squakhawk

lotc woke as fuck preparing for transition

Application accepted. You will be contacted by staff on next steps.

Past selection we will have to play it by ear of who’s around or not, nothing we can do can fairly account for prebuild and who may or may not exist past the aevos deadline. Nations will have time to explore the map freely and unrestricted before selection times to look at and discuss with their builders where ideal areas may be

Hoping everyone has fun enjoying this new frontier :) lots of love has gone into this so far.

hey bro been missing u (Can contact you on discord at any time but My Stupid Ass) what plans u got for the future? if you could change one thing on any level of scale (server culture, rules, mechanics, a single redline in a lorepiece) what would you change what was your favorite time on the server generally? any map you remember most fondly? would you be available to zoom interview when i get around to making loredump videos for the channel. Idk what about yet. Something. any advice on anything you’ve gathered either on or off lotc about anything i would want to give not just me, but anyone? love u x

Approved.

Waters of the north churned as grey waters of The Bitter Sea twisted tumultuously. Winds stirred the brine in the air as stone coloured clouds overcast The Drowned Strand. As embattled rocks were smashed by wave and wind alike, there seemed no reprieve of sunlight as the skies hung with a dimly lit haze. Spirits in the air seemed active as The Heavy Heart, that which bound spirits to apparate within the land spontaneously, seemed to be far more active than ever seen before. The apparitions more plentiful as many manifested only in part, whilst others were convincing enough to pass as human. Dread hung over the air like a headsman's axe, a feeling of discomfort that made all along the northern coast feel as if something was missing. An untended flame in the house, a memento not present upon their person, a goodbye that they had forgot to say - what was it? The following is only available to those able to witness [Prophecy]. Your mind settled on it; whether you had felt the dread of forgetfulness before or not, it came to you clearly almost as an intrusive thought. You spun your head to the side and suddenly you were elsewhere, as if you had blinked with your eyes wide open. Stranded in an open, endless ocean with a storm that stretched across the horizon one way as turbulent grey waters shoved and kicked you around. Perhaps your anxieties were reassured; magical event is not something foreign nor far from reality. Visions plagued your mind in the past, did they not? Surely this one will pass. But then you felt like minutes began to creep by. You were cold; chilled to the bone as so thoroughly you were soaked with brackish waters of The Bitter Sea, dizzying you as your senses felt further and further faint. The feelings that rooted deeper and deeper within you. You clung to hope, you prayed that if this were a vision, that it would yet end. Else, you prayed a ship would come to your rescue. You'd even settle for flotsam that you could at least rest upon as your aching muscles began to beckon for a reprieve. You were alone, and nobody was coming to save you. Your vision clouded as the overcast storm skies blotted out any hope of sunlight, any warmth of golden rays which seemed salvation in your suffering. Your muscles began to weaken as you felt them so heavy, as if they would turn to stone. Your kicking legs slowed further and further as your arms stiffened by cold no longer brushed, but paddled to keep you afloat. Minutes kept ticking by as your head began to turn under, willingly or not, it seemed this would be the end. Saltwater stung as it filled your nose, mouth, and lungs as you choked for your last breath of air you'd already let go. With what little strength you had you struggled against the dying, the fading overcast light of the seawater above almost seeming heavenly from the seagreen abyss you sunk further and further into, away from the light. Your eyes darkened as you lost sense of up and down, continuing to sink until suddenly you felt your back come to surface. You breached the waters, eyes coming wide open. You breathed, yet for some reason you felt you didn't need to. Not anymore. Your eyes rose up as you looked over your body; you felt cold, yet it hadn't bothered you. You looked upward as you saw a shadowy figure, the light of reflections casting the most dim glow upon what seemed to you a cavern that stretched endlessly from one end to another. The figure, whos skin of milkglass and hollowed eyes of amethyst mist, merely stood as it waited for you on one end of it's small riverboat. Oar in hand, the waters rushed by despite the eerie stillness of it all. You raised your hand to the boat, grasping at it's edge as the figure outstretched one hand toward you. It seemed soft and smooth, something like porcelain as it observed without judgement - nearly pity. Your hand raised upward to take it's own. You awoke then, wherever it was you once were upon Aevos, soaked in brine and coldwater as you coughed up the ocean which you felt had nearly drowned you. The following is only available to those with the [Palmreading] MA. A rattling voice whispered upon the winds, aching chains rumbling among a hollow chamber as the hoarse voice, seemingly with more vigor, spoke to you once again. That which brought the cold wherever you went, a freezing wind brushing by as snowflakes danced upon it's drift. "Trust not the twice-deceiving winged son. Those who have chosen this fate have done so of their own volition. Do not take them from the path of their own make. I will still be your guide."

-scheming eunuch @Sorcerio -loathsome heir @Lhindir_ -court jester @Greehn -noble knight @Johann

posed this question to some friends and developing off of @Unwillinglystatus update. lotc top 4. pick anyone you want. who is your -scheming eunuch -loathsome heir -court jester -noble knight

As The Sorcerer’s Comet descended over Veletz, so too did descendants meet beneath its shadow to cast it from the sky; or bear witness to its apocalypse. For centuries the cycle repeated; The Sorcerer’s Comet bleeding over Aevos until it crashed unto The Divide, bringing apocalypse to the largely uninhabited continent time and time again. Eryndor and Thalandir, enigmatic brothers of The Twinflame Brotherhood, sought to not only unravel the mystery of the comet … but to as well, spare those who may be caught in its flame that threatened nearly a third of Aevos. And to The Shamanic Lodge, Nevaehlen, Caurost, and Celia’nor did they seek the question; Were there still heroes? THE DRUID EXPEDITION The Druii of Nevaehlen were quick to accept the invitation of adventure, issuing a call to many of their more distant ilk to attend in what may have been disturbed fae. As a new forest had appeared seemingly overnight in the southern midlands, they ventured to it’s heart among a silent nature where an uncanny monolith stood. Circling and investigating were they whisked quickly to a voidal realm by The Sorcerer’s Construct, corrupted and twisted with sorcery. The group delved deep into it’s corrupt heart, fighting horrors and monstrosities alike as they destroyed the voidal anchors which had kept them there. Following, they had found themselves shunted to The Fae Realm. Within the realm of Fae did the druii encounter many beasts twisted with madness, obsessed with some intruder which they were following in the footsteps of. Though many were unfortunately slain, even further afield of the druids wounded or killed, they encountered another anchor of some kind. This time, it had seemed fresh - placed as if just moments ago. With a surge of blight healing and druidic energies potent enough to purify the forests, they were shunted back to the monolith they’d come from, still yet in the footsteps of the sorcerer’s atronach. Following off from Aevos at the behest of The Mountain, they came upon an island just beyond the storm. After exploring a derelict yet well kept tower and what lay within, they found at the top the construct seeming to call down the meteor. Though the battle was fierce and the construct attempted its best defense, it was destroyed by the combined might of the circles which had come to face it. THE VOIDAL EXPEDITION It was shortly after earthquakes began to tear between the rocky crags and hills of The Divide that the magi of Celia’nor began to notice a significant voidal anomaly occurring nearby beneath the earth. As meteor showers pelted the land, it was just beneath its surface that held the key to their curiosity - and that which they delved into. Exploring just the shallow caverns which had just been freshly exposed, they found a world nearly alien that had just sat beneath the white walls of their city. Springs of liquid essence, plants and alchemical herbs that had become symbiote of material and immaterial alike; nature and void bonded in unholy union. Pushing further had the magi proceeded further and further into the cavern, discovering bioluminescent plants that traversed to a different biome entirely. Finding then an arid desert cavern that seemed like a different plane entirely, few magi had been eaten by sinkhole and rockfall alike in their insatiable curiosity to delve deeper toward what many had perceived was a heart of the anomaly. Excavating the grains which hid the deeper treasures they’d hoped for, they found a place that had nearly seemed as if it belonged within the sky. Proceeding from island to island, though not without uncautious loss, voidal monstrosities had begun to assail them as they pushed through to finding a laboratory. Revealing some truth to The Sorcerer, they’d unlocked the key to the heart they sought so deeply. Many magi sought it for personal gain, others for study, and few to destroy it. Descending into the heart of corruption which had twisted the caverns around it so unrecognizably that it seemed to assault them at random, they found a horror which had guarded the monolith fiercely. Though many magi found their spells working against them, others slain by raw destructive power, they had attained the heart of the Voidal Heath which had previously lay dormant. Though there were many squabbles over what should be done regarding the artifact, Thalandir had laid the law that it was too dangerous to be kept in the hands of mortals for purposes of power. THE SHAMAN EXPEDITION Spirits rumbled beneath the earth in disturbance as Arambor, a spirit that had long dwelled within the heart of The Divide, began to enrage. Though they were scarce and scattered, The Shamanic Lodge had mustered what they had to put together an expedition to calm, if not pacify, the spirits which had been in such uproar. Descending into a cavern torn unto the earth by the spirit itself, they had found it blocked off not to keep the adventurers out - but to keep the spirits within. Breaking past the barrier utilizing their magics, the shamans were assailed by elemental spawn that had utilized the very earth that surrounded them against them. Magma and stone alike were flung as the spirits were repelled back, until encountering the greater spirit Arambor itself. And though the wounded many in rage blinded by misguidance, the Farseers and Witchdoctors alike were able to calm Arambor to talks. They had discovered that Arambor had been unwillingly a tether for The Sorcerer’s Comet, and with his purification, granted the spirit clarity once more. Though the goal would not be so similar - to sever the tether, they would either have to kill Arambor, or separate the meteor shard from the spirit within the spirit plane itself. The Shamanic lodge shied from no challenge, and though their numbers were sparing, they swelled in courage to bring peace to the spirit. Walking unto the spirit plane, they had ventured to separate the meteor shard by force. Whilst the spirit was incapacitated, the group fought against many a horror which had been borne from the breaking bond of the twisted union. With the threat of death in another plane, the shamans redoubled their efforts and might as they severed the tether between the spirit and The Sorcerer’s Comet in heroic victory. THE CAUROST EXPEDITION Those of Caroust were confined to a different expedition–the manner of their quest was much different to those of the others, as it was pertaining to a simple opening maw: a cave settled in the northern mountains of the Divide, its yawning gulf quaked with every step, as if some indomitable monster lay within its turf, and the surplus of mana that seeped from cracks in the caves surface was alarming to most. The group descended into the cave after much preparation, having suitable equipment, clothes, food and water to entertain a long trek into the depths of a sprawling, winding labyrinth. Upon entering the cave, their eyes bemused two sights: a folding of the cave to the left, and then, one that proceeded to the right. In order to ensure everybody was safe and secure, those of Caroust ventured together, heading right and bundling their path into an empty cave wall. The large mound of the cave's breadth was suitable to set up temporary encampment, their blade swords and soldiers constructing a fire to keep warmth in the dampening and sour construct of the voidal cavern. In the fires, their eyes were drawn to something – it was a vision, most cruel, most callous, it envisioned a crown, a mage, and something long: a monster. Upon resting their legs, the group headed out into the deepest pits of the cave, their lanterns hoisted, and their blades readied. On the walls, murals carved by something littered every corner of the wall, it was that of a crown, golden, gleaming, as if marking the cave with the symbol of royalty. As they reached the end of the cave, their eyes settled upon an opening–it gleamed violet, bubbled viscously, and fumes spat from the voidal emancipation that riddled the stone walls of this cavern. Stalicities, all pure and pure, billowed mana, and the earth quaked. They were chased, it was burrowed in the earth, a horrendous, spiteful thing. Caroust ventured into the depths on three unfolding expeditions back-and-forth, and at the end, their eyes met it – something trilling, alien, its voice enunciated by cruel madness. A basilisk poisoned by the void, its serpentine scales layered by a thick mist and energy that gleamed brightly. Outside of its general nature, the oddest part of this was the crown that sat upon its cranium–a boundless artifact, lustrous gold, exuding power and strength, a mantle of the void. The fight was long, and arduous, but the blades of Caroust struck down the basilisk, and in the end, its body withered violently, warning the group of the crown’s damning. As the crown cluttered onto the earth, it shrunk in size, enough to be held in the palm of two hands. Wandering out from the cave's depth, a crown besmirched in an auric-oil infested box was carried to their principality, to be contained until called for by that of the wizard Thalandir, or of most humble Eryndor. Credit to @GammaRose for the art. Together did The Shamanic Lodge, The Druii of Nevaehlen, The Blades of Caurost, and scattered Magi of Celia’nor and Solgaard band together to take the longshot of Thalandir and Eryndor’s plan to utilize mere fragments of The Sorcerer’s original spell which had bound his comet to crash unto Aevos time and time again. With reversal of his stabilizing enchantments, and pieces of his artefacts and constructs from long past, were they able to combine their might together. In Aevos’ most frightful moments to date did the comet come to a stop near but a hair’s touch from the surface, and in moments did night become day as a flash of light so great it could be seen from across the continent burst. Pieces of The Sorcerer’s Comet scattered and descended from the sky, collected by scarce few as the white-hot slag represented something greater than a day saved, a calamity prevented, a cycle broken…. Eryndor’s Folly was false, Heroes still did yet exist. ✶ In the depths of a crumbling library, stone drifted away, held together by seams of frothing gray mist. The shelves were covered in dust, neglected, and the books, thousands in total, were left disorganised–it had not been looked after in years. At one corner of the study, there was a large telescope that peaked towards the sky; there were no clouds blocking the view, stars shimmered elegantly in the night, its luminosity sheening with brilliance. On another corner, the broken, shattered remains of a round-table sat in lonesome, its cracks and crevices radiating silver light. ✶ A hoarse, gravelly sigh escaped the pitch of this eternal study–a section private from the main library, its steps conclusive and broken, with a fall so deep and depraved beneath each step that it personified the hungering abyss. Thalandir’s elbow protruded against the arm-rest, his eyes, silver and resembling the dusk of nightfall, raised up towards Eryndor, “The descendants were not faultless, but they have completed their tasks nonetheless, and once more, they have stopped a catastrophe from ruining their land,” ✹ The ‘elf’ looked over the horizon through his contraption of contemporary design, searching the stars for any sign of further anomaly. It seemed The Sorcerer’s Comet had no repeat, no unnumbered calamity which would occur decades, centuries, or millenia from crashing into the earth again. Truly was the cycle broken - a result that both gave the brother hope, and yet, despair. A truth began to settle within him that he had not wished to come to even with this best result. “I suppose they have.” He put it flatly, as he continued to ruminate on the truth within. His golden eyes cast down to the floor, looking over the hand of his right. The skin was smooth and unblemished, before a crawling light began to etch over it as the glamour was undone; revealing an unsightly burn. “I believe it is good testament to our will of cooperation with them that we stood with them even in the face of annihilation. I wish I could say this is the last time they would have to worry about something like this - but you and I know alike how far that is from the truth.” ✶ “I cannot compare their willpower and strength to the ancient past of this realm, the descendants were much fiercer back then. I recall their might when they supported me in the defeat of our most wretched brother, the Black Scourge, and his throes of evil,” the wizard drawled, his robes, scraggly and unkempt, billowing gently from the fierce wind of the study’s peak. Smoke ripped from his nostrils, pilfering into the open air, “Nevertheless, it was a joyous sight. I am pleased. Do they not remind you of anything, my young, foolish brother?” - “Do they prevail to your expectations? Are they heroes now in your eyes? I am too old and irascible to say.” ✹ It was with Thalandir’s words, “Our most wretched brother”, that Eryndor had nearly winced. The burn upon his hand covered once again as glamour overtook and hid what wound he’d borne, his heart briefly coming to a race as he settled a panic within his chest. This was supposed to be victory, courage in the face of apocalypse. Why had he such fear within him? Why was he feeling in such ways that seemed… beneath him? The questions haunted him as he failed to come to answer. Millenia of knowledge and study and hardly was he equipped to grapple his own thoughts and questions. His mind came to, as his chair spun to face Thalandir, a breath escaping his nose as he feigned a reset. “I’d like to say they did, remind me. There were few among them I had recognized - though none, seemingly but perhaps one or two, had recognized me the same. There were few I spoke to… Iduna, Arnuzor, Galahad, Sonna. Among the countless I posed my parable to, only these four had discovered within my question a hypocrisy I did not realise. Or rather - fallacy.” He held, before further elaborating as the grey eminence simply stared. “That heroes are not born, nor inherent. No action is inherently heroic. It is merely what we make of the action in the post of a moment that a hero is deemed hero. I believe they are, but it places thoughts in my mind that had nearly made me think that I would die for nothing all those years ago.” He spoke, his golden gaze casting to his section of the library, gaze unbreaking of the unlit section before he asked without turning. “I wonder what we will do next.” ✶ “You overthink it, I am not fond of heroes anywho, they always steal the limelight from others behind the scene,” Thalandir’s finger, blanched and flaunting lurid nails, gently traced the words of an ancient tome–unlike Eryndor, the wizard was much different in his disposition; he was stricter, less philosophical, bound by logic, and he was sapped of his whimsy and joy. “Unfortunately, I will be quite busy from now on. I must venture back to the past to deal with one of my deepest regrets. You should consider what you want to achieve in the meantime by your lonesome. It would do you some good, being independent, as long as you do not make any foolish decisions,” ✶ “Go do something productive.” ✶ “You have new heroes to put to use, do you not?.” ✹ Eryndor tarried over the thought, before nodding solemnly. He had a clue of what he intended, before settling upon his thoughts. “There are many more curiosities over Aevos that we could perhaps explore proactively, rather than waiting for catastrophe to find us. Further, so many of our scattered kin - even one fallen beneath the northern mountains. There are many paths forward - many I have to decide on which will be our best.” He considered, looking over the brooch of steel and crimson that lifted from his belt. “I am sure no matter the course there will be those who seek adventure, and within their hearts, heroes stir awaiting to be released.” [Thank you for participating in the event.] Thank you to @BobBox, @Werew0lf, @HugoAntero, @milksoda, @RaiderBlue, @Spoopy_Duck, @Trey, @Benleft, @Destructokeith, @HenryCore, @wowj, @Shorsand, and@rigorous for all of your help during the eventline. Without you guys none of it would be remotely possible, nor would the amount of coordination, effort, writing, or quality be where it was. I'm looking forward to the next eventlines to come, thank you :)

