_Leyd

I love Barbog, Barbog for ST

Amazing experience, haven't been this excited for player driven conflict since Vailor. Respect was kept and everyone seemed to have had an enjoyable time.

A letter is sent off to the uruk seeking challenge. "Bruddah, though mi have shared little time in your presence, I'd hope you understand the codes of The Horde; there will be no klomp, no challenge, not without the Rex's wishes; If you hold distain for my service to the Horde, I will happily hold council to discuss this. Grizh guide you." - Naakh ob Leyd, Dominus of the Horde."

Lagûrz gadhaal, hûnpûlp gimbuk. “Mâdûr , a mazauk ob kaat..” I can not say my people are without their flaws, but we thrive for a better life to those in our Horde. You provoke the curse of Iblees within every orc when you break your word; for an orc’s honor is all he has beneath muscle and pride. You provoke the spirits when you demand even the most passive of them banished from the realm; you anger those we have long soothed; and when Vailor fell, who were your allies in defeating the darkest and most deceitful of their kin? If there is no bulwark, no slumber bringing melody, no reverence in those who are undeniable, there will be chaos. You sent terms demanding we rebuke all we stand for, to discard out honoraries who have worked hard for their earnings and titles, you seek to enforce all which is the way of the spirits to never leave the confines of our walls and you wish to belittle us, tear us down and remove the Horde from it’s inevitable golden age. But titans never fall. A history lesson is due for those elves who remember not the age in which we fought as brothers in arms against the tides of wretched darkspawn, when the strongest of the four brothers stood stalwart even in despair against the evil which conquered your spires and razed your villages. We fought in defense of the wood elves against the dragonkin, and will still stand stalwart to the threats in the modern age. You call us savages; beast and demons, yet you fail to maintain the moral high ground you deemed the judicars of. An orc is born with fire in his veins, and rage in his heart - it is through the strenuous painstaking efforts of the individual to remain tame under such constant war and struggle. You use our curse as a weapon to make yourselves seem like Heros, when you are little more than tyrants. We abolished slavery, opened our honorary system to any who seek the path, and have made GREAT progress towards the Golden Age of our Horde. I came alone into your tundric waste to speak with you, Vytrek, you gave me your word - You spoke of their wrong doings and you spoke of admiration in our cause, and I for once believed highly of Elven leadership - a soldier first and foremost of his people, one not only capable in war, but who carries honor and pride, someone with irrefutable integrity. Yet when your puppets released those missives, warning us of our initiative to free Elyisum from oppression.. I knew you had spun your web like an agent of Viest, you hold little care for your people, it is only your legacy that matters, for the actions you commit now will change the previously mending view orcs had on your kin. I walked to your gates with a line of Krughai soldiers, all battling the bloodlust in response to those tyrannical demands. I asked you, what of the word you had given me, and you spoke only to join your soldiers in spitting insults at our kin, making a mockery of the chance we gave you to engage diplomatically. Our orcs left, for we were not to use words when our arrival was met with swords drawn. You wanted war - I saw it in those demands, I saw it in those eyes when I asked why you hadn’t kept your promise - you want blood, and blood you will get. Know that few stand for lies and dishonor, unrest will grow - and this false Malinor will fall before it’s even properly established. You will find that no true orc is a coward, that this will not be a war won with immense strategy and pride; but a filthy, gore wrought and strenuous battle of attrition.. Your have laughed at our bloodlust, our curse; so we will embrace it, forge weapons from it, and ensure that the irony is made clear - For a race so burdened by infertility, you are quick to send your kin into harm's way.. We may not win each battle, but the green tide will wash over your kin until every ounce of energy is drained and you have no choice but to withdraw. You may call off this war; but I know now you’d do no such thing, and so to the spirits we will commune - They once could swallow a continent, and you wish them silenced; beware, the heartbeat finds all. The Naakh ob Leyd, Dominus of the Horde and Warchief, Ixula'Akaal.

