Twofeather

honestly reminds me of a similar rp post by one purple olog

Thoughts without giving any constructive criticism is just wasted time. what kills the server most is constant nostalgia from older members. “This isn’t how so and so ran things” “This time way back then was the best moments in the server” yet to the uninitiated who never got to experience any of this. Everything looks to be much of the same, at least to me. All that’s changed is who’s doing it and with what are they doing it. Oren is still around in practice, druids still erp, halflings still do as they do, and new players still bumble about.

+1 long read and well written, gives a lot of utility over basic combat abilities

Valkriin, the elf. The supposed 'aheral, sifted through the debris of the home. He had followed the blood trail near the caves in Sutica. It had been purely out of curiosity. "What a mystery," He thought with mild joy and he strode along the path. He was then brought to a home, one belonging to the abode.. Of Hareven, and Quillian. Quillian. He eyed the name. Memories, of wood elves and what they represented to the void born man. He shook off such mortal emotions. And opened the door. --meta free line of a time lapse, filled with gore, destruction, and corpses-- Valkriin sifted through the remains, the debris. The things that someone. No. Something wanted to hide. He made note of irregularities and most of all. Let it all soak in. The blood, the bodies. The smell. He felt nothing through it all, until he saw the destroyed corpse of a mother, stabbed and desecrated in front of a crib. Whatever had done this needed to die. It needed to be put to death. Something awoke in Valkriin in that house, among the death and gore. The past didn't matter, whatever he had thought of Quillian didn't matter. This was a monster that needed to be put in it's place. And with that, he dusted himself off. And went to clean the smell that followed him out of that fetid cave.

Zbyszek drug himself through the jungle, having already nearly died to frostbite and other creatures of the wall he had come to far to turn back now. he grunted, pulling himself through the jungle terrain. "storming.. where are you.." the sounds of frogs came from all around, making the entrance hard to pinpoint. after a particularly steep hill he pulled himself to the top, panting. he looked up.. and into a cavern entrance. he chuckled, pulling himself up. "there you are." he then limped further and down into the open maw of the cave...

Zbyszek plucked a flyer from a wall, and began to skim through it. he nodded at a few spots, but for the most part his face remained darkened. after a moment he crumpled it and tossed it beneath his boot. "and what do these undead, dark magic practitioners want for us? sure ain't long lives and happiness. two faces, same coin" he then tramped on towards the tavern

Ashkii, the glorious grey kha begins to roll around on the ground in laughter. He rose his head to look at the poster, before losing himself once again.

Ashkii remains face down in the ground, waiting for it all to end

Ashkii leaned forward in front of his fire, a stick held firmly in his left hand. he'd take out a small buckskin knife and begin to whittle. "waht dark times these ahre, when tha nations ahre warrin' there ees nu need awf any conflict such aws this un. trully ah shame when reason ees thrown out tha window fur petty squabbles. war ees nevah tha answer, but these men an their black hearts. nu, they cannawt be persuaded tu accept peace." the massive kha would toil over the carvings, the result something truly beautiful to behold. "eet is nu mattah. let them destroy each uthah." He then tossed the stick and carvings all into the fire, sending sparks into the night sky.

Do'Ashkii finds himself gazing upon the piece of paper, his eyes squinting to read the words. "one can ownly wondah why tha 'mighty' ascended mageek men don' jus' take ca'ah awf thees king themselