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923 Heroic

About Gallic

  • Rank
  • Birthday 10/02/1995

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Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Fiil'Yar - Lithren - Rhuk
  • Character Race
    Honorary Orc - Bird Person - Hobgoblin

Recent Profile Visitors

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  1. Fiil’Yar fears for Buck’s life upon finding her voodoo-powered medicine missing, but nonetheless is appreciative to see his works again.
  2. “Ghosts are natural entities and don’t pass on when you purge them. Kor would probably prefer you help them move on by aiding in the plight that binds them here, not forcefully demanifesting them. You’ll just create angry ghosts who have more reasons to stay that way.” Fiil’Yar responds to the missive.
  3. why is there a plugin that will block messages from being delivered at all? do we not see how that can be problematic?



    1. Nug


      i used hooker and wh*re and it wasn’t even delivered like sure they’re not nice words but they’re a far stretch from actual discriminatory slurs and are just kinda mean name-calling words

      13 year olds say much worse like wtf

    2. NotEvilAtAll


      I liked it better when it was just a warning so when you accidentally trigger the filter it’s not such a big deal.

  4. I’ve never understood why kha are so drawn to and effected by sugar if cats literally can’t even taste sugar
  5. Fiil’Yar sends Nelgauth a package of a dozen cactus cookies as a show of support and approval for her friend, but doesn’t send a letter as presumably they’ll hang out eventually.
  6. An equally ancient, undead-hating poltergeist begins to stir from its restless slumber, hungry for revenge against the dark creatures who are also hungry for revenge. Its unlife is a complicated and frustrating one.
  7. This is fantastic in every regard, and the only complaint I have about it comes from a selfish place of territorial healing. Witchdoctors can replace limbs, organs, eyes and junk, by sculpting them out of flesh and bone and performing a ritual to reattach them. It confers permanent RP-impacting effects on the person and I’d like to see the grafting part of this lore reflect something similar, just so that this isn’t a straight-up better alternative to it. Again that’s just my personal bias because I’m part of the Witchdoctor team.
  8. Gallic


