Jentos

Be bold, and also - be as realistic as you can with your decisions, its one of the hardest things to do but its great. Doing something to simple as tripping on an undone lace of needing to find someone to repair clothing/armour adds a lot to the game. In many ways, its for you to create your own immersion - and other people around you are likely to follow suit. If they see you acting with full immersion their minds will also adopt it. Its a simple trick, but quite unbreakable.

ive mentioned a secret method to PK the An-Gho IRP before and this is the one

I think this is a good take. I think these mods HAVE real purpose like that. BUT - using it to STEAL books? ILLEGAL !!!!!!!

I dont mind the first part I agree!! But I've had the second happy to me last map and I've also seen ppl literally take what I've written and sign it as theirs.

I would like to begin this post by stating that I write this sound of mind and healthy of body, unadulterated by any substances whatsoever. I wanted to make this post to call for the post-haste banning of any and all mods which allow for the copying of MC books on the server. The process of it is deadly simple: access to a book, even through a locked bookshelf (the ability to read said book) allows for its immediate computation through the mod and the direct ability to have it (almost) instantly transferred into an MC book. I am an avid writer, and I prize MC books because it allows them displayed into libraries, makes them valuable (due to the ability to make them NON-COPIABLE in standard MC practices). And I write, a lot. It allows one character to become a prominent author - with their very own books travelling through centuries, map to map, and becoming prized, valuable collections (especially when you have a full set of rare books!!!). Looking at a book and instantly downloading them into a blank one in a split second is some ******* voidcel cheater mechanism akin to human see-through-walls-to-smash-your-phylactery-jutsu and the infamous "dwarf visions" of my (loved and despised) Nexus period when infinite mine worlds were a thing. Some players will claim that their characters are instantly capable of copying 700 books by their mere glance. You disgusting subhuman animal. I spend hours painstackingly thinking out and writing a whole 100 page book and then some (slur offending an individual's mental capacity (i get to say it, when i was a kid they put me in a seperate classroom with the nice lady)) decides they're going to use a GAME MODIFICATION to instantly copy my book and SIGN it with their own ******* name. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WORK GUTENBURG HAD TO PUT TO PRINT THE BIBLE? DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE AND EXHAUSTING EARLY PRINTING WAS??? Ohhh well my character is just so smart jentos they can just do it you're just mad people are stealing your books and making the concept of rare libraries in the prime and pristine and superior Minecraft roleplaying experience, Lord of the Craft, devoid of any function because you just happened to let in 1 glue sniffing erping, basement-dwelling, elf-roleplaying, spiritually idunian, soul-less husk of an insult of a """person""" into your library and they instantly copied every single book out of a library you and your community have killed, murdered, plundered, schemed, bought and lied and worked tirelessly to accomplish and one """""""person""""""" with a mod came and ruined it. YES!!!!!!! YES I AM MAD!!!! I SHOULD BE !!!! WHAT KIND OF ******* COWARD WOULD I BE IF I WASN'T???!!!!!!! PICK UP A BOOK AND WRITE IT DOWN MANUALLY. See how much of a "forger" you are without your disgusting SHORTCUTS. You will NOT survive the Al apocalypse. You will be a SLAVE to Peter Thiel and Sam Altman, incapable of doing anything without technology. You're gonna be the ******* fat floating chuds from Wall-E mindlessly consuming slop. I will survive this neo-feudalistic takeover through my sheer will and I will buy you through the new legal-loophopes into an unfavourable contract and turn you into an object. I will make you lick your daily dose of lamb feed (this one in particular: https://epol.co.za/product/elite-lamb-finisher/#open) from the floor as you mindlessly stare into the vacant void, your mind captured by an endless stream of politically questionable instragram reels directly into your brain cortez from your neuralink brain chip. I will stand over you dressed with a wide-brimmed feathered hat and a fur coat like some 80's pimp with my grinning teeth encased with jewels and a large golden chain saying "SUCKS TO SUCK" encrusted with diamonds hanging from my neck. My shoes are going to have a curling pointed tip like i'm santa's best elf and i will tower over you like a sumerian god king. And you won't even know it. You won't even have a capital first letter in your name when its written down. Because you're a cheat and you've forsaken your human spirit for the lie of the machine. Anyways I didn't mean to go on a rant and I hope I've been comprehensive and brief, but I really think we should restrict the use of automatic copying mods for the purpose of making book forgeries. In my opinion it leads to automatized plagiarism and risk-less-effortless forgeries. I think its still useful for like pasting a document you wrote into a book thats nice. I rest my case.

A deep exhaled followed a flaring of many fires. "Is there honour in retribution against a people howling amidst the silence of their very gods?"

thats pretty neat

I love you tide, back in the day I used to be told how strong wights were... Alas, perhaps I speak to my recollection of pre-Lore Games wights and my opinion of them relegated to the boomer attitude

you are an enemy of the people, a worse betrayer than Iblees herself, capric rizzhold will be turned outward and the glory of Asioth will leave him like the rain which washes the fall harvest, i spit upon the memory of the traitor, may it be struck from every mind and linger in oblivion for eternity, i curse the ground upon which you lay i curse every flesh that you embrace, i curse every word which leaves your mouth god almighty be my witness and give you mercy and so may it be for all the perfidious lore-revisitionists may azdromoth strike you down and consign you to the silence of the ashes! - i think an honest and hard look at azdrazi, an end-game CA with no magic slots and a very limited amount of abilities (let alone, truly useful ones!), will not reveal an overtly powerful CA, as a matter of fact it does not allign itself with other end game CAs (see Lich, Wight, or Zarakal). We have no undeath - we have no natural armour. Are you gonna give us magic slots like most other endgame CA's to make it fair? You mention some abilities of ours - and those are effectively it, and compared to other endgame CA's its really not all that much. Stab an azdrazi in the throat with an iron dagger and it dies like a man. This "double action" is, if anything, one of the only thing which keeps us unique and strong, and perfectly suited for what are effectively sacred dragon-warriors. Our current CA position is the result of a long eventline which ended in our surprising victory. We've had many attempts by LT to nerf us, and we have been nerfed in the past, piecemeal. I don't believe this is the right move, and if ever it passes - I sincerely hope we gain some of the old abilities and powers we used to have to counterbalance this change. in the future, I'd like revisionists to at least try and talk with us earnestly before trying to apply nerfs so that a compromise in the spirit of friendship and mutual understanding can be made, the alternative leaves the taste of rot in my mouth

THE SEVENTH LESSON OF THE AN-GHO Divinity “Some men say there is no judgement after death. But among everything under heaven, what comes to an end without balancing? The body returns to the earth, the breath returns to the lungs, the fruit returns to the tree, and the mind returns to Asioth.” On Death, Eresar sin Nathemas I HAVE DESIRED BECAUSE OF THE FIRE I HAVE KILLED BECAUSE OF THE FIRE I HAVE DEVOURED BECAUSE OF THE FIRE I AM THE FIRE AND WHENCE WAS IT SPARKED BUT WHEN THE WORLD BLEW THE FIRST OF ITS BREATH WE ARE THE WORD AND THE FIRST SYLLABLE IS YET TO BE SPOKEN Why? Is the penultimate query. The man asks itself why endlessly, that it should behold every precedent act, how far can he go? Can one rightfully behold the supreme cause, the ultimate preceding factor from which our universe was born? But is it right? Is it in our greatest interest, or in the spirit of the harmony of our existence with the World, that we should seek to plumb the penultimate depths of its reality? Men have sought to stand before the Absolute, and they have been bent, broken, and destroyed in a howling gale for their curiosity. The Temple, which is that place where the Single Truth is held (which is the Absolute), is not to be walked within, lest you will never leave. Lest you should be reduced to the dust of the ground, and your spirit is set on fire and cast screaming from world to world, until you are like a wind of fire, and you know that truly, you are damned. In pursuing the Absolute you set before yourself the task of knowing a World which has not demanded that it be known, for it already knows itself and in the yawning depth of its knowing and unknowing it has offered you the silence of the stars and the chirping of the birds, and the warmth of the flames, and if you bend down, and stare, and come to know these things - you will find that you will find yourselves in all things. Then either you will find joy, or you will find such sorrow in the realization that you will seek that you were Oblivion, but you cannot, for beyond yourself you are made to Exist within the great wheel which is the coil of the Absolute, and like the crow in the bog you find yourself choked by the serpent which is the World, and you cannot get out. You cannot breathe. And neither, can you die. To live, is to choke on Existence without it coming to an end. Thus is the World as the body of my king, my father, whom is Azdromoth, the Daemon of Fate and Conviction, and in he is that form - the wheeling, eight-figure Ourobouros, amidst whose twinning form is borne the visage of the Wheel of this earth, who comes, crushing all amongst this World, and among its wheel - are they remade. This is the Song of this earth - the thrashing, gasping wrath of it all, among the secrets of rustling leaves, and the rumbling of burning fire - the singing cacophony of swords - the dying breath of the murdered - the wail of the newborn. I say to thee; all these have their place in this World of Worlds. For their form was stated in the Word. And fie - for the one who would name the end of that Word, for the breath of it has not yet been sung, and the first letter, yet to be heard. For, I have walked the Low places, and I have walked the High, and in every scream, in every gasping breath of delight, I have felt the same sigh. What is Hell? Hell is not Man, but it is its direction. The Soul is intrinsically pulled towards the clicking jaws, it is pushed towards feeling. For in that feeling – the rasp of Existence itself. I say to you – to Be is to Be among the knives of agony. It is to be upended into the pit of fire, hung by a leg amidst the agonies and the pleasures of this universe. Hell! Hell is Birth as much as it is the word we know as death, it is the day as much as night, Hell is the Word. Hell is the Absolute. Being is in eternal agony, because its wounds, by their nature, cannot be healed – not that they themselves must heal but because they are part of our fabric. God is in pain, and our existence is not a cruel punishment – but only a reflection of that very pain. But God is also in the transience of joy – and this joy and this pain are the mirror images of Heaven and Hell, so that neither truly hold the truth of the world but instead make up one reality, which is Being. And I say to you; you cannot walk outside of Being. You may be dissolved, but even ash exists. You may thread Void, but wherever you go, you will Be. Do you believe that the Eternal Soul dissolves to Void upon that black place, or does it exist in perpetuity of consummate agony within the Horror? I say to the brave who would decry these words – thread those stomachs, and return to me with an answer, but the Eye only spies what is, and not, what can, and cannot, and never has been. For I say to you; insomuch as Void is not, Void has never been. But God? God has always been, and always will be. And God is many things – the highest among those are the tantamount follies, dreams, delusions of all beings attempting to say what God is, so that God must be the inerrant, innumerable voices and thoughts which have sought to make it, and all the black void of that which has not been spoken. God is in such ways the black pit of all which cannot be thought. HOW DOES THE ONE SEEK GOD? Cast a mirror upon the floor. HOW DOES ONE BECOME GOD Bend down. DOES GOD LOVE? There is love in pain. There is pain in love precisely because God is agony. For in the World, is agony. Not because the cumulation of all beings which make the Absolute are agony, but because that agony are which functions are descended unto us from God. The wise seeker knows that in all beings is there God, but the seeker may also forget that in God is there more than mere “us” – precisely because the breathd of Creation and its nature escapes us, that though the seeker may recognize in all things God, the seeker cannot ultimately recognize the range of all things. The Wheel of this World – its Fate, no matter the nature of its mantle, as it represents the scope of things, of which their innate nature is constant movement, is found in turn in the Divine. So it is that we notice our existence both as God and as beings outside of God. The Asiothic gnosis of which Caspar the Rhen describes in the classical body of works On Asioth is accomplished in part through such a realization which combines both the internalization of the divine body but in turn its emanation, as a single part of the whole. This is a waking procedure of the soul which manifests itself in periods of the “wake”, or "awakeness" as it refers to the ascendance and realization of one’s fixture as One among all things, the ultimate reduction of all of Being to the very lowest denominator which, no matter how reduced, never is so reduced to Zero – for in that space is Void – so that we may ascribe that this individual is, among the “woke”, for we would see them as gasping at the realization of their soul, more remembered than discovered – for all things were known from the first trembling gasp of God. Indeed knowledge, or knowing, is the recollection of what is