Legendary Legend

This cell's chambers had ghostly echoes from screams long gone. But this time it got filled with new ones from another that found himself stuck there. The Mali'aheral's body was already beaten down to a pulp as he laid on his side upon the stone cold ground that night. Desimir hugged tightly the only thing he ever could, himself. His body writhed, twitched, and shook uncontrollably with pain he was failing to contain. His head beaded with icey-hot sweat. His mind kept going in and out of consciences. He could barely comprehend what was happening to him right now as his mind only kept focusing on his past trauma and experiences. The following is but only a peek into his thoughts, cries, and pains during his consciousness and the nightmares of his unconsciousness: I̵̢̝̬͈̞̿͊͗̐̾'̸̰͈̰̞̬̈͌̐̎͆v̷̲͙̜̻̠̀̋͆͝͝ɘ̴̛̠̫̻̻̋̉́̕ͅ ̵̬͇̝̼́͂̏͋̓ͅɒ̶͉̘̙̦̖̐̅͋̀͒l̸̲͖̣̗͔̎̆͂̈́̾w̵͈̦̩̩̎̀̀̈́̊ͅɒ̷̘̳̙̺̮͒͛̊̽̒γ̶͍̳̼̹̜̓͋́̚͝ƨ̷̫͖̗̪̙͛͑́͘͠ ̷͓̪̮̰̟̈͛͛͆̽d̵͈̮̻̠̙̋̉̒̍̏ɘ̸͚͇͍̣̂̎̔̈̐͜ɘ̷̡̪̦̖̱̒͂́̒͒n̴͔͉͙̳͎͑͌͛͆͠ ̴̨̬̗͎̫̓̾̐̒͠Ɉ̴̢͖͎̙͈̀̐́̂͝ʜ̸̯̺̖̘̈̋̑̂̽͜ɘ̴̧͖̥̪̉̇̈͌̋͜ ̶̛̪̺̥͙̉̔͑̕͜ weakest ɒ̴͔͍̘̞͚͂̄͒̔͝n̴̥̰̭͙̘̍̋̓͆̄b̴̠̟͔̻̝̈̐̇̋͘ ̴̛̤̺̜̮̈́͌͐̒͜I̸̞̘͓̿͌́̀͝ͅͅ ̸̟̜̞̭̖̈́̍̀̊̽ʜ̷̛̦̰͙̯̞͗͋̌͘ɒ̵͈̱̹̹̞̾̓͑̈͠v̵̺̺̳̖͔̈́̀́͂͝ɘ̴̨̡͎͖͕͋́͋̈̊ ̴̧͍̬͉̣̓̀̒̉̚d̵͔͚̳͇̩̓̽̓͆͘ɘ̵͔͉͉͙̟̍͋̌̕͘ɘ̸̰̞͈̖̹̇̎̍͝͝n̷͉͇̻̮̦̿̊̾͆͝ ̶̯̠̣͙͙̄̂̓͆͝ mocked ̵̨͔͚̳̦̋̐͛̀̚ʇ̷̡̤̣̺̠̌͑̈́̒̕ỏ̷̺̲̞̞̟͛̐̿͘ɿ̵̠̹̰̣͊̓̾̃̕ͅ ̷̧̝̳͖̼̐́̀̚͝i̴͔͕̤͓̰͆̿̐̎͝Ɉ̴̣̤̙͇̜͐͋͌̇̆ ̵̠̺̲͈͉̊̈̊͐̍ɒ̸̰̬̞͎̤́̄̀͆͝Ɉ̸̡̛̙̖͈̘̈́̐͛̚ ̷͇͕̩̮̈́̓̈́̊͜͝ɘ̸̧̖͍͕̤̄̀̀͊̓v̶̬̞͍͚̱̋̾̈́̇̚ɘ̴̢̤̙̦̗̋̑͑́͘ɿ̴͚̳̪͋̆̈͆͜͝ͅγ̶̩̹̤̙̭̈́̇̔̏͝ ̴̢̢̤̪̮́͑́̀͠Ɉ̸̧̧̠̮̓̑̉̇̃ͅυ̴̡̛̝̞͖̪̾̄̒͠ɿ̶̠̥̫̠̈̌̅͗͜͝n̵̨̟̬̥̝̐͂̒̈́͘.̵̡̤̟̲̲̔̒̋̋́ ̵͚͙̹̤͇̋̒̚͘̕ઘ̶̛̼͙̜͕̒͊̊̒͜υ̵̻̦̱̱͍̊̇̊̇͝Ɉ̶̹̥͙͇̼͒͐̋̔̚ ̶̺̝̗̦͉͌́͛̚̕Į̸̞̪̗̂̽̎̂͝ͅ ̴̡̛̠̗̠̯̾̔̌̚ still try ̴̢̥͚͉̠̐͑̈̚͝ɒ̸̠͉̘̠̝̃̐̒̀͐ƨ̷̝͍͓̲̥̊̔̆̓̓ ̸̛͓̻̺̪͇̌͊̈́̊ʜ̶̢̙͈̪̝͂͆͌̈́̒ɒ̶̡̫̯̱̬́̽̂͛̍ɿ̴̧̻̲̣̬̎̏̀́̾b̷̪͇̥̥͎̎̔̎̀̏ ̷̟̤̯͕̓́̅̅̕ͅɒ̸̮̩̤̃̒̀̑̂ͅͅƨ̵̟̙̞͓̈́́̔̐͛͜ ̴̢̘̲͔̼̓͐͗́̕I̷̺͚̜̬͚̓̃̏̓̔ ̶̖̬̦̦͎̈́́̽̆͝ɔ̸͔̱̜͓͔̽̂͂̕̚ɒ̴̨̺̘̼̗̊̒͋̀͠n̴̯̝̘̝͒̑̍͒͛ͅ.̷̱͖̺̻̝̇̿̒̈̊ ̴̥̱̭̱̈̆̇̽̉͜I̸̧̟̟̫͓͊͋̏̂̇ ̵̝̥͍̠̟́̂̇͒̚w̵̧̢͉͖̪͛̓̉͒̈́ɒ̵͉͚͙̭͍̍̆̃́̿ņ̸̡̥͈͈̆̾̊͗͂Ɉ̴͔͔̜̹̫̍̂̊͗̒ɘ̸̲̲̼̘̤̍̈̄̍̆b̴̙̹̼̬̣͌̃̀͗̕ ̸̛͍̗̝̟̱̉͆̍͊Ɉ̸̢̖̩̹̥̔̇͑͋͠õ̸͇̼̬̤̻͑͛́̔ ̴͈̭̠̟̰̐̋̄̈́͝d̵̩̩̲͚̟͋̽͑̚͝ɘ̸̨̘͓̝̼̍͗͋̀͝ ̷̛͍͉͇̳̉̈͊͋ͅƨ̷̢̦̥͇̻̾͋̊̍̉Ɉ̵̭̪̩̻͖̿͒̈́̋͂ɿ̷̧̬̝̝͈̃̓͗̔̕o̵̩̥͉̯̟̊̈͂̀̊n̶̡̛̥̩̥̅̏͛̉ͅϱ̸͖̫͇̤͑̏͊̐̚ͅɘ̴̺̰̻̖̥̾̅̅̚̚ɿ̸̩̤̤͕̹̍̎̾̅́.