself. Known by this name to to it's parasitical qualities and relative small size. The Imp Parasite acts much like any other parasite, or even leech, seeking out a host at creation. Once found, it will attach itself to this host and feed in intervals between three days to two weeks, depending on the amount fed. Usually it will seek out a spot close to a major artery or vein and send probes directly into the bloodstream, along with several other "roots" into much more sensitive areas. When fully attached it will resemble a tattoo upon your body, having probes in the blood stream, and in several areas of the brain, including the Thalamus Gland.

JUBILATIONS! The Nameless Day is once again upon us, brothers and sisters. In honour of Strife, and the war for equilibrium that those on the paths of Umbrage and Fire all walk in their own way, we do beseech the faithful to test the cosmic scales through a sacred errand! A false crown to be seized from throneless king, fit for a teacher yet worn by a fool. Pontiff Caius of Reinmar has, like many priests loyal to Aeriel's deception of an absent idol, failed to act against the rising Ibleesian threat of the Red Lich. All Men, including the faithful, are wounded by his ignorance and sloth. He has squandered his mantle as a shepherd of men and allowed the Old Dark to fester, flaunting maleficar powers without discretion. There are wiser heads more suited to that clerical crown. Seek Strife, brothers and sisters, by snatching Pontiff Caius' Mitre in the Nameless Lord's name, and ye shall be handsomely rewarded! - Azazel, the Herald of Embers

The new flame called, and we did not answer. For we slept, and Embers dwindled. A new spark offered to shape the inferno in our wake, but was quenched in its infancy. The Four Ways are nothing without those to Herald them. Irrespective of path, the mantle of each Herald is a charge, not a throne. The route of Fire is no different. With the sole exclusions of the maleficar and anathema described by Ember Law, it is the right of any practitioner or product of the mortal arts loyal to the Way of Fire to challenge for the mantle left dormant. With words or violence, through personal will or a singed champion, a Herald must remind their flock of their right to steer the grand sermon. A challenge met with silence is a challenge won. This is how we survive. For a follower of Oaks to intervene is heresy. For a follower of Dark to intervene is heresy. For a follower of Strife to intervene is heresy. For a Rh’thorean to meddle is heresy. For you to have stood in the way of succession, Shorewalker, who hath forsaken all paths to the Land of Xion in favour of your own impotent faith, is a cardinal sin. A mockery of our ways. This was an affair for the faith you have forsaken, not the politicking of the Synod we both belong to, and as a result the great jihad has dwindled beneath an absent clergy. News of your meddling in our name has reached us, Barrowlord Atzudeth, and we are sickened by it. You have tarnished not only ourselves but the good name of Embers. You have spat in the face of tradition for the final time. Consider this admonishment carefully: tread where you do not belong again and you shall be undone by my own wroth. I call now upon Kallig of the Xi’thari, the Smothered Spark, and declare the outcome of your challenge shambolic. If your claim still stands, I would right this wrong and honour it personally in glorious combat. If you have since moved beyond the pursuits of the clergy, then I shall see to it you are remembered as the Herald that was denied their ascension; lamented with the proper reverence in the songs of our tradition. We keenly await your answer. Barrowlord Azazel, Custodian of the Pale Flame, Interim Herald of Embers @Dymase @Valannor

A World Less Feral PENANCE They should be terrified. But Man has forgotten to fear the deep, dark woods. For we have let him. Now our forests are theirs. Demons and the living dead frolic freely between the concrete stains of gaudy nations. The wilderness is their plaything. Their sanctuary. Humans fell all things oaken, ashen and thorned to sow mutant seeds and mutilate the land into monuments for themselves and their absent creator. Dwarfish greed disembowels of the world, hollowing hills to fill their coffers with the mined marrow of the deep. And the children of Larihei obsess over profane magics, their starward gaze turned from all that is good and green. They sacrilegiously coax the Void into our world, besmirching a forgotten balance Malin had warned their forebears against tampering with. Man thinks itself apart from the world. Above beasts. Above instinct. Above the natural order. Then asks himself: “Why do our continents sink?” We have failed the Aspects in letting descendant-kind think the world can be owned. Black magic, politics and material obsession has made them blind. It is our duty to help them see again. Cerridwen craves renewal, not tolerance. Cernunnos yearns for the hunt, not chivalry. Nemiisae wills death upon the the foes of the balance. May we return the anathema to the Mother and embolden the Father with soil and meat. Do you remember your purpose, druii? What brothers and sisters remain of the Shadow Circle, I beg you return from your solitude and bear witness to the world we must correct. A time of blood is upon us once more. To the wider groves I ask you to look inward. To recall the purposes of your craft. To answer the Aspects’ unanswered summons. To be deaf no more to the screams of nature, and act. We must remind them to fear the deep, dark woods. Aspects forgive me for my complacency; I will stand idle no longer. My penance is nigh. The Moon Druid

