sujilicious

can you update your mod ranking @Phersades

i refuse to change it

mod team no longer orphans 🔥

lowkey 3 emotes for an olog strength warhammer punch is still kind of insane imo

MC Name: sujilicious Discord: sujiissocool Image: Description of Image: An abstract painting of a figure Dimensions: 1x1

Issued in the 267th Year of the Second Age by the Chapter Hall of the HIGH JUSTICIAR The four-pointed radiant star, emblazoned upon every Idunian banner, stands as a proud testament to the realm's devotion to Malchediael, the Aengul of Courage. Those who carry his blessing and uphold his tenets are termed Radiant Templars, and it is their sworn charge to stand against evil before they may fester. It is in the righteous purging of the Barrowlands by the first ruler of the Númenedain that the connection to the Aengul was to be forged, a deep respect to their chivalrous patron fostered. All Knights, even if they have not accepted the blessing of bravery, understand the significance of his presence over the Númenaranyë. It is the heroism that he instills that has guided the Adunians in times of most plight and tragedy. It is, of course, in Malchediael’s nature to lend his aid to the mortals who have been emboldened by him. Whilst he has always assisted through the fragments of power he has instilled upon the Justiciars of Idunia, there is also historical evidence of his presence. The first excursion to the material by the Aengul was a selfless act wherein he materialized into the legendary Axe of Krug to defeat the Ibleesian threat. Once separated from the artifact, he continued to invoke his wrath upon the scourge of the realm. It is unfortunate then that madness began to spark with each coming cataclysm. This madness that had enwreathed him eventually spread upon his chosen, the white flame in their grasp at times a vulnerability as its blaze could incite chaos. The affliction that paired with the blessing made such a gift one to be handled with a great responsibility. As war ignited upon Aevos, the courageous were called to a higher purpose. A mysterious summon brought the most devout and courageous of Malchediael’s soldiers to assembly within a cavernous, divine site devoted to Courage. A mysterious, timeless Templar by the name of Felder issued them a holy quest: To burn the madness that had ensnared the mind of their patron, cleansing his mind by delving into his memories and altering some of his most critical experiences. They would observe where the Aengul himself erred and approach these choices with some latent enlightenment, — a second chance. Even as blades clashed and blood spilled across the many borders, Templars of all creeds marched in tandem. Allegiance to the Aengul was paramount and, with unyielding courage, they would seek to guide him to sanctuary as he had done for them in ages past. “We saw echoes of our patron’s memory as he’d experienced them; fragments of Courage from eons ago. Visions of the Four Brothers themselves, glimpses into the suffering he had faced while imprisoned at the hands of Iblees, and flickers of valor from whence he was a Hedge Knight. He was an Aengul, the pure manifestation of Courage itself; yet he saw the bravery of descendants and it inspired him. To be able to see even traces of his chivalry, aiding him in this manner, hearing the voice of Enlightenment herself — it was the highest honour.” -Chaptermaster Vitalius Vourkehardt The final crusade was the most daunting. Felder declared himself the final sacrifice to cement their alterations to Malchediael’s memory: a catalyst that would grant their patron peace of mind from the incessant white rage that had plagued him for millennia. Before the final threshold, swarms of Voidal terrors and vile apparitions gathered — it was with their combined efforts and Felder’s strength that they were able to secure the salvation of their patron and his sister alike. Courage and Enlightenment would no longer be at odds but instead united in cause and mission: “For to leap blindly, or to never leap — both are ruin.” -Jophiael, Aengul of Enlightenment At the climax of this crusade, the Radiant Templars had finally delivered tranquility to the mind of their patron. Moreover, their blessing had blossomed to accept the aspect of Enlightenment through Jophiael. The presence of Malchediael’s sister had soothed the madness away, freeing the Templars from the malady of madness that paired with their blessing. Instead they had been granted an insight beyond themselves, a deeper understanding of their connection. The Aengul’s courage, in such an exalted and liberated state, radiated with holy fervor. His chosen were capable of heeding new sacred talents, yet all was still in the fellowship of his virtue. Thus, the new chapter of Templarism began and, with it, the High Kingdom of Idunia has taken the charge to be a paragon of his sacred standard: to uphold faith, justice, and courage, now able to rest with their brothers and sisters in a warrior’s paradise once they pass on from the material plane. Malchediael, the Aengul of Courage Within the High Kingdom, to wield the blessing is to accept its heavy responsibility for the entirety of one’s life. Thus, it is not to be granted frivolously upon any who expressed only a modicum of bravery. Instead, only those who have most exhibited their valor are to be offered the opportunity to enwreathe their weapons in Malchediael’s silver flame. Those who seek the boon must first… 🟆 …be a seasoned Knight sworn to the High Kingdom of Idunia. 🟆 …receive recommendation from a Justiciar, who shall endeavor to teach them. 🟆 …have grand and significant deeds to profess, alongside the presentation of similar trophies. 🟆 …regale a Justiciar of the twin patrons, explaining their history and purpose. 🟆 …complete the Path of Owyn in its entirety. Thereafter, the aspirant must meet with the High Justiciar and receive their approval. Once acceptance has been received, the blessing may be granted by the Justiciar who has decided to teach them. The Justiciars act as the mentors and stewards of the blessing of courage within the High Kingdom. It is with their wisdom and long-held experience that they may impart the teachings to aspirants and kindle the flames of bravery within the hearts of the warriors. Those who seek this rank must prove their ability as paragons of the Templars of Idunia first and foremost. It is through their diligence in realizing each aspect of their ability, the collecting of trophies, the raising of banners, and the approval of the other Justiciars that they may be given further opportunity. It shall be that when a Templar has continuously proven that they pursue superiority of themselves that they must confer with the High Justiciar. In this interview, they will be given the opportunity to answer their faults, accept a quest, and meet any challenge offered to them. Once such is done, they may join the hallowed and revered order of the Chapter as a Justiciar. Signed, HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Tar-Zôrzagar Argelion Anorion Harren Arthalion, High King of Idunia, Prince of Númendil, Chief of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Númenost and Alduun, Knight of the Realm, Slayer of the Gilded Queen, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians HIS GRACE, Ser Viago Valathor Vitalius Adalwulf Rhomenor, Patriarch of House Vourkehardt, Margrave of Ardrossil, Chaptermaster of the Order of the White Tower, Templar Justiciar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Knight of the Dawn, Silverhand of the Treasury, Steward of the Númenaranyë, and Slayer of the Gilded Queen HIS EXCELLENCY, Ser Valanór of the House Vourkehardt, the Sword of Owyn, Templar Justiciar of Saint Michael the Archangel, Knight of the Realm, The Grand Equestrian, and Slayer of the Gilded Queen