already known but must be remembered. So it is that the Holy Quest of Alemdrom, which is the Body of Dragur, is an attempt at this recollection. But all these means, whether they are to be “awake”, or to recollect the body of knowledge, remain sacred approximations to the divine, precisely because of the divine nature of the pit. Indeed! Can one remember the vacancy of things which stretch beyond the mind? The Soul, a part and a connection to the Whole, remains conferred to a vessel of flesh, through which it experiences the whole of being. This vessel is ultimately limiting – but though without it the soul by nature is unharnessed and loses much of its capacity. Nonetheless, the make of the vessel are made up of a number of organs that allow it to function, from the liver for its purifying process, the heart which acts in the act of feeling and permits the movements of the frame, the lungs for the breathing, stomach for the consumption so necessary for descendantkin – where then is the brain. The brain is the processing element, akin to the computational apparatus of the living animi, or the core of the golem, which may be considered a form of heart-brain. All other experiences, whether it is seeing or eating, are ultimately descended from the brain. Why, even thought is processed by it. The disembodiment of the soul (as I have experienced it numerous times) transforms the method of thought, so that the taste of things and the feeling of things become like fading memories, and thought itself takes on a whole new process, that without anything to simulate thought itself the soul becomes like a vacuous fire which – precisely – needs no thought, but only ripe consciousness which does not compute so much as live in the inerrantly present instant. The thought of God to the unbound Soul is a question – but never a question in the means of the embodied soul which must reflect it through the means of the body and lives through a simulacra-consciousness, wherein existence and being are only the experiences of the vessel translated to the soul and thereby imperfect. So it is therefore that the embodied soul is limited by the brain – and we may consider these “wakeful” experiences to be akin to out-of-body or near-out-of-body experiences, only because these experiences appear to be less flawed than those of the body. Indeed, what are the means of the brain, this organ upon which all thought, and measures are performed – which includes, verily, the judgement of such “wakeful” experiences? Three pounds. Three pounds is the median weight of the brain (slightly smaller in the case of the Uruk’s muscle-compensation, Halfling as per their size, and the Adunian race and old Horenic line, as per their heavy inbreeding). Indeed then, how can one judge any experience, despite the utter limitations of the body? If all knowing which enters, must be flawed by the imperfect nature of the body, then what is knowledge but the hope of truth? It is because of this that the body is incapable of holding knowledge. It is why prior sorcerous rituals – whether the forbidden practices of the Wretch of Laria and his cultic brood, the plane-walkers (see: St Avenel), and even some antiquarian blood mages, relied on means of sorcerous-enforced theology, whose penultimate purposes were means of enlightenment, but often resulted in torturous realizations and extremely painful bodily reactions that came about from those unnatural, but ultimately religious experiences. And I say religious – despite the irreligious nature of many of those, precisely because there is in the scientific endeavor a divine curiosity, which is the act of seeking to know God. But the Pit, which is the Absolute, which is God, is of such nature that not only does it threaten to destroy the body of the one who seeks it, wrack the soul of the one who would peer through those forbidden gates, but that as the sight sets upon the mysteries of those dark places, it only stretches further in exponential fashion. Hark! There is no knowing but only the search of more knowing, for as ever there are only more questions that are uncovered for the one who seeks. And among all those questions and those answers is the agony of the World at large. God cannot be named – God cannot be answered. But God, It may be tasted – through what emanations derive of our fleshes and to the spirit within. As God is an agony – so must the one seek the agonies of the World. I say to thee, O seeker of fire – if knowing is that which you desire, then know the agonies of this earth. Only in the greatest of the pain can you know the masks of God, and only through the agony, can you ever find that item which is the intent of your penultimate quest, which is Love. THE BODY OF A GOD A god’s body is only as straight as a thought. Its head, is only as heavy as a word. And its heart, is only as deep as the breadth of a mind. And that mind, is in itself the width of few words - but in those words, is the heart - by which it is meant the seat of its soul - made. The One is in the Many. And the Many in the One. So is the Word of many. So what is a god but then one face of the One? The One which is God? So it is that god is in God and that God in god - and God in God and god in god - but that while in the reflection of god is the part of God, so is God seemingly in the mind of the spirit, so seemingly smaller than God, as if a beam of light could be caught, and compared to the brilliance of a diamond caught in the fire-light, its countless cut faces staring in silence, like gaping mouths of light, burning from a thousand hearts of fire. Thus it is that the body of a god must be as a word, let alone a thought, it is therefore a metaphysical conception, possessing neither form nor true extent… For who can verily claim the bounds of Order, let alone Fate? Where shall Order begin? Where shall it end? There is order even amidst disorder - even in crimes great and small… You know this, son of man. You have seen it upon the bloody axe of the executioner. The killer is just. The criminal is holy, as his head rolls from his shoulders. Just as there is disorder among the orderliness of all things, meaning that the body of Order is constantly pulled across all things, both existing, and non-existing at once. One needs only the means to see it. Fie, what eyes can see the truth of this earth? Only the eyes of the fool. The Great Titan came upon an orc about to be executed. He asked Krug “Why is he to die?” Krug responded “So others will know it is a wicked thing he has done.” The Great Titan said unto him “It is good he did it, then.” There are twin serpents, of one body. One is Fate and the other is Conviction. One is white-gold, one is red. Together, they shine like amber in firelight. They are the union of Heaven and Earth. And I carry them among my hands, I feel them sliding across my fingertips, and I cup my hands into a nest of snakes. I seek their ends but I cannot find them, for they twine one another, and at their very end are they joined. You have sought Heaven, son of Man, but has Heaven found you? If the