A Warlock’s Message “Ziimarum Tuk Mazauk.” [!] Littered about Alamaris were papyri; pinned into the hearts of every western settlement and of course some delivered abroad. The contents of these papers were wrought in pristine calligraphy that jots across one line in Urklaam, most often used by urukim scholars, and the next in common for those with less knowledge of the spiritualist derived tongue. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- I am Ixula’Akaal, the offspring of Braduk and Dom lineage united; Acting Dominus of Rex Borok’Akaal, a warlock, an elder, and just like many of you - A man of honor, courage, and pride for his kin. This pride was swallowed for a time; as news of my kin slaughtered by the hands of Elysian allies met my ears.. I was ready for justice - But Rex Borok’Alaal hold’s supreme rule; and he is a uruk who, like me, consults with the grizh, our ancestors guide us, the Heartbeat, and centuries of wisdom guide us. When the Rex told me he still wanted peace; I followed, and when this treaty was made - I held hope for the vision of our ancestors - Uniting all under not a single banner, a single purpose, but instead; the way of honor. When I discovered this treaty had been broken; that they disrespected our kin with prejudice and further violence - I was careful to heed their rumors, and so I - as a warlock, a shaman who’s warpath is no less than the direct will of the ancestors and their wish for united honor - Laid my blade to the eternal war of urukim - Against darkspawn and infernal abomination; offering my guidance to those Uruk-hai soldiers returned from battle with the curse of the Daemon in fresh display on their weapons.. Today - Soldiers did not return from a scouting mission - Instead it was but a boy of the human kingdoms, no older than seventeen with terror struck into once innocent eyes, his body broken; but no more than his spirit.. This boy spoke to me with the information that bid reason for this missive; In attempts to stop the torturing of an olog that through predjuice had been attacked; a wandering kub - a young goblin no older older than the boy himself had come up to the scene; only to be immediately attacked by an Elysian officer while ten men restrained the olog, and one other began to flay and brutalize the mercy pleading Krugsblood.. The boy had engaged with the Elysians as he could not dare stand for their dishonor; only by the grace of the ancestors was this boy discovered by a urukim scout; who quickly rallied his brothers and sisters to disperse the conflict.. Elyisan territory with the goal of dispersing the conflict and bringing them home safely. ONLY THE BOY RETURNED; Escaping the same torture the And it was when I rode to the aftermath to see our friends slaughtered in defense of that young goblin that I realized - I had forgotten my way; for when the blood speaks, a Zurgrizh listens. When the blood told our Rex we were to take immediate war - I should not have hesitated, for now I see clearly.. From the start; you have wished only war, when we sought diplomacy, not even demanding the tribute your Lord Tyrant promised, in hopes to share our wisdom with the Elyisan people who had taken interest in our faith. You slaughtered orcs who had only shields drawn in defense of the private meeting between the diplomat and our Rex, not offering their souls the chance to be offered peacefully to the other side by the shamans present who would have not engaged to begin with. When we sought compensation to the families of those fallen and to the throne of our Rexdom; You promised peace with a treaty you would later break just as carelessly; When we laid the third and final offering of hope - You spat on us and degraded our people with prejudice unlike any I’ve heard in my centuries upon this realm We offered peace; a chance to save your honor, and you have made your choice. I will not stand for the killing of children; no less than Krug or any of his kin would; save for they whitewashed in the way - The heinous crime of slaughtering a defenseless youth will not go unnoticed, and with every fiber of my being shall I see to the Elyisan people freed from tyranny; you will watch from your tower you’ve built to hide your guilt; as none no better the heinous acts of your cloth than you, and I pray only your Gods will deliver you honestly into the afterlife; redeemed. My decision: For the next Cactus Day all deployed units of the Horde will engage ceasefire; In this time we wish to allow those who are not Oath or Honor bound to Elyisum their chance to depart; we will open our doors to those who have no other refuge; free of taxation until this conflict has won them their home back; All citizens found to owe loyalty or sympathy to the Lord Tyrant will be offered the chance to fight or surrender, to which those captured will be granted freedom after they have proven their return to honor through a fair task decided through one’s service to the Lord Tyrant and his heinous crimes. All militants seeking to throw down their arms - Less they be bound by oath will be captured; for we will not allow our own hands to add to the dishonor the Lord Tyrant has brought into the west. We have heard you - Children of Elysium; when we received visit from some of those who stand against their Lord Tyrant; we knew there was no chance for peace without interference from our hand - We will not let you suffer under this tyranny, and for those who have once sought our wisdom of the spirits - we will always be here to guide and protect you. By the end of this week; corruption will face the bane of those who uphold the will of the grizh. Ziimarum tuk mazauk, frapog az ash. Peace through war, march as one. Kûkaal Ixûla’Akaal.

when we gonna record that mixtape 🥶

"AY’IVARIELLE AY’LARIHEI BRING ON THE NEXT AGE FOR MALI AND THILL ALIKE!" A tall woman shouts, cleaning the ata' and uruk blood from her weapon

“PRAISE GOD! Bastion of HOPE bestowed unto us his faithful children.” A Savoyard woman calls from the refuge, bringing a night of prayer and thanks for this blessing.

