Creeperhelix1337

https://youtu.be/vrrky5Jg9D0 Papers are stapled onto the church door of Johannesburg as well as down the imperial lane leading to the palace. It reads the following. We decry this leadership and see rise to our true bastion of hope. For centuries, humanity has wagered their fate through war and pestilence, churning through the sands of time with bravado and faith to our eternal GOD. Through the collective mass mind of Humanity, we have battled for his glory and for the cause of our progenitors that a holy day may rise upon this world. Yet we have been failed spiritually. Those that our mortal flesh have elected earn only a respite of the slothful stigma attached to their Pontifical office, just to fade back into the black obscurity of their gold shrouded walls. They hinge upon the elder holy scrolls for wisdom and guidance, holding none for themselves. They labor breathlessly and without sweat to earn our gratitude. The case and nature of GOD is divine and powerful. His coming is neither meager nor quiet; yet this description aptly fits the state of our Church. It’s cause was brazen and alight with passion in the olden tales, stories to tell our children of a time long ago, a time yearned for. We owe our faith and our true spiritual allegiance to the line that has served us, the line of Horen and the august Chivay, the line of Sola that has, in combined unity, brought us unto this land of milk and honey. It was the lion of Chivay, upon his eternal and divine throne, that delivered the legions of the Imperium atop the Fringe to wreck havok upon Humanity’s enemies, and thus the enemies of GOD. It was the slovenly and indolent church that oozed with political betrayal and chaos that was crushed underneath the Lion’s boot. We may know from this where divinity lies. We know no true allegiance than the Emperor that protects. We know no true vessel of GOD than that who has been chosen by the divine host to lead us, to be born out of holy blood and deliver the weapons of purification onto the heathen masses, that which we call the Uzg. The laws of man dictate the Pontiff’s ascension by mortal dictation, but the laws of heaven bring forth the Horen babe to nurture and grow our sublime Empire. He is infused with the blood of GOD. He is infused with the will of GOD. He will lead our legions to conquer in the name of GOD. He will lead us unto new horizons where the Empire may reign - forever! All hail the God-Emperor, John Owyn of the line HOREN.

OOC: Minecraft name: creeperhelix1337 Timezone: PST IC: Name: Balbinus the Wise Race: Man Age: 32 Applying for: Steward

No. I like you, but magic has already been ruined by the nature of explanation as it is. Every single quirk that goes into 'magic' does not need concrete lore behind it, lest we lose the definition of 'magic' and replace it with streamline science.

What value does this have but to further hinder our role-play because one certain person felt High Elves can't ingest a certain amount of milk? This is further proof that the server's trend leans towards preset defining traits rather than the freedom of whomever designs said character.