divine is beyond your comprehension, should you then assume that you are known to it? Does Heaven look at you with love, or does it stare back then in unknowing contempt? All concepts have their blind sights. Verily, the Golden Lion and his Order could not comprehend what freedom meant – how could it see it coming at the most unfortunate of times? This is why X*n had lost, in the end, because Order is blind to that which yearns to be free. For all ideas have their counterparts, what then shall be beyond the sight of Fate and Conviction? Fate is the own enemy of Conviction – and Conviction the enemy of Fate, they are thereby destined to consume one another endlessly. His end will be both tragic and beautiful. His end will be everlasting, just as the ends of all things. In our ends, we are timeless. In our ends, we are the fire which forever goes out but never truly comes to die. So it is that the divine is in all places; ever watching because their adages can be found amidst the small. For how was it then that we should revere the Father, and that we should make prayers to his own maker, and the so-called Maker of that one too? I say to you; I have gazed upon all places, and found them each there. For the blasphemy of a man is to say; God is not there when that man walks Existence. For when that man walks non-existence, he cannot say these things, he cannot think them. Because he simply is not there, for, it does not exist to begin with - for this, your every conception of the Void is a lie, for it simply is not there. The one who seeks Asioth must seek not only his but find it among the Asioth of all others. So it is that in that search, one must seek to know the very gods of this earth. So must he find their bodies, strewn across the precipices of this earth. So it is, that they must be measured. So it is, that each must be asked; How long is the body of a god? And they must name it. For if one cannot seek to measure a god, then what knowledge can they ever claim of the One God, from which all things Are? Silence! There is only amidst the silence of it all the avoidance of blasphemy for blasphemy is in the word - and that sin is in knowing entirely, and in the lies of that body which is in your body which claims to know without knowing, for the body cannot know, whereas the soul already knows, but forgets which it knows. For as death is only the reminder of what you are, so it is that all knowing is only a return to what you once were. Blasphemy is therefore a sin of dichotomy - for you say, knowing, but not knowing that you already know, meaning that all spoken words are ultimately both virtue and sin - the virtue of speaking what Is, and the sin of the Lie. For all words are ultimately both true and false - but spoken of the body they are false, for upon a time they shall not be real, but only conceived of as real in that moment, whereupon, in time and other place, they are false. So it is that the word which does not sin is the Word, which is the make of it all, the one word of which all other things are evoked, which has not yet been spoken in full. But of all words which are spoken which are lies, none seem then so pretentious as the one who speaks of God. For so I say to thee all; beware the one who would speak to you and claim of God, let alone the words of God. For God has no need of words, for God is the breath of all things, and it is not for us to say what that God is. For in that, verily, is that blasphemy, but so then must I blaspheme to write these words, for now I write of God - and as God is in all things, verily then, one cannot but speak of God despite themselves. And so it is, then, that all men sin. And in the silence? There is not virtue, for in the emptiness of act and speech is there yet the act in of itself of non-doing. So one ever so is pushed along, to act - lest he fear that he has not done. Only the Void of non-existence is there no sin - only because it does not exist. But there is sin in the transactionary force, of abandonment of existence. For to exist is our charge - and to suffer on. It is a charge without peace, to be, despite ourselves. But sin, sin is also in the one which will not act. Truly, son of Man, there is no escape. There is only your struggle. There is only your pain. And in your every breath, you are judged. Our charge, in existence, is the remission of our sins - not to discount, but to count them, and pay for them in eternity. In so doing, and in the reminder of our being, shall the sins be washed. Know this only - that every act and every word (which is act in of itself), is sin innumerable. Not a million dead will cleanse thee of the sins you laid in raising a greeting hand. For sin, just as virtue, both lay in the same place. Where you find sin you will find virtue, but how then shall you make their ultimate distinction? Everything lies in intention, for heaven spies behind all minds, and every thought is scoured by its judging eye. You seek God? God can only be grasped by the perfect mind met within the perfect vessel. For tell me, how can a three pound brain grasp the measure of the Absolute? Nay, any shape may grasp at it - I wonder only if it can hold. Nay still - what brain can measure the inner workings of the mind, let alone the true desire of the soul itself. There will one day come a man who can recite the story of a grain of sand, that man will know the hidden faces of God. Many men, in their gasping, grasping, reaching forms have sought to make God, not merely out of the words and out of the dreamt wills of other men, but of other men themselves. They would pile the bodies of the dead and mend their souls unto one, as if the many could make them whole. I say to them; Pile the dead higher! I say to them; A thousand-thousand dead will not be enough I say; SUM SHAY I say it again; SUM SHAY And I say it oncemore; SUM SHAY – KILL THEM ALL And you will have numberless bodies and a numberless number of burning souls, and all the sins you have piled upon yourself, hoping to cleanse, will instead radiate like a black star in the shapeless, voiceless, bodiless throng of the Void. If you seek to pay for sins, smash every mirror upon the ground, grind the pieces with your feet, and count them with your hands - this will be absolution. THE SUBTLETIES OF TIMELESS INSIGHT God is not the body of the many nor their souls, God is the and the only subtle process, which speaks not merely to its infinity, its indefinite status, but to its substance, which is ineffable. God is both cyclical and stagnant, changing and yet unchanging at once. God is the revelation which no number and no expression and no calculation may express. God is the death of the sane and the wind which bends the straight flying arrow. God is a Fire, the gnawing teeth of the turning wheel upon which dance the dead, staring to the sky with the empty pits of their eyes. Do not pray with your face held up, but bend down your head for there you shall face another sky altogether. And you will pray, you will pray not as Men but you will pray in the act itself of wonder and of