Joltastik

[!] Neat posters have been plastered all throughout the shoddy fort lying at the gates of the Rat-infested town of Luciensburg, reciting the following warning: "Heed, Children of Horen! Our Merciful GOD himself has hereby granted me a vision of flames! The Wheel turns at dusk! The Putrid converge-- I've seen it! Flames shall rain over your tents and shacks tonight! To those few faithful, shield yourself with a lament to His Glorious Eminence! Know that He will spare you, for you are yet to see the true Day of Judgement! Signed, A Concerned Citizen." [!] A symbol depicting a snake coiled over a Cross is hastily drawn at the bottom of the page.

[!] The same eerie missives find themselves plastered upon the notice boards of Human towns and cities, after the ceasefire announced between Norland and Oren’s forces. The scribbles within preach in the same prophetic dialect: To the Nations of Man! Tell me, how many times have you enjoyed the fruits of peace? How merrily do you cheer as your scar-ridden warriors drop their swords, only for their pox-ridden sons to pick them back up again? Are you naught but a slave to History? A slave to the forces that shape it everyday of your lives?! The Golden Pontiff prides himself in the privilege GOD gave him to seat the Throne of Men. As such, he gleefully exclaims the visions GOD gives him, for the public to consume! But what of OUR visions?! Why do their visions warrant our praise, belief and blatant obedience while our visions warrant the brands of “madmen”?! Surely, you see the dialectic! Beware the Golden Idols GOD sowed upon the Earth for you to overcome! Beware the wars they stage to your detriment, and to their benefit! Heed the signs of Entropy, and heed the signs of His arrival to save us all! By GOD ordained, RATS shall crawl from the Depths, and FROGS shall fall from the Heavens, marking His first warning to the Children of Horen! To those few faithful, lock your doors and smear tallow over your Hearth tonight, in the shape of a Cross. Sign the Lorraine three times, and pledge your allegiance to GOD himself, not to the puppets that emulate him! Signed, A Concerned Citizen

[!] Mysterious missives find themselves plastered unto the notice boards of the Realm, with most being found in the Northern region of Almaris. They seem to be written in an eerie and prophetic dialect, and are directed towards all live Descendants. One reads as follows: Hear ye, denizens of this Perceivable Realm! The Horned Ram of GOD comes to slay the wicked titans! Kings and Bishops, Rexes and Shamans, Magisters and Druids alike will cower in fear as their efforts to materialize the Word of GOD fall prey to Avarice! Children of Horen! Tell me, does their bureaucracy render grace unto our incorporeal Father? Do they procure their “taxes” for the sake of bettering the Realm?! Or do they shut themselves in their Ivory Towers, and use your hard-earned Minas to engorge upon countless wars, luxurious delicacies and wicked sins of the flesh? Verily, I say to you, repent from the wrath of the two-headed Eagle! Use your scythes and ploughs to feed your own, not the silken-clad idols claiming the Word of GOD itself! Forsake your blind servitude, and our Lord Father Above shall save you! Signed, A Concerned Citizen.

[!] Mysterious missives find themselves plastered unto the notice boards of the Realm, with most being found in the Northern region of Almaris. They seem to be written in an eerie and prophetic dialect, and are directed towards all live Descendants. One reads as follows: Hear ye, denizens of this Perceivable Realm! The Horned Ram of GOD comes to slay the wicked titans! Kings and Bishops, Rexes and Shamans, Magisters and Druids alike will cower in fear as their efforts to materialize the Word of GOD fall prey to Avarice! Tell me, Children of Malin! You dutifully tend to the ground of this Perceivable Realm, and the loyal Aspects that embody that which Word alone cannot… Yet in all of your conquests as ever-living gardeners of this World, have you ever stopped and thought to look at the Sky?! Will your life not reach an end, in spite of its longitude? Verily, I say to you, that I’ve seen beyond the Veil-- and there are no sanctuaries for the Souls of gardeners, as your faith promises! It is merely a lie imposed unto you by your betters so that they may go on and indulge in depravity! Forsake your blind love for the Material Realm which GOD blessed you to wander most, and see it for what it is! Broken and spoiled! Encroached by the black, glazed tentacles of Entropy! Forsake it, and our Lord Father above shall save you! Signed, A Concerned Citizen.