̸̠͓̘͓̥͐̑͋̓̌ ̸̝̯̥͙̹͒̎̑͊̚I̸̲̳̠͖̫͛̈͗͆͝ ̴̧̛͔̝̬̖͊̐̔̓Ɉ̶̟̪̪̰̝̑̃̐̕͝ɿ̶̨̼̮̥̲̀̋͂͗͒į̵̣̗̬̜̓͂́̈͊ɘ̸̣͍̼̯̝̈́̔̑͐̑ḅ̴̥̯̙̤̇̈́̑̄͝,̵̢̦̮̣̬͌̆̔̀̀ ̵̛̣̩̻̞̦͒̒͋̕ḑ̷̪̠̜̫́̋͛͊͘υ̵͍̩͙͎̻͋͑͗̐̾Ɉ̸̢̲͎͙̳̍͒̃̅͌ ̷̛̜̩̖̣͕͊̿͂͆Ĭ̶͍̰̣͙̪̑̿͘͠ ̷̨͚͖͔̗̽̐͗̄͘n̴̡̮̻̖͍̓̇͒̿̎ɘ̵̳͇̬͈̘͗͂͑̋͂v̸̛͚̩̰̫̦̅̃͘͠ɘ̴̛͈̟͙̰̝̃̓͝͝ɿ̴̻̫̪̝̞́̒̍̕̚ ̴̨̨͍͖͕̆͐̄̏̆ɔ̶̬̹͇̟̐̾̌͋͛͜o̸͈̼̠̟͖͑͛̓͂̀υ̸͕̭̱̰̟̃̀̋͒͘l̷̢̖͚͎̄̓̓̓̓͜b̴̡̘̬̜͕̿̇̄̏̕.̵̧̛̞͓̟̯̄̀͆͋ ̶̡̡̥͎̬̎̆̽̉̈́I̷̳͇̜̼̣͆͒͂̈͝ ̸̥̻͇̘̞̒̾̉͑͠ϱ̸͚̬̝̰̈́̈́́̆͠ͅɘ̴̧͎̠̞̗͂̋͛̔̚Ɉ̵̡͙̝̥͋͐̇̀́͜ ̵̨̧̯̣̯͗̔͋͋̕i̶̘͓̭͚̳͑̋̂̊͆Ɉ̴̞̗͍̘̫̀́̾̅͌.̸͖̱̬̣̱͊̎̏̌̚ ̶̨͇̝̖̗̉̎̈́̀͘Ǐ̵̛̞͓͕̼͓̊̓͠ ̴̳̣͔͖͕͐͋̏͆̈ʇ̷̡̪̜̝̿̅̿̏̕͜ǫ̸͓̗̱̗̅͂̑̽́υ̵̯̼͉̣͓̂̽̑̌͒ϱ̶̭͓̫͙̓̔͊̈́̅ͅʜ̴̞͔̘̤̐̂̃̚͜͠Ɉ̸̧͖͔̻͈̄̎̎̀͠ ̴̹̜̭̘̩̾̇͑̔̿Ɉ̷̢̨͔̮͈̏̂̊̑͝o̶͍͎͚̙̪͌͋̓͐͠ō̷̡̜͕̤͉̏̉͛̂Ɉ̵̨̪͖͎̒̔̅͑̀ͅʜ̵̟̱͍͚̦̆͒͋̈́̂ ̶̢̻̹͚͍͊̉̄̕̚ɒ̵̰͔̟̘̜̔̌̓͊̎ṇ̸̯̖̱̳͊͌̆̐͑b̷̨̨̡̦͚͑̓͗̆̓ ̶̧̪̼̺̒́̀̀̄͜n̵̢̰̳̰̾̊̀̈́̂ͅɒ̴̛̫̖͈̙̠͛̌̅̂i̵͇̞̹͍̎̌͐̐̕ͅl̴̞̗̫̹̪̄̈̍͋́ ̸̧̡͍̞̄̓̇̃̉͜Ɉ̷̧͇̠͕͍͋̓̿͠͠ŏ̸̡̫̣̻̪̊͛̄͝ ̷̨̗̱͈̬̿̉̄̌͘ earn my keep ,̸̨͍̞̰͙̑̓̄̽́ ̶̭̭̮̳̻͐͗̈͗͠ɒ̷̠̣͚̮̾̽͗̀̒ͅn̸̫͙̲͇̫̈̂̎̾̉b̴̧̻̜̺̩̂̔́̂́ ̴̦͇̠͍̜̓̈̓́̚I̷̪̬̼̰͍̊͋̈́́͝ ̶̖͖͓̱͍͆͂̇̅̆ϱ̴̛̛̹͎̰̻̩̽́͊o̸̩̻͔̤̐̿̃̐̀͜Ɉ̶͖̰͖̲̥̌̓͒͌͠ ̴̢̯̜̥͓̋̈́́̈́̔Ɉ̷̠̮͕̞̙̈́͌̍̂̆ʜ̵̠̣̭͎̩́̎̌̃͝ȋ̶̱̞̲͖̥̄̿̋͠ƨ̴͙͈̺͙̥̐̇͆̅̓ ̵̻̣̪͍͓̀͐̍͠͝ʇ̸̢̱͙̖͓̀̏̔̅́ɒ̴̧͇̙̲̲̃̄̒͠͝ɿ̵̨͉̞̗̩̈́̏͆̿̐.̴̨̙͙̬̭̽̐̑͂̚ ̶̬̫̬͖̝́̇̋̇̓Ƨ̴͈͚̭̻̹̈́̿͂̊̐ȏ̴͚̳̫̫̯̇̏̀͊ ̵̢̟̼̜̻̒̈́̾̈́͛Ɉ̸͎͎̗͚̙͋̀̈́̋͗ʜ̵̛̼͉͍͖̈́̏͋̄͜ĩ̴̛̲̻͉̺̈́͊̚͜ƨ̶̪̲̝̞̙̈́͂̍̇̌.̷͍̤̗̦͚̊̈́͑̑͘.̷̣̩͈̪͙̂̏̓͂͝.̴̞̹͎̟̪̃̅̿̋̕ ̴̢̛̺̬̮̞̌͆̈͝*̶̡̝̼͚̣̿͗͌́̆*̷̮͚̠̱̺̀̑͂̓͘*̷̨̞͓̹͈̽͗̈́̚͝*̷̬͙͔̤̪̃̾̈̿͗,̸̬̲̲̣͈̊̑̑́̕ ̵̢̗̫͈̔̈̈́̈́̎͜*̴̨̨̩͚̟͗́͒̉̀*̷̧̯̰̫̫̒̈́͛̿̚*̷̥̦͔͚̥̍͒̆̋͝*̵͖̘͙̖̰̓̌̎̀͘!̷̙͉̟̪̟̈̆̈́̕͝ ̵̱̘͍͍̜̀̄̽͋͠Ț̷̨̰͎̣̒͐̅͠͝ʜ̴̢̨̣̘̜̀̈́̽̕͝i̶̢̜͍̼̠̓͛̾͊͠ƨ̵̢̙̩͍͍̈́͐͌͛͘ ̷͎͈̤̬͓̄̀̊̿̽i̷̝̗̹̦̮͒̃̇̓̕ƨ̸̞̮̬̼͉̆̽̅̑͝ ̶̛̦̭͔͚̉̾̓̚ͅd̵̨̥̣̭̖͛̾͛̕̚υ̸̢̣̥̩̝͑̓̒̕͝l̸͇̞̗͔͉͆̎̑̈́͘l̵̛̠̖̝͂̿͐̂͜͜ƨ̸̭̙̣̿̊̓̈̚͜ͅʜ̸̨̢̭̩̝̓̽̿͑͝ḯ̶̠̖̤̣̺̓̽̌͠Ɉ̷̙͇̣̦̈̇̑͛̆͜!̶͎̥͇̮͓̓͐̎͝͝ ̵̨̮̼̣̫̂̀͑́͝ઘ̷̢̡̨͔̰̈́͋̇͋̎υ̷̡̮̟̦̬̊̽̒̒̏l̸̖̻̣̹̯͑͊͆͝͠ļ̷̗̱̪̠̌̒͋͌̃ƨ̵̼̜͉̩̗̌̔́̑̂ʜ̷̰̳͓͖̗̈́̉̀͋͝i̶̡̧̟̜̲̔͗͒͆̚Ɉ̵̨̻͕̣̝̂̿́̉̈!̸̦͍̗͍͉̾̏̉̄̚ ̶̧̹̻͓̤̑̏̂̓͠O̶͎͚͓̣͐̽̋͋̕ͅʜ̵̧̢̝͕̞͗͒̇͐͘ ̸̛̳̭͚͔̺̌̎͛̔γ̷̻̥̝̩̅͒̅͐̓͜o̶͍͇̹̫͖̊̄͑͘͠ῦ̷̫̦̩̘̆͐̈́͝ͅ ̷̢̢̰̹̏͗͆̓̅ͅw̷̞͓̗̲͋̆́͋͜͠ɘ̷͔͉̖̮̱͋̄͒̌͆ɿ̷̡̭̮̯͓͒͊̅̏̕ɘ̷̮̳͓̻̓̆̀͗̊ͅ ̸̯̼͙̗̫̄͗̅̊͗q̴̢̬̦͓̲̈́́̍͂̽ɒ̵̧͉͕̗̘͂̈̓̏͠ƨ̷̛͖̥̺͉̬̈͊́̓Ɉ̷̼͎̘͎̼̉͛̉̕̚ ̸̡̖̻̦̺̌̓̂͐̏γ̸͈̜̤̜̓̓͂͆͝ͅo̶̱̗̼͙̣͛͌̈́͑͊υ̶͔͖͇͔̠̉̒̇́̀ɿ̵̢͓̙̱̂̒̾̚͜͠ ̶̥̰͎̝͇́͒̀̓̏l̸̢͈̼̤̉̓̿͛͋͜i̸̠͖͔͗̏̔͌͘͜ͅṁ̵̳̬̦͔̦͆͐̚͠i̴̼͚̤̘̠͂̿͠͠͝Ɉ̷̺̜̘̘͔̐̀̈̀̀,̸̡̩̪̺͋̐̌̚͝ͅ ̶̨͎̯͍͍̇̈́̓̇̚ʜ̸̝̪̯͕̍̒̀͂͜͝υ̶̬̭̟̩͔̑̏̈́̿͆ʜ̴̫̝̞̻̃̒̒͒̍͜?