Astrophysical

Lectors (Very good)

Skin Name - Claymore Bid - $25 USD Discord - cosmiverse

As it was written...

As a co-writer of animism, I am not biased at all. I will admit that animism has its flaws. For the main issue, we wanted a ritual heavy magic for shamanism that unfortunately forces players to get multiple animists in one place. This however became the biggest hurt for the magic as the amount of player animists needed to gather in one place is almost impossible. On the other side, I have heard plenty and plenty enough that animism has no combat capacity and its useless as a magic. To be frank Im tired of hearing it. This only compiles the main issue of the lack of players despite its easy to learn process (even if the lore is somewhat difficult to read). If Elementalism could come back without all the powergaming capabilities we wanted to avoid with animism, that would be great. However as it stands people seem to want old elementalism as I have seen, which is not possible in this current state of the server.

Lector

no, god no.

So true, bestie.

“Nuh-uh!” a foul smelling chef known as Broth states as he reads over the missive, getting grease all over the page. He takes a moment to think “Do we?!” He turns to his brother in arms @_NotChris and shows the missive, practically forcing it on his face.

A Chef’s Plight [!] The following is posted across the lands of Aevos along taverns and Restaurants. I cannot stand silent any longer about my sorrowful tale after catching word of our former King’s rejection of humanity. The man you know as Aleksander II is a cruel, evil, and no-good villain, as you all are aware. However, I plead for any fellow men and women of the taverns and restaurants of the Kingdom Hanseti-Ruska and Aevos to heed my warning! Under no circumstance should Aleksander II be allowed within your fine establishments! It was a cold and stormy night in the Kingdom. A blizzard has taken hold of the region, burying everything in a blanket on powdery snow. After a slow day, I was about to close my restaurant, sweeping the floors, cleaning the dirty dishes, my fellow workers should know. Just as I turned the sign to close, I heard a loud and forceful knock on my front door. I jumped with fear as if GOD had taken my soul! As I was about to announce we were closed, the door burst open, letting a cold wind blow through the foyer! Within the portal stood none other than Aleksander II and two guards who oozed a smell of rotten eggs and meat. The king demanded that I serve him, which I should have refused given the time, but it was an honor that royalty himself has asked for my food! Of course, I sat him down at the largest table in my establishment and asked what he desired. Aleksander II then turned to me, and gave a malicious grin that would send a shiver down any good man’s spine. He then snapped his fingers as the guards put a bloodied sack on the table, opening it to reveal two little babes! I was shocked and almost released my stomach upon the floor. The evil customer saw my displeasure and let out a cackle which echoed through my restaurant. I wanted to deny his request, but his guards looked menacingly at me, threatening my life. I had no choice. I went to the kitchen with the two children and came up with a plan. I would give the children a rightful burial, but to do so I needed a replacement. I frantically searched the kitchen until I found a rotten shank of lamb. I hid the poor corpses within my storage, saying my prayers to GOD for not only those poor children in front of me, but for my own life. I cooked the rotten lamb upon the stove, spicing it as if it were any other meal. I served the replacement before the crown, he observed it carefully for a second before taking his utensils into hand, cutting into the flesh. I was sweating heavily, as if a raincloud was over my head. Then he took one bite. He chewed and chewed before spitting it out at my face! “Vy call this a meal? the royal monster barks as he slams his fist upon the table, “I shall close your restaurant so that you never cook again!” I was ruined! The guards then grappled onto me and tossed me out of my own establishment and home into the unforgiving blizzard. I thank GOD to this day that I have lived to see another day, yet I cannot say the same for the children… For those who have read this, I thank you for listening and heeding. May he never step foot within a tavern or restaurant again! By, A Concerned Chef

“Nub wae. Thiz cannub be real!” a shambling corpse chef, known as Broth, comments as he chews upon the sinewed bones of a random descendant. “How putrid! Zehahaha!”

Name: Zabub "The Fisherking" of Clan Lur Race: Uruk Shaman Class: Animist and Farseer Teacher: Kybal of Clan Azog

A demon of purple slime catches wind of the notice, and by catching wind, the wind blew the flier in front of his face. Perhaps from the fliers @ThatFunkyBunch was handing out. He pulls the now sticky missive from his visage peers over it for a moment before simply saying, "Bah! Too many lines and fancy words!"

*A scream is heard from the depths of the orcish capital* L E C T O R S !

