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Jentos

Iron VIP
  • Content count

    888
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354 Incredible

About Jentos

  • Rank
    Edgy one eyed guy

Contact Methods

  • Minecraft Username
    Jentos
  • Skype
    Jentos
  • Email
    jeansebroux@icloud.com

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Canada
  • Interests
    Rp default.

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Jentos the dead person
  • Character Race
    Abused skeleton

Recent Profile Visitors

7,056 profile views
  1. Jentos

    I'm Building a Team

    Im an excellent writer, and I'll be happy to do voice acting
  2. Jentos

    Holm Invasion!

    A plated creature groaned and cursed, cloak in tatters, armor near shattered. "Morgan, you damn animal... A year, more... I will come." He moaned. "I need a new ******* sword..." Poor Daweï had seen better days.
  3. Mordskov 2.0 when? Bless the guys who did those events
  4. Jentos

    Nin's Passing [PK]

    "Damned Devils... Fleeting bastards... I already miss the degenerate elf... I planned on nailing his head above my hearth, too late, too late..." Moaned a horrendous creature which lacked flesh.
  5. Jentos

    Skylez1's Lore Master Application

    yeah you want this guy
  6. Jentos

    A dead hexer's plea [PK|

    [Mood Music] "My song near's it's end." Eerie laughter, painful groans came from down beneath a barrow of stone. Deep within, antique walls covered with ancient etchings, the smell of ash, blood and now wine wafting free from within. And so in the shadows lurked a most broken, fearful thing. A failure of a thing. Within the tomb was a wounded, disfigured creature, laughing to itself, cursing itself, drowning itself on liquor. This thing was a man. Or however it is that you’d define mankind. For his mind was mangled, spirits broken, soul halved. Nothing but a flightless raven, fallen down at the bottom of a well. For that, was his curse. Within these shadows was pale, scar covered flesh. Grey, bloodshot eyes. The man’s chest weakly heaved up, and down with every ragged breath. Sitting within a pool of decay. His garb was in tatters, his unkept beard in disarray. And so there he was, a mad hexer singing in a grave. His fingers were little human, the nails ravaged, bleeding with hours spent scratching stone. His body slowly rose, weak, shaking legs barely able to support him as he gingerly clambered out of the dark place, faint whispers, murmurs echoing from him. Pale flesh twisted by scars, filth drenched hair and bloodshot eyes were shown to the world as the broken Hexer was revealed by the light of the moon What broken truths were the ones that drove him mad? What twisting of reality had eaten at his brain? Oh, we cannot say. But as the light reached him, he sang. Yet there was no moon, for the tainted eyes of the madman see beyond. For the madman need not logic. For logic is a thing of the weak. Is it not? No, the moon was not. Naught but a pit of darkness within the sky where the pale thing once was to his eyes, an empty hole carved within the cosmos. And so the hexer screamed, screaming to his frame, to his limping, almost dancing frame. He flailed his arms, up and down, pleading. He stomped his feet against the ground, like an angry child. There he was, a Marked Man singing to the moon. Singing to a pit in the sky of eternal darkness. What was the meaning of this dreadful thing? A moon that does not exist? Perhaps all along was it not but an illusion of the mind, unable to process such lack of matter as was the gaping pit in the sky, thus making the moon. Or was it the hole, where a Thing of great prowess had left the world? Was it by that hole that God left his creation? The drunken, rabid man had little to say. Perhaps his tongue had been devoured by the things he'd heard? Touched by the Pale City. No matter Now the man limped along, he was wounded, blood dripped from his side. He was nothing but a broken toy. Discarded by a spoiled child. Was he not the creation of an Elder Thing? A thing that may hold humanity? Or was it that this humanity was stolen away, all those years ago, now he being a hollow vessel of flesh. Or was it that humanity was naught? An illusion set in place to greaten the vision of men? No matter. The man walked along the barren fields, his mind was lost to the stars he peered at, lost in thought. Horror filled visions struck his brain, yet none connected. As if he did not perceive them, as if those old memories of the Hunt, did not belong to him. This man, one of the last of the Marked. Had two scabbards, yet only one sword. Where the missing one had gone, is not important, nor would any man wish to learn of its gruesome fate. Or is it that to hear of the death of a child something you revel? Oh, dear reader, you're a twisted little devil, aren't you? Now this very man I speak of, Feremyr. Is a most unlucky, but, lucky man. Hear me, he's survived the destruction of a collapsing bridge, the search of the unGodly kin of Mordskov, the taint of witches, the fire of the alchemist he inflicted upon his self and much, oh, much more. But he was doomed from the start. You see, to share the blood of a Blackwood, Sazaderevo, is to be in a prison of flesh. Knowing very well that what you hold is held back by a single thing. And that is flesh. Men put such power in the hands of blood, when truly, it is flesh that truly makes the man, define his form and his history. It is the vessel that keeps blood and spirit. Blood is red, and for man will always be. Flesh, differs. And so with death comes decay, and with this decay the rotting of the shell. Oh dear, and how I fear what this shell holds within. But that is not all. For the curse of the Blackwoods does not only reserve itself to this unique aspect. You see, Blackwoods are cursed, to be cursed. They are destined to have their souls twisted, one way or another. So that they may toil in the depths of the plane of the accursed, picking at the locks that will free their ancestor from his deathly prison. For if the cosmos is truly without end, and time being nothing but an illusion, then someday, in some way. Are we not destined to come back, is some other human not to be born, in exact same shape and form? You are confused. You think I am mad. Correction. I am dying And death is a punishment, nothing more This man I speak of, in this text, is my very own self. Ah. What a pain you were, unsightly beast… I sit, in a puddle of my own blood as I write these words. No, I cannot die. I will not die. Mother Help me, I beg you. Mercy, I do not want to be forgotten Siegmeyer, Bart, Vicelin… Sighard, where are you. Why have you left me? I cannot see you. Only these Headless Men Calling Out To Me Dear God, dead God Help me [*] Upon the ground where the writings where found was but a pile of ashes, along with a decaying sword of iron. Where poor Feremyr is, but the Divine know. Likely not, in a good place. [Here come the end of the Marked Men, good old Feremyr lasted almost two years with a strict death=pk clause, had a blast]
  7. Jentos

    [✗] Fourth Generation Necromancy

    How will the darkstalker transition happen? Are they reverted to liches? Deathknights? What of the pillar then? Id just enjoy the small precision for myself and others, other than that I support this rewrite!
  8. Woah there mister shaman person. If you want to destroy the concept of necromancy, sure. Apart from a single rogue necromancer I can remember, none praise Iblees. And for good reasons. Necromancy is not a vile and pure evil magic, if that's what's you want, return to Disney World, I'm kidding. But just so you know; Necromancy is a perverse, godless magic, stemming from Iblees, from unknown sources, somehow bent. A lot more mysterious than shiny angels dropping down. This magic is filled with gray zones. Necromancy used to be primarily used by Xionists. Meaning, folk that literally want to kill gods. Necromancy does come from a higher power, it was stolen, like I stole your mama last night. None of that ug-blug "i kill ugh-ugh praise ibLeyz" orcs do a good enough job with that kind of stuff
  9. It defeats the purpose of making darkstalkers only able to wear chainmail. Ghouls would be even more resistant than these guys if this lore is passed. Change it.
  10. Jentos

    The Fall Of Laklul

    To clarify things, as an old dark shamans guy, if any do try and defeat a spirit, death means PK. And defeat of the spirit does not mean it's death, but perhaps it's capture? Also, orcs why don't you juSt warclaIM them lMao??? As I said. You told disgusting dominion to deal with banditry problems in roleplay? I tell you to deal with this matter, with roleplay. Quick note that mourning is also roleplay
  11. Jentos

    The Fall Of Laklul

    I'll return the ol' reliable "deal with it in roleplay"
  12. Jentos

    [✗] [Rewrite] Ferals: The Hounds of Morea

    I'll be very honest Just no. I was a heavy critic with Starfelt's rewrite but this is honestly, much, much worse. There seems to be very little effort put into this, but I don't feel like this I should the problem, the problem is what you do with the lore. Druids have been doing a **** job. A horrible job. And this rewrite, yes, may solve the issues the LT called, but not the issues the playerbase called. You wrote this, hoping it'd be accepted, so you could go around roleplaying the same exact thing. You keep this thing held within the druidic grove and the dominion, having no fear of sharing the fact you're a damn mutant wolf demon. The idea was to remain secretive, mysterious, wild. Now you're the same anime fairy tale Druids that walk around doing slice of life ****, but now you can have sex while being wolves. I want to see these things unable to do magic, you don't need magic or Druidism to pray to this fake aspect of yours, you need faith. And i have no faith left for this. I don't want some shitty excuse for a curse backlash, I want some real ****, random breakdowns, massive random bleeding, horrible visions, lack of sleep, disfiguration. This solves nothing, and you know it. I am told to solve problems in roleplay, and so I may, only knowing the feral I wish to kill will only rise from the grave "pk clauses destroy roleplay!!! DDD:<<<" I've been playing a ******* human character for around a year and a half, with a pk clause, throwing myself into loads of suicidal ****, he has yet to die. Death brings roleplay, death is part of roleplay. And this is minecraft, lol. I also saw you kept blood magic, hrmmmmm
  13. Jentos

    [✗] [Rewrite]Lycanthropes, The Ferals Of Morea

    I understand your point, but I feel as if the optimal solution to this would be to remove this from the magic-druid playerbase, which I feel has torn the creature inside out, and have done a generally horrible job. This rewrite won't change this problem. We don't see folk that walk around with the weight of the responsability, we'd imagine ferals as packs of reclusive people, living deep in the woods, dirty, etc. Well we have druid elves that walk around like "yeah I'm a feral owo, woof woof I'm powerful, I twist myself into a degraded form of a tainted animal but who cares!" on a second note, ferals shouldn't be able to sustain themselves on animal meat forever, needing to hunt down man-flesh, lest they are driven mad, as I feel that this only gives a way for players to go like "yeah no I just eat a lot of animals!!!"
  14. Jentos

    The Czevian Hetmanate

    Application MC Name: Jentos RP Name: Wieslaw Age: Around 20 Skills: Candle-maker
  15. I'm a salty boy. I just find Medvekoma's stuff repetitive, and somewhat retarded. Like what the hell, give up immediately because a bunch of bandits are coming around? Nothing against you, just my imperfect opinion
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