awe, you shall focus on that place which is named God, and through it you will dissect the meanings of this earth, the layers of the rocks, the songs of the birds, the dance of fire, the movements and inner organs of the flesh, and you will know this world and you will love it, because it is God’s and it has been placed into our hands and those hands have been cupped about it, and about our hands the World’s own fingers clasp our own, so that as we rise we fall and that as we fall we should rise. For remember the lessons of my Father, through the mantra of the red flower, and you shall name it and you shall speak it when doubt comes to your heart and through it you shall be unbreakable, for the acts which would break you would find not any man but something older and indestructible, and though they should destroy your flesh and curse your name, you shall be untouched: The one who would rise will first fall. The one who would be free will be a slave. The one who would live will be dead. Shah az ab uw yur yan az ruy. Shah az ab uw lour ty yan lour ih zashal. Shah az ab uw uz yan lour sum. How many faces does God have? It has one, it has them beyond counting. God is both all reaching and all-existing, infinitely divided and ultimately a single object under whom we flow, it is the air between our fingers and it lays too under the flex of our muscles. God is the hand which drives down the sword. God is the eye which judges. God is the breath which gives life. And yet for every one of these God is not. God is in the empty spaces. If God is absolute, then God is both meaningless and purveyor of all meaning. All the lesser divinities of this earth return unto God, the heart of their essences, Justice, Order, Purity, Conviction, Chaos, Freedom, these are God’s - and no force can deny them, no force can oppress them, no force can ever kill them. But as the flesh of God, we can grow with them, unto new sights and new breaths. For Order was cast down and refashioned unto Conviction. The most honest of all men, is a liar. My Father proved one thing; All known truths are mortal. Every word is one of his names, every form and every movement. Each must be completed, each must be understood. The Golden Path brooks no limitations and no end either - it is the path not of ages but cycles themselves. It has time for both resumption and disintegration on a cosmic level. It is both the acceptance of futility and its rejection. Thus, the Golden Path is the search for God, and God is the ultimate contradiction. You may read these lines but you will not know them. The written word and the spoken word are not means of true knowledge, they are only the shadow of divine understanding. That sacred knowledge is found in the experienced act. Only by stepping back can you step forward. Only in pain will you find joy. Every word is the name of the divine, as is our every intonation. Prayer, and the sacred therefore, lay in every act - just as sin is itself indelible to our every movement, no matter how small. Can you face the truth that lays in your skin? The dead are dancing, and you are among them. You hope to clasp the divine but cannot even grasp yourself. Verily I say to you; one cannot exist without God - for your existence and your perceptions are only the fragmented, physical life and existence of God. There has never been any separation between God and Its Creation. You are the innumerable fires of it which burn on, casting light over the shadow of the Void. X*n’s Order is still alive - look around you, Order is preserved, you judge and you state laws - these have not gone, and you live them in your day to day lives, you have made those mantles real, you live them - for these are a precept driven unto you and your very soul. You are a single candle among millions, a single fire, among a great brazier - and yet for all this, you remain divine. This is what it means to possess the immortal soul. Do you know yourself? Do you trust your instinct? The reaction of your flesh? Are you self assured? Are you free? Only the slave believes that they are free. The one who is free knows what binds them. All are lost, but few are found. I have found God laying in the gutter, have you? I have found God in the breeze. I have spied It in the ashes of the dead. I have seen Its faces in the tears. I have found it in the creeping spider. I found it in the silence of Heaven. Was God lonely with It slit its throat? This single act is the proof no thing can die. Death is not us - death is the word, and it has misled you. Death is the lie. God had spilled its waters and it had become the earth, and it became the tree that it had made, and from its form had all things emerged unto the earth, while it stretched up its arm, and it became the forms and the ideas and the truths and the lies and the pain and the hate and the embrace and the murder and the love. And it stretched so far, beyond sight, beyond the vastness of our being, it stretched that we could not peer where it went or by what means it went, it stretched in such ways that it could not be known. And it made Itself in such ways that It could look upon Itself, and It became Its own mirror. For God has given you the immortal soul, but it has given you a limited vessel from its world-womb. How will you honour this thing which lay so close and yet so far? What can be prayed to that which is Absolute? To that which watches from every space? That which watches from your very heart? God is in your flesh. It is behind your eyes. You cannot escape it. When God may be found in the grain of sand and beyond your conscious universe all at once, what shall you do? Be. There is no holier invocation. There is no hotter burning fire. There is no greater holiness. Be. As Creation is the mirror of its holy maker, thus is it seized upon you. In searching for the self you search for the soul, in searching for the soul you search for God. Lay thyself upon a sacred place and you shall recite the many faces of the divine as you can think, you shall name them endlessly until you cannot find, and you shall know you are no closer. And you shall do it again. There is a fire within thee, that fire is God, and it cannot go out. I say it now, and you may think you know, you may think that you understand, but you do not. You need only to remember. You need only unfold the thousand league depths to that full thought. Do you wish to see God? Can you not see It among the field of reeds, among the fires, can you not hear It among the laughter? Do as God; Cut off your head, Cut off your head, Cut off you head, Cut off you head, Cut off your head, Cut off your head, Cut off your head, Cut off your head seven times and you will begin this path. Only on the eight, will you know. The man exists beyond himself, the man exists and cannot cease to be. He screams for escape but finds only his own voice. He cannot get out. There is something with him, in the dark. And he will see as I have seen; my God is a headless God. Only the heart leads, and the heart loves. I am Arbiter, I am Prince, I am An-Gho And I shall see again.

