AlphaMoist

REEEE DONT USE BLACK TEXT ON THE FORUMS

If your lore was fine before loregames, there is nothing wrong with simply reformatting it and posting it as being the same. You won’t get denied simply for not changing anything. That being said, golems themselves did have some issues, none that I am very knowledgeable about, so there’s a good chance that if nothing about golems was changed in this iteration, then it might get shot down. Haven’t read the post, just saying.

Vas points a few finger guns in Avrenol’s direction as he writes down a link and sends it to the man via a bird

Perhaps

A Mali’ame donned in a pair of gym shorts lays against the grass outside of the Gehenna Estate, blood pouring from his legs. The procedure to replace his shattered, useless knees with animii replacements had been an utter failure. His weakened parasite being of no use to clot the massive amputations, he loses touch with reality with every passing second. Faces flash before his mind. Vestelle. Aliyra. Izier. Lockezi. He sees himself being thrown against walls by his father, getting married, meeting his first born. His life speeds through his eyes as his breathing begins to slow. The voices tormenting his mind, faint due to the paladin’s purge against his soul many months ago, begin to drift away as his parasite screams in primordial fear. Unable to see the outside world with his burned and melted eyes, the only thing he senses around him are the cries and screams of his loved ones. His coven. His family. A small smile creeps against his lips, and the last ounce of air vacates his lungs as the voices finally come to their end. He lays limp against the grass, finally at peace. **** you gioia this is a joke of course vas didn’t die you retard.

I just want to state that throughout this piece, “non combat scenarios” and “combat scenarios” are differentiated with the former being stronger than the latter, when in reality the exact opposite is true. The fight or flight response is a powerful tool, and you’ll find yourself to have far more strength in the middle of fight than you would while doing something idly. This may have been done for balancing is my guess. Serf-tier characters cannot use armor beyond the capacity of chainmail or leather armor. Full plate armor is around 33-55 lbs. No reason a serf would be unable to wear plate. I always find these types of suggestions a bit on the off side. Strength isn’t really an exact thing you can just shove into a class and define out. Several factors come into play when defining who is stronger than who. It’s an extremely dynamic and fluid thing that is constantly shifting and changing and dependent on a character’s environment. There are mages that can lift more than 75lbs easily. A mage’s strength wildly depends on the magic in question and, again, the character’s lifestyle. There’s going to be serfs who are stronger than knights, either due to genetics or just, again, their lifestyle. A chart listing such specific strengths laid out into a class system isn’t at all something we need, and all it would do is further inhibit dynamic roleplay, and probably cause a lot more bitching and whining because “waah im a knight i should be stronger than you peasant!”. If I’m missing or misunderstood something, feel free to correct me. It’s 0445 and I’m right at the end of my shift, so I’m tired.

Just abuse your admin pex and accept it yourself. No balls

You’re a bit of a stoner, aren’t you

A shade contemplates

Telekinesis is the act of moving items with your mind. Telepathy is the act of speaking to someone using your mind. “Telekinetic communication” and “telekinetic interference” should be “telepathic communication” and “telepathic interference”