̴͇͈̞̗̦̄̄̓̄̍ ̵̛̖͈̩̞̫̇̈̚͝Y̵̩̼̗͇̺͗̔̿̚͝o̸͇̱̫͊̈́̍̀͜͝ͅυ̸̹̣̞̹̊̌͊̿͜͝ ̴͉̖͓̳̿͌̈́̈̊͜ẃ̷͇̼̞͖̍̇̏́͜ɘ̴͈̠̼̙̯̓̉̇̊̽ɿ̶̙̖̦͙̰͋̓̽̈́͝ɘ̵̬̭̱̻̑̈͊̓̈ͅ ̶̮̯͚͓̗̓͌͑͊͋m̸̺̬̠͇̥̓́͂͑͘ɒ̴̨̲̦̦̞́̍̚̕͠ʞ̴͉̱̯͈̤̃͌̽̀̄i̵͕̹͈̱͒̃̈̓̋͜n̶͍͇̠͉͍̂͌͛̒͝ϱ̴͕̳̪͓̲̈́̔̋̌̍ ̴̙̥̞̲̟̎̃͋͒͝ɘ̸̹̫̖̙̼̌̅̅̇̈́x̶̡̺͕̖̙̄̈́̈́͗̚ɔ̷̳͔̖͖̌͑̒́̐͜υ̶̭͕̦͙͓̾͛̀́̾ƨ̸̭̤̳͔̯́̋̾̅͒ɘ̴̯͙͇̮̑̃̀̇͝ͅƨ̷͖͖̦̪͎̔͛̅̐͝ ̵̲͖̪̞͍̾́̎̎̉ʇ̵̢̭̺̦̲̔̊̾̈́̒ó̴̡̦̱̫̹̽̓̈́̂ɿ̷̗̬̝̣̦́̆͊̆̕ ̴̧̣̠̯̰̊̓̓̎̏γ̶͔̮̙͙͆̽͋̃͘͜õ̴̢̮̠͉͍̆̀̀͐ὐ̸͙͓̩̗͖͒̀̈́̈́ɿ̶̬̤͉͎̠͊̆̒͆́ ̸̼̞͙̠͔̑̈́̉̀̓o̵̫̝̬̞̫͐͛̈́̎͠w̸͚̩̗̜̹̄͊́͗͝ń̵̖̤̙͒̅̀̋ͅͅ ̶̢̛̮͍̝̹̍́̐́ selfishness.̷̡̱̲̻͎̊̒̆̍̊ ̸͉̯̞̗̯̃͆̎̏͒T̴̡͉̬͚̦͋̓̆̋͝ʜ̷̡̲̟̦̾̎̿̐͠ͅɒ̵̩̺̠̳̇̌̅̈̊͜Ɉ̵̤͕̬͚͎͂́̒̄͠ ̵̧̢̧̫̠̇̽̈́͑͝ gratitude ̸̺̹͐̈́͐̍̈w̵̡̠͖͚͉͐̊͛̌̚ɒ̶̡̹̫̙̠́̍̓̓̀ƨ̵̺͖͇͎̦̏̓̀̌͝ ̶͙̘̜͇̼̒͆͑̚͝ɒ̸̢̯̬̯͕̈́͊͋́̊ƨ̸̧͍͕̥͔͂̊̈̃͠ɘ̸̨͉͓͖͍͒̓͆̓̕ṁ̴̘͉̻̭̊̓̈́̾͜q̶̛̞͖̜̀̂͒͠ͅͅɈ̸̳̫͓̖͇̈́̀̇̀͐γ̴̧͚̬͈̽̏̅̅͛ͅɒ̶̨̣̩̭̝̓͌̈́̏́ƨ̷̡͎̤̲͈̐͗͂́̚ ̵͔͙̺̯͓́̒͑̌̕m̷̘̳͇͖̗̆́̒͘͝γ̵̦̦̜̗͖̀̈́̏̅͝ ̶̨̬̺͎͉́̋̃̓̀w̷͎͕̼͉̤͊̉̾̔͝ɒ̸̧͈͍͖̩̓̆̀́͊l̵̪̰͇̟̦̓̈́̀̆̀l̴̢͇̭̣̯̓̇̈́́̍ɘ̶̡̣͖͕̖͒͆̋̉̀Ɉ̴͖̘͖̭̖̏͆͑͒̄.