Veggie

Word would not reach Doko Aurelius of his old friend's passing, as no one ever bothered to write the elderly man a letter. Still, his claim of immortality held a bit more weight with each colleague's dying breath.

You can become Morbius? Why the hell am I playing humans then?

God damn best take in the thread so far

I'm gonna say it. In regards to everything I've ever done, seen, heard, said, or otherwise experienced. From when I was whitewashed from the orcs around late Axios - early Atlas, to when Rozania was bullied off the server before my very eyes. For the absolute lack of objectivity in staff decisions. For the utterly, repulsively toxic players that plague every single community on this server. And now, in regards to the way you can't even play the characters you'd like; I'm going to say it. Bruh.

Mellow reads the letter addressed to him, eyes glistening as his mouth forces itself into a painful smile. In his own form of mourning, he grabs a pen and paper, writing a response. Tears drop from Mellow's old face, staining the paper. Yet still, he smiles. Taking a candle and holding it under the letter, he whispers. "Mumo maiun ron, Delphi. Tell Marb we miss her."

Mellow stared up at the towering mountain stood before him. A light gust caused his hood to flap against his face. To say the mountain was overwhelming was an understatement - yet, to call it an obstacle was to miss the point entirely. The sun was still down, and without any other clear indication of time, Mellow checked his pocket watch. About three in the morning. He took a deep breath in as he shoved the watch back into his coat's inner pocket. If he was right about the direction he was facing - which would be north - the wind was coming in from the east. Neither with him nor against him. Pulling his gold-engraved, ebony wood mask from his coat, Mellow rested it gently upon his face. He pulled his scarf up over the front of it. The cold of the mountain was intimidating, but it was only a slight nip in the air from ground level. He resisted the urge to check his watch again, knowing hardly a minute had passed where he'd stood there, paralyzed by the nigh-insurmountable task he'd granted himself. "Come on, you bastard. You're not old yet, just move," Mellow told himself. With a deep, shaky breath, he took his first step. His body practically moved on autopilot, one foot following the other in a rhythmic drum muffled by the dirt below him. Wolves howled in the distance, rebellious youths stayed up vandalizing churches in the town nearest, but there Mellow was - making his way up a mountain when absolutely no one asked him to. A chill ran down his spine as he walked, and a thought sunk in. You know you might die, right? This isn't a safe journey. He shushed his inner monologue, not because he didn't care, but because he knew he'd care too much. Maybe he would be attacked by wolves, or fall off the mountain, or even freeze to death, but the monks would save him, right? Some part of him doubted that, but as comforting thoughts went, that was all he had. Why are you doing this, anyway? No one asked you to. No one benefits. Mellow disregarded the intrusive thoughts as they came. It was true - he didn't know why he was doing this. Only that he had to. He pulled his coat tighter as a particularly harsh gust of wind blew over him. Yet, he couldn't allow himself to be deterred. Eventually, he found his way into the snow. The cutoff from grass and dirt to pure white upon the ground was so sudden, in fact, it caught him entirely off guard. He pulled a match from his pocket, then lit the lantern hanging down from his oversized backpack, shutting it thereafter. As he shook the match's fire out, he saw something in the distance. A shallow cave, if you could even call it that. Just large enough to comfortably set up camp. He adjusted the bag weighing heavy on his back, then headed inside. Nothing but chilled stone and a quality of dampness in the air. Yet still, much better than taking a break in the snow. His back was set upon the ground, and a campfire was laid out, lit by his still-burning lantern. He could quite look forward to his food, given it was mostly just dried and salted meat, but he did have to eat. It was still a long journey ahead. A familiar face sat beside him as he heated up his meat. "What are you trying to prove, Mellow? Do you simply wish for others to know you're strong?" Mellow's hard-to-define, mind-confined doppelganger inquired, wrapping his arms around one knee while the other leg laid straight across the ground. Mellow took a bite of his meat with closed eyes, almost as if to ignore Smiley, but his response did come eventually. "I think you know I don't have the answer to that. We're of one brain. A person and a half, if you will," he responded. There was a certain comfort in having Smiley there, yes, but the deep-prodding questions were not entirely welcomed. "I'm aware. Are you aware that if you die, we both die? Yet, you're risking that