Discord Tag: leyd#2031 In-Game Username: _leyd Skin Name: Colorful cloth Bid(s): 200 mina

“I nominate myself as Chief of agriculture.” Gwyndolin signs the letter rather hastily.

GN: _Leyd CHARACTER NAME: Ymir DISCORD: Leyd#2031 GL all o/

Skin: Drapes Bid: 190 Discord: Leyd#2031 @tadabug2000

[!] This knowledge is spread, by scrolls, fliers, and so on, all throughout the realms.

“Radiant is the Black Sun, We march as pilgrims of death, To prepare the world for The Darkness.” Wreathed in Holy Dark, bound by a yearning pyre of Elder Flame. The Mother of Crows, a pagan in the ways of Old — she breathes frost and ire, releasing in her wake a mural of darkening, for no King is indebted GOD’s grace until the Lordsake returns. When it is bestowed, armies of dark will march, and they will be her daughters; It will be The Mother of Crows; The Saint of Yathnz; who rallies the Women to war, for those free of sin will be granted a blessing. That which shall return them unto GOD’s intent, a woman who shan’t falter to death of age nor slaughter, for when the Lordsakes are granted, one shall rise as Queen; A queen to lead the Northern Wildlands, to call it’s blizzard and to ensure the age of dark is prolonged evermore. It is these daughters, whom be bound not only by blood, but eternal purpose, that are the true soldiers of dark. We are but worms, fingerlings to the Black Hand of The Darkness. We are immortal, but respect is commanded amongst all who ravish in undeath; Be they necrotic, phantasmal, or otherwise corrupted, one’s mantle is formed of their devotion unto Xion, their penance unto THE GOD, and their absence from the Sin of Aengudaemonica. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Divine Purpose; When Provident Comes, life itself will be lifted from the banks — to blot out the sun, the Sisterhood will have watched in GODLY song and sabbath around a pyre of dark; coalescing the life of beggard men riddled with sin. As truth is bore, and the Gods fall from their skies, those blinded by their lies will drop to their knees in repentance — Being offered at last the mercy of dark; Mercy of death. Until Provident, these Sisters have been aligned with The Black Sun, the Army of Mordring, Bane of Man; Ghamûl and the Red Prophet — the herald of the Fifth Lord, whose presence shows the come of The Dark. The deathly choir sings, and with it the spin of a prophecy; The seals broken, the Moon God fallen, eldritch grown ravenous, broken men find peace, and enlightened women send bastardized offspring into the river. War has spread even amongst families; The four brothers having never been more astray, will be, from their own ruin, united in the coming of the Red Prophet. Sisters of a single, all-encompassing deity, whomst absence leaves many faithless, return a portion of his truth. The creator had foretold unto the Saint of Yathnz his truth, that through the springs offered by The Burnt Man, the return of The Darkness will empower all who walk the road to Xion. When the images of the Provident flooded The Saint’s mind, escaping was nigh an option, as on her very path stood the man, wreathed in Red, who — impressed by the pious warrior - offered his favor, and thus his truth. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Fifthlord’s Doctrine "He shall dig His roots into the depths of the earth and purge it of its illness; and thus all Men shall be purged of their barbaric darkness and ruinous, divisive inflictions; they shall become one.. He shall invoke the fire of unified Man and cast it upon the followers of Gods, thus banishing their masters from the world we walk upon. He shall take up the broken sword and forge it anew, and then lead men in a battle against the Gods that shall last half a millennium; Hereere, Light and Dark shall remain anchored, the battlefield acting as their ever-churning border. He shall be slighted by an unknown Final Sin, where He will call upon the name of the Demiurge before killing the False Gods themselves, thus blanketing All Things in primordial darkness; Calor Mors. “And then Men will take the Light of Gods and consume it, and then stand against the Void." — The Four Fates (known as: The Advent, The Rise, The Struggle, and The Quietus). ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Tenants of Yathnz; “The Crows, whom lurk in the guise of ravens; pious be their duty, the dark pyre within leave them to a yearning to be quenched only through the repentance of sin through death and reawakening.” Whilst the creedos of Old Xion may change with the return of the Heralds, and orders be given anew by the last son of Mordring or The Red Prophet himself, for The Sisterhood, there are tenants sewn into their very fabric, pasted above a cross on every hall of their lustrous abbies; The direct word of The Saint of Yathnz. I Carry at all times the holy text, the Sisterhood’s sigil, and a weapon, for it is through these that no evil formed against you shall prosper. II Men and women of the Cannonist Faith, unless proven to be sinners in guise, are left exempt from our conflict unless it is they who invoke violence outright. III The transcended are to be respected until proven sinful, as both we and they embrace umbrage. Precious few are considered nobility, this being left unto a mantle considered most HOLY by the Saint of Yathnz, whom first may commune with the Fifth Lord's herald for approval. IV The corpses of Men are consumed in full, their bones burned or put to some use, but never left to bleach under the sun. Women who are slain are buried by the sea, and let off with a prayer unto Terra to guide their essence to the banks, as well as a sapling to serve as a gravestone, thus appeasing both God and Oak. V Mages are not to be killed, but instead captured or punished with a cursed existence. These voidal fiends are given a chance to repent if they have not already on the path of Xion; though if weighed and found consumed by sin, they shall be purged of their eyes, with their right hand removed, often wakening from their unconsciousness to a mended wound and their shame to man displayed in righteous view for all sinners to see and repent as they. The Dark Sanctums; Abbies of Xion. The dwellings of the Sisterhood serve as a haven for all allies of the Dark, ensuring a place of peace can be offered where wounds may mend, and praise be heard — These dark fortresses ensure a home for not only the Sisterhood, but as well it’s allies who might seek to dwell there. These lands house levies of corrupted, but it is in them that they are expected to prolong it’s peace, it’s praise, and it’s duty. Those who inflict violence on another within these lands are often cast away, considered heretics for causing harm against a brother or sister of Xion. (Referenced Lore) (Big thanks to Hephaestus, ThatTromBoneGuy, and everyone else who helped me with suggestions on the conceptual, proof reading, or just overall support)