‘I’ve seen many great souls in my life.’ His old voice rolled over the kindling fire. ‘The greatest, above any magi or wizard who would cast his.. hrm.. illusions!’ A small crowd of children sat before the elder, large and curious eyes flashing from the growing flame. The old man scooted further up, face animating much to the giggles of the young ones. ‘Do you know what makes the strongest spell of all?’ He paused. ‘Hope. He who wagers his life gains much in place of soft trickeries and fleeting magic.’” - excerpt from the novel Human Will, penned in Johhanesburg Hope, one emotion of the human psyche that has fueled generations of progress. It is such ambition that is overlooked by the common masses. Those who would bring great inspiration to their people, to lead them above and beyond, achieve tangible power in drawing near souls to their cause. And though a man’s allegiance may be simple, magic can work deep underneath the fabric of simple interaction. No greater bastion of unison and raw emotion lays invested than the Church of the Canon, which as a unified body has stood by humanity for centuries. Their roots harken back to the days of yore when the Prophets walked the earth, preaching their word so that all may hear good news. By their word and scrolls, millions were combined in the driving motion of faith and conquest so that the whole world would know the auspice of the Canon, and know they did. Far beyond the legacy of a mage did the word ‘God’ reach, far into the hearts of heathens and the eyes of fearing men. In this we may know the greatest example of a soul’s desire bringing great change to a mortal world. Even now does the will of the ambitious affect the many, uniting and galvanizing further generations under schools of thought and will, driving unto a world rid of insight. The effects of this are evident, the simple story this writ writes as common as water and bread. Some, however, attempt to draw further. Some attempt to go beyond the veil of death and life to reach what others may not in the name of a dead man’s cause. Sinister as this may seem, we may only call it ‘faith’. Soul-essence is a form of ‘enabler’ that would act as the underlying magical catalyst for men of great faith. If a man should unite others greatly under his cause, and bring many souls to his allegiance, their energy and life-force would be effectively dedicated to said cause in the form of an emotional bond. This would elevate the man to which this allegiance is due, empowering him through social means but also enriching the strength of his own psyche. Human will is powerful, stated many times that which their unison is their power. Soul-essence is a means to bring it fully around, to bring meaning and definition to what unison truly does. As one is alive, no demeanor would bring about supernatural occurrence. Anything of note would come about after their passing, when this empowered soul would be free of flesh’s shackles. Those who owed him their allegiance would likely still bring it yet, their energy directed past the mortal plane in attachment to his soul. As these deceased souls part for the soul stream, they would coalesce in their shared faith of the Creator. The soul stream, bleak and grim as ever, would feign a distaste amongst the combined souls, drawing them together and away, lingering between the afterlife and the mortal realms. And so the combine would drift, gathering more unto the holy unison in halted breath for what dreams they once had; the Seven Skies in all their immaculate glory. This unified body would provide tangible connection for any mortals to wished to call upon the deceased saints, a true conglomeration of power so that holy blessings may be levied onto the world. For what comes, twice must be given. The afterworld is a fogging and bleak land of cold mist and drifting memories, the tug of the soul stream threatening to render the holy coalition null. Burning incense and fervent prayer is what connects the holy body to it's worshippers, the exchange of memories invigorating the dire struggle of the Body to bring forth unto their followers. The sole notion that unites the duo is the worship of the Creator that brought them together and bound them so. — What is this? This entire explanation serves as a potential explanation for how Intercession Magic can come about, through general communion with the saints and prophets. Because of their exalted nature throughout life, they would accumulate enough adherents that they would be called upon for blessings and whatnot. Can’t any popular person become a source of magic? No, not really. Something about them must be unique, something that differentiates themselves from any normal type of popular leader. As a rule of thumb OOCly, this is not intended to make randoms suddenly a well of magic. This serves to give Intercession Magic a source to where magic would be logically drawn from the saints. I hate this lore! Relax! If you really do dislike it, so be it. If you have some qualms with it, PM me/comment so that we can work things out. I just wrote this and it is open to change. Thanks for reading.

I've seen this 'Tommy Shmurda', and I can guarantee you he juices. No way that's ******* natty. Now let me tell you how to actually lift. Jokes aside, yeah I do. Krism, might want to get a massive ass tub of whey and aim to have two shakes a day, one for preworkout (if you haven't had a meal recently) and post workout most definitely. As for whole food proteins, you should stick to chicken and eggs, using peanut butter to get in your fats (assuming you count macros). Hopes this helps.

Sometimes I like to pretend you are female so I can stop cringing.

"Peace in the Dreadlands is an oxymoron." comments Joshua.

6/10, otherwise known as an online Skype schemer and Teamspeak extraordinaire. I would not trust this man with my life.

"I do volunteer for this esteemed service." writes Joshua, signing off his name on the notice to be contacted further.