no youre wrong shinji and asuka have that dance montage together and they look very silly and cute together when asuka isnt being the absolute worst piece of shit to my poor 14 year old child soldier with ptsd and an absent father and dead mother shinji

onnensr the obvious answer is asuka shes way cooler and her relationship with shinji is far more developed, rei's distant and cold personality makes it hard for me to relate to her.

"GOD SAVE VALMONT!" Jagobert cried out as he pointed his one-eye'd face to the sky.

id trust the vampire lord on this one, no need to remove the one method to find them out (which, mind you, has taken quite a lot of time to be figured out) little chance ST will consider this change irregardless

"Horen was the first man, and he will be the last." murmured the An-Gho as he passed amber prayer-beads through his fingers, plumes of incense rising from the shrine before his seated form.

made me lash out in rage with that title how would u rewrite shades to not be bad (shades) what are some of the better cultures on the server in your opinion cat or dog fav beverage

A black hand reached into the fires, its claws strained against the lashing tendrils of gold, reaching into them, until softly it pulled at one, reached it out from the kiln and read the length of flame. Claws protruded into it, reached, plumbed into the folds of that single flaming wick among a thousand others, and plied its every form. A dark maw neared it, lips parted into white, sharp teeth - revealing an illuminated throat, as if lit open by a kiln. Slowly, it droned out words; “Idriz uz-uzzur zhak oth.” The words hung in the air, rang against the many chimes of the room. The flame flickered, danced and swayed - sighed into his hand as the imparted spell bound into it – and for a moment, it seemed the quelling of the great fire-mountain upon which the shrine was built, stood, if imperceptibly - that much stronger. The black claw slid from the flaming, swaying, dancing boughs of the kiln - which parted from him like so many weeds from within the sea. The An-Gho rose up a hand to his his face, inhaled a sharp and deep breath as he cradled himself to his knees. The ash swayed at his feet, his robes seeping by their own life into the dead, the spells in-laid to the thick cloth sank deeper… A rose blossomed amidst the reduction of so much, of so many. Asioth, reduced to its ultimate component. A fire, brought to its ultimate culmination. He clutched a handful of the ash, rose it above his head and let it drift above his head in absolution. A curtain of gray fell over his gaze, he smothered it against his face, gasping – His eyes were rise from the ash and to a small and innocuous set of doors. Rising amidst a dull cloud, the being slithered its way, prying open the doors with both of his hands. Dust floated in the room, illuminated by the soft light that rained from the ash-clouded sky above. Whispers filled the room. Haunting, hulking, bent figures of stone watched him and his every step. Draconic whispers cradled the air like a mother clutching her child. “Ahakai, idr! Iszh ko tuur?” The tall stone figure of Aulkhorian called to the An-Gho, dust seething from its calcified jaw, grinning madly. “Arak shah gyonkar!” he silenced his brother. He paced further, his bare, clawed feet - akin to a birds, parted into the ash, sinking. He felt a stranger, walking into his own court. The Nephilim were always the true danger - of all the servants of Azdromoth. They were the greatest boon and their greatest weakness. Nothing was so terrible as an unworthy Azdrazi - and nothing was so dangerous as an Azdrazi who simply did not care. The most worthless of them all were those who were freshly risen, complained about the state of affairs, spoke of better days, achieved nothing, and turned to stone – utterly forgotten. When a man’s worthy soul performed the act of their salvation, what would walk through that gate? They were the bodies, the slithering spirits - the pieces of an immortal idea, birthed to life through Knowledge Incarnate. They were the echoes of dragon, contained to what once was the body of a mortal man. How had Azdromoth done it? Only the madness of a black tyrant could have conjured such an idea, could have made one such as him… And yet it was utterly genius. It was a mad act, a divine and sacred folly… Dragur had earned himself death by the will of Aengulic Light for breathing life into mountains, Azdromoth had committed the sin of bleeding his own fire unto new children. And now, he had cast down his greatest enemy, the genocider of his people, laid low the killing-light of the Golden Lion, Xan - the Justice of Murder. And in it he had taken that mantle, the Order of the World, and he had made it into the duel shapes of Fate - the Eternal Will unchanging, the Law that was and would be - and Conviction, the dream of a will bound and interlinked to all others, and yet free by itself. He and his kind had seen to the ascension of a Daemon, what they called a god. A god of contradictions. The Third-Eye stared into the stone face of the Inquisitor Eternal, seated before him – the red light of the Uzothi Rune bleeding into the blank stone face of the ancient nephilim master. He lit incense before his brothers’ shrine. “I remember brother.” he said softly in common - at the fashion of his counterpart so long ago. “How you appraised the body that I would once become… You sought to understand the hate that animated it, but it was our Father who understood it best.” he paused. “For he chose the most hating out of all his children to guarantee his own divinity. But you knew this. You knew our Father was mad all along… How did you feel, when you learned that our Father was an insane monstrous serpent, a demi-god that had dreamt up the Asiothic path in a pit of sheer darkness wreathed in chains… Did it please you when you knew? I relished it, when it became evident… What thing can become such thing as a god… A madman, a madman or the worst of all the fools.” There was utter silence in the room, the dust gently drifted. The An-Gho’s voice went on. “What are we, men who dreamed of growing wings?” What are we before the weight of our own fire? Mere souls cannot grasp the truth of their own selves - can a god?” The stone features of his brother stared in utter motionless silence. A soft smile seemed almost to have formed over the features of the Inquisitor Eternal. A mere trick of the light. That night, he dreamed of a Place, named Tor’Azdraeth. He dreamed of an endless chase, down endless corridors of grey hewn stone, after the elusive figure of Eresar… Only ever catching glimpses of the ancient sage as the other vanished down a corner. The morning light found the An-Gho cast in an embrace against Eluiothnear, his head rested against the stone form of his brother. His gaze has settled as he slowly broke his grasp over the stone form of his kin. His Eye burned, watchful of his every gaze, his every word, and yet - there was a soft determination in him, that the company of dreams had brought. And the day after, a blessing was delivered to the doorstep of Tor-Urldar. One of a rumbling mountain, waking. The next day, he would peer into the flames of the highest shrine, and he would ask them a question. "Oh Father, do you hear me weep at last?" @squakhawk AZASH SAMN NAGNARIOTH, DOMIUZ UBIL, GAZHARKHILIR GASH, RE’SIKIKAR, AN-GHO AHAKAI’REN, TAUS, AZAAR, GUR, SHIIAZ! AZDROMOTH; HVIN INTRAGAR AZDROMOTH; HVIN UZ AZDROMTOH; HVUN DRAMARZ SHAH UZ’NATH KI’DOMI, VO KI’UBIL ZIFRANG SHARLAT HY-REZS AZ’FA; AZ’VAH; AZ’YUR AZ’SUMBAKAR, AZ’YMLAGAR, AZ’NAGRIOTH IMBAKAR’AT, KIR’AT, YMLAGAR’AT HZAK VAH’ETH ZAH SHARLAT. Private letters arrived to many among the Nephilim, signed by the Third Eye Maekar, Regent of the Tor, Ash-Knight Inquisitor Elathion Immaculate Blade Ar’Yura Ishirem Ar’Kaan Chaplain Azmoldraeus Azyrioth Ithirnaktar Qahnaarin Azektar Arthonath Laurent Ausar Ysivryn Balthazar Rumilith Azilhessan Ahkri Ylirim Intragar Utorvioth