̸̦̟̻̙̓̈́̽̐͛͜ ̶͉͚͇̥̠̄̚̚͘͝⅃̶̢͚̞̹͆̍͆̋̄ͅɘ̴̙̘̞͓̃͊̃̍̊͜ɒ̷̺̳͔͖̱͛̃̎̕̕v̶̛͈̜̝͇͇̑̄̂̓ɘ̴̞̙̭̰̹̉͐̔̽̄ ̸̭̲͚̲̻̉̉̏̄͠i̵̯͔̦̻̬͊͗̋̾̚Ɉ̷̦̟̦̹̼̀́̂͑͝ ̵̡̟͈͙̟̈́̂͋̽͘Ɉ̵̧̪̥̯̫̄̓̓̑̎o̸̲̘̺͖̳͑́̾̽̇ ̶͙͇͚̫̯͒́̃̀̆ɒ̴͇͙̳̙͈̓̇͑̅̽ ̵̩̤͎̯͚̓̃́́̇ϱ̸̝̰͕̫̤͊̈́̑́͘ɘ̵͉̤͖̠̖́̾̎͋̚ǹ̵͕͍͚̬͈̂͂̌̊ύ̵͉̼̪͎̤̋͑̋͘į̸̪̥̲̽̆̄́̈́͜ņ̶̼̞̤̳̂͂̎͒͠ɘ̵̡̡̤̠̖̑̄͆̿̊ ̸̡͕̮͕̭̌̽̃̿͠q̷̹̫̪͍̑͒́̉̊͜i̵̧̠̼̞̘̇͐͑͐̕ɘ̷̳̺͔͔̹̄͗́̔̚ɔ̷̮̞͙̞̖̔̀̀̈̕ɘ̷̡̛̮̱͇̠͊͒́͛ ̴̡̛̼̻̠̭́̑͐͌o̷͔͉̦̙͕͊̾͌́̏ʇ̵̰̭̫̣̳̌͂̐̂̒ ̷̰̯̥̘̜̏͊̉͋͘Ɉ̸͔͕͉̜͔̑̊̊͂͝ɿ̴͉͉͚͛̇̐͘̚͜ͅɒ̵̢͈̫͑̇̏̎̚͜͜ƨ̴̪̰̭̙̞̌̇̀̄̀ʜ̶̤͉̱̼̪̀̔͋̍͘ ̸͖̠̗͖̟́͛͛̋͒Ɉ̷̢̥͎̮̣̽͌͂̑̚o̶̡̬̠̥̓̅͛̈̆ͅ ̶̨̣̻̗̝͌͛̍̽̅ use me ̸̨̨̤͓̹̾̅͋̍͝ɒ̴̧̤̻̯̓͑̽̍̽͜ṇ̷̢͕͉̘̆̎̉̈͛b̷̡̢̭̻̺̓̐̏̉͝ ̸̛͖̳̜͉̐̄̀̋͜Ɉ̸̢̝̘̥͓́͐̈́̑̽ʜ̵̰͈̯̬̫̀̾͋͌͠ɿ̶̘̠̲͈̌͊̔͂̀ͅo̸̢͔̖̣͖̒̾̊̈́͑ẃ̸̢̨̝͈̫͂̑̈̓ ̷̢̧̢̛̟̘̈̊͌̅m̷̞̱̝͈̓̊͑͠͝ͅɘ̶̹̼̤̘͉̀͋́̈́͝ ̶̺̳̮̞͍͊̄͒͑̕ɒ̶̖̩̹͖̟̄̌̃̇͋w̴̬̣͈̟̃̿̒̕͝ͅɒ̸̹̮̥̦̫̄̃̏̌̆γ̶̮͚͖̥̻͒̍̉̈́̀ ̸̛͙͉̺̜̺̈́̒̄̃ʇ̶̡̜͙͔̝̊̌̎̈́̕ǫ̶̳͉̰͙͛̓̆͆͠ɿ̵̛̹̟̫͙̱́̄͝͝ ̵̙͙̩͙͎͒̌̓̓͛ʜ̷̡̩̩͓̹̾̽́̐͠ḭ̵̢̻̤̒̔̄̀͌ͅƨ̵̯̦̘̻̼͂̉̂͗͝ ̸̝͉̙̼̲͌̋̽͐͝ benefit .̴̗̜͖͈̺̋͊̒͛̈́ ̸̫̰̜̺̣̆̂̇̉̓Ì̴̡̢̬̳̥̂̓̕͝ ̷̨̟̱̹̘́͊͌͊͊w̶̡̧̥͕̼̏͆͘͘̕ɒ̴̟̲͕͚͈̅̓̉̂͝n̸͔̫͈̠̭̅̆̏̍̿Ɉ̴̡̜̰̪̟̆͂̒̕͝ɘ̵͕̪̞̺͉́̂́͋̕b̴̢̭͙̗̫́͗̇͆̚ ̷̧͚͈̰̙͆̈̃̓͋ɒ̸̧̗̩̼̫̈́͑̀͐̕ ̶̨̧̥̼͎̿͌͗̚͝ familyɈ̷̛̦̲̖͚͖̿͌́͝ō̵̩͓̹̙̓͊͊̆͜ö̶̳̪̬̯̮́̅̃̋̚.̶̛̮͈̟͈̟̀̅́͝ ̵̱̰͖̘͖͂̊͂͝͝I̵̢̤͚̹̠͌̓̀̽̉ ̴̛̤͙͈͓͈̌̓̀̉w̵͎̲̫̱̗̿̐̿́̿ɒ̴͓͈̺̩̈͂͑̒͝ͅn̵͕̮̖͙̈̓̓̕͘ͅɈ̸̟͔̤͖̣̀̂͗͒͝ɘ̷̜̳̟̻̑̅͂̐͋͜b̸͓̜̼̣̓͗́́̈́͜ ̴̛͓͖̲̱̝̈̽̓͝ɒ̶̧̖͇̲̯́̆̄̈́̕ ̴̡͕͚̙̣̀̓̊͐̾ homeɈ̵̧͔̞̜͔͛̀̒̚̕o̸̞͇̤͈̥̓̐̓͗͝o̸̱̗̦͑͒̆͒͘͜͜!