_Leyd

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.

Word travels quickly across the southern-most seas, a particular Monarch pulls from a stack of paper then the missive from the sovereign state, her eyes widening as she sits down her glass of wine, pushing her spectacles closer to take in the document multiple times before removing them to place a thumb to the bridge of her nose. "It seems there will be much to witness in the coming months..and yet in a time such as this.." The Monarch took to her bottle of wine, filling it to the brim.

"Ah, damn." Remarks nobody in particular

"No!" A incense ridden woman choked out into the night as this news was brought to her, her right hand hurling a punch into a nearby mirror, eyeing past herself at nothing in particular from within the now shattered and scarlet stained glass. "Unacceptable." Though no tears fell, a fire was lit, one to honor the fallen comrade, and another to remain faithful, hopeful within such undesired circumstances.

[[RP]] First Name: Ymir Surname: vel Cysia Age: 36 Reason for Interest: Service. [[OOC]] Username: somehippie_ Discord: HippieJesus#4481

Indeed.

Beautiful. 10/10

[!] Around the Federation multiple flyers are pinned around advertising a Family seeking able-bodied warriors. The Ikurn'Chirr of Sutica ⚫⚫⚫ The Birth of the Clan: Within the heart of The Federation of Sutica, two Mali’ soldiers brought together, finding similar views, Political and otherwise. The two Elves, Nafari and Leolin brought together to form Clan Chirr in the heart of Sutica. A Clan that looked out for each-other. One that was accepting of all Men and women with hearts of Iron and the senses and skill of a Wolf. One that would become something the two Elves never had, Family. ⚫⚫⚫ What the Ikurn'Chirr stand for (Knight Artorias from the Darksouls series.) A painting of a Chirr Warrior and his Companion. ======= Chirr’s are Warriors, They know the Art of battle and what it can do someone as know how to Fight and defend themselves, Family is their Second most important thing to them next to being Strong and being able to fight. Chirr’s are wise enough to not seek out fights or war but are always ready for it and are trained for every situation. They Care for their Family, They train their Children to be Warriors they Teach, They Test, They advance. Chirr’s also know how to Craft Weapons, They can Forge Swords, Spears as well as Axe’s and other Weapons – Finding themselves well versed in multiple weapon types as they believe as an Elf – your long life should be used to Master The whole art of Combat, rather then a single weapon. Religion is a decently important thing in a Chirr’s Life, Yet they have the freedom to Worship any Religion as long as it does not Disrupt their everyday life or Warrior Style. ⚫⚫⚫ Family Tattoo and Marks The Family Tattoo that signifies their Identity to the Family. The Tattoo would be near their Eyes have stripes on their For head and Face. As well having an image of a Wolf on the bottom of their arm. Family Weapons ======= Ikurn’ahern or in Common the Iron Blessing. A recipe set to be handed down to family members by the Elders. Ante’Andria or also known as the Last hope, Famed Sword for Saving lives in the Battle against the September Prince. ⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫ Interested? Fill out the small application below and one of the Elder’s will get back too you! Or for more infomation Contact Nafari’Chirr (Nafari.) Or Leolin’Chirr (Elite_Snipes) Name : Age : Gender : Combat Experience : Is Sutica your Homeland? If not then where : ======= OOC ======= IGN : Discord :

Name: Gan’Lelier T’dyrr Age: 20 Gender: Male Do you intend to learn, or do you perform, any sort of Voidal or Deific art? Which? I one day wish to learn Shamanism. Do you accept that in joining this order you may at times be tasked with taking the life of another mali’ker? ..Yes Do you accept that under particular circumstances you may be removed from the order? Yes. And under serious enough terms, executed? Yes. (OOC) MC Name: Nafari Discord: You got it boss.