To whom it may concern, It is with great regret that I withdraw from the holy body and it’s subsidiaries to pursue a role within the military for the oncoming battles. I pray thee safe passage through this war as I hope you pray mine. Joshua Entry One Penned 7th of the Grand Harvest, 1575 These warring shouts and triumphant cries now rattle my hut upon the moment of this writ. I fear for the future that I know not, to embark on foreign seas on the call of the Emperor. Some years ago I had opposed war entirely, yet the corrupting seed of the Dreadlands continued to sew itself deep into the bosom of the world. Who am I not to answer the call to arms? This war will be perilous, this I know for sure, yet glory may hang in the balance. They who shout and drink merrily unbeknownst to their impending danger call the upcoming fabled confrontation ‘The Battle of Crimsonholt’. I will call it ‘Peril’s End’. To our peril or theirs, I do not know. I am a young man, infatuated with the scholars and politicians of yore who had created the iron bastion known as Oren, upkept by warring feudal politics and conniving, dastardly men who who would draw kin’s blood for personal gain. All this to shield itself from the degrading indolence of the outside world. A system of natural selection, if you will, to continuously improve the men who called themselves ‘Orenian’. To pit one’s self in this dangerous game would be their own doing, to success or to death. Yet, every chance decade or century comes the call that would be to save their society and bring order to the world. Brave men or cowardly men cared not, for it was Orenia that defined them, and ultimately what would bring them to arms. I am one of these men. To understand a war such as this, we must delve into the politics surrounding it, lest we forget what we toil for. Once this is achieved, the battlefield and surrounding areas must be painfully scrutinized and picked apart, so that we may know our enemy and their home as they long to know ours. I describe this brewing conflict of ideology in A Letter to Johannesburg. Yonder past the glimmering coast of the northern isle, we find ourselves raging past seas plagued by rogue winds and treacherous storms that roam those tropic waters. It is said bandits coast these waters, looking for stray trader ships to rob and plunder as they see fit. A lone ship finds much trouble in these seas, a fleet having tenfold the grief. Past this conundrum would lay a wild line of jagged rocks and impregnable jungles. Few have sailed here, and even less have made it within the land. These are the accounts of sailors and their charters, to without we’d know virtually none of this mysterious land. The isle that houses the Dreadlands also hosts the War Uzg, a notoriously feisty and increasingly violent band of greenskins that lay to the east of the isle. Rip currents and rogue waves assail onto the eastern line, drawing in stray vessels to crash upon their cliffs. Haven is shattered once they are feasted alive by the savages that live within. Due to the nature of the wilds that permeate our enemy, we have little account of what lies within, though vague testimony can be delivered by the scant men who’ve escaped the land’s maw. A dense thicket surrounds the jungle, weaving vines to constrict a wanderer’s movements. Strange creatures echo out their strange sounds all throughout the trees as if to mystify those who survey. Further beyond the jungle opens a wide, beige expanse of dying wheat and grass. The sea’s moisture crumples, billowing crystal clouds drying to starved traces upon an ever blue sky. Water here is as pertinent as ever, the land having sucked dry what last drops one could salvage from chance rains. Furthermore the crashing rapids of a river is heard, and here salvation is given. What animals that may roam these lands come to this river to drink and to flourish together regardless of what the hunt demands. The river expands to the north, into the growing parched lands of the isle, where the Harians cast their homes. And so this river is life in an environment that beckons death. All are born by it, and all shall die by it. These are the accounts of sailors who have gone beyond the call to explore this isle, and who have come back in death or in life with the manuscripts to testify. All this and more has been given to us to prepare for the battles that approach. A myriad of eager companies scour these streets of Johhanesburg in search of green recruits with death wishes. Veterans flock to the taverns to relish in patriotic shouts that draw them into a bloodlust for the enemy. And I, the common man, prepare to fight the anathema that haunts our future. We are different men fighting for the same cause. That alone is a beautiful thing.