̸͖͚̳̮̆̓͛͂́ͅ ̶̡͍̝͉́͌͐̒͝ͅИ̸̨̨̼̮͉̓̈́̈́̿̌o̵̫͈͚͚͑͐̑̊͂ͅ.̶̢͚̠̙͇̄̏͗̊̚ ̵̨̨̜̫͕̓̏̆̔͆Į̶̛̹̩͎̞͗̿̀̈ ̶͉̰̤̲̜̒̍̒̅͑b̵̞̟̪̬͖̉̃̀͊͘o̷̰̭̟͎̎̿̂̈́͜͠ǹ̴̢̢̮͉̼͛̀͗̒'̷̝̣̘̱̯͆̍̒̈̈́Ɉ̵̝͔̫̤̬̄̏͌̎̈́ ̵̧͍̻̮̭̈́̀̈̚͠ẅ̸̧̹̲͓̫̂̉͌̕ɒ̸͕̹̹̱̩͂̓̿͐͝n̷͇̥͔̣̥̑͋̅̀̈Ɉ̵̡̡͕̥͓͛́͆̏̕ ̴̳̻̠̋̓̓̊͜͝ͅɈ̴̡̗̙͛͛͗̏̐͜ͅõ̵̢̺̩̗̯͛̈́͂̎ ̸̬̟̳̥̜͂̆̆̃̕ die.̸͈͔͇̱̤̔̈́͑̑͗ ̵͇͚̙̺̽̋̑̐̋ͅḪ̷̲͓͎̰̑͆͆̍̚o̷̢͈̲͉̍̈̊̏̔͜ŵ̶̧̯͈̦̮̊̀͊͝ ̸̗̻̬̫̀̀̏̍̔ͅɔ̵̛͎͔̹͙͖̂̇̉̈́o̷̞͓̙̼̜̊̄̿͘͝ὐ̶̨̢͚͙̻͋̒̌̌l̵̛̲̗̙̣̲̽̎̕͝b̴̛̺͎̼̺̤̀̈́̚͠ ̵͕̤͈̟͈̈́͗̌͗̏γ̶̨͎͓̙͖̿͐̀͌͘o̵̧̯̞̼̹͗͆́̚͝ΰ̶͓̲̗̬͎̀̄̕͝ ̵̡̳͓͕̗̅̀̇̀̾Ɉ̸̢͖̱͓̜̈́́̂̌͝ʜ̵̡͔̺̟̼̽̽̈̒͝ḯ̴̧̨̛̯̮̪͆̀̏ņ̶͈͉̮̥̍̅̒͠͝ʞ̶̢̢͖̣̝̂͋̋̚̚ ̵̨̙̘̬͓̽͋̍̔͘Ɉ̵͓͈̳͎̂̈́̋̊̈ͅʜ̷̤̳̦̼̂͋̈͑̕͜ɒ̵̛̻͕̤̫͕̿̎̀̎Ɉ̷̝̝͈͎̦̓̋̈̌͝?̵̧̢͕͍͕̽͌̂́͒ ̷̢̲͖̤̳̃̆̒̈͝Ỷ̴̨̖̯̘̺̿̃͛͒ṑ̸̺̯̳̝̅͠͠ͅυ̵̛̙͉͈̞͍̽̆̓͊ ̴̹̗̣͚͉̉͛̑̕͠ƨ̶͖̮̞̗̦̄̇̆̀͋Ɉ̴͉̩͉̙̉͆͂̄͝ͅυ̴̢̙̯̺͎̅̊͛͝͠q̸̲̙͈̥̀̑͛̃̕ͅi̴͍̮̼͚͎̿̀̇́͝b̷̧̢̫̄̂́̕͜͝ͅ ̴̦͔͙̳̌̊͒̕͝ͅʜ̷͖̖̩̦͓̄͐̇͛̊γ̸̨͔̞̫̤̔͂͗͂͘q̶̝̘͙̬̝̈́̈́̒̔̀ó̵̢̲̞̓͐́̚͜͜ɔ̴̨̨̥̩͍̆̆̎̚͝ɿ̶̢̘̘̱͚̿̿͐͂͝ḯ̵̲̭̘̮̠̓̇̌́Ɉ̶̜͚̹̼͈͂̄̈́́́ɘ̶̠̜̩̰̯͂̍̈́̇͆.̸̢̩̣̼̅͑̀̚̚ͅ [Headphones recommended for the best experience. Warning: May be disturbing to some listeners.]

