Jentos

yeah

Just open up one of the old PVP/Warclaim maps, or at least make those available :*

I dun want it

(Snip)

Give me murderchild malepreg back then we can talk . . .

Wheres the malepreg?

"Minitz has fallen. It's over." said a monk, his head held down and eyes tightly shut.

A letter is penned, and sent to the author, delivered by a small, bat-winged creature with a serpentine tail. The nature of the Dreadknights requires the usage of powerful blood magic, and the bindings of rune upon the armour, which not only retain the plates together, but bind the soul required to carry out the dreaded will of its maker. These are the machinations of an old, limitless science; blood. Blood is the engine of all things living and observed, from thoughts, to very realities. Understanding its conception opens the way to bending life to ones will through an almost religious, and sacrilegious understanding of it. This sorcery is one used by the despairing, the cruel, and the careless; for the very essence of a being is locked into cold steel, removed of its passions, languishing, and bound to a master. I will not delve into its implication for the immortal soul, and its stain upon our very reality. The destruction of such runes is paramount to defeating a dread knight. Short of that, forges or bodies of lava were once used to melt them apart. They may also be buried or trapped. I find it surprising that their armour fell apart; signalling perhaps the age in which they were made, or perhaps the cheap craftsmanship once employed by the Mori'quessir. Moreover, it may also point to the fact that these are a different breed of dread knight altogether, let alone a different entity altogether. When you, or any you care, come face to face with a dread-knight, know that these are a cruel, sorcerous make. Shatter them with what you can, rend them of the sorcery that locks their spirit in place. And for those mighty in the spiritual ways, lend a metaphoric ear to these creations, and you will hear the despair of the souls within. Remember, no matter one's creed, pantheon or origin; there is something deeply holy in the destruction of the dread-knight. My kind thank you for the gift of your research, The An-Gho

"Never have I looked upon more terrible a sacrilege, made more terrible for the greater semblance of ever unreachable Truth." spoke the An-Gho.

The An-Gho stared at those gathered about him, seated upon ash with a mane of fire, raising a left hand with a halo of fire . . . Destiny had come.

A letter sealed with a burning eye is delivered by a small pigmy dragon. Most honourable hunter Valamir, I am what the descendant races title a "Dark-spawn". They know me as a nephilim; an Azdrazi. Born under a holy-and-accursed mountain of fire and having existed on the mortal plane for nigh 800 years, I find myself immortal and bored. As I am currently indisposed, one of my disciples is carefully writing this message by translating the wind flowing through my stone lips. That said, I will pay you to hunt me. I am certain that you will prove a most admirable adversary, and pray to the solitary God that our animosity will prove long, exciting, and tragic in the ways of the dramas as they were written when I was yet young. Yours truly, The An-Gho

Take a seat IdontMatta Could you consider my electronic messages left in your Discordtm DM's Thank you, -Jentos

what do you call coitus between an azdrazi and a frost witch?

little does werew0lf know I don't need no MA to make him wet

"Yes." whistled wind through the An-Gho, fully aware of the Adria-wide worship of the terrible Azdromoth and the presence of dragons blood mixed with milk in Adrian baby-bottles. The spooky fireplace was more than testament to the debauched plans of the Burning Consult headed by its nephilim masters.

“KILL VOIDAL MAGES.” Screamed a rabid monk

The An-Gho was lulled - given the certainty and innocence of stone. In time, he would know the extent of grief. Pain— torturous to the mind, would be made a secret idol in the deep pit that was his unfathomable heart. Remon had not only been one of his favourite students, but an Ash-Knight who had excelled not only in service, but in questioning who and what the An-Gho was. And for that, Remon had gained irrevocable respect from his serpentine master. In the end - damnation took its dreaded toll. For ever was the World the granary of hungering forces. Now the spirits of Alucard and Remon, the two, who had been cherished as students of an innocent age, would remain as memory. For all his cold demeanour - his inscrutable face, his terrible revelations, he had loved them. And that was exactly why he was destined to lose them. For ever cruel was Fate, and crueler still would be the Tears dispensed in holy retribution. But what retribution could there be, to repay damnation? So thick were the extents of this tragedy.

makes me nostalgic to look at. the changes are swell too, I never felt good using this back in the days bc how the **** do you realistically dodge let alone survive a bolt of lightning

There was a spasm in the continuum as a sorcerous message was transmitted. The core of the argument rests on Mana, which, if understand correctly -- claims to be a realm or force about all things. But mana is a word, and my theory is that it should be understood as the very exertion of the soul. The use of mana is the metaphysical movement of the soul - which extends itself into some act (we would describe this as sorcery). Mana in of itself cannot be depleted, it is not so much a source of power as is the contradiction of Nothing (Void), but represents the very being that we are. Even plants possess mana - as do animals, it is merely tied to the soul. Mana, hence, finds a broad application that its common description or understanding simply puts down to some magical resource. Mana hence, cannot become to 'lack'. But what might then explain the disappearance of certain sorceries, or even the loss of certain creatures? The necromancers once collapsed under their own weight; infighting, dogmatism, poor teaching, this was the bane of the ghoul. As their masters cut at their throats these creatures went mad and howling and died in the northern wastes of Atlas. I would not be surprised if their new covens now seek to bring about similar creatures, whose rites they lost; but they have instead focused on other creations. And as of other magics and entities? Those are stranger yet still; some seem almost corrected by the World at large, as if some flow or force took and choked those powers into nonexistence. Yet still, there are miraculous circumstances where great beasts turned back into men, cured from an incurable ill of sorcerous origin. I will give no concrete answer, but I will leave you with this; that perhaps we are not as free as we might assume, and that there are more eyes watching than we might think there to be. And while some sorcery is stifled and choked; others grow. The mysteries of the world are deep and thick, and we will seek on, until the end of times. Many blessings, - The An-Gho

Step down !!!! @Gridlock (discernable lack of irony)