[!] Mysterious missives find themselves plastered unto the notice boards of the Realm, with most being found in the Northern region of Almaris. They seem to be written in an eerie and prophetic dialect, and are directed towards all live Descendants. One reads as follows: Hear ye, denizens of this Perceivable Realm! The Horned Ram of GOD comes to slay the wicked titans! Kings and Bishops, Rexes and Shamans, Magisters and Druids alike will cower in fear as their efforts to materialize the Word of GOD fall prey to Avarice! Tell me, Children of Krug! How can the tusks of your Rexes still possibly grow?! When was the last time your leader’s hair bore the red hue of Glory? When was the last time they actively sought out a Warrior’s Death-- the privilege to raise your Souls to the Sky above and tell your Exalted Ancestors of how you accepted the harsh Chaos of this world for what it was-- and fought until the End despite it. Verily, I say to you, That your Kin grew too fond of life, and would rather render their Souls to be continuously befouled by Monks instead of pridefully leaving this plane towards the GrogHalls of your Ancestors once faced with better contenders. Forsake your fear of living life as Krug did. Face the forces of Iblees Entropy Flood Wheel Chaos Sata, BoM [!](This word has been crossed and replaced by many others, though they have been all scribbled over, making them impossible to read!) head-on until the End, and our Lord Father above shall save you! Signed, A Concerned Citizen.

[!] Mysterious missives find themselves plastered unto the notice boards of the Realm, with most being found in the Northern region of Almaris. They seem to be written in an eerie and prophetic dialect, and are directed towards all live Descendants. One reads as follows: Hear ye, denizens of this Perceivable Realm! The Horned Ram of GOD comes to slay the wicked titans! Kings and Bishops, Rexes and Shamans, Magisters and Druids alike will cower in fear as their efforts to materialize the Word of GOD fall prey to Avarice! Tell me, Children of Urguan! For how long have you coveted the minerals and gems of this Perceivable Realm’s depths? Their value is undisputed, but who MADE that value?! Verily, I say to you, Virtue holds more value than any topaz, diamond or corundum! Use your picks to carve an Ark that will shelter your kin from the coming Storm! Forsake your Avarice, and our Lord Father Above shall save you! Signed, A Concerned Citizen.

Leonhard twirled the waxed ends of his moustache, smirking all the while. “I expect some proper hazing, gentlemen!”

[!] Neat papers are nailed all over the bulletin boards of Arcas, written and distributed in relative haste -- though the author sure took his time to sound as whimsical as possible. They read as follows: ”A holler to any and all survivors of the onslaught in the Accursed Swamp! I, a humble being of sheer curiosity, wish to gain an insight into the happenings of last month’s ill-starred battle with the magickal, faceless residents of the Swamp of the Damned! I merely wish for a short conversation (over drinks, of course) with any of you brave warriors, as to record any detail (or heroic feat YOU managed to accomplish amidst the bloodshed!) in my upcoming chronicle, titled “The throes of Arcas”! In it, I wish to transcribe any and all obstacles the brave Descendants had to go through in their efforts to settle within this untamed Realm (of course, bearing in mind attention to detail.) I don’t have much in the ways of rewards, but I can assure your name WILL appear in my tome, as a direct source! If you feel like you have anything to share as to the OBJECTIVE nature of this anomaly, please send me a bird right away, and we will meet, surely! Yours truly, Leo.” Discord: Joltastik#2008