Vas screams internally

A Mali’ame donned in black armor, face hidden by a mask, slowly climbs down the steps towards the lower levels of a large estate. Exhausted, like always, he was ready to make amends with his wife, Rosemary Vincrute. Their partnership having been broken due to a lie, a dishonest rumor, he was ready to put his aching heart to rest and make amends with her; he just needed her to believe the truth. With every step he took, more and more crowding, taunting voices began to ring out within his head, numbing the world around him. However, there was one voice louder than the rest. Slow and sultry, its eloquent, almost soothing tone was contrasted heavily by the sinister, malicious intent behind every word it spoke. “Are you really so desperate for her love, Boy? Do you really think she’ll believe the lying ***** you are over me? She didn’t last time. Just give up. Your attempts are made futile by your refusal to change.” “You lied to her,” Vas mumbled out, “if you won’t tell her the goddamn truth, then I will make her see the goddamn truth.” He continued down the hall, but every step he took grew harder and more tiresome. His heart pounded in his chest, he palms grew clammy, his knees started to shake. He hadn’t been so nervous ever since he was a child, but he needed his life back. He needed his wife. But still, the voice pressed on. “You are wasting your time. You do nothing but hurt the woman. You make her cry, make her scream. You are not worthy of love. You are worthy of nothing but misery. You are a parasitic insect. You are nothing.” He gave the voice no response. It didn’t deserve one. The ‘ame was not going to let it ruin this for him. He did nothing wrong; he just needed his wife to see that. He finally made it to her room. She had moved out immediately after the rumor was spread. He hadn’t seen her since she departed from his life, and he eagerly grabbed ahold of the doorknob and turned it, ready to finally see her face again. It was locked. He brought his gauntleted fist to bang on the door three times, then called out for her. “Rose? My Flower?” In his free hand was a bouquet of freshly picked roses, cliche of course, but that was always something that would make her smile. He knocked again. “Rosemary? Are you in there?” Of course she was inside. She had to be. She hadn’t left her room for days. No, she had to be inside: Vas had planned this all out perfectly. A million times within his head, he played out the scene his heart oh so desperately wished to create. He backed away from the door, raised his right foot into the air, and he slammed his metal boot into the door, whipping it open with a loud crack. ”Who knows, Boy? Perhaps she’s finally moved on. Ran away with another man. A good man. One who will make her happy. One who isn’t afraid to give her children! One who truly cares for her.” The parasite began casting images within the ame’s mind, images Vas would never wish to see in the worst of his dreams. He shook them away desperately, and he wandered inside the quiet, dark apartment-esque room. As he ventured inwards, he pulled out a small, metal lighter from within the satchel hanging by his side, and he brought it over to a torch mounted onto the wall. The lighter spouted a small flame, and after being brought close to the torch’s combustible material, the room was bathed in light. “Love? Are you home?” He turned, and on the other side of the room, a door was hanging ajar. He slowly began to step towards it, entering the room cautiously. What he saw inside made him freeze. Blood was everywhere. The walls, the floor, it even contaminated the air with a heavy smell of iron. Vas Vincrute froze entirely in place, and the bouquet of roses he had so delicately crafted fell to the floor, and they themselves became tainted with the ichor. Laying across the room, arms bleeding profusely, hands wrapped around the hilt of dagger, blade slid within her stomach, was the stiff body of his wife. Everything was silent, surreal. Even the voices plaguing his mind had ceased their emanations. The ame’s hands began to violently shake at his sides, and his masked gaze was locked on the scene before him. “Cut it out, Pessima. I don’t want to see this anymore,” he mumbled out in disbelief. However, the voices soon returned. “What you see is not an illusion, Boy. It seems as if her heart was broken beyond repair... Are you proud of yourself? Even though she had all the reason in the world not to, she really did love you in the end. So much so, that she couldn’t bear the thought of you not being hers... If only you had the balls to try to fix things sooner.” Vas took a moment to contemplate the parasite’s words, and he began to slowly shake his head. His took a step forward, and then another, and soon he was rushing to the woman’s side, falling onto his knees as he desperate ripped his gauntlets away from his hands, tossing them behind himself as he shook the woman’s corpse wildly. “No. No NO NO NO NO!” He began to scream the words out, shaking his head roughly as he clutched the body of his wife into his arms, her blood beginning to cover his armor as he held her close. “This isn’t possible! Her parasite should have stopped her! Marie should have stopped her!” “Very true. But look around you, Boy. Marie seems to have fought against her rather violently. I guess she just wasn’t as strong as we thought she was.” “Wake me up. Wake me up please, please wake me up. This isn’t real. This a dream, this can’t be real. Wake me up goddamn you!” Vas continued to wail out, rapidly ranting to himself, refusing to acknowledge the reality of the situation before him. He ripped his mask away, then tucked his weeping face against the human’s long, blonde hair, now splotched bloody red in various, random places. He brought a shaky hand to run through it, just as he so often had done while consoling her through her various night terrors. Tears flooded out of his eyes, and he soon became a babbling mess, screaming out all sorts of incomprehensible noises and curses for the manor’s residents to hear. His breathing grew wild and frantic, his face and cheeks a bright red tone. “You did this. Just remember that. You could have been a better man to her. You could have saved her, you could have made her happy. You’re a selfish, pathetic, spineless rat who thinks of no one but himself. You don’t deserve your body. You don’t deserve control. You deserve to be locked away, hidden within the dark recesses of your mind. You won’t be able to hurt anyone while you’re in there. You won’t be able to break the heart of another soul. And to think. Just an hour sooner and she could have been alive in your arms right now. What. A. Shame.” A catastrophic symphony of malefic voices began to ring out inside of the man’s head. They numbed his senses, made the outside world impossible to interpret. He couldn’t even hear the sounds of his own breathing, his own sobbing. They screeched in a wild manner, each one plaguing his mind with a different insult, a different slur. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from the large, gaping slices of flesh that were missing from the woman’s wrists, he couldn’t ignore the long, narrow cuts running across the length of her arms, and the blade that was forced into her abdomen even had a hint of bile leaking around its surface. He released another wild cry. And then he stopped. Everything stopped. He no longer cried, he no longer screamed, and even his breathing had come to a steady crawl. He stared blankly at the poor state of the corpse he was holding, and he slowly brought his hand away from the woman’s hair. He flexed his hand in and out of a fist, almost as if he were testing his motor skills. A long, smooth huff of air escaped from his lips, and he began to stand. He observed himself for a moment, then shook his head at the bloody mess that now adorned his black armor. Silently, he turned his attention back towards the body. He knelt down one last time, and he picked her up, holding it bridal style. It was morning. The ‘ame had wandered down the mountainous terrain the manor was built upon, and he halted his movements once he got to the nearby beach. He glanced down at the body within his arms, looked over at the water, and he haphazardly tossed it into the ocean. He then bent down, and he began to wash the blood from his hands, and he poured the salty water against his armor to wash a decent portion of the ichor off of it. He then stood back up, straightened his posture professionally, and he placed his hands behind his back, clasping his digits together. Afterwards, he began to speak in an eloquent, almost soothing tone. “Unfortunate it had to come to this, Rosemary. If I had the capability to care, I might. However, I have better things to do than mourn, especially over you. Koparrn eg vor.” With that, he kicked the lifeless valah away from the beach, sending it drifting away from the shore. The man turned, and he began to wander off. A cold, yet neutral, expression rested against his visage. “There is plotting to be done.”

checkmate, aethierst

Is Vas still Lefkos’ favorite in terms of Vestelle’s boyfriends and is Vas the best shade dad

I just love the vibe this piece gives me. The idea of clockwork robots and mad scientists obsessed with finding a way to achieve immortality through the futile construction of warehouses full of robotic bodies has always been something that gets me hyped, even if I don’t see myself making such a character. I’ve only really skimmed, but it looks like it has a fairly large potential for rp, and it has one of the far better “live forever” mechanics than most other magics offer, if not the best. I look forward to sitting down and reading this more thoroughly when I have the time. Feel free to piss in my fridge, though. I didn’t like the song choice.

When are you and @Keening coming back to my friend discord and why do you hate me

How would a shade’s mana corruption affect one of these things