Knight: "Hey, I'm going to spook test you!" Me: *logs out* Honestly, I personally find aurum testing, salt testing, fire testing, and whatever an essential thing to the server, but it is executed in a very lazy way. As Unwillingly said these people who want interaction with villans are the same people that try to make their communities a "safe-zone." Due to this, darkspawn won't interact with that community. So who is really at loss here? I found the best way to avoid these roleplayers is to not include a ca tag since shift right click meta is very real, and blend in with large groups (if you even can with all the settlements right now).

It’s so over…

Zabub hears the missive announced to the horde. He stood with his purple eyes wide and softly comments in suprise, "Da Rex did WUB to da gate?! By da zpiritz, hi iz juzt dat powerful!"

This is the second time you have posted this without consent of the authors. We have stated that this is not ready. Please do not do this again.

Zabub'Lur, destroyer of worlds, overlord of darkness, slayer of all things good, looks at the missive and bobs his head a couple times, taking a sip of his EVILLY BREWED tea. "Madoc iz a bub'hozh friend, hi will certainly be a fit for the position dat haz been zorely lacking for agez." The orc sets his tea aside and rubs his hands, plotting something probably evil!

A very EVIL Orc shaman looks at the missive with utter disgust and disdain. "How DARE they put uz zhamanz on da zame level az magez!" he grumbles as he says a bit more quietly "Though a pointy hat zoundz... hozh."

A very EVIL Orc, overlord of darkness, destroyer of worlds, prepares to dump copious amounts of red oil into a void mage bath house...

When Legacy Fails Zabub awoke to an unfamiliar sky, an overcast of dark clouds in purple and black hues. Although he was prone upon dry dirt, the Shaman could see a grand castle before him. The construction was of gothic architecture, yet impossibly tall, reaching the malicious clouds. Dark stone bricks, some of them cracking, make up the impossible structure. Zabub takes a moment to lift himself and get his bearings. He clearly was not in the Iron Uzg. The courtyard was dotted with dead trees which gnarled and twisted in mind warping proportions. Leafless bushes line the perimeter, ceasing at a colossal gateway to allow entry into the castle. The orc approaches the gate, pushing upon the splintering wood to open it. The foyer was just just as gloomy as the outside, it was dimly lit with candles sparsely illuminating the walls which direct towards a grand staircase. Following from the bottom top, Zabub’s eyes meet with a short shadowed figure upon the apex of the steps, glowing crimson eyes peering downwards at the shaman. The figure spoke a word of power, “Dorog-lat” (Surrender). Zabub fell to his knees, a great pressure overwhelming his very body and soul. The figure descends the stairs, stopping in front of the pained orc. A shadowed claw extends towards the orc’s torso, delving deep into Zabub’s being. “Lupub-lat izishu, snaga. Kul-lat izub agh izub ashuk!” You will pray to me, servant. You are mine and mine alone! The orc’s mind shatters, he was powerless before the spirit before him. The shaman’s head throbs with unbearable pain, visions of madness overcome him swirling with a single name: VENAKU. Memories begin to fade, twisting and morphing into mere fabrications. The mark was left upon the shaman’s soul, one of madness and mania. Zabub then awoke a different person, the wound upon his soul festering, digging deeper. With the last remnants of his sanity he whispers: “I am no servant.”

Prophecy of Molted Skin [This post follows all rules and redlines of Prophecy lore, anyone who holds the ability to see visions can peer onto this prophecy.] The stale air reeks of sulfur as pitch darkness still blinds your sight. It is painful to breathe, air chokes you like water, drowning your lungs. You gasp and grasp at the very thing choking you, it hurts, it burns! You crawl, nails scratching weakly upon a mountain of broken bone and rotting flesh. A whispered voice echoes through the darkness, yet it is painful to hear: Lo, upon sulfured winds doth he arise. Borne of flame and malice, a cacophony of hatred. Once upon a throne which all men aspire, To a throne which all lords despair. From the bodily soil erupts a colossal throne, long stairs meandering to the seat. You ascend the long stairway, crawling at a snail’s pace. Feelings of hatred overcome you, yet no cause or reason. You still climb, yet the throne lies abandoned. The voice returns, your head feels like it is going to split: Lo, upon wings of sin doth he fly. A molting of skin, unsightly yet divine. From a cocoon of mortal wishes he springs, To soar beyond the curtain of the world. You tire, yet you are near the peak, you must go on! The overwhelming scent of sulfur drowns every sense. You did it, you grasp the arms of the seat, And you sit upon the throne. The voice returns one last time, yet there is no pain left to be felt: Lo, upon salvation doth he leave. Yet save thy gentle tears, children. Do not weep upon loss, But smile.