T̫̟͠o̢̝̞̼̜ͅ ̵̞͚͙̻͔i̫̠̪͙̱͓ṇ͈v͎̝̣̟̻o̭̘̣̼͙k̺e̙͙͎̝ ̣̖̦͖̝ͅt̩̯̘h̝e̲͖͖̫̩͘ͅ ͈̘͔̥̬ͅh̛̞͚̦̙i̻̺̱̞̞̲v̺͇e͔̼̥-̡͚͓͈̮̭̼m̝̩i̺̼͍͞n͇̙̝̫̞̱ḑ͇͉͍ ̯̭́r̺̘̻èp̷r̨ḛ̥̞̖̤͍̙s̱e͈̼̫͍̹̕nt͘i̧̭͕̖̗̭n͏̯͕̭g͇̼̥̝̣̮ ̯͎̫͚̗͖̩C҉̱͖̜̹ͅh̙̦a͇̦̯̤̻̻o͉̬s̮͍̘̱̩.̯̖͙ Ị̱n̷̗͈v̢͉͇̱o̗̙̳̘ͅk̲̱͈̩̗̘͜i̲̮̠̹͙̟n̠͕g̡͈͙̳̬͈ ̺͔̠ͅt̟̠̟̤̤͇h҉̹̱͚̜̗e̷͓̫ ̞̣̙̬̤͟ͅf̸̼͙e͕̘̜̩͙̼͡e͚̩̫l̝͔̝̯͔̪i̟͕̹̗ͅn̢g̟̫̠̝ ̫̣̹̳̭͉ǫ̫͓̬̘f̢̪͎̰ ̞͙̟͈̮Ch̕a̱̝o̺̜͕̜͓͈̬s̢ͅ.͏̹̼̯͚̙ͅ ͈͔͙̠Wi̬͖̘̙͎̱t̢̹ḩ͎̺͍ ̝͎ò̜̪ut̶̼̣͇͕ o̩̞̤̫r̺͈̖̟̻̟ͅḍ̜̙̪̤̙̯ẹ͇̲r̛ͅ.҉ ̩̣T̠͇h̵̻̳̱͓e̮ ̧̭̱e̵͕̼̦̦̠͖͙ç̦̤̼̗̹͈ṳ̥͘m͙̦̝̼̘e̻͙̟n̗̞̼̗̻i̷̮̦̣̝̖̞̦c͉̞̘a͉̝l҉̥͎ ͅḥ͜i̩͘v̞e̗̙͈̬-̹̗̭̠̥m̬͕͚̫̯͞ͅi҉̮̼̣̩ͅn̤͓d҉͚͚͙̞̘̖ ̤͕̯̟o̰͎̗̹̣͙f̨̗͎ͅ ̱̗̺c҉͎̤̪̬̣̘͍h͈̦͢ͅà͍̪̱̫ọ̫̠̱̀s.̷͎͓ ͙̖̫̘̜͢H̰e͙̠͖̞̰̞͜ ̶͖̭̰̭̞̤w̱̝͘h͚͓̘͝ơ͚̦̭ ̛̙̟̻̩ͅW̲͎̜͍͎̻a̤̫͔̥͔̱i̘̟̯͙͝ͅt͎̥͈̘͖̗ͅs̵̻̥͎̜̭ ͚̥̞̳B͙̪͙͡e̫̗͈̫̱h̖̣͚͙͓̠ͅi̭̠̘͚̼̯͢n̵͉͔d҉̬͇̞̭̱̦̝ ̭T̖͝h͙̜͍̣̝̟́é͙͍͚̥̝ ͉̺̫͚v̥̮̼͢e̠̫̜̠̘͕i̬̟̼̹͔͙l̛̘͓͎̣͍͚͖.̣̦̹̩̝͟ͅ ̫Ṱ̖͢h̻̗͖̥̜̲͓e̦͕̗͉͍͙͡ ̻̝̰̣͉̦G̖̜̟̹͉̻̕a̸͙̘̫̮̭̮͉r͕̹̠d͉̱̟͔̜̜̀ę̣͖ͅn̠̯̣̼̠er̸̗̭ ̟̮͍̰͔o͇f̧̻̞ ̝M̯̳̜̭̺̺̰ḛ͙n͡ͅ.̶͍͉̙̭ W̟̲̯͎̼͍a̘͍͇͕̻̤͠ͅk̖͚̖e̼̞͖ ̧ͅu̟̩̩̤͈̯̰p̢͎̙͔̠̻̟͎. ̝ ̰̭͚̥͞N̫̼͡ọ̴ ̼͎̟͚͢h̗͓̦͙̪͟o̙͚͇͙̭̬p̜̳̥͟e̪̣̪̞.̧̣͚͉̰͎ -~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~- -~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~- Naught endured. Naught but the glaciers, whose tips leaned to a side, as if to gaze upon what was left. Yet naught was left, and the wind wept because of it. Its howls battered against the waning snow, as if to push it aside, desperately searching for the relics of an age bygone. It found nothing. The snow ran too deep. The glaciers, greedy, told the wind nothing of what they grasped. They held the frozen relics close to their hearts, encased beneath the mounds of ice. Protected, in a way, though inaccessible to the outside world. Not that there was much of a world outside, anyway. Among the frozen relics, of which they were many, resided one item in particular. A journal. Once dust-ridden and forgotten, this journal now laid glazed, encased beneath a lonely glacier’s unwavering chunks. Nobody could know of this journal, as nobody was alive to care of it. Nobody could recite its one passage, written in the form of a letter. A letter meant for a different outcome. A letter written by one naive young man whose heart, though hidden, still