and you don't even know why?" Smiley awaited an answer. None came. "Mellow... Doko. Do you even know who you are?" Mellow flinched at the use of his real name. He meant to shoot a glare at Smiley, yet his expression was tired, his eyes were soft. "I have a feeling you're about to tell me." "No. No one can tell you that but you. Yet... you let them." Mellow finished his meat and stood up. He turned around briefly to grab his backpack, and when he looked back to the fire, Smiley was gone. He decided it best to keep moving forward. As he came further up the mountain, the wind harshly flapped the ginger's hood against his face. His mask protected him from actually getting hurt, but he could feel it indeed. He stood still and lifted his mask for a moment, taking a far-too-cold swig of vodka from his canteen. Unfortunately, he couldn't bring water, he knew it'd freeze. As he picked up walking again, he felt as though someone was marching alongside him. His aunt Marb. His dead aunt Marb. "Doko... You have grown into a warrior. I wish I could have been there more. To watch you grow, to see you learn. Fen odo, my nephew." Doko sniffled as he saw her, and immediately attempted to swoop her up in a hug. Yet, she was not truly there. Not in any corporeal sense. "Aunt Marb, I... It's been so hard. Everyone expects me to know what I'm doing, but I don't. I never have." She shook her head, the red and blue over her right and left eyes respectively glinted by the light of his lantern. "You don't give yourself enough credit. So maybe I set up the land deal with Sarissa. Rozania. You were the one who followed through. You acted when it would have been so easy to give up. My pride for you is boundless." The two kept walking side by side in silence. It's not that Doko didn't want to speak, but he couldn't manage a single word between his sobs. His tears dripped down his face, absorbing into his mask before they got a chance to freeze. His mask, of course, was used to this by now. While he may have been freezing on the outside, seeing his aunt one last time gave him a powerful inner warmth that fought the chill fiercely. And still, Doko continued, even when he could no longer see or feel her walking beside him. He came to the peak of the mountain, dipping a toe in the metaphorical grave. He felt weak, his legs wanted to give out. But ahead, there was another figure. Medium-length ginger hair. A dress shirt with rolled sleeves. Leather gloves with light plating on the fingers to protect from poorly-aimed hammer strikes. A golden glint set upon his goggles from the rising sun. Doko removed his mask to look clearly at the man. "Mellen?" The figure turned around to face Doko. He looked exactly as his grandma had described. "You certainly took your time." He turned to face the rising sun once more. Doko walked up to stand beside him, feeling a gentle breeze roll over his face and blow his hood down. "I've tried so hard to be like you. The way you... helped people. They actually cared about you. No- they still do. I just- I don't understand." Mellen chuckled, setting his hand on Doko's shoulder. He could really feel it there, even if there was no weight, no pressure from his hand. "No amount of effort can make you someone you're not. You know the tale of Amdalla? I'm sure it's made its way down to you." Doko nodded slowly. Amdalla was a figure of dah'Rini mythology. He was said to have made his own journey up a grand mountain, only to slay the great beast that sat atop it. "You're a lot like him in a lot of ways. You're a warrior at heart, but much like Amdalla, you don't want to fight. You were simply born into it." Doko wiped a tear from his eye, sitting down with his legs hanging over the edge of the mountain. The height of it was even more staggering from up top. "But I want to stop. I'm just so tired." "The curse of our bloodline. I've never known an Aurelius to be without sleeping ails." He sat down beside Doko, keeping an arm around him. "We're fighters, but... We all have our moment of breaking. When it all just becomes too much. And I've also never known an Aurelius to survive that." "So there will come a time when I can't take it anymore... and die?" Mellen shook his head. "That moment already came when you started up the mountain. Yet, look around. You made it to the top alive." "Then... What do I do? Was I not supposed to survive the trip?" "You're simply of a greater will than your ancestors. I'm no exception, my moment came far too soon. As for what you do now..." He stood up once more. "Rise, Amdalla." And rise, he did.

Mellow basks in the Holy Light of GOD, for he hath become saved. Three prayers minimum would be needed to give thanks for such kindness from His Church.

Mellow salutes the notice with two fingers. Somehow, the sense of looming dread felt comforting. Like the world would be ending. "We lost another good one today. Take care... friend."

Bips most certainly would attend! After all, what's a sleepover without two Sprites?