NAME: Viago Vourkehardt VOCATION: Priest TRIBE / CULTURE: Waldenian BIRTH YEAR: 186 SA ORDINATION DATE: 262 SA ORDINATOR: Magister Iudas CURRENT DIOCESE: Magistracy of Artifai ASSIGNMENT: Chaplain to the Idunian Templars OOC: USERNAME: sujilicious DISCORD: sujiissocool

FULL NAME: Viago Vourkehardt AGE: 69 PRIOR EXPERIENCE: Yes SIGNED NAME: Duke Viago Vourkehardt METHOD OF CONTACT: sujiissocool (Discord) sujilicious (IGN)

There ran a number of patterns within the Vourkehardt tribe. Viago had observed as much when starting his own family; echoes of his childhood surfacing in the bonds and rivalries between his children. Though Baldric was only able to hold Emmerich, Viago liked to think that his father would have cherished all of his grandchildren. Certainly, Erwin bore the strongest resemblance to the late founder, alike in spirit as much in form. And though Viago had spent his life striving to walk in his father's footsteps, he never wished to inherit that tremendous sorrow, the burden of laying a son to rest, as Baldric once had. He had always found processing emotions rather difficult. It helped, at times, to dissect and pick them apart —if only to trace cause and effect— and perhaps a solution lay hidden in between the seams. It was to this end that he found himself sequestered between the pews of Alduun's grand temple, praying in between reflections and seeking clarity in holy silence. Three memories pressed most heavily upon him. The first of Erwin's childhood, when he could do no wrong in his son's eyes and the younger Vourkehardt had wanted nothing more than to be like his father. Viago mourned the hours he failed to spend with him, the lost joy of watching Erwin grow and relishing those fleeting years. The second memory came from a later time, that great divide that grew between them and born of Viago's ignorance and emotional restraint. The single conversation that acted as the catalyst to their estrangement would haunt him until his final days, even if the rift had eventually mended. And the last memory, the final time he had seen his son. It was a mundane expedition, the sole purpose being to explore the new lands and seeing what Azuras had to offer, yet Viago now thought bitterly of how little of it Erwin had truly lived to see. Their last discussion seemed an ironic jest, a final twist of the knife in a salted wound. Truly, what makes a soul worthy of a blessing from the Gods? Was it the trophies they carved from the beasts they felled? Was it how many titles they held and the weight they carried? Or, as Erwin had said, was character the measure of all things —enough to take comfort in a heart that was pure? And in between these three memories that cycled endlessly within the High Justiciar's mind, there existed nothing but an all-consuming anguish, a grief that shook him to the bone and always lingered. It was a terrible feeling. At times he could not move, and at others, it was as if he could not breathe. Death had stolen the air out of his lungs, leaving behind a permanent gray veil through which he now viewed the world. And in the few moments where this paralyzing sorrow would numb to a dull ache, he found himself thinking of Erwin still. He had been just shy of Knighthood, still a far cry from his childhood dream of receiving Malchediael's flame, but Viago knew that this meant he would never see him again, even once they both passed. They were fated to differing afterlives. In these thoughts, an unforgiving resentment took root —spindly, persistent, and growing in the shadowed corners of his mind. Still, there was work to be done beyond the grief. A wolf awaited the hunt, and its head would hang upon his wall. The Templar pressed his palms together, reciting his late son's favoured litany. He let the ritual bridge the space between memory, sorrow, and duty. I am a man, Prone to weakness, But I am a warrior of God, Where weakness is death, I wish to crush my weakness, With the weight of my pride. Amen.