Words are carved upon the slate wall of the House of Azdromoth. COME TO ME O HALLOWED WARRIORS, A SHADOW STRETCHES UPON THE LAND, THE INVERSE FIRE SCREAMS ITS MAD ASCENT AZDROMOTH, KING OF THE DRAGONS, GIVE US THINE FIRE, THAT ALL INIQUITIES SHOULD BURN, AND IN THEIR ASHES, OUR NAMES SHOULD BE WRIT, TIME AND TIME AGAIN. A shadow rises in the Silverwoods. Alashir, warriors of Tor'Urldar, both of flesh and fire. You are conjured to stand before the PRINCE An-Gho in Tor'Urldar. There you shall be advised of your orders in regards to the rising darkness of the earth. Failure to appear and deliver service, or give notice in the coming year, is tantamount to cowardice. Your destiny, and your service to the Golden Path, are now. Not tomorrow, not yesterday - they exist precisely in this moment. Come, and let the fires of your warrior-spirit consume thee. And in our carnage let our Father smile upon us all. ALL CHOSEN OF AZDROMOTH ARE TO, BY THIS MOMENT: Train in and keep BLUNT WEAPONRY, ideally a pole-hammer at all times. Train in and keep a side-arm of PURE AURUM with themselves at all times. Where possible, bring measures to STOCK-PILE and PRODUCE explosive alchemical potions and other undead-deterrant alchemical solutions. To RECITE the Aurelects at every waking moment to BANISH perfidious spirits and thoughts and hone your soul to the battles to come. To DELIVER ash-levened flat-BREAD to any community of persons affected or at risk of being affected by this new threat. PRAY thrice in the Ash-Hall, or - if abroad, while facing the ground before an open flame, daily, for the strength of the warriors of old and to gain the benevolent blessings of our King. Give their UTMOST and UNDYING fervour to the EXTERMINATION and the ultimate RUIN of the ANATHEMIC FORCES risen upon this sacred earth. This is our age.

THE FIRST ASCENDENCY AMENDMENT No seeker, herald, or person, or concept, or idea, may PASS the vote if they have unfinished trials. - As of the singular and ONLY exception which has led to this amendment, they shall finish their trials as debt before the reception of a wardren and receive trials that reflect such scrutiny. - There will be no more exceptions to this rule and amendment.

yeah guys lets make the magic evil people homeless now. i dont think warring lairs will do much for the server, especially considering CA/Magic groups suffer from the greatest activity strain. my group may be considered quite active for a CA group but it can be quite spotty at best. if anything itll risk dwindling them into underground death pvp forts or poorly thrown together builds because why try and make something time consuming when a wealthy nation can just blow you up? pretty ridiculous

Smoke rose from the An-Gho's pipe. Water rushed beneath his feet as he read in silence over a bridge. Smiling, he beheld that work most lovingly. He wrote to that disciple, a short few words of wisdom; "As all things are destined to break, That which is lost Will be found again. - Look to the east, And see the peace of men's suffering Why?"

The An-Gho sat crossed-legged before the fire-kiln of Tor'Urldar. He sung a wordless song. Descending to the deepest places. To the highest. Wherever his sister did dwell.

𐏓𒋻𒑚𒔼𒀼 𒈦𒀂𒀼 𒐕𒐖𒐕𒌒𒑚𒐕𒈦𒆸𒑚𒔼, 𒈦𒀂𒀼 𒇬𒀼𒇲𐎣𒐕𒁓𒐕𒆸𒑚𒔼, 𒈦𒀂𒆸𒔼𒀼 𒀂𒆸𒔼𒈦𒐕𒁇𒀼 𒈦𒆸 𒈦𒀂𒀼 𒈦𒀼𒋻𐏓𒀂𒐕𒐖𒋝𒔼, Cause the iniquitous, the perfidious, those hostile to the teachings, 𒈦𒆸 𒁀𒀼 𒇲𒀼𒁓𒑚𐏓𒀼𒁓 𒈦𒆸 𒋻𒔼𒀂, 𒁇𒐕𒐞𒀼 𒁓𒇲𒌨 𒋝𒇲𒋻𒔼𒔼 𐏓𒆸𒐖𒔼𒑚𐎠𒀼𒁓 𒐕𒐖 𒋻 𐎣𒐕𒀼𒇲𒌨 𒁀𒁇𒋻𒑣𒀼, To be reduced to ash, like dry grass consumed in a fiery blaze, 𒔼𒉼𒐕𐎣𒈦𒁇𒌨 𒇲𒀼𒐖𒁓 𒁓𒆸𒉼𒐖 𒀼𒇲𒋻𒁓𒐕𐏓𒋻𒈦𒐕𒆸𒐖, 𒈦𒀂𒀼𒐕𒇲 𒇲𒑚𒐕𒐖, 𒉼𒀼 𒇬𒇲𒋻𒌨! Swiftly rend down eradication, their Ruin, we pray!