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About Vindicant

  • Rank
    Operator Operating Operationally
  • Birthday 07/13/1998

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  • Interests
    Shitposting about my favoured waifus.

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Karyssmov Faroe.

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  1. Vindicant

    On the Topic of E-Girls and Lavender

    that dude’s just alpha as **** all around the board
  2. Vindicant

    -= The Crow Flies =-

    An old uncle’s hands shake for a brief moment as he lifts some of his whiskey to his lips. “...I never even got to finish her alchemy lessons.” he quietly whispers to himself, and the grip only tightens further.
  3. are traps gay

    1. Show previous comments  2 more
    2. Sky


      the 👏 d*ck 👏 makes 👏 it 👏 cuter 👏

    3. HurferDurfer1


      two pp twice as manly

    4. squishybear7


      only if you know its a trap

  4. Vindicant


    “Incest? In the Horen line? It’s more likely than you think.” says local demon
  5. Vindicant

    The Ultimate Guide to the Halfling Race!

    pet all halflings
  6. Vindicant

    Farewell! :)

    RIP my boy Nazorean
  7. Need drinks for your tavern?! DM Kholidav in-game for custom made brews to order, along with a choice of standards! /edit and all. 250 per 64 standard, bulk sales lower overall price by 25 per stack.

    1. Lockezi


      I can’t read though 

  8. Karyssmov instantly screams. He doesn’t know why.
  9. Vindicant

    The Battle of Caer Baddyn

    He still remembered the shock he felt that day. When he set his hand upon the stone and swore – a vow he would later break, for what else could he do? – and heard what must not have been heard, words he should have kept secret but simply couldn’t. And soon after, they had spread like wildfire. Hatred and rage enveloped the nations, hearing that the White and Red were one and the same. And regret simply bled through the Scholar. He thinks back to the descendants who slew the September Prince during his attack upon Caras Eldar, the Blackseed that had been fired and impacted into the demi-god bearing down upon each and every nation, reducing stone to rubble and wood to splinters. Returning it to nature. He thought then that Vaeyl would be pleased, appreciate them, APPROVE of them, but he wasn’t. Nary a chuckle, nary a smirk, nary a smile. He was simply tired, tired and glad that an age-old enemy was vanquished. The Scholar looked at his fellows Pieces in confusion-- for how could they understand? And yet Serris had laughed. She laughed as she finally accomplished her objective. The wall closed. The Ydvyr could no longer return to Atlas. The same invaders set to looting the corpse of the just Lord-General, stripping her of armor and weaponry and even taking her corpse for whatever sordid reason, her memory defiled. And yet, she died a martyr, saving her people from those who would have certainly annihilated them, as the Descendants did every time they hopped from Isle to Isle, draining it of resources and instilling it with nothing but disease. Like a parasite did. Gauntleted hands reach down, gently tugging at the tabard over his brigandine. He straightened it. The Dawn had come, the sun rose over Serrimor for the first time in thousands of years. And with it rose the Equites de Ortu Solis-- For this was their dawn. The Scholar died that day, and the Seer was born. They still had a mission to do.
  10. Vindicant

    March of Wolves

    “When the horn calls, we will all answer. Imperial or Rebel, it matters not when the greater comes into play.” remarks a blind demon man who long since withdrew from the politics of the realm, briefly pawing at the Golden Sun upon his tabard.
  11. the thick fog chokes and freezez you, get out of it quickly

    1. PosidonX7


      lol. What the admins don’t realize, is that it isn’t even suppose to be fog. It was suppose to be smoke from Avendal the smoke drake. wtf man. They butchered Xarkly’s beautiful event line.