Over Veletz did a shadow hang, looming darkness that blotted out the sun for all but sunrise and sunset. As pale orange hung over the edges of the horizon, a pale violet shade cast over The Divide with gloom. There was a heaviness to the air, amongst rains intermixed of heated metal and warmed pebbles as the single violet star that once hung so high in the sky seemed larger day by day. It seemed to spit and whip lashes of bursting energies that could scarcely be contained within itself as it’s course seemed jagged and unsteady. The Divide was wary, for so many times had it seen apocalypse before, and it seemed to be bound to happen yet again. But this time, there seemed hope. Whereas once meteors had crashed into the land in an inexorable cycle of calamity, there were now heroes upon that land- heroes that wished not only for the lives of themselves and their loved ones, but others at large. As the might of Caurost, Nevaehlen, Celia’nor, and The Shamanic Lodge banded together with The Twinflame Brotherhood to break the cycle. And whilst there was joy in their victories; the destruction of The Megatronoch, the calming of Arambar, the Voidal Heath’s taming, and the slaying of The Great Basilisk; there was a hollow victory. Their job had yet been incomplete, as while the greater good had been achieved, it seemed they had one last fight before them to stop The Sorcerer’s comet from crashing into The Divide. One last battle to stop the heavens from crashing into the earth and leaving behind only flame and rubble. One would only hope they would succeed. ✹ As the ‘elf’ stepped through the chamber, his footfalls came over jagged and disconnected steps that rose higher and higher to a library’s pinnacle. Eyes unraised from the floor below, he spoke as he continued his march forward, and ultimately beside Thalandir, as he fished for a specific shelf in his library. “I’ll admit I had not expected their success. Though The Sorcerer’s arts are still at play in his dying throes, it seems the cycle has been broken. At least, we stand to hope so with the land back in order.” ✶ The wizard’s hand gently cusped a dusty book, it looked worn, and the content of the shelf remained unkempt as though it had not been taken care of in years. Thalandir flipped the pages of this book open, his index-finger gliding across the word’s, bereft of the intrusion by Eryndor, “Yes, I did not expect it either. It seems that the descendant’s have a gift for victory in times when death and destruction is prominent. If only their luck could last them for all the bundle of foolishness they partake in.” “The Sorcerer’s failure was the cause of this catastrophe. If it was me, nothing of the sort would have ever occurred,” Thalandir boasted, seeing himself as the apex in terms of magic, sorcery and wizardry. “The land is not back in order just yet, we still have one final thing left to do,” ✹ Eryndor held silence for a moment as the man looked between the pages of a book, Of The Stars in Heaven Vol. 3, almost arbitrarily chosen. He spoke low as he looked between the pages, flipping between them seemingly almost with such time that he’d not even read the words they held. “Perhaps there are still heroes among them. Even those who I had considered greedy for taking The Mountain’s bargain have stepped up and become prominent amongst those they hold camp with. Though one spoke to me of a voice which commands them; at times, controls them. I worry we play into the ploy of something greater, in preserving our own lives. Rather- the lives of those we aim to protect.” ✶ Fwip, the pages of the book were turned, Thalandir’s worn silver eyes gliding across the words at an incomprehensible pace; each second, the pages were flipped, and still, his grizzly words reverberated as though focused on both task: talking, and reading. “I would not go that far. Heroes? We have seen heroes before, they do not compare to these bundles of foolish descendants.” “However, I will not deny their efforts,” Briefly, the wizard’s attention was taken by Eryndor, and with a subtle lift of his brow, he voiced, “They hear a voice that commands and controls them? That does not sound particularly good. I fear your words insult me, to say that I am being played by some rock.” ✹ Eryndor placed the book back on the shelf, seeming no less hungry for answers as he had been beforehand. It slid back with a quiet sound, a place that would coat in dust before it was raised again, no doubt. “It is a choice we cannot make, as it was made for us. Rather -” He paused again, seeming frustrated with his own choice of words. “For them, it was made. To die in apocalypse, or to stop it for someone or something’s benefit. The Mountain seems to gain from it, and so it’s subjects do in a choice they believe they have. Of self preservation, rather than a greater goal. It is unquestionable that we will do it- but I fear for what it’s vested interest is, in it’s subjects. I have one I have been following closely, as you have your own; has she anything to say to illuminate further what it is The Mountain wants? What The Sorcerer had done this all for?” ✶ Thud, the book was closed with a sharp, swift movement, and promptly returned onto the shelf in a random position – it no longer sat where it previously had, clearly disheveling the library with no organization, “Should we destroy this rock, then?” Thalandir pondered loudly, “Nevermind,” “My colleague has told me of prophetic visions that she has received, and of the same tingling voice that speaks to others under its influence. The Mountain seeks to keep Aevos safe, but she does not clarify the intentions of the Sorcerer.” The wizard stepped up onto his toes, curling his rubicund leather boots. His left hand cusped up towards the peak of one shelf, and mysteriously, a book flew into his hand, “The Mountain does not seem to have any evil intentions. If it wishes for Aevos to be safe, that ensures the descendants are safe also.” ✹ Eryndor sighed briefly, turning from the shelf to face the grey eminence then. “I suppose it is a tenuous alliance then. As for the rock - I believe we may have the pieces to the puzzle. To be rid of it, one way or another. Else Aevos will be extinct once again, even if it were the last time The Sorcerer’s comet had struck. I believe we should be there- to guide. Strictly speaking.” ✶ Thalandir’s finger traced the corners of the book’s page, flipping them with a gentle, caring touch, “Yes, I understand the extent of its impact. We will be there to guide the descendants. However, that is all we shall do.” “I fear if we play a bigger role outside of guidance, they will start relying on us, and that will lead them to becoming weak. Fortunately, they have been doing well for themselves, however, I did have to deal with some bitter voidal mages from Celian’or that were squabbling over the artifact. It was a greedy display that lasted a few hours. I have had to take away the artifact from them out of distrust and have handed it to a suitable party.” ✹ Eryndor began to march back towards the steps, turning back then as he reconsidered a moment. A thought dashed through his head, before he spoke again. “Heroes among them. Perhaps far from all, or most. Do you still have in mind the dream of unity, for them? Or has that idea been placed in a thought of ashed hopes.” He questioned, a final thought before he would make his departure downwards. He looked onward toward his companion as only the quiet whirr of magic stirred the otherwise still and silent library. ✶ There was a long silent that permeated within the library, plumes of smoke billowing from the wizard’s scraggly robes. A grizzly snarl reverberated from the elder’s hoarse, burning throat, and with a small wobble of his graystaff, with his other hand still towing its book, the elder bid, “I still dream of unity for the sons and daughters of Malin,” it was a short answer.