Penned 17th of the First Seed, 1574 To Bruno Buron, may this further expand on our ever wonderful conversations. The challenge of the thesis is to not only prove yourself as a worthy learner to the Canon, but also to contribute to the ever expanding compendium of knowledge that encompasses the faith’s collection. Adulation to stock principle pales in comparison to preliminary expansion into new schools of thought. It shines stark contrast from mean methods of literature to advancing canon. In this, the topic of this thesis shall shine towards the roles of the ephemeral world and the Creator’s will upon it; of law and order. From the very conception of our ancient history, disorder has taken guise. It is to note that throughout the years following the birth of Aegis, the orders of our mortal plane have devolved into increasingly complicated scenarios of which good melds with evil. Distinction between both is distorted between the conundrum of warring thoughts and ideologies that enslave the minds of many. To Horen and his brothers, it was but a war against one: the Defiler. To his sons and theirs after, it was a war against many: to push the growing threat of Undeath that would eventually consume the bygone lands of Aegis beneath burning embers and swallowing seas. In the restored lands of Asulon, war stirred beneath the great plains. It was not a war against evident anathema, rather the conflict brewed into our hearts by the Defiler himself. The evil that had come to bestow itself upon the world was one of brotherly-conflict, where nations would wage war upon each other in name of worldly acquisitions for which it was worth naught. In this lawless turmoil rose humanity’s greatest bulwark, the congregation of strength and methodology that would stand as a gate which corroding winds could not erode. An Empire to unite and brave entropy until Time’s last. Or would it? Surely formed upon a righteous and holy foundation, even Empires could not withstand the alluring degradation of reckless abandon and mortal defect. Humanity’s coveted pride would crumble, only to reform upon the hope’s instilled by reminiscent youth, drawn to the attractive design of order that had caused their forefathers before them to unite. By this we observe and study the waxing and waning tides of order matched with it’s counterpart of chaos. By this, we focus on the main objective of the thesis. No order can exist without inner holiness established, of which disorder flees for it recognizes that which is not of this world. Our world’s natural tendency is to degrade both life and object. The minds that live within it are subject to fleeting desires that do not satisfy. Pagans are wrought from inanimate objects. Religions and beliefs are sewn by threads of materialism. Blackened rock corrodes into the ocean, great monuments becoming eventual dust in the wind. No appellation better characterizes this world than decay. The Empires of Oren have famously characterized the due process of law and order due to their interconnection with God; their attunement by the holy Canon to where the Creator’s will beckons. This unwavering strength, formed by the descendants of Horen, predated all civilized nations’ imitations of such. Disconnect from the unified body of the Creator holds no forebodance but misfortune and curse. This lone principle is evinced by the Dreadlands, who hold no fault to their name but by repeated self-dooming actions. Their origins and purpose were unified banditry, institutionalized crime periodically rejuvenated by sure war. Frequent disturbance within the unified Empire led to leaching of disillusioned revolutionaries to the hive of villainy, a name that the infamous bandit kingdom had earned outright. Disorder sprung on the minds of fatally apathetic youths, who changed the cause of the Dreadlands from a sanctuary of crime to one that shields the “oppressed” of Oren. This is only a tragic example of a state that knows not a future but war, condemning their own children to the everlasting fight against tyranny - unbeknownst to the tragedy they inflict themselves. What disorder is greater than war? What degradation can the Defiler heave upon us heavier than the evils we create alone? Truly I tell you: The void knows no fury greater than unification, where all is deemed possible through the strength we possess together and by the Creator. The saints know no greater woe than to see the dividation of their children split lands asunder with conflict. This is the dystopian future of a society bereft of reason. These creeds are banal, encroached so deep into our history that the bleakness blinds. Sanctifying light by God alone enlightens our minds to progress, to crawl forth from the primordial mud and slosh that condemned civilizations of yore. God is the synonym of order, law, and unity, by which all things are built and not washed away. Blessings, Acolyte Joshua

OOC MC Name: creeperhelix1337 Skype (Not required but highly encouraged): creeperhelix1337 IC Your Name: Savos Corrin Your Race: Mali'aheral Your Age: 59 Do you own a home in Norseth’onn?: No! Are you skilled in any magics? If so, which?: No! Do you pledge to serve Norseth’onn, and the Dominion of Malin, with your blade? To defend ourselves and our ideals both here and across Vailor?: Yes!

Posters would be put up around all the corners of Vailor. "Greetings! It is I, Savos Corrin of elmali'aheral. For a ripe fifty-nine years have I walked this good earth in search of knowledge, the search that has now led me to writing this notice. I am seeking any man or woman who would call themselves 'Wizards' and are looking for an apprentice. I am a studious elf, I will not disappoint! Send a bird to me, Savos Corrin, if this strikes your interest. - Savos Corrin"