This is my favorite

The Saint of Yathnz peers unto the Lord Commander, Herald of The Black Sun, and heir to Mordring's army. "You have garnered imposters, dedicated fans, no doubt." @Angmarzku

Interesting, last I heard; new daemons weren't being accepted, but I'm curious to see that if this is to come into fruition of an actual lore piece, what it can provide for the narrative, a more sinister deity magic is well needed. Though I might suggest seeking other minds to help you write and theorize, maybe gather a few older players who know all what might and might not go well on the server, and who can offer feedback at a more profound source. Regardless; Goodluck, will be sure to keep checking for updates and the like. o7

As an og ox I approve

This is a much needed piece, be it the clarification or overall fleshing out of the proceeds, beast smithing is something many people have used on the server such a feat is long since due, good work guys, hope this one gets the go ahead.

[!] The pages of a madman’s journal have been copied and scattered throughout Almaris. DAY ONE THE CROSSROADS “The present day I couldst withstand 't nay longer, the ferrum-weighted pull at the depth of mine chest, the wounds flush within mine back - but nay illness doth becometh of me and neither doth blade pierce mine flesh - this is, like life itself, a morbid metaphor, for I - a descendant of Man, with a brief candle and dram chance for a meaningful existence, hath't experienced what I hath nev'r imagine, mine trust - defiled and molested. The scheming aggressor, the vile rouge culprit? Mine very own fiance Rosetta - for I hath't trotted onto my abode, drained and exhausted- only to discover that lady within comfort of another in our own cot. I writhe with anger, wreathed in melancholy, and so tonight - as I mustn’t face the witch, I sleep within the cellar.." DAY TWO DEATH “The lady is dead - in the wake of night I found myself unable to catch but a wink, unable to forgive, and so I marched into our bedroom and put an end to that harlot’s existence, may god forgive me, may Rosetta forgive me..." . “I am no longer Mytias, I am just another hound amongst sheep, so today has taught me.” DAY FOUR INSANITY The handwriting had become significantly worse, once poetic tier script, now looked more akin to meaningless scribble. “He listens not - Oh so profound GOD is not but a rich-man’s alias, just an unkillable entity for a pontiff to proclaim his utmost loyalty to, whence in truth their faith lie in gold-lined trunks and lowborn harlots - GOD cares nothing for a hard-working man, one who aims only to feed his own whilst serving the greater GOOD I had been raised upon - USELESS! MEANINGLESS! DECEIT. Now do I stand on my own rubble and ruin, with little but the pain and guilt which weighs me down with each attempted step - no hope, no purpose.. Today I will put an end to it once and for all, this will be my final entry.” DAY FIVE ENLIGHTENED “At the crossroads - I found my calm, at the crossroads - I found my purpose.. Picture a man, on a walk of death upon a mountain, almost to break from the trail - a yellow tower stood before him, before he could speak - unfathomable limbs of proportions I can only relate to as that of a squid-like creature from folklore, reached out and entangled him. Today - at the crossroads, I met a demon - He offered a favor, in return for a soul. And so I asked for a purpose. Today- at the crossroads, I embarked on my journey to greater meani-" The pages end here with a bloodied insignia. (ok gn)