  12. Vindicant

    Transition Mishap

    -credit to Lumii
  13. Vindicant


    He tried. He really did. Four elven months he spent being a good man. He held his tongue, he smiled when he didn’t want to, he refrained from drawing steel. He did his best. Even when people spat on him, called him a demon, he didn’t resist. He just nodded, pulled the hood further over his head, and carried on. Each time it nagged him a bit more. ‘Why not fight back? He’s easy to kill. See there-- his throat exposed, just rake it with your nails. He’ll bleed out, and you won’t even feel a thing.’ Karyssmov tried to ignore the devils on his shoulder. He wished he had an angel there, like others did. Instead, it was just naysaying. ‘Kill them.’ ‘Gut them.’ ‘Make an example of them.’ And each time, he ignored them. He bit his tongue, and he just smiled and nodded. He walked away when he didn’t have to, he took the higher road each time. He was doing his best. He was trying his best. But the scar on his shoulder which still ached continued to remind him. The world didn’t care for change. It didn’t care for redemption. Once you did wrong, there was no undoing it. No years of repentance, no amount of gifts and offerings of aid was ever accepted or card for. He kept trying. Even when it did nothing but afford him pain, he was trying. She offered him a smile each time. Condolences for the new bruise on his cheek, or the long cut down his chin. She’d treat him each time, of course. But it never felt right to him. He was trying, but they didn’t care. Each time, they drew steel and tried to ‘smite the evil’. He just wanted to live. He wanted to make up for what was wrong, but each time it was dragged from him. HIs unseeing eyes stare into the top of the ceiling within his home. He couldn’t even see his children smile or laugh anymore. He felt despair eat at his heart. He still remembered the scream. The faintest yelp She made from trying to get him out-- get him to safety, get him away. And she protected him. The spear aimed for his neck-- aimed to kill -- instead drove through her hand, crippling her. He felt the black rise again. That same bitter rage against the world that continued again and again to reject him. It was fitting to take from him-- the one who took most, but to hurt Her? She did nothing wrong. And that rage only built. He brings her away, treats her away from prying eyes. He snapped at those who tried to treat her-- they’d hurt her. They already did, they’d just do worse. And all the while the devils in his ears sang their little songs, ‘You could just tell them! Tell them! They’d kill them!’ and he tried to ignore it. But it wiggled in his ear against his will, a wail heard constantly as he packs her injured hand. He holds her, too afraid to do much more. Again, he was unsure. Again, he didn’t know what to do. Was he a man if he didn’t protect his own? Who wouldn’t defend his kin and kith? Those he loved, they deserved to be protected. They didn’t do anything wrong, they didn’t send him down the road he walked. A sharp tooth bites into his lip, drawing blood from the now-anemic man. He fumbles with a cloth against his lip, attempting to clear it up in his sightless state but only manages to smear it over him. His thoughts keep turning to those around him. Those who wanted him dead. They weren’t worth as much. They weren’t as important. They weren’t worth her suffering. They were expendable. He barely managed to get away. The wound in his shoulder bled to the dirt below as he barely managed to hold her to his arms. His brother draped over his shoulder-- because they simply hadn’t taken enough from him yet. They wanted him too. Karyssmov couldn’t have that. Shambling off, he barely gets them to the shrine of Akezo. Fervently and with the use of only a single arm, he painstakingly treats the serrated gash in his right shoulder, faint whimpers and grunts heard as the needle digs into flesh and muscle and threads linen through where it did not belong. And yet it brought the flesh together, stopping it from falling apart. It didn’t make him stop feeling it though. The screaming only got louder. The more his own wounds hurt, the louder it got. The more she squirmed in pain, the louder it got. Each time his brother made a snapping sound, it only got louder. It didn’t feel like it was going to stop. It only drilled further and further into his head, and he had to lower his gaze and hide his expression to not show what was flooding through him. He probably could have shrugged it off as just pain, but she would know, and she would say it was a lie. But he didn’t want to disappoint her. He didn’t want to lie. So he said nothing, merely glaring at the sky. The sky of the world that denied him. The one that took everything from him. And each time he looked at a new star pop up from behind the clouds, it only got louder. Until it was the only thing he heard. And so he begged for eyes from anything that could listen.