Mellow took a deep breath in as he stared at the empty bottles before him. His shirt was half-tucked, his hair looked as if it'd never been brushed, and it was clear at a glance that he had no clue where he was. Haense? Norland? Yong Ping would certainly make sense, given the distance - had he even left Sarissa? Never again with this kind of thing, he knew this was unhealthy and frankly unsafe. He stumbled away from the bar and out into the cobbled streets of anywhere. It was nighttime, there was a nip in the air. A soft breeze blew over him, to which he shivered and crossed his arms. Now, how do you find your way home when you're too drunk to remember where you are? The answer is actually quite simple, you get a friend to take you. As such, a soon-to-be friend called over to him. "Mellow, you utter buffoon," a familiar voice called over. Too familiar. "Who said that?" Mellow looked around for the source, only to lock eyes with the spitting image of himself. Well- himself when he wears his mask, at least. Even in his blurred vision, he could make out the intricacies of such a familiar item. The doppelganger spoke back. "Think of me as a friend. The only one you've got at the moment." Mellow rubbed his eyes once, twice, three times. Yet the man was still there. Focusing in on him, he noted the long hair with a short ponytail in the back, the outfit - albeit, less scuffed than his own - was the same as well. "Are you real? A-are you me?" "As real as the day you were born. I'm not you, but we were once one. It's not much of a business persona anymore, is it?" He took a shaky breath, exhaling fog into the open air. Drinks don't make this happen, right? But the only other explanation is that, in some capacity, it's real. "You're s-saying that you're... Mister Smile? But that's- How?" "Two things. One, yes, I'm that Mister Smile. You let yourself be geistreached so your friends would be spared. That's when I showed up. Second, you really don't need to speak out loud. I'm only in your head, after all." Mellow could hardly believe what he was hearing. Yet, he did have vague memories of that, and that's around the time people claimed his mask was haunted. So that would mean- "I can hear your thoughts, you know. Yes, anytime you wore the mask between then and now, I took over. Sometimes, I stayed regardless of the mask. Now, I need you to trust me on one thing." "A-and what-" Mellow caught himself speaking aloud, then resumed speaking in the safety of his own mind. "What might that be?" "I am not your enemy. I'm here to help. With the clarification I can take over whenever I need, I'm still going to ask permission. Let me take over." "Just- just like that? Why? How long?" "Long enough that you don't die in the street. Deal?" Smile stuck his hand out to shake, which Mellow tried to accept. In that instant, when his real, meaty hand collided with the entirely mental one before him, they switched places. Smile was in full control. He muttered a single sentence under his breath. "Let's get you home."

Mellow read the missive and sighed. Looks like the Aurelius tradition of being killed by lovers continues...

King William Buckfort, first of your name, I am honored and humbled to have been given this opportunity, not just to govern my people on your land, but to truly have a home there. Your people, the Sarissans I've grown to love, are forever welcome within the homes of the dah'Rini. Should there be any way I could pay you back, don't hesitate to say the word. And to all the Buckforts, a message; by hearts, we are connected. By souls, we are one. I graciously accept this housing, and I look forward to a long history with Sarissa. Glory to the Maiun, glory to Sarissa. Natshen Mellow Lumuni dah'Rin.

Mellow would look the poster over a few times, committing the details to memory. "Not usually my thing, but... Sarissa forever."

Walden sharpened his greatsword. "Y'don' take a wee babeh an' ge' away wi' et. I'll make sure o' tha'." He spat on the ground and lifted his sword for inspection. Perfectly sharp.

Ah, I didn't know there was a separate sub-forum for cultures Is there a way to move the same post there rather than reposting? Also, thank you for the kind words (:

Maiun dah'Rin People of the Desert Among the more obscure cultures found in humans is that of the Maiun dah'Rin, or dah'Rin(i) for short. This translates to People (Rin) of the (dah') Desert (Maiun). As the name would suggest, they originate from and primarily inhabit deserts. As one might expect, this harsh environment in combination with prolonged isolation from other cultures has lead to a hardy, yet upbeat people with unique traditions. With written documents proving their presence as far back as Axios, and speculation of their history reaching back much further, it's a wonder they've kept their presence so unknown all this time. One could attribute this to isolationism, remote locations, or even being mistaken for other groups, but the true answer has not been found as those who'd know have all passed. In recent times, however, they've made themselves and their ways as known as they can in the face of being lost to history. No known settlements remain of the Maiun dah'Rin, so they assert themselves anywhere that welcomes them. While their own language's alphabet and writing are illegible to most, they still make and publish stories in Common with the hope someone will hear their pleas for preservation. Only very recently has it seemed that their wish will come true. Now when you see those strangers in masks, lanky humans with odd accents, you may come to find you know of their kind. A resilient people who've clung onto the very last strings of identity and finally started pulling themselves back up. Names & Masks To the dah'Rin, a mask is just as good as (if not better than) a name. While multiple people can share a name, or even all three names, no two people can have a truly identical mask. Along with being distinct, the mask of a riun (singular of rin) will most always have patterns and colors denoting specific meanings. For example, a rugged wooden mask with red paint on the left side can convey that one is a wanderer who's used to living rough, but still holds love in their heart for everyone around. A mask of ebony with intricate gold patterns would show the wearer as important, but not for combat reasons, likely being some form of leader. These masks are to be removed only when necessary or alone. This is not to say names aren't important, however. All three names of a riun are important for different reasons. A first name is shared with everyone, and is the name a riun will refer to themselves by most often. A middle name is rarer to go by, but is usually used when two people of the same first name are together or when a riun dislikes their first name. A last name, however, is considered very intimate. This is generally to be shared with those that a riun dearly trusts or even loves. An important bit to note is that one would not be called by their last name unless they're alone with someone who knows it. To share someone else's last name is to betray the love and trust they've shown you. To take it as your own is to embrace it wholly. Mask Meanings To expand on what a mask may mean and why, we need only look to three things. Color, material, and adornments. To start with, colors often share similar meanings to what other descendants give them, but there are some noteworthy exceptions. For example, while red may denote passion or anger, the most common use is for love. Orange is linked to enthusiasm, a love for life rather than individuals. Yellow and gold are notably distinct, with yellow being happiness and gold being importance. Green can indicate a nurturing nature, harmony, and even safety. Blue can be freedom, intelligence, or protection, with the first being the typical use case. Purple is often linked with magic, inner peace, and wisdom. As materials go, these are usually picked by convenience or aesthetics rather than significant meaning. When a material is chosen for meaning, it usually coincides with the color. However, the material also gives some insight into the wearer's lifestyle. Wood may be used for travelers who want something that will last long without maintenance. Porcelain would be more indicative of a person who's settled down and decided on something that looks nice rather than being durable. Rarer and more sought-after materials may show someone to be important, or that they've done a great service for their community. Giving someone a new mask is not taken lightly. As said before, it's as personal as a name or face, with the added importance of symbolism. Adornments can be anything from engravings, to shape, to extra pieces added on. These are commonly given meanings by the owners themselves, but an aggressive shape can denote a warrior, and gold engravings usually mean someone of high status. If you're curious about all the intricacies of someone's mask, it's best to ask! Music & Food Food and music are hard to ignore when addressing the more playful side of Maiun culture. Those who dedicate themselves to a craft don't spend their whole lives perfecting it like those of more competitive cultures might. Rather, these rin will use their skills to impress their friends, family, and even strangers with the main goal of making them happy. This isn't to say they'll be any worse on average than those of other cultures, but there will be fewer who lean so heavily into perfecting a skill. As for the sounds of music, a riun will most often play upbeat, drum-heavy songs with the intent to get others dancing. While it's not uncommon for these musicians to be playing throughout any normal day, they most often gather and play together during festivals. In fact, in the absence of any musicians or even untrained volunteers, a festival will be outright delayed until at least one is found. This is most often a lack of people able to fill the role rather than those willing, as bad music is not judged. Even the poorest artist is encouraged to continue. The topic of