    “I bet Korgahk’s getting a good laugh out of this. Seems like the sort of thing he’d do to cope with being banished from Krugmar. I hope he’s alright, I’d hate to see him die a whitewash who thinks the world wronged him, rather than grow and realize why he was driven out.” Comments Fiil’Yar from her rural blarg as she reads, enjoying her quiet life in a tent in the middle of nowhere. “Ilkri’s the only azh on this list I’d enjoy being around, but she’d probably prefer to be forgotten.” She pauses, then realizes; “Wait do I also have to come back? I kind of like living in the middle of nowhere...”
  9. I’d prefer to see this as an Ixli thing since I’m biased Ixli being the spirit of forbidden knowledge
  10. Fiil’Yar sends her distant support to Durgar, in the form of a dozen Cactus Cookies and a small note; “Set an example for others to follow.”
  11. Another moon rises over the distant valley which Fiil'Yar calls home, far from the sounds of Krugmar's streets and warmachines, yet as darkness encompasses all, she remains awake: Pondering over the work she'll get done tomorrow far into tonight's midnight hours. Restlessness isn't uncommon for her, evading sleep until the last possible moment, but lately insomnia has become routine again. Her dreams have become vivid and strange and leave her feeling more exhausted in the morning than when she laid her head. Dreams of falling from her bed into seemingly limitless depths of colors and disordered sound, finding she lacks arms, legs or any bodily feature at all yet can move with some cosmic volition among the chaos. Exhausting dreams. Awake she sits, swaying with an involuntary nod over a docket she prepares. Each dip of her head, her eyes flutter closed for longer, struggling to focus on her moving quill. She nods until finally one falls so low that her head touches her desk, and there it lays. As usual, sleep came suddenly and without her choosing, though this time it came without the dreams that normally afflict her... Whether a reprieve from her routine or failing to rest her head long enough to see them. The realization that she was asleep indeed only came when she was startled awake, feeling something brush against her leg down below. She jolts away from her desk and looks down to see two yellow eyes staring back at her; Beside her stands a coyote, somehow unconcerned with being caught, as if it had intentionally sought her attention. A wry, clever creature. She stares on in surprise and amazement at the canine so bravely staring her down, sharing a silent moment of connection between them - Until the coyote calmly turns and walks away, leaving her home without a trace. Though bewildered by her visitor, as her thoughts race to justify their soiree, her head soon sinks down to lay again, passing the night away through fitful, dreamless sleep. Morning breaks, rays of light awakening Fiil from her restless slumber. Once more she could not recall dreaming, nor even falling asleep; The coyote merely left, and then her next conscious thought was of awakening. Odd as her nights are, they are set aside: Now she must away to work, back to San'Azgak to put in her duty to her motherland. The walk to San'Azgak is uneventful, and her day is filled with meetings and corralling fanatic goblins from sacrificing guests; A mundane day in Krugmar. For hours she works her repetitious job, until a sudden flurry of motion brings a young goblin kub to her feet, injured gravely, blinded, and bleeding from beneath his cap. Like her father before her, she serves as the sole standing healer of the Goi, and so the responsibility of his care falls to her. For the rest of the day, she works tirelessly on healing the kub, with every medicine, prayer and tool at her disposal - Yet by the end, though he is stable, his body remains sleeping, wasting away. Her prayers are for naught, her potions only serve to prolong his sleeping state, and her tools fall short for all they're worth. She covers the kub in a shawl embroidered with the symbol of Kor, the Spirit of Passing, and falls exhausted to her knees beside him. She rests her head again, staring in defeat toward the bloodstained floor before: There is nothing more she can do for him, his life is as good as over. A healer though she may be, she is nothing like her father before her. The spirits listened to his prayers, gave him the power to knit flesh and purge poisons without need for medicines. No matter how hard she practices, nor how much she knows, she will always fall beneath the shadow of the orc who could cure blindness in a single incantation, or tear a curse from a person's very soul. She is destined for this sort of defeat. Once again Fiil is startled awake, having, she figures, exhausted herself so greatly that she fell asleep beside the kub. Something had brushed against her leg, and she looks down to see the coyote again, sitting beside her desk - And it's only then the bleary realization dawns on her that she is nowhere near where she previously fell unconscious. Her home is far from the city, yet the city is where she had been sitting. She shares a meaningful staredown with the creature while this dawns on her, but before she has time to struggle to recall how she came to arrive here the coyote once more turns to leave her. It pads toward the door at a leisurely pace, though this time it stops, and looks back toward her eyes again: Taunting her curiosity into following after. She rises as it vanishes into the night outside; Entreated by its stare, she cautiously moves to follow. Her head feels thick, her footfalls come unsteady, like she's wading through water neck-deep... A familiar feeling of struggling to will herself into movement similar to the odd dreams she had been plagued with in recent weeks. But now with a goal in mind - the pursuit of her visitor - she moves with purpose, propelled by the thought of finding it. Pushing