sparked of idealism. . . . “Dear Vicelin, If you’re reading this, you have succeeded. You’ve prepared me. By now, I must be gone, ready to face the worst they have to offer. I tell ya’, those sops at the Hexicanum don’t know what they’re expecting, having me and Bart train alongside them snot-faced Initiates who’ve never seen ‘nary a vodnik, before! Them Sparrows will be surprised. I don’t doubt me and pretty-boy’ will ace the trials. Would’ve addressed this to Renuald too, you know, but i know him enough to reckon he’ll dismiss it. In truth, this letter’s purpose is to thank you, ‘fore anything. I’ve only heard tales of how men come out of there-- cold, harsh, and barren of wordly bonds. If that is, in fact, the truth, this’ll be the only piece of proper gratitude you’ll ever get out of me. A last ******* ode to the good days, just in case I don’t return the same. I was lost ‘fore i met you bunch. The Initiative gave me purpose, a home, and men worthy of sharing it with. You, Renuald, Eddard, Jentos, Bart, Alfred-- hell, even that blasted bloodsucker we took in. That twig-hugging elf, Veidan, too. I look upon each of our bounties and escapades, and find myself both lucky to be alive, and lucky to have been among yous’. Remember our first trek in Adelburg’s sewers, or when we had to rescue those midgets from being eaten by Quotpedes in ol’ Oak a short while ago? Annoying *****, that one Frostbeard, was this close to cutting off that blabbing tongue of his! Don’t think me nostalgic, Vic. I’m looking forward to what’s ahead. In fact, upon return, I’ll have already set eyes upon my very first contract! There’s this odd abandoned city north-west of ol’ Johannesburg i came upon in my travels once -- before meeting yous’ all, in fact – that’s got quite the ghoul problem. Some strange man clad in plate lives there, blabbin’ of a giant that loomed over the city one night.. ‘Size of a Mountain!’, he said. What ******* hogwash! Don't think there’s much else to say, except thank you. For all of this. Thank you. See you when I see you, Sighard. P.S: Tell Bart I wrote this prissy bullshit, and i’ll throw you off Winterhall’s pallisades.”