big gaja fan -sujilicious (the benevolent)

rip my goat

michael my beloved

MC Name: sujilicious Discord: sujiissocool Image: Description of Image: A portrait of the late Baldric Vourkehardt Dimensions: 2x2

It occurred mere hours after Viago's own wedding. The happiest day of his life, poisoned by the death of his father. Whether blessing or curse, Viago had been there. His eyes had met his father's in the final breath between thunder and silence—the very instant life unraveled and slipped away. They had fought through countless storms together, shoulder to shoulder, his faith in Baldric’s indomitable spirit unshaken through each clash of steel. And yet, something in that last, violent foray had shifted—a subtle fracture in the weave of fate. He had seen it all: the storm-split sky above, the moment the Storm-Caller’s axe sang through the air and parted Baldric’s arm from his body. Then the titan’s hand, closing around his father’s throat like a god plucking a mortal from the earth, lifting him aloft in cruel triumph. Viago could only watch—his heart pounding like war drums—as Baldric’s hands clawed in vain, the will to live etched in every trembling finger. Lightning danced along the great waraxe in a flash, but to Viago it moved like winter through bones—slow, cold, inevitable. Each second unfurled like a lifetime, and still, it was not enough. He would have given eternity for just one more. It had all occurred under his command, after all; one of his few charges as the commanding officer. Was there perhaps an alternate path, one that would have resulted in a more palatable ending? Some subtle shift of footing, one last desperate attempt to wrench Baldric free of the vile grip of the towering minotaur? The questions circled endlessly, whispering what-ifs in the quiet corners of his mind. But no answer would ever come. Only the silence remained—haunted, gnawing—a guilt that fed endlessly upon itself, never full. It was not for lack of trying, at the very least. Viago had saved his father from the clutches of death a number of times, and had fate allowed it, he would have done so a thousand times more. He had pried off the smoldering remains of a colossal Treeman that pinned his father down, had taken the then-patriarch's place as the target of a stone-forged golem's crushing blow—bearing the pain in his place without a second thought. The cost never mattered, nor did the danger; he would have given all he had. If only he was given the chance. This sort of thing would always leave behind a trail of endless regrets for those left living. Perhaps one of Viago's greatest was the last sincere conversations he'd had with Baldric, in which his predecessor confessed the last of his sins unto him; and was met with scorn. The son thought he would have more time to reconcile with the father but death came swiftly, and with it, the bitter truth: time does not wait for the reckoning of hearts. In answer to this cruel truth, Viago turned to the only salve he knew—duty. He buried himself in the remnants of his father’s unfinished work, throwing himself headlong into every obligation he could grasp. He was never accustomed to the more sentimental affairs, and though grief was no stranger to him, never before had it carved so deeply. So the stoic knight, ever composed, found solace in humble distractions—quiet labors he hoped his father might have approved of over grieving (Unlikely). But the weight wore on him. His weariness grew with each passing day, a thousandfold, until at last—alone in the quiet sanctuary of what had once been Baldric’s chambers, now his own—Viago faced the one thing he had avoided: the letter. It had been waiting for him, sealed with care and addressed in his father’s familiar hand. He had set aside an entire day to read it, yet every time his tired, verdant eyes traced that handwriting, tears welled and blurred the page. He wiped them away—again and again—until finally, with breath held and heart clenched, he opened the letter and read his father’s final words. Within the hallowed walls of the Bastion Temple of Saint King Caius, Viago eventually found himself cast before his father's casket. His gaze lingered distantly upon it, haunted by the absurd hope that Baldric might suddenly kick it open with a hearty laugh and a dismissive wave—as though it were all some cruel, elaborate jest. But the silence that met him was merciless and complete. Listless, Viago stood beside the coffin, the weight of grief pulling his shoulders low. At last, he spoke aloud: "Your presence always held a warmth that was larger than life, brighter than flame. Now you lie still, and I'm nicht sure how to carry on without you." A callused hand set itself upon the rim of the casket, but Viago could not bring himself to open it. He couldn't eye his father in this state. "It went mostly unspoken, though I'm sure you know of how much I admired you. - Knew, I should say..." - "You were... the best possible father one could have ever asked for. You erred as men do, and only rose ever higher from it. From ashes, you built our house, and raised it into a stronghold. You gave us room to grow, to live, to become, and I'm never going to be able to thank you enough for all that you've given me, Vater..." For a time, there was a silence that hung in the air as Viago watched the casket, lost in his mourning. "... You held within you a greatness that always seemed impossible for me to reach. There were... so many things I still longed to learn from you. Things I wished to show you. Things I wish we could have done together." His mind wandered to the Zähmung, of Baldric's request to finally participate rather than to lead. That failure weighed heavily upon him now, a guilt etched deep within his bones. He knew it would never leave him. With one last anguished sigh, Viago withdrew his hand from the coffin, and took a step back. The Lorraine was signed, that veil of duty settling once more upon his brow like a helm. "Let your sins turn to ash in the presence of GOTT's Light. If there ist mercy beyond this veil, may you find it waiting with open arms." He felt lost now. But he would make do, and he would work. A portrait of the late Baldric, painted by his successor Viago Vourkehardt