(Music) An orc sits before a pyre of flesh and bone impaled with a family heirloom, from his place he plays a small hand-drum with bloodied palms. He was weak - not physically, but mentally, and spiritually, lacking honor - this orc was untouched by the curse, not that of Iblees’ doing, being unhinged anger, but instead the curse of utter ignorant obedience, the omens had shown that the stars would align, though no immortal was to credit such signs, instead - the orc knew truth, his very own ilk, be it brother or grandmother had laid such hints before him, and as an orc of little purpose, he knew his only option was to heed the words of a long since unspoken maw. He had ingested copious amounts of shrogo mushrooms and cactus green, leaving his senses overwhelmed, he could feel the wind gently pierce his skin, as if it traveled right through him - a tingle overcoming his physical form, leaving him in a relaxed state of sedation. The smoke from the pyre began to shift, as if it was it’s own entity, swirling and distorting, smoke rings often floating within the air like a lone music note held unto it’s utter climax in which it would finally dissipate, leaving the stage for yet another in its wake. Soon colors saturated his vision, the orange hues of the pyre warming earning the unaltered focus of the drum-playing uruk, it was almost as if he played for the flame itself, as it formed to /dance/ with the wind that coincidentally would pick up as the drumming grew more intense.. Eventually - the uruk realized the otherwise silent audience that was the forest around him, was hushed no longer, beneath the echoed drums, crackling pyre and whistling wind, was a soft hum radiating from the trees, plants and fungi spread throughout, such a sound played in well with the feeling of utter static which had consumed him from the stomach down, as if his own vessel spoke back to the whispering jungle. Before he the orc could take in his surroundings, he began to notice fractals forming upon his beige hide, showing themselves where the moon and fire shed light, changing in unfathomable ways, getting smaller and smaller, larger and larger not one shape was alike, and not one shape was anything he had before encountered. Finally, a faint ringing began to fluctuate around the uruk, one which he felt within his horned skull.. The pyre began to change yet again.. Though this time, not in sync with the drumming which the uruk had somehow fought to maintain throughout this state of altered consciousness. Beneath the pyre within the dirt sat a stone bowl of scarlet ichor, which he had drained in offering from his very form, to accompany the gift of flesh from those slain and left within the pyre as fuel alongside the now charred oak and marrow. The blood began to bubble whilst it’s shade deepend, and whilst the uruk seemed unphased, a cold chill came over his spine, nearly halting his playing.. Although, as to ward off those he did not seek to entertain, he kept on for instinctual survival. Soon, the pyre had began to fade, leaving only orange coals in its absence, one’s which flickered and distorted similarly to the fractals upon his arm.. Which - he had finally realized, were not constrained to just his body and the remnant pyre, but now - they were displayed all upon the observable landscape.. And whilst this was something to leave him within awe alone.. His calls were finally received.. Something seemed to rise from the bowl, mixing within the less violent smoke rolling from the vanquished bonfire, more distorted than the shapes which warped his very reality.. But soon it became clear, as if his eyes were opened by the entity.. whom revealed itself; A figure now stood before him, phantasmal and unbound, manifesting in place of the stone bowl, a familiar uruk stood before the overwhelmed. Above this orcish brute’s image was a rhino, one missing an eye, not unalike the uruk it towered behind. The drum playing Uruk (Ixula) lifted focus now unto the figure, ceasing his playing finally.. It was now he was truly frozen, unable to speak nor think freely, it was when realization came, that he understood who had displayed the omens and every bone within his body were consumed with simultaneous dread and shame. Tears welled within the eyes of the weakened uruk began to drip down his tan skin, recognition sprayed amongst his scarred and grizzly visage. His own father - long since fallen, stood now before his offspring, with a cold, disappointed and yet - plainly stare, one sharp enough to make any child drop this head. His father was a beast of the Horde, having fought his way through Vailor and beyond - losing an arm in battle for his clansmen of Braduk, whilst too bringing valorous honor unto both his Braduk, and Dom ancestors, even if not simultaneously doing so. He had given an eye unto the spirit of Ixli for forbidden knowledge, bled himself to near death for Enrohk and slain hundreds of drui’ in the name of Leyd, this brute had accomplished much, even if unblessed by the rest of the spirits for his disobedience - this uruk