this specific case had people pinging in another servers discord and pinging vehemently “for help in an upcoming conflict” and asking for if they needed applications written for them. we found two apps that were duplicates of one another from these off server players. while other server players coming here is expected, on terms just for pvp sleeper cells is unacceptable.

your new flavor of the month, sir 🤵🍷

its kinda like ai writing where u just get a feel for it. there might be "ai image detectors" but at least for writing the ai writing detectors are totally innacurate, you just sort of get a feel for the style. pinterest/artstation/google images are fucking destroyed by ai garbage so youre gonna get trained to recognize it one way or another searching on google lens will probably bring up the image or 10 similar images in slightly different poses (different generation results) so thats another easy way to see it

The skies unfurled craggy violet hues, frisking stars and pummelling meteors showing into the midlands. An overstepping hill loomed over the region, known foremost as the Divide, a great landscape of pitted rockslides, sumptuous canopies, with rivers and streams traveling between as if a deep labyrinth. At the peak of this hill, where the grass was greenest, and the air was chaotic with hurling winds, an elderly wizard stood in meditative silence, his fingers cusping the indents of his graystaff. Thalandir squinted out towards the Divide’s biome, waiting in patience. His scraggly, unkempt robes billowed in the fierce breeze, the fringes of his silver beard swaying left to right. From the flank, a small, dainty elf, adorned in regale garbs, of fair blonde hair and eyes as gold as jewels, approached from behind. With features alien and hardened, Eryndor halted directly behind the elder, speaking in a voice held by a charm bereft most descendants. “I've made peace with the fact that many of them will probably die, but, is it worth solving our own curiosity to let them venture into the unknown with only our direction?” ✹ The elder glided an incurious hand across his soft, hanging beard, as silver as the dusk of nightfall. His attention did not veer from the biome. Unlike Eryndor, the wizard held a touting, fatherly voice, as if gravel trickled down his throat, like the clashing of steel upon stone. “Certainly, brother, many will die–however, I trust that those men and women are strong enough to face the challenges ahead. Well, some of them, anyways. I am filled with greed, oh brother, and I seek to learn of whatever is occurring in these lands. Is it wrong? Am I filled with avarice?” ❈ Eryndor shifted, his pale golden gaze looking over the distant horizon of The Divide with a somber distaste. Worry was behind his eyes, yet his carefully crafted guise of a visage only had shown discontent. “I do not think there is greed in solving the danger that we know exists. I think there is, if not greed, cowardice, in putting others before ourselves. Tell me, brother, do you believe our purpose is to guide, or to protect, those unlike us?” “I do not believe it is my duty to protect, or to guide. I wish to learn all that there is to know, and in my pursuit of this knowledge, I seek to find a remedy to the curse that toils with the realm. I am not bound by duty, for my master has fallen, now, I am driven by desire. I am not interested in being a hero. What of you, oh brother, do you seek to guide them, or protect them?” ❈ Eryndor turned to his brother, word silent for a moment as quiet clung to the air. His head turned back to watch the stars above dance and twinkle, the great purple light that hung over the rolling hills of the midlands like a midnight sun. An ominous herald of the calamity they so feared. He spoke again, as fleeting eyes came back to the earth. “Beyond Enlightenment’s pact, I believe we walk among them for a purpose. One you and I shared from the mountains whence we came - if not to protect, then to guide. Else, do we exist for vanity? To live among one another? You know the better half of our kin have returned to dust and stone. If it were our purpose, it is one we failed long ago. You, I, the rest - we can exist once again with His rebirth. I would like to make the best of that, to never allow something of His like again. Eryndor firmed, a depth to his voice of a breadthful experience. A foreboding warning, as if he had spoken the phrase much in his own mind; put to words for the first time aloud. I say again, in the case they survive - how do we uphold our end of their trust, putting their lives at stake?” ✹ Thalandir’s brow creased, the wrinkles of his flesh sagging, draped by years of wisdom and age. The elder’s finger jutted out towards Eryndor, the elderly wizard’s lip thinning into an indifferent expression. “It is because of Azdromoth’s ascension that, although we are free, the world is now a puddle of bubbling, frothing ruin. Those mutts, his children, the nephilim, are growing bolder by the day. Unfortunately, my fondness for the descendants has grown bitter, oh brother. They have done me wrong, and many have lost their appetite for knowledge. Instead, they pick up arms, and fight steel-in-blood, rather than with book-and-quill. Brother, there exists nothing beneath the heaven’s that may trample our might. Why do you speak with such frailty? You are no longer shackled as some hound, we owe them nothing. If the descendants survive, then they should feel proud, and if they do not, we should forget their names. We are not gift-bearers, they will never trust us, so why should we learn to trust them? Is this world not as it is, because their greed knows no bounds? So willing to kneel before the heaven’s, to be played as toys. And now look at it, the dire state of the realm.” ❈ That odd feeling stirred again within the ‘elf’. His right clutched to his chest where a beating heart lay, a detail unnecessary to his disguise, yet one he found meaningful. Something he had, but seemed alien in comparison to such a small and fleeting thing. He knew there was goodness within him, and such, there must be in man. Afterall, was he not made up of similar components? He had seen acts of good, he had seen what the first cleric had been capable of. If he was a mortal with a good heart and soul, were there not