Sighard rests within the Seven Skies with Haddock as he repeatedly and eternally pummels Raide for being a cucked blood-fiend

“Who the **** called him that?”

Shut it DOWN right NOW please keep the alternate timeline narratives to those books you’re writing or whatever

Self explanatory. Prices vary because i like haggling over pixel money (i take irl shekels too if you’re feeling generous). FOREWARNING: I’m generally **** at making full plate, dresses, and helmets. Here’s a few examples of skins i made: If you're interested, slide into my Discord DMs for some fun time ;^) Joltastik#3780

bro you’re 19 it’s just hormones. Get a proper diagnosis if you genuinely think its more than that, please.

“What do you think of [Insert staff team]? What do you think of me???? What do you think of my style of rolepla-...” GrimReaper98 smacked his chapped lips. He cracked each of his sweaty fingers consecutively, before gently placing them upon his keyboard. He had just gotten off another unspecified mineman server where he had fulfilled his high elven erotic orgy fantasies, just to read the pathetic responses to his AMA, written on a minecraft fantasy roleplay forum. Just as usual, the reply feed was brimming with depraved little cuckholds. Ones he indulged in desecrating with a crude, relentless vocabulary. The bait was gulped by each and every one of them, and with each key he pressed on his keyboard, he was one step closer to absolutely obliterating them... A smile emerged upon his puffy features. “Heh.... Nothin’ personnel, kids...” The aboriginal man cackled. He was to have so much fun in the following hours! After all, the night was young...

A leprous goblin scurried the scorched fields nearby San’Kala, deeming fit to loot the bodies of the dead for all their worth. The barren field of battle was a result of the many skirmishes the passing clan wars ensued. For a moment, the tiny being seemed to notice a tiny glimmer beneath a mound of corpses. Amidst sickly cackles, he struggled to push each rotting cadaver over, and alas, he uncovered the stumped body of a yellowed-skin Uruk. Shiny, bronze plate covered his arm. Indeed, the body belonged to Nurzum’Izig, former chieftain of clan Izig. There he was, guts sprawled o’er the earth in a macabre display of rotting gore as he laid with the dead. His clan, left without a leader, was sure to follow. The goblin simply took off his dented armor, and passed on to the next body. Such was the end of a short-lived clan, before the proud Rex could even properly disband it.

Please get out while you can it'll suck you in LEAVE NOW

Nobody said you can't summon your little tree spirits, bud. You could at least make it more unique and in depth, because the current 'clarification' goes as far as to tell you that you should gather some dancers and druids and do some unspecified ritual until a poopy-doopy animal spirit spawns (or not). I'm not criticizing the lore because i don't want druids to spawn their mani. I'm criticizing the lore because each piece of lore and it's respective branches are supposed to provide original rp rather than rehashing already used ideas. they are painstakingly similar in several manners=/= it's a carbon copy of it. Well, your post re-brought it to the surface, and lore is always open to free criticism. That, and the addition of simplistic, half-assed summoning rituals. rofl

Only with the enlisted help of a farseer and through substancial rp (If the Spirit even cares to manifest itself). Otherwise, spirit manifestations only happen during vague ass dreams, and even then they're extremely rare, and mostly called off as the imagination of the one that dreams it. As far as I can see, the 'summoning' ritual and process here is quite lackluster. Enough dancers and druids and unspecified rituals and you can summon a god? lol **** boundaries, see above. superficial aesthetic similarities? You mean the core jist of it, just without the detail?

Nobody's saying it isn't plausible, neither are they saying that orcs have a trademark on pagan shamanism-type religions. What they are saying, though, is that it's kinda **** and counter-productive when your piece of lore is literally the same as another piece of lore already implemented into the server. Like, literally from the way you summon them, to the nature of lesser spirits etc. Yeah, sure, have your deities. Try at least to have some sort of unique twist on them maybe. Something that doesn't break consistency by resembling other deity-lore head to toe (whether you actually inspired yourself from 'kwakwakwakwa' dances or not). Try and keep a stake of originality, for the server's sake if anything else.

"Zkah'z ah God? Zkah'z ahn Azpekt..?" An oblivious orc inquires to his brothers, maw clenched upon a roasted piece of halfling femur.

Sighard laughs in the heavens, alongside his hexicanum brethren.

Nûrzum "Azh-Peep", Warchief of the Izig clan, sloppily signs the parchment.

"( ( ( ) ) )" [!] A Raguk glyph has been carved here, alongside a set of utterly nonsensical drawings!