food actually shares quite a few parallels with music. It's not one's skill as a chef that determines whether their food is eaten, it's a mere matter of who's around to eat it. Even if the meal should make you gag and vomit, you still turn right back around to the chef and tell them what they did right, and how you'd change it for next time. This is likely what caused a shift in dah'Rini meals compared to other human meals - they often make things like cinnamon pork, honeyed vegetables, baked fruits, and many more similar meals. As for drinks, however, they most often drink water, fruit and cactus juices, and wines. These aren't held to the same level of importance as food, as whatever is available will be happily accepted, but it's not uncommon for a riun to go out of their way to find a drink that complements their meal. If a meal is sweet, drink something bitter. If a meal is savory, drink something with a kick. Language With the decay of full-blooded Maiun dah'Rin, the full scope of their language has died out, but that doesn't mean they don't speak what they have left. Even those who speak full Common usually speak in the third person or sprinkle in dah'Rini words and phrases. However, it's important to note that dah'Rini sentence structure is much more free-form than Common. Not only that, but the few who can write fluently in dah'Rini will go right to left, bottom to top. This is due to ancient dah'Rini laying bricks, carving words in until they run out of space, and then laying the next layer to not waste materials. From this came the ongoing tradition of grand story walls, sometimes integrated into buildings, but just as often standing solitary for all to see. Dictionary can be found here. Appearances A dah'Rini can be of any human skin tone, and very commonly end up freckled. Their hair tends to lean blonde, with even darker-haired rin having a golden shine in the sun. Their eyes can be of any color a human's can, but most common is green. It's less common for a riun to be bulky compared to their fellow humans due to the scarcity of food in the desert, but in recent times, most rin end up nomads or living in other cities. This is completely and entirely attributed to the dwindling population and dying traditions they have. On top of that, there are very few full-blooded Maiun dah'Rin to be found. Clothing-wise, even those who end up in cities will at least keep their mask in their possession, if not on their face. Nomads in particular will also stick to clothing of their people, being loose, flowy clothes with lots of airflow. These are reminiscent of real-world Middle Eastern and Central Asian garbs. Some will adorn their clothes with neat patterns or fancy colors, but most are happy with plain robes with hoods and/or hats of straw. Outsiders The dah'Rini are very friendly to outsiders, even welcoming them with open arms to join their encampments and traditions. While this has done well for what little reputation they have, it also means they've been raided on multiple occasions by those they let into their homes. Even in these times, when a riun takes down an invader, it is their duty to give them proper medical care and keep them alive, regardless of the damage the invader has caused. Should their enemies die on Maiun land, they are still given a respectful prayer and proper burial, elsewise a sendoff to their homeland. OOC This is an open culture! Anyone at all can make a Maiun dah'Rin character, and for a full-blooded dah'Rini, you should set your race as Farfolk or just Human. How involved your character is with these traditions is completely up to you! However, it's encouraged to be mindful and respectful of other players OOCly while playing an dah'Rini character, in part because reputation is important early on, but also because you should do that anyway. There are no dah'Rini settlements and there likely won't be unless there's a much larger playerbase than I'm expecting. However, should this be the case, it will be a large encampment in the desert to best fit the lore provided. The dah'Rini dictionary is still being worked on, but there should be more than enough words to spice up your roleplay. Make as many new phrases as you'd like - and remember, the sentence structure is more free-form than English! Context helps determine what you're saying (such as "Ron do'pan," which can either mean you idiot or you're an idiot depending on the context). This page will more than likely be edited! Don't be mean or I will cry. Consider this a threat.

And once again, Cillo and Mellen could meet in the skies above, sharing stories like old times.

Best of luck on your travels, friend o7

In the fine city of Talon's Grotto, midday in the tavern, a wooden man took a seat. Despite the large grin carved into the mannequin he near-constantly possessed, it was clear he was hurting. A pain caused by a life and death of hardship after hardship, of respite only paving the way for further hurt. He wasn't loud, he didn't cry - he simply ordered a tea he couldn't taste and didn't need, talked to the two friends he had present, and fell limp. The specter's calming presence soon faded, leaving only the limp mannequin as a sore reminder of his existence. And in that seat, in the Talon's Grotto Alley Alehouse, he kept sitting. Almost as if he'd pop right back up at any second and ask for another. But he didn't. He couldn't. And there he sat. Mellen Aurelius 1769 FA - 27 SA

Upon seeing the missive, Mellen could only offer condolences from afar. "Rather attend the wedding of someone I know than the memorial of someone I don't. Rest easy, little guy."

would absolutely chomp one as salacia +1

fite me u wont

is propaganda okay if it’s for a good cause? if there’s only one Marb present at a time, how could you hope to make an army? how do i make a good looking skin?

did the marbs serve their purpose?