more? Many more? He ceased the thoughts before he had delved too deep into something he was not capable of resolving. Not yet. “I have seen those connected to the land. Those who were gifted on the mountain’s peak - they seem … wrong. There is something they share with this mystery we seek to solve. An interconnection. I have yet to establish true rapport with them, but I have given those that sought me to the expeditions. I suppose their use or disuse will be made apparent.” “I had warned those who committed to the great expedition up the mountain–to be cautious of accepting powers unknowingly, whatever they find at the summit. Unfortunately, many ignored this warning. I am unsure of what this gift they have received is, but surely, it must be wicked, oh brother? There was one man in particular, a foolish soldier, who unchained himself from the blessings of Malchadiel, and in turn, accepted this mountain’s gift. Perhaps, it would be in our interests to research what the source of their mysterious sorcery is. Some of those I impeached in regards to the matter spoke of hearing a voice at the peak, offering them strength!” ❈ Eryndor looked westward to the peak of Stormswatch, a peak just beside the mountain that he knew as a basement of death and decay. Where many of his former allies, and few friends, had ventured to never return. “Certainly not one of us. Though the stench of our fallen kin lays pungent over this land, I do not think it one of our own. Whatever it is - I believe it is the cure to the ails of this land and the descendants on it. What do you believe they will encounter, these expeditions?” ✹ With the stump of his scripture-laden graystaff piercing the earth, for a brief moment, the grass halted in its sway, the air chilled, and Thalandir’s mind revolved around the question. The hem of his robes escaped with plumes of smoke, wisping out towards the clouds. Bound by facts and logic, it seemed difficult for the elder to provide an assumption to his question. “Grhmh – I could only speculate. From the research I have conducted, it appears to be some sort of phenomena related to an outburst of mana, or voidal energy. And this does not seem to be far-and-few in quantity, enough that I fear a catastrophe. I am unsure if this is the meddling of those foul, pestilent horrors that trib at the cosm, or if it is caused by an artifact left placated by the years. I am certain there is no man or woman who is capable of overpowering my strength in the arcane, but I would be mirthless to find that this could also be the meddling of a sorcerer. Maybe, a covenant of sorcerers? I am not fond of guesses, so these are all uncharted speculations. To be honest, I am of the opinion that the descendants may be lacking in strength to resolve this matter. Oh brother, you were in search of heroes. Did you find any? Or are heroes marred only to story-books?” ❈ The great stone walls of Numenost, and wooden palisades of Nevehlen, and the many faces he had met in and between so. The words of but a couple stung him as lives completely separate from one another resounded in his head once again. “Most were not worth the time of day, those that I spoke two. But I posed a parable; that of the blind man. A blind man, a hundred years old, given sight - if it were an act of evil, or of good. A heroic act. While most spoke of it as heroic, I found two that stated that in that moment, there is no heroism. Heroism is how we recall the event. I am uncertain if there are heroes anymore. After the massacre I had witnessed. But perhaps they still exist - or rather, the potential does. That there is a hero within the many, and through trial, it is brought out when one’s worth is truly tested. Whether these groups hold such potential… I cannot say.” “I do not believe in heroes, it is simply a motivator for men and women who seek to do good. A noble goal, but I believe in unity and fellowships, and that heroes are not named for individuals, but to collectives. Unfortunately, my time has been wasted, I have been entombed behind my study due to the foolishness of one disgraceful templar, who sought to reveal my nature to all those around him. Now, I am hunted by evil forces like a rabid dog, they froth at the mouth with viscid saliva. As I landed first to this realm, I have only seen terrors and heard foulness. Yes, it is so, that I have also bade the news of our fallen brother Mordring, he meddles with this land also. I hope that Man has the fortitude to overcome the challenges that precede them. Though, I am still filled with distrust. You spoke earlier, oh brother, that we should uphold our end of trust, as they stake their lives for our research. Let us gamble, then. If the descendants succeed on this gruesome expedition, I will alleviate my ire, and try to trust them. If they do not succeed, you must learn to never trust them, and to be cautious of their aid.” ❈ Eryndor stirred once again. He knew it was not a promise he could upkeep. His nature prohibited it - he could try, as much as he had been, but likely to little avail. A conflict within that had long been pushed without, the ‘elf’ huffed lowly as he looked upon the medallion of dull grey and crimson that decorated his belt. The metal which depicted a dragon lighting the torch of man, that which he had hoped would bring fellowship and brotherhood between his kind and others. A small kindling of hope stirred within his beating heart again, quickly doused by the shadows of doubt and distrust. “As much as I have tried to hold myself higher and careless of their being, it is difficult with my nature. But I will uphold this bargain; should they succeed, it should be a promising beginning to the twinflame. That we establish our pact in this new age, and solve whatever greater evil meddles with these descendants. Mordring, or otherwise.” “I shall depart. Good fortunes to you, and to the descendants who undergo this loathsome task.” Thalandir swiveled on his rubicund leather boots, and with a slow, elderly gait, he departed from the hill, crunching blades of grass. The air was thick, it was filled by whimsy, an unsettled desire to find out the occurrences of the midlands, and those of the Divide, and in the end, Eryndor was left to stand upon the hill by himself, left to the mettle of his thoughts.

