Tide1

"One of the first to raise his blade in my name. He was a good man, too. Why else would the wicked fools of this world despise him, why else would children mock him, if not for what he was - a man, in its purest form, one I am proud to have known, led, and now watched pass on. Stand vigil at the gates of the Seven Skies, Krüger." said the Emperor-Abdicare, and rose from his knee at the Imperial Officer's grave. Rested up against the headstone, the Emperor's own gauntlet would accompany the old soldier into the afterlife.

The problem is that these already counter Wailing, the signature ability of an already weak capstone CA. Now that might be a Wight issue, or a Dragon issue, but it shouldn't be an earplug issue. Edit; It also isn't preparing for an enemy. It's preparing for all enemies, by running *puts in earplugs, before raiding. If that is what constitutes "preparation roleplay" on Lotc, the whole concept sucks.

Absolutely. This isn't really meant to be a callout post for XYZ group, but rather a look at what is objectively problematic behavior. I'd be as pissed, if not more, should this ever happen to the Wail of a Wight.

Suggestion: Redline the concept of soundproof earplugs, or make them an alchemical craft like was recently done with Solomon's Salts. Reasoning:

I love you, and I do not agree with the nature of this amendment. But keep Wights outta this. They suck. Literal poster child for amend-nerfed endgame CAs. 💀😭

"I am starting to think these guys are from Salvo, too," mused a young imperial.

"It is time this old bastion tastes a lick of warfare," mused the Count von Hurst. Username: Tide1 Character Name: Sir Volker, of Totenpfalz Affiliation: The Empire of Man Desired Rank: Honour Guard; and should qualifications be lacking, vanguard. Which games will you be attending?: All three. ✞

It was a strange thing, to take one's first life into their own hands, and snuff it out. Friedel certainly remembered little of the details. All he could remember was the chaos, the noise, the panic. The uncontrolled wrath with which he was endowed on behalf of his surrogate family. A family, a house, a dynasty - that looked upon the boy with scorn, yet whom he owed everything. A family for whom he would give everything, or so the adolescent thought, as he had plunged his cold dagger into the back of his first man. And yet when he sought the approval of his betters, his father could not be found, nor did he escape the disdainful gaze of his family, which held him in contempt. Matters not, thought the boy, who remembered well the roof under which he slept, bereft of leaks. And the bed upon which he rested, rid of fleas. Least of all would he ever forget the food within his tummy, for which there would have been no replacement. And no piece of paper was ever going to change that. The next feat would merely have to be grander than the last. Then surely would his family look fondly upon him, if even for just a moment.

"I chose you because I believed in you, that in spite of your hardships, you would overcome them. And you did. You overcame every expectation, even as they buried you, even as your very body sought to give up on you," croaked the strained voice of Tiberias. Guilt was a two-way street, and it was not oft that the old dragon shed tears of silver. Yet today was such a day, and the parchment had grown warped upon the grieving father's desk. "I did not give up on you. I was proud to have called you my Emperor. I am proud to call you my son. The many peoples of Azuras may remember you as cruel, yet for all your cruelties, I shall remember the one that was leaving me so soon. Rest well, Hadrian, and forgive me."

It is my firm belief that nation bloat should be dealt with by the players (as happened at the end of Aevos), rather than be gated by high m o n e y requirements. I don't believe this addresses the problem correctly. Just make nations cheaper - who cares if more of them appear? That's a roleplay issue that has always been dealt with via roleplay, and has been a source of some of LotC's best narratives through the years. The ridiculous 25k mina investment to found a nation also doesn't encourage roleplay leadership at all. As if it wasn't stressful enough to lead a collective of people, you're also responsible for their pre-invested time on an OOC level, just because you have all agreed that making a nation would be cool. Do you think that this would encourage an NL to roleplay the fear of death if they were ever captured? I'm sure it would be an unpopular take, but nations should really be cheap to make and just require the sign-ups of 20+ people who have war-eligibility type hours on their founding personas (which is something we can evidently check for). Let the roleplayers take care of the rest. And make war cheaper so that it can't only be done by career-winners who already dominate the entire map. Very icky, no good. Fix nations. They can be small; that is okay. Edit and sidenote; Just because the Empire is big doesn't mean it should should be the standard for what a realm is. Your perception of a minecraft nation is off. Secondly: your effort to create, without a mod admin present, a type of nation that is easier to make, but "requires" different war rules so that you can make them less player-friendly, does not go unnoticed. I'm not sure how much of this is a Daisy-special, and how much actually got approved by the rest of the admins, crucially lacking in the admin that should be responsible for most of the server's rules being up to par - but it has the same look about it as what almost got you a metaplay ban regarding your Haelun'Or affiliated admin actions. Just my opinion though.

"One of my first. And one of the last. Rest easy now, nephew. You have done what was bid of you and so much more. So it shall be writ within the tome of heroes." As much said the old Emperor, though lamented in private to greater lengths the loss of his relative and, more importantly, his old friend.

Tiberias smiled. He had seen it all, the depths and now the heights. More proud, a father could not be. "So it is realized. The dream that started so long ago. May it be remembered well beyond our lifetimes, Hadrian." The old man pondered then on the matters of life and death. He'd need to look elsewhere for a suitable entry into the Seven Skies. Mortal struggles were no longer enough.

Somewhere at the Imperial Palace, a boy whose life had been upturned swept the floors. He wondered if, between chores, he would ever get to visit his ailing mother again? The thought alone was a source of motivation.