aside the canvas separating her from the exterior of her hut, her eyes widen; What lies beyond is not the garden where her home dwells, but a plane entirely alien. She stands atop a stone floating freely amidst a nexus of light, hundreds like it drifting through the strange aurora alongside it. Hers is dotted with brambly desert berries and limestone boulders, scenery stolen from her home as if it would make this overwhelming place more welcoming to her. Though she recognizes the bizarre geography of the Spirit World immediately, her wonder is not abated; She has never visited without her father's guidance before. She wonders, to herself, if perhaps she was dreaming - But once more, her rationalization is halted. The image of the coyote who led her here drifts into view like a swirl of sand, and at its feet lies a small body covered in a shawl of Kor. The patterns scintillate however, shifting to bear a resemblance to Akezo's sigil, her patron; The spirit of Vitality and Healing. As she her attention fixes on the coyote's yellow eyes again, it lowers its snout and nudges the limp body before it, as if it were presenting a gift to her. She struggles to find words when faced with such a bizarre gesture, but in a tone of fearful reverence she states; "I - Don't know how to help him..." Seeing her bemusement, the coyote patiently rises to stand upon all four of its paws, then to Fiil's confusion begins to make seemingly meaningless, but deliberate motions: First it trots in circles, hopping between front and back feet, then it bounds from side to side, finally jumping onto its hind legs - Like a bizarre, canine dance, all the while it holds a wry glint in its eye, entirely aware of the entertaining diversion it makes. Fiil's tension slowly eases away despite the power she stands before, the absurdity of the dancing coyote in fact managing to raise a puzzled, but entertained, smile from her. The dance then ends, and the beast falls back onto its paws, setting them upon the body at its feet - Like Fiil's father laying hands on the wounded, causing her brows to furrow pensively. It stares up at her in expectation, panting, its goofy tongue hanging through an otherwise predatory set of fangs; A friendly, albeit dangerously sly face. Once more the coyote waits patiently as Fiil's caught in stunned confusion, counting many pants before she finally speaks up, bearing a tone of bemusement; "You... Want mi to dance...?" She asks, hesitantly. It only nudges the body with its snout again, then removes its paws. A heavy feeling surrounds her, an ominous sense of both power and danger while the coyote waits. Fiil tentatively raises her arms and begins to pad a small circle, spinning while keeping her eyes upon her odd instructor as often as possible. She moves with great caution, both due to confusion at her own actions as well as a rising aura of danger surrounding her - The feeling of handling whatever the coyote wishes to show her, she imagines. Her feet step around each other and she soon finds herself following along to an ancient rhythm thrumming through the lights swirling about the rock. Disembodied voices, chanting reverence to her patron, calling to Akezo in desperation - Burning themselves into her memory as she finds herself lost in the motions of the coyote's dance. She catches a glimpse of the patient coyote in her tribal stomping, who gives a single, patient nod down at the kub. The dance is complete. Fiil suddenly realizes that the lights from the chanting aurora had begun to swirl around her hands, and the feeling of danger has passed; Now she feels only power as she looks down at her palms. With one final motion, in step with the coyote's dance, she kneels down to lay her hands over the kub. The lights swirl away, leaving the rock in cold darkness. But through the shawl, an eerie glow hints at light beneath. Everything the coyote taught her comes to its conclusion, the wisdom it meant to impart; The shawl shifts as the body beneath it begins to rouse... Then it rises, as if sitting up - But just as it does so, Fiil finds herself jolted awake before witnessing its fruition. Fiil startles from the sounds of hornbills crying outside her office, having slept in far past dawn. Yet once more, she feels no more rested than she was last night - And once more, she fully recalls the vivid dream she had. In fact, this one fascinated her more than any of the wild, light-filled visions ever did. Most of her day is occupied contemplating what she saw, continuously finding herself attempting to theorize what she saw and how surreal it was. The kub, however, showed no indication of improvement. His breath began to come in soft pants, labored enough that multiple times Fiil nearly presumed the goblin dead. She restlessly doted over him, working in her patron's name to do all she could for him - Changing his dressing, applying ointment to the wounds that had already begun showing signs of contamination, despite how the motions caused her hope to falter... That is, until her mind began to wander again, linking fanciful thinking to desperate reality, wondering over the coyote she's seen in her dreams. She felt disrespectful even entertaining her thoughts, as if somehow she would simply be bestowed the abilities her father practiced for centuries by a cosmic coyote visiting her late at night. But... She felt, perhaps in a moment of grief bargaining, Akezo would want her to at least try, even if it was foolish, even if it disrespected the high pedestal she places her father on. She draws her curtains closed and lifts the goblin's comatose body onto her personal altar, then took a deep breath and begins to dance. Just as the coyote taught her, each step burnt into her memory remarkably well, despite the seemingly erratic pattern it took. She begins to mumble coyly to herself during her private ceremony... "Akezo taar'tala, frûm-nûlbug'an..." Akezo