You awoke as you lay upon your back, flat on the dry grasses that sway gently in the wind. There was a rush through the trees as starlight looked down upon you, a dim glimmer to your skin that called upon your sense of wonder. A dozen-million stars along the clear sky, great rifts of blue, purple, and green, all scattered across like a painter's canvas. Glimmering lights danced along them as the warm night was drawing to a close as the moon began to reach it's zenith. You picked at a stone beside you, amongst others of dull grays and shades of black, a small stone of turquoise. Nearly smooth, its gentle colour seemed so out of place. You twirled it between your fingers, placing it amongst the many stars that matched it's colour high above. The gentle background buzz of lightning bugs and crickets reminded you of being young once more, full of youth and wanderlust. You thought it might be a good time for a nap. Your eyes shut as you felt rest, bliss; but you felt a tinge of something else. Something that nagged at the back of your mind like a forgotten chore. Had you forgotten something at home? Had you left something behind? Was there someone you had meant to talk to? Your thoughts stirred, you focused further on that one thing that bothered you. What on earth was it? You ameliorated the thought, turning over in your mind as you decided to live within the moment. It felt cool, the starry night. Your mind eased, if for moments. You heard the sound of what felt like hail; the brush and plink of leaves and stones tumbling from the skies and unto the earth. White streaks of light littered the sky like a cascading waterfall of ethereal beauty. A childlike smile of wonder came to your face- what a marvel it was to see such an event. But that feeling tugged at you again. Stronger now. You watched the sky above as a blue comet streaked across the sky. This one seemed so familiar, yet you couldn't place why. Your stone. The colour had matched so brilliantly. The light of the comet seemed to brighten, further and further until it seemed so bright it might be day. A white, burning light that's sheer luminescence may have blinded the earth itself. There was not a sound but the crushing, ever increasing, stir of the earth as something great came closer and closer. You placed the feeling within you, as if it had suddenly all made sense. Altogether, now, with pieces in their place. You felt calamity.

the system was (if i miss any details they’ll come to me) roughly 2 of each material had a node, each had an individual cooldown. groups for players subjectively decided by st (someone may have 4 characters, but we just count them and everyone associated with their main by association) had cool downs 2-3x as long on top of that. we stopped replacing nodes intentionally destroyed to force a cd reset or to encourage a monopoly. despite the increasing restrictions, subjectivity, and attempt to get more players doing things, we still had the same few groups just recycling nodes over and over, then hoarding them and either doing shitty ooc black market trading or clout farming collections. this system sucked and was truly the best we could’ve worked. even with a plug-in, there’s so many ways to get around a system remotely like this. we did have a plug-in for individual cooldowns with very long resets so everyone could get one, but this lead to people farming eachother by having five friends mine it for them so they can just stack it further. not to mention the sweats of spam searching region nodes, st exhaustion spamming reqs, world downloading to x-ray, and staff tping to spam check nodes. it’s rediculous. They don’t add to roleplay and didn’t encourage anyone but a select handful of groups to be morons about items with one paragraph of /edit. Nodes aren’t coming back in any capacity whatsoever. Event distribution is and has been the best way to do it, since players who participate, are active, and quality roleplayers, are rewarded instead of an smp-lite capture the flag every few weeks with stupid spreadsheets and delusion trying to collect pixels people would rather sit on and make epic 40 paragraph soulbound lunarite swords than making something more meaningful. just my thoughts and dispelling misinformation that the system was flawed without effort or there is a better way for nodes, when there strictly isn’t

Whilst lucid, you felt a small twinge in your right hand. You looked upon your own palm curiously, and in a moment that seemed faster than the blink of an eye, an eye stared right back at you. An eye within your palm, conjured of icy permafrost that glared at you like a man beheld a god. It was in an instant that you found yourself somewhere else. You hadn't even realized fully what had occurred until you felt the instant bite of cold, the choking of air from your lungs as you felt breathless. You felt like you stood on a high rope, vertigo causing your feet to tremble as a opaque icy fog let you see not but a foot before you. You heard the wind rush and thrum, like a harvester cutting through chaff. Once Twice Thrice Cold steelen chains wrapped around your arms as you came-to. Oncemore were you looking at your hand, turning it over calmly as you saw your backhand. Normal, as too was your palm. The thought danced across your mind as your conscious finally connected again with your body, dread awash as you felt the peculiar vision truly struck you. It was then you noticed the reddened marks of frost's nip burn at your skin where chains once were. You felt cold, even with the warmth of wherever you once were. Your palms burned. But not for His unwitting disciples. [The following information is available only to those with the Palmreading MA]. You looked upon the burns of chains as the bitter, unforgiving cold of The Mountain's peak chilled you to the bone. A grim reminder of the sacrifices made to scale the greatest thing among all Eos. You felt your mana within surge, a brief rush of coursing power. Your hand raised to release the excess in flux, as without meaning, you Invoked only two things over and over again. Mountain. Divide. Mountain. Divide. Mountain. Divide. The rattling of cold steel pulled your vision - it did not invite it - but tugged your eyes to an icy peak lesser travelled. A chain slipped away along the ground, dragging with it a snowy cold until it vanished from sight as it made way toward the glacial mountain that commanded your vision. You felt you heard a word upon the rush of wind, even if it were a trick of the frightened mind it seemed too grim to be simple falsity. We will help each other.