Out-Of-Character Information Please do your best to correct spelling and grammatical errors, this is an RP server and writing is the main form of communication! What’s your Minecraft account name?: Creeperhelix1337 How old are you?: 17 What timezone are you in?: EST Are you aware the server is PG-13 (You won’t be denied for being under 13): Yes Have you read and agreed to the rules?: Yes What’s the rule you agree with the most?: Proper RP is required before PvP is called. Are there any rule(s) that confuse you or don’t make sense? (if so we can help clear it up!): All good! How did you find out about Lord of the Craft?: Googling minecraft roleplay servers. Link(s) to past Whitelist Applications (If applicable): N/A Have you logged into the server yet? (You cannot be whitelisted without logging in at least once): Yes! Definitions Feel free to Google the answers or browse our forums, but make sure that you write the reply in your own words, not those of another website or person! Plagiarizing will result in the automatic denial of your application! What is roleplaying?: Playing a character in an immersive world where others do the same, interacting with each other to further personal and over-arching storylines. What is metagaming?: Using information obtained out of character and applying it in character. What is power-emoting (powergaming)?: Powergaming is going beyond the means of what your character can realistically do, or forcing the actions of another player. In-Character Information Now you actually make your character - be creative but stay reasonable! Make sure they make sense and that they follow lore. Try to come up with a character that you actually want to play. Character’s name: (what do you want your character to be called?): Dain Auber Character’s sex: (male or female?): Male Character’s race: (you can find all the playable races here.): Heartlander Character’s age: (upon application, your character must be 18 or older, and depending on the race, they can be over five hundred years old!): 19 Biography (Please make it a decent two paragraphs long. Remember to add three references to the server lore.): (where does your character come from?; where have they traveled to?; what year were they born in? et cetera.): Dust. That is how Dain‘s grandfather began his tale every night amidst the run-down hut they called home. The cries of wolves and wild dogs echoed alongside his words, the seemingly hallowed homestead the only the thing protecting them from the enigma of twilight beyond. Dust in the field, dust in the air, dust in the graves, his grandfather would rasp. At the conclusion of the Duke’s War some decades before, hundreds upon thousands of bodies piled upon each other as testimony to the capability of vicious brutality that humanity fostered. Some bodies belonged to peasants, some to sons of burghers, and others to fledgling lords looking to prove themselves on the fields of battle. It was a dirty, crude style of work, yet it was the one suitable to the Auber family. It was the task of Dain’s father and his father before him; to style the dead and bring them to their living relatives, those who would see the corpse lay beneath in the crypts, boneyards, or whatnot. What more could a peasant family on the brink of starvation afford to look for? Messy work, disgusting work, yet work that could yield the pretty penny of a woeful lord. For what is coin in the heart of a mourning father? Dain would begin his day, from child to teenager, and teenager to a growing young man all the same. From his hut and out into the fields outside Felsen, trudging through pig slosh and mud to find the nearest battle site, murder scene, or perhaps the house of an old man who had seen his years turn on him. He would retrieve the body and bring it back to his place of work. There he would prepare the corpse for display or burial, for the crypts or the graveyard. Some bodies would be adorned with bright jewels of sapphire, gold, and rubies. Others would be the clothes they wore the day they perished. It was a confusing notion to Dain as he grew up, truly. Why fashion something that would never see the light of day again? Unless… And so the days, the weeks, the months, the years dragged on for the boy. Acquiring enough money to put food on his table, enough for the hungry mouths present and not a sliver of wheat more. Seconds blurred into minutes and minutes into hours, his life swirling into a monotonous concoction. It was then he fell prey to folklore and the suspicious ramblings of peasants. What is practicality to boredom, and what is a meaningless day to the talk of grumpkins and hobgoblins? Do the dead truly walk on the last day of Amber’s Cold? A wary, tentative glance out towards the graveyard stoked the flame of intrigue towards that question. None truly know the art of acting as the mummer did, and no man ever yields a sword like a knight. Would Dain be mistaken to know the secrets of the dead? The question tore at the young man day by day as a layer of mystery weaved into his work. Gradual lines of salt and crumbs of gold aligned his doorways as moons blurred past. Will Dain Auber grow to be a crazed, superstitious man, or one who can truly unravel the secrets that penetrate folklore and mythology? None can tell what the future holds. Personality Traits: (what are your character's quirks?; habits?; likes and dislikes?): Dain tends to gravitate towards mythology and folklore, finding great pleasure in dallying with hypotheticals. He is a quiet man, usually tending to himself unless the need arises. He is an introvert, preferring peaceful areas in contrast to busy scenes, especially if any of those scenes would have attention on him. Ambitions: (what does your character aspire to be?): Dain aspires to traverse the line between reality and folklore in the eyes of commoners. He wishes to explore any magical realm that may lie beyond death or life although there may be a large chance of failure. He knows magic exists in the world, but personally has never felt it's effects. He wants to breach the stereotype of an unintelligent peasant and go beyond. Strengths/Talents: (what is your character really, really good at?): Dain exceeds at analytic procedures, and while his knowledge may be limited, he is keen on picking up things and learning quickly. Weaknesses/Inabilities: (what is a skill that your character needs to work on?): Dain is not a strong man by any measures, seeing the act of fighting as brutish and barbaric, righteously so. His time near battlefields and places of death only reinforces his philosophy. He has a lack of ability to operate beyond his own desires. Appearance: (what does your character look like?; how tall are they?; hair color?; scars?): He is one of average height, adorning brown eyes with black and matty hair, falling down in uneven clumps. He is not a very attractive man by any standard of measure. His skin is somewhat fair, though more commonly referred to as a pale tone. He wears thin brown garments as a shirt and more thick pants made of cowhide. His shoes are thin, countless years of wear tearing down layers of the shoe. Skin: (please provide us a screenshot of your character’s skin; if you need help, see our screenshot guide here.): http://www.planetminecraft.com/skin/peasant-male-2904332/