high above, spirit of healing... Fiil's feet step around each other, twisting together perilously to bring her in a circle while she spins. She looks down at them, unable to be sure of how accurately they fall, as they move by instinct to the rhythm of the coyote... "Hon'ghaamul-izgu, khlaar-lûp'izg..." Look down on me, hear my prayer... Her arms raise and begin to shake out as she moves, in time with an otherworldly melody recalled from her "dream"... Her chant grows bolder, rising in volume and falling in time with the beating in her head. "...Hlu-za'aaps tiir'u!" Mend this flesh back to right... The arms sway over the shawl-covered body of the kub, motions which dip and rise as she spins, patterns zealously pantomiming the motions of a suture - Then her hands cup close to each other, drawn together. "Hlu-za'hontz hon'kaal-u!" Mend these eyes to see the light... Her arms wave between each other as she stomps out the spirits' melody, graceful movements she somehow feels assured would please her patron. Otherworldly gray plumes begin to rise from around her, produced by no flame, but instead from herbs and poultices seemingly deteriorating into flakes and rising, consumed by an unseen force. Smoggy, incense-like aura that draws close to her, swirling toward her hands... Similar to the aura in her dream, but already it seems off. A subtle, ominous feeling as the reagents crumble away, the acrid scent of burning... In the moment, something shaken off; The spirits often gloss over smaller details of mortal life, after all. "Tulk-za'dâg slaium'u!" Lift this child into life... Fiil's steps bring her to stand facing the kub on the altar, the air filled with her gray aura as if her motions had perfumed the air with an unseen thurible. Her arms lift with the words of her chant, and finally her eyes open to witness the swirling smoke hovering about her hands. They widen, and her dance pauses for a moment of reverence. "A-... Akezo taar'tala, gaakh lat skaat!" Akezo high above, may it be you come... ...The coyote's dance was finished. She was bestowed a gift, just as her father was. For a moment, she was enraptured, elated, overtaken by amazement at the blessing she was given. Her hands cup together and come to rest over the goblin, laying hands just as she had seen her father do so many times. The smoke flies toward her patient, propelled like arrows into his flesh. And indeed, the kub heaves a sharp breath inward, a jarring, but relieving sound. Fiil tosses aside the shawl she had placed over the kub to find, while his wounds were not gone, all signs of infection had seemingly vanished and pale, healing flesh was now visible over his body. She lifted the young goblin into her arms, cradling him tightly as she holds back tears of joy... But soon she finds herself sinking down, knees unable to support the weight of even a small child: Despite her excitement, her soul is not nearly equipped for the vast quantities of mana calling the spirits require. But she didn't care. Akezo had saved a child's life, on her behalf. The process took weeks of repeated rituals, each one more tiring than the last. A small price to pay, she thought, for the kub's continued recovery. Small mercy was found in her sleep returning to normal; Simple dreams, memories, lucid explorations of her normal subconscious. True dreams, not audiences imparted by whatever spirit had been calling to her before - The coyote. She was left to practice in the mortal realm, long enough that the creature begins to become a memory, no longer considered a possible visitor. For five gruelling months of regular ritual treatment, Fiil repeated these steps imparted to her. Each time, the kub would rouse further, his wounds would seem less grievous and scar more - A small detail she recalls; Her father had not left scars when he laid his hands on the injured. Something she conflates to a difference in experience... Or so she had, until the kub finally awoke. When he first opens his eyes, tears nearly fall again. Fiil reaches behind him to scoop the confused boy into a hug again, but something's wrong. His eyes have healed, but they remain foggy and pale. He's awakened, but he is stiff, as if frozen in fear. His limbs work, but they begin to tremble. Eyes widening, his brows knit in frightened confusion. He begins to pant again, now in terror at the world Fiil had awoken him to, all distorted color and terrific visions - He had not been destined to recover, and for each part Fiil had healed against the will of fate, she unknowingly bestowed a price upon him. Terrible prices which pile upon each other. Prices he hadn't asked for. She is a healer, yes, but still she stands in the shadow of her father; The miracles she performed were far different. Cursed. Fiil's eyes, too, look on in horror as the innocent kub she had been nursing for months now awakens to a strange, sensation-filled, disordered world, imagining the terror of a child plunged into the chaotic vision she saw in her dreams. She raises him into her arms to cradle the poor soul, expression twisted into a regretful scowl at her own hubris. But her soul was still not prepared for such great expenses of mana. As she cradles the kub, as he adapts to his new world, she slips away; Fainting. She's on the rock again, but it bears no familiar vegetation; Now it is barren. The coyote, with its sly expression, sits before her. It stares right into her eyes for a time; It knows the price she paid. It turns to descend a floating set of stones, a staircase down into the realm of the spirits. It looks back and begins to pant, tongue wagging past its vicious fangs; The goofy expression that once put Fiil at ease now gloating. Like it had been a game to it. But nonetheless it entreats she follows, for it has many more secrets to impart. She's already accepted one, after all.
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