S T O R Y T E A M Frost Witch Shelf Hi meows, After lots of careful deliberation and intervention from ST and players over the last couple of years, following an all-but-one unanimous vote by the ST, Administration, and ST Management, we are going to be shelving Frost Witches immediately. Frost witches had been in troubling throes over the last couple of years despite a lot of different methods by both ST and Players alike to support the CA and bring it back. Despite this, and despite multiple submitted amendments, there could be no cohesive or consistent agreement between neither players nor ST on what the direction for the CA should have been. Despite feedback and multiple requests to change aspects of the CA from a player-side, the CA has failed near in total with the vast bulk of it's players over the years having hemorrhaged and left the CA, or left LOTC as a whole. We spoke to many players (Both current and former), and many communities which had interacted with the community in recent memory, and few (if any at all) had positive remarks for the CA and how it was used and utilized. This is unfortunate given I know personally how many people are invested in the CA and truly do care about it, but it's time to stop it before any more harm can come to the server and its players as a result of it. Effective immediately are frost witches shelved, with all frost witch characters having the following options; ✸ Becoming permanently shelved in Wyrvun's realm after cocooning IRP. ✸ Dropping Frost Witch, remaining alive but permanently in grief. Frost Witch will not be available for rewrite indefinitely following this post, until mentioned in an ST update. Any submissions before this time will be denied. Apologies that this may come as poor news to some, but I hope it is at the least understandable. Have a great day, Squak

The sojourners followed as the last remaining warriors of The Witchless City ventured forth, looking up at the colossal tower that stood high above them. Their cloaks and blades unburdened with neither blood nor magicburn, the scouting expedition looked to one another with curiosity and confusion alike. "...Have you ever gotten so close?" There was silence among the party, before one old voice broke it among quiet winter winds. "No, not once. Not in a lifetime, nor any of my ancestors." "Do you think they are preparing an ambush?" "If they were, we'd have been dead two leagues back." Just as questions had been asked, there had been no answers. The scouting party continued to dally in tepid fear and uncertainty. "...The prophecies speak of an angel with wings who would slice the citadel in two with his greatsword in one cut. But the citadel remains. I have to see what is within." "Do you think there are treasures, Jorund? Do you think they guard an artifact so potent it would cause them to destroy a kingdom? Do you wish for a cruel, slow death?" "I want to know why my father and his before him died to take this back." The younger scout snapped back, before speaking broadly then. "Do you cowards wish to return empty handed? From the greatest expedition in memory, to approach the citadel near-enough to touch it. I will be the one worthy of southern fruits. Not the rest of you - not those who stood behind and froze when opportunity shined them in the eye." Jorund loudly proclaimed, marching further into the snow as he approached the citadel's foot. Begrudgingly, did few follow whilst the rest made excuse why they should not proceed. The Citadel was meant to be the greatest fortress upon all of Skjoldier - a fortress of ice sturdier than steel surrounded in a blizzard which would kill even the most prepared explorer in less than a minute. Yet these winds were calm, a lull in the howling gale that seemed to last. As the explorers neared the frozen gates left ominously open, did Jorund place a hand upon the forbidden, accursed ice. It burnt at his palm even through layers, a wince coming to his expression as pain chilled him to the bone. A voice spoke up, curt and low. "Are you satisfied, Jorund? Can we leave now? They could be here any second." "...This can't be right. I watched them gut ..." He paused, the painful memory of his parentage being gored before him by a thing that was woman as much as it was ice. Carved like a butcher's blade through pork did he see his father disembowled among the howling winter. An image that haunted him, an image that made him shy from any meatcarver's shop. It was all the belly of his father which spilt blood and guts alike as it jostled from the gaping wound in his dying throes. "...I will not let them deny me the battle I have come here for. The vengeance which they have forsaken me of." Jorund the Warrior proceeded further, even fewer following his next hundred terrified steps. Three warriors of Gautsdalr made way deeper into the citadel. Further and further did they pass through the savage ruin left behind the beastly creatures that had hunted them like prey for millenia. Scattered bones, spattered slushlike blood, even carcasses of those recently missing from scoutings and expeditions. Stairs and steel twisted among the accursed ice in an uncanny symbiosis as they climbed stairs breathlessly, each one stolen from their lungs replaced with the burning of icy glass. Deceiving eyes they were of the six among them, as they could not behold what they saw. That the savagery of these predatory beasts was far from exaggeration, but an understatement. Men pulled apart and tortured in ways unfathomable haunted their minds as too did the wind gently continue. As the group furthered, a haunting spectre of one of the barbaric women passed by; glancing at them with haunting blue eyes as it vanished from sight. It had melted as if it disappeared within the wind itself, passing by as the final chamber lay open to their view. The grand atrium, never once tread before by man, was stepped unto without word by Jorund and his two most faithful companions as their weapons, woefully unfit to even graze what once walked these halls, lowered fully. Their visage had slowly morphed into that of incomprehensible horror as they beheld a most unimaginable scene. Rows and rows of at first dozens, then hundreds, perhaps even a thousand of the great beasts that had nearly exterminated their kingdom. These witches of frost encased in statues of ice, their closed eyes weeping tears which remained unfrozen from the ice that entombed their bodies. Each one in a position of prayer, discomfort, woe, and despair. Even as not a soul but those three dare moved in that great hall, one could hear them hum lowly. So low was the humming, the chorus that all these witches had shared in unison, that the very room itself shook and swayed gently. Among them, those voices which thrummed and hummed gently, was one so great and so full of grief that even Jorund began to weep. Not because of the vengeance he was robbed of, not because of the sheer quantity of his greatest enemy, not because all the suffering of his ancestors was for naught; But because of pure, unimaginable sorrow.

Why elf?

I hope Kaiser or Joel get the art so they can make you draw something terrible Squakhawk #1 Trinn #99999999 Death to Xan Long live the azdrazihadeen 1 billion dead xannites 1 billion dead cleric writes Meow cup

Approved.