AlphaMoist

Sure, I don’t mind getting my post to rep ratio fucked up cuz I decided to have a conversation in the comments even though I have that person on discord

Uhhh do I know you..?

((**** posting is all lotc should be about))

Ah **** another creature race for my characters to be racist against 10/10 better than cat people, kind of wonky tho

RIP

IGN: KiausT Screenshot of payment: Bruh I’m at work I have like 5000 minas in my bank I’ll give you 200 if you just do this for me Target: MistahWackwess Details: Sweating Kawaii Face, and like idk he’s a gm so make the words out to be generic gm hate speech

Damn, an announcement post with a shitpost undertone? I like it. More passive aggressive **** pls

In the cave system of Vira'ker, a Mali'ame donned in his family's purple clothing lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his cramped living space from atop a makeshift bed. The pile of blankets and clothing resting on the hard, stone floor was never comfortable, but they were not the reason as to why he hadn't fallen asleep this night. While his mind was plagued by the occasional whisper, not even that was the reason why he lay awake. He was missing something. Something important to him. Something he worked tirelessly for decades to master to its full potential. Something that meant more to him than anything else in this world. He was missing his art. Many nights had come to pass after his former teacher had broken the news to him. While distressed at first, he had more important things to worry about at the time, so he never truly came to an understanding regarding it. But now, as he lay awake in his chambers, nothing else was on his mind. Nothing but his art. He should be sleeping. He should be enjoying the time that wasn't being spent spilling bile from his stomach. He should be enjoying the time that wasn't being spent full of anxiety and dread. He should be resting. But alas, he spent the time thinking about his art. He shot up from his bed, quickly rushing to his feet. He wasn't going to just let it go. He needed to be absolutely sure that his loss of a connection wasn't caused by the stress of the past few months' trials. He needed to be certain. Dizzy, stomach swirling within his torso, he grabs the handle of his bedroom’s door and swings it open, then walks into the main room of his small, cramped house. His floor, once littered with papers full of writings and drawings, was spotless from a long night of cleaning his house with his lover. They rested on a table a few feet away from the entrance of his home, stacked neatly and delicately. He paid no attention to any of this, and instead turned right, where, sitting on a pathetic excuse for a kitchen counter, was a puffer-fish swimming happily in its tank. He walked closer to it, bracing his hands against the lid of its aquarium. He stared at the fish, concentrating wildly as his right ear gave a singular twitch. His focus was on nothing but the fish, who paid no attention to the ‘ame watching it. He stared for minutes on end, his eyes growing red as they remained trained on the fish, unblinking, unmoving. He had done this many times in the past. He would stare at the fish, connect to the void, and then connect to the animal’s primal mind. He’d rummage around, listen to its instincts, learn what it hungered for, or tried to understand how it was feeling. It was second nature for him. He was a master of his art, after all. But still, nothing happened. The purple clad Mali’ame furrowed his brows, straining with all his might to try and get so much of a single thought out of the creature. But still. Nothing happened. In a fit of rage, the elf slams a fist against the counter, rattling the glass tank as his beloved fish puffs itself into a ball out of fear. He releases an angered, frustrated shout as he whips around, gripping the edge of his kitchen table tightly before slamming it onto the ground. Papers fly everywhere, once again littering the floor of his home. He stomps on the table’s leg, snapping it in half. He picks up the surface, then throws it against his house’s rocky, cavern walls, causing a loud thud to echo throughout the cave. He grits his teeth, then moves towards the entrance to his small abode. With another violent shout, he begins slamming his boot against the wood. Loud, thunderous cracks fill the night as the surface splinters and cracks. After a few more minutes, the door, which had already been partially broken from an episode a few nights prior, was smashed to pieces at its lower half. He stomps back to his bedroom, opening a chest furiously as he takes out a book. It had been halfway filled with his own writings regarding mentalism. A druid had asked him to write it. It was supposed to be published in the town’s library after it was finished. But that did not matter anymore, for Vas had lost his art. He opens the book, then begins to rip large chunks of papers out from the bindings, tossing them onto the floor as his eyes water. So much time spent honing his magic. So much time spent mastering it, all for it to disappear without warning. Decades of his life had seemingly been wasted away. After ripping the pages out, the Mali’ame tosses the empty leather cover across the room, causing it to land against the wall adjacent of him. He falls to his knees and begins to bang his fists against the cold stone floor. His knuckles begin to bleed. His voice begins to break. He keels over, body landing against the ground as the stress he feels causes his sickness to take over. His body begins to convulse; his eyes close tightly. He does nothing but seize and whimper on the floor for the next several minutes as he rides through his episode. Soon enough, however, it passes. Just like it did a few days prior. Just like it will when it strikes him next. He lays on the stone besides his bedding, surrounded by the pages he spent weeks trying to fill. All for nothing. He stares at the cavernous ceiling, unmoving and unblinking. His face takes a neutral expression, and he can’t help but wonder what he had done to deserve this. Perhaps it was some divine prank, perhaps it was the parasite residing within him. The Ruunkav didn’t know. There was, however, one thing he was sure of at that moment. He had lost his art.

Dunstan what are you even doing posting this at 2 am

The people who are interested in this are probably the same people who are interested in other magics and don’t want to play just one thing. Stop being so butthurt on practical criticism. I find it hard to believe that you know what a wight is since they have literally absolutely nothing to do with necromancers and are pretty much the polar opposite of what necromancy is all about.

Shouldn’t one wait for their actual lore to be accepted before branching off and adding onto it

“100 Mina for the dwarf. Maybe 200.”

Hey dumb how old are you

Six? How long ago was that, because I definitely don’t remember you during whichever map came after Valor. I haven’t played during the newest map, however, so what do I know. Well, I’ll tell you. People don’t want zombies. The few people who enjoyed playing Morghuuls were mostly interested in playing a character who wanted to rise through the ranks and become a dark stalker. Or they wanted to play a lich’s lackey, with some semblance to a character they killed off. Or maybe they just wanted to be a part of the necromatic cause. Morghuuls were great, because they weren’t exactly zombies, but they weren’t people either. They were soulless abominations that knew nothing but despair and sorrow. A well played Morghuul can be one who greatly affects a roleplay session, even before he gets hungry. Until people started using them for family rp and absolutely ruined them. People dont want to play mindless zombies. There is no character here. These are good for nothing except eating people rp. No one wanted it before, and that’s what brought on Morghuuls. And character aside, without necromancy, there is literally no purpose for a ghoul. At all. It’s just an excuse for the avid pvper to run and gun down some people on the road, and I think most people will understand who I’m referring to. This is good for nothing except NPCs, which now that I think about, this may be exactly what this was made for? But didn’t you say somewhere in there that you liked ghoul rp until people ruined it? Idk. -1 from the Trusted Ghoul, it needs to stay dead while necromancy is dead. Edit: Tl;dr This is nothing a ghoul once stood for. This has no character. This has less soul than a Morghuul. This would only be good for a PvP goon. -1 bad rewrite Another Edit: Did you speak to any other ghoul players before writing this?