was everything that embodied the pride, yet restraint, dominance yet honor, that every orckin sought after. And so his failure was immense, to be the son of a great orc, with nothing accomplished for himself, two centuries had been his thus far allowed existence, horns sprouted from his cranium, and yet still - no honor nor greatness deserving of such a crown. Tears continued, whilst words remained choked upon - all which he could muster, was a broken and scratchy - “Popa..” limbs far too heavy to lift from the goat-skinned drums, his spine locked up and leaving him beneath his superior ancestor, whom finally spoke.. “Weak..this is what they say.. Your brothers have died outside the walls fighting for honor, whilst you’d prefer to rot from within them.. Do not call unto me if you do not seek change.” The spirit spat out, pacing now around his son, the image of the rhino following. “You bleed not fire, but instead lard, you grow fat and lazy, leaving your bloodlust to control you, whilst your slaves do your labors.. Be this the way of the orc?” The spirit shook his head at his own question, extending his blade-arm out to the chin of his successor, one which - while immaterial, felt colder than the night-air which bit down upon the unmoving uruk’s flesh. “You are Ikrizh, born of blood and ire, made to conquer and sustain, your honor is your shield, and your wisdom your sword, and yet you’ve replaced it for the warbow which is your bloodlust, hiding behind the walls, whilst allowing luck to place your shots fatally upon the enemy.. And yet you are no Lur who masters the art of such weaponry, you are a pig with an elf’s toy, and be it as it must - it has weakened you..” “I am all things you can be, and yet none of them. This is your doing, your failure, but too is it your redemption - I was conquered in the end, half a millennia of war with the immortals left me free to their lies, I consumed their lessers like you do cactus, and it began to take my strength, and my sanity.. This is not your path.” He called now, standing before his son with a small pile of charred bone procured from the pyre. “You are to grow past this, we live not to honor the immortals, but to unite our ancestors for union, hear throat bound songs, feel the heartbeat of their drums, and do not lower yourself to them, for we are ORCS, and bow to none but our own curse if allowed to consume our very being.. You will praise none but those who walked the path before you, they will show you the path to honor, they will reawaken all that has been lulled into slumber, and your senses with it - shall return, you will not forget the ways of Kulgarok that I have taught you, the druids will one day know of your strength, and soon after the spirits, immortal and ancestral, will know your truth, even if the former ensures nothing but turmoil in its wake..” The bone turned to ash then, blowing off in the wind.. “You will sacrifice your slaves, and begin.. Call unto Ixli for the wisdom a final time, grant him an eye, for even a small glimpse of their wisdom is costly, after this - every honorful kill will be given unto Leyd or the ancestors, you will not bow to none other, and be you to disobey - you will die long before your horns kill you from the inside out.” “Your fire shall burn longer with each honorific trait upheld, every heart offered, and through the scars you gain, you will display truth, you will become a mural of strength and valor through them, and use them as experience to avoid your next meet with Kor, do not fail me kub.” The orc finally ceased - old blah rang through the younger’s mind like water from a stream, he had only grasped it’s meaning from his upbringing, but held onto such teachings so that he could forever understand and speak to his ancestors - even when such words are not returned. Ixula now knew his purpose, freed from dishonor for a final time, he would begin to consume the knowledge his father once did.. Leaving his pyre after his senses returned.. The uruk began, knowing watchful eyes were held unto him at all times.

"It is that time again! For our kin to gleam brighter than the sun which shines upon our blessed race with glee, awaiting the moment for a true 'thill to rise unto the challenge.. It is with my unconditional support that we see this TRUE ELF as the Father of Silver, may his reign show unto all the less fortunate 'ata that this plane is to be ruled by the Blessed Elves! Maehr'sae hiylun'ehya! He is a lion, one of silver - untarnished by the fallacies of the modern world, he is a spear of righteousness, a torch in these dark times, be not a fool whom looks away, but become one with truth, support this TRUE ELF and all our sufferings shall vanquish." A pure looking fella shouts from upon a soap-box, raising a balled fist cloaked in gray silk into the skies.

"I knew I smelt something putrid earlier.. Of course the 'ame were to blame!" Called the nameless 'thill, who then proceeds to roll-up cactus green blunts laced with addictive substances, allowing him to fill his pockets with junkie tree-elf mina.