It is so very cold here. Where no life yet dwells, and all things sleep, the earth here is as unforgiving as Wyrvun’s teeth. And yet I would call this place my home. This familiar, frozen place has beckoned my name upon its wind, and I, like snow, have been at its mercy. I could not shake this wanderlust, this longing. And I encountered upon this journey all manners of ghoulish wildlife and restless dead. A mockery of this land frozen in time, where the souls do pass, but frozen bones remain. Yet here are souls now made to dwell, forever caged within their frozen remains, forever doomed to linger. Even here, in this land of sorrows, is Wyrvun’s will opposed. The land is choked, thick with the corruption that once laid hands upon our master. And I am ever certain that these howling winds are a plea for help. So I shall walk further, where the lines between Isvin and Azuras draw thin. I shall hear him, there, and be sure at last of my purpose here. Know then, remnants of Fenn, that should I not return - I was never worthy of your legacy. - Aesindil Tundrak, Wyrvun’s Call, to the scattered sons and daughters of the tundra. Cold, dark, and forgotten. The realm of the midnight Sun offered no solace. What little wildlife had once lingered upon its edges had long since faded into absence, and rations grew ever scarcer. This was no place for the living, nor the dead. The occasional frozen cadaver, the likes of which not even Iblees could spur to life, slumbered here. And in spite of his preparedness, would he not long turn back, this place would too become Aesindil's final rest. Quiet were the woods. The prince’s only company here would be the whisper of the wind, and the distant shimmer of boreal lights, whenever Wyrvun’s temper permitted a brief sundering of the snow-laden skies. Day and night were rendered meaningless here; the sun did not rise, nor did it fall. Thus, it was without knowing how long he had walked that the Mali’Fenn found himself stepping into a sudden clearing. The winds fell still around him, and thoughts stirred. Was this where they had taken him? Across the glade, far off and faint beneath the auroral glow, something shimmered - a pale gleam reflecting the heavens above. Purpose stirred anew within, and he hastened his stride toward the heart of the clearing. A blade, embedded within the permafrost, steeped in Wyrvun’s cold embrace, stood before him undisturbed. And as the prince reached forth to lay his hand upon the hilt, the winds returned, a baneful gale. Snow whisked across the clearing, and in that swirling veil, the glade revealed its true nature. A vast frozen lake lay beneath him, black and fathomless, and Wyrvun’s fang pierced ‘pon an island, its center. Was this the threshold to Isvin? The Frostfather’s blizzard grew worse once more, and Aesindil cast his gaze downward. Beneath the darkened ice, he thought he glimpsed movement - shapes, vast and indistinct, drifting in the depths below as the wind bellowed his name. But the storm grew merciless, forcing him at last to withdraw, his vision blurred by snow and doubt alike. He turned back toward the sheltering line of boreal wood, uncertain whether what he had seen - or heard - had been truth or trial. Yet when at last he reached the forest’s edge and cast his eyes downward, he beheld what no soul could deny. In his grasp lay the blade - its nature unmistakable. “I heed thy call, Wyrvun.”

The amount of "get ragebaited" and "touch grass" I saw from this side, following yesterday's troll warclaim, only to now (, and in those chats this post is referring to,) have that very same group of people roll over to play victim is ridiculous. | Imperial leadership can't make fun of their enemy, that's our thing! It is unbecoming of a staff member not to be serious at all times! | Get ragebaited idiot! Don't take Lotc so seriously! | It is impossible to win with idiots like you, and I can guarantee you that nothing on all of Lotc will motivate a player more to engage in bad faith rp than having their genuine time and effort put into RP-narratives, falsely branded as "bad faith roleplay" and ignored. It is disrespectful to the person pushing roleplay, and it's disrespectful to the core roleplay philosophies of Lotc, the ones you displayed when applying to this server. Frankly, I grow tired of pretending that you people are here to roleplay. And fortunately, the best way to combat the current server-narrative is by roleplaying with it. My roleplay server isn't just your OOC hangout space.

Some place in the world, a father pondered on his lonesome, could they not spare him the ink, or had he just mastered retirement like he once did the art of war? At times, death upon Burgundy fields would have suited him much better, thought Tiberias.

Yeah, this is based. On a serious note, though, it is nice to see spells and abilities focused on generating roleplay narratives. Mystics, or wights, have never really been overtly powerful in CRP, and neither is this write. I pray this doesn't end up in limbo because of temporary deific severance.

I will miss the mention of the personal action that you are (as of the currently accepted mystic write) capable of doing at the conclusion of this otherwise hardly used spell in it's offensive form, in tandem with your expulsion. I wonder if it is an oversight or intentionally nerfed for the sake of balance. The rewrite of the spell's defensive form is very nice, though. Overall, this write/mass-amendment does a lot to bring mysticism in line with more modern, currently accepted MAs on the craft. It is very cool.

An auld restorer of man chuckled, and quietly so. "Of all the old Imperial traditions - I didn't think we would see this one so soon. Morons, indeed, my son."

"I thought the fires could be forgiven. I thought that if managed correctly, they could be offered penance. But I have since come to realize that they will never be held accountable by one of their own. They must all die, Hadrian. You must kill them all, or so I shall make it the remainder of my life's ambitions," had Tiberias rescinded all hopes and mercies afforded the disgusting caste of sub-humans that burned his own home to the ground, and now, too, his own son's life. Once more, kindness had been mistaken for a lack of care. For the last time had it been so, and it had been heard by Emperor Hadrian the First.

First through the gates when the trumpets roared; "CHAAAAAAAAAARGE, FOR THE EMPIRE," had Sir Arnault Honeywine frothed, and the humble Reiksguard soldier did as duty bid, and without care for his life stormed the gates of mighty Urguan. The ensuing brawl can only be described as a red haze, and by time the victor was declared, the whites of Volker's garb were all but gone. Such was the life of an Imperial Guardsman, the life of a champion. Long live the Emperor!