[Prophecy] The Harvest That Wasn’t; Famine’s Return. "Lord Gazardiel, change-bringer, realm-mender, Harbinger of seasons and harvester of all. Grand keeper of Creation’s keys, I beseech you: Reap our sins as the grain, let naught remain. Undo what is done. This world cannot be won. …Save us." But no answer came. The God of Endings and Beginnings lay dead in the sand. Calor Mortis had been shattered, and the Great Dusk promised for this world would not come, nor the Immaculate Dawn promised thereafter. The Hour of Twilight had struck, and the Lord of Fate was impaled upon the Spear of Brev. Destiny was smothered in her sleep and the hourglass fell on its side. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Woe to thee, Harvester’s Three Sickle, Scythe and Sword, Tools to plunder Vailor’s shores. The world once young grew haggard and sick. Stars dimmed as the Dark bubbled up from below. The Black Sun came without radiance. The dead roamed an empty world. Rain rose the seas and drowned the fields. Mountains became dust. The last war had been fought and the last king starved on his throne. The cracks in creation began to show, as time eroded the Veil far past its intended expiration. (ArtemDemura) The slow death. The steady doom, A stagnant peril that eternity brings. Famine and pestilence in a world that outlived war and death. How long do we have left? A millenia? A century? Months? Minutes? Magic has already begun to fade. Man cannot rule himself. The Xionists were wrong. The end times were thwarted, yet the cosmos remains doomed. Order is apathy. Apathy is suicide. We must unmake to make again. We must destroy to create. Pave bridges to the Void that the Horrors may cross. Open Hell’s gates and set the Abyss ablaze. Absolution is no longer an option. May sin consume everything and itself. May Chaos reign. Horned beasts and tentacular nightmares burn and bleed and squirm and scream in contrast to the grey, withering world. They are closing in. The choice is yours.

On the 30th of June, 2015, I discovered LotC by chance search and, as a total outsider, created my forum account and applied to join the Lord of the Craft the following day. We used Skype to send messages in janky single-chat channel 'groups' and have occasional one on one calls. The lucky among us had Teamspeak to accommodate group voice chat. Most conversation beyond that relating to roleplay was held on the server itself between characters first and players second. Today it feels like with the advent of Discord (where many even hang out in VCs whilst roleplaying with the same people), global OOC chat, Twitter-esque forum use and the many external pressures put on communities to behave more in line with OOC accommodation (gotta get that activity up!) over narrative pursuits, the lines between characters and players are blurred and it has become increasingly harder to tell an authentic story without the OOC pressure to follow another player's desired story beats or 'script'. It feels like since late Atlas (if not earlier), for me personally, obsessing over that sort of raw and emotive storytelling I once knew has been like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. Somewhere along the way I began to question if it had even existed to begin with, or if I was just looking back at week one of Vailor blinded by nostalgia. Much has changed in the time since then. Friends have come and gone. I had plenty of laughs, though above all else the community has changed. I have changed. The values that I and some older players I've talked to about this hold are not the values upheld by the modern majority or upper decision makers. A part of me doubts it's even possible to revive many of those old values thanks to an inevitability of technology and how modern RP circles form. I am by no means attempting to criticise those that use the tools available to them. In many cases, such as nation leadership, there isn't even much choice in curbing the aforementioned character bleed and softcore metagaming (because if you don't the next guy will, and then he'll win the war/ coup/ popularity contest). I'm not blaming or attacking anyone here. I can't stomach the self righteousness of most quitting posts; LotC was here before me and it will outlive me. I'm not trying to slander this community nor encourage others to quit. In many ways things have gotten better, and in other ways worse. I've met amazing people and ultimately I've grown up. I don't have the childish wonder I came to LotC with anymore, nor the patience to watch player and staff cycles repeat the same mistakes. I've told stories, and tried to - through writing, community building and RP - help others tell theirs. That's enough for me. I hope in that sense I've left this space in a better state than I found it with a wealth of world and player lore and culture (a religion and two whole ass made up languages lol) I'm proud to have worked on both as solo projects and in collaboration with many brilliant writers. Though clinging on to a dying legacy is hardly a reason to stay. I'm not vain enough to keep justifying my presence here by trying to sculpt our shared world to fit my seemingly outdated ideals. Over the past three years I've felt increasingly alienated here, like I'm spectating and baffled by what I'm witnessing yet powerless to change it. Most of my best friends here are equally disenfranchised or have been outright bullied off of LotC by people acting in bad faith that retain a platform which wouldn't have been tolerated in the past. I don't know how to fix that - or if there's even anything to 'fix' (most people seem content in their own way) - though as what may be my final anniversary on LotC has come, I also have to recognise that the time and effort I've spent already has been thankless and the hope of greener pastures I've been holding out for here is long gone; It's not my community anymore. I often question if I'm even still welcome in it. So here I am on the 30th of June, 2023, and I'm an outsider again. A sobering amount of time, that prompted the digestion of many overdue thoughts. So without malice I'm taking my leave, at least for a while. I made this rambly post because people have already asked my reasons for leaving. Somewhere in the above word vomit is an explanation, but if you want the short answer? Eight years is a long time.