There was no time for emotions for this Mali'aheral. Desimir immediately resorted to doing what he knew how to do best, work and research. For hours in the next couple of days, he would encircle the pool of dried blood that he was first to discover that dreadful day. He took measurements. Calculated angles and trajectories. Took samples of the blood and environment. Played out every possible scenario. All his analysis lead his to the same answer. " This make no sense. " He then found himself back in a familiar setting. A setting where it all began. A library. Books, after all, were his only reliable consultant in his father's absence. And they were always somewhere he knew to find them. Within their text there were no emotions to deceiver, just direct, logical facts about what is, isn't, and could be. But this time, their text offered no hope or angle of solution for Desimir, despite cross examining their words with his evidence. He grew agitated with each page he quickly turned. His table was already littered with books but he went to gather another stack within his arms. His steps were sluggish and unbalanced underneath not just the weight of the books but also the words he already knew they were going to read. His lips suddenly started to quiver and his eyes watered. " I have control over my emotions ! " He commanded to himself. He managed to will himself a few steps further. " My emotions.. are under.. my co- " He choked up again, worse this time. Desimir's knees buckled and he collapsed, buried under the sad and irrefutable truth. He sat there and balled up his fist to hit the temples of his head as hard as he could a until it felt numb. His breathing was shallow and rapid. " I am.. a scholar magi... Desimir Divadri... son of- " He tried to convince himself of who he was but couldn't stop his sobbing from interrupting. The traumatic memories with his father flooded his psyche and then collided with the good ones when finally accepted as his son. His hand grasped around the jewelry Sarrion made for him. It's protecting enchantment once made it glowed but it was now dull with him gone. He composed himself for a moment and tried to steel himself again. " He's my father... it's my duty.. I have to- " He stopped himself. His words felt hollow as all his teary vision could see was his sister yelling an echo of the same, exact words back at him and rejecting him from her life. He rocked himself back and forth and even tried to distract his mind from the pain with equations of equivalent exchange. " I-If two divided by 'p' plus.. 't'.. then 't' times 'p'.. p- p- p- o' please don't leave me, not again...! " Sat amidst the piles of books, Desimir hugged his legs and buried his face into them, weeping uncontrollably. Once again, Desimir was lost and alienated. Once again, he had no home. Once again, he felt useless with no purpose. Once again, he had nothing. Once again, he had no one left to turn to. Once again, he was alone.

I personally do not like the Dragur Library being at the Cloud Temple. By it being there, it further removes the library from the roleplaying player base, due to the Cloud Temple really not being a hub for much roleplay (Not that the Dragur library was either, but still...). Much of the roleplay is out there in the world, beyond the cloud temple, where I think the Dragur Library should be too like it was back in Axios, where it actually had some life to it by players running it completely themselves. Sure the library would have to be involved with outside threats and encounters along with the rest but that to me is much more enjoyable than the library being cast aside, barely visible, and empty at the cloud temple overseen by rarely present monks.

I have to say that this rewrite is very much clear and detailed to the point of describing the features and abilities of necromancy so that its easy to understand. The red-lines are also very well drawn out. This focuses down the art towards characteristics and capabilities that are appropriate to the theme of this magic while also still allowing the user room for a bit of imagination.

Ngl, I thought this was a medieval fantasy server...

OOC Username: _LegendaryLegend Discord: Legendary Legend#4872 RP Name: Desimir Zytiaear Age: ~70 Race: Mali’aheral Place of Residence: None Department: The Keepers of Scientia- Keeper The Professors of Academia- Student The Researchers of Incognita- Discipuli Other Organizations: The Enchantry Mage’s Guild Library of Dragur Holm Academy

+ 1

Geat guide. This kinda roleplay is something that is most enjoyable to expereicne if done right. I love the push for this being that I dont see this type of roleplay getting attension.

Scion ((OOC)) MC Name: _LegendaryLegend Discord:Legendary Legend#4872 Timezone:EST IC Name: Ryldfene Valor Race: High Elf/ Wood Elf Nation Allegiance (Only if you are a political member, this does not count citizenship): None. Age: 45 Can you fight?: Yes, I can fancy a sword. Do you know magic?: I hope one day to be able to, this is my current personal pursuit. Would you do work (Nexus professions) for the Scions?: I tinker and invent.

Updoot! -Edited Format -Edited Relations ~Added: - Heial - Geneviene - Ravondir - Eliza - Dael'ran - Nynaeve - Dewlox Let me know if I forgot anyone!

There we are! Formatting issue has finnaly been resolved. Oddly I just readjust the spacing in google docs. Didn't think this sort of thing woul be my first update but its a major enough change in my book, so.. Updoot!

Well Ryld was given this armor ooc & ic by other who bear the same uniform so you'll have to take it up with them: @Malgonious *shrug* And please this is not the appropriate place to discuss thing so rather pm))

Its doing the same thing in a new topic.... wtf are you talking about? O.o

((Yeah, I have /no/ idea what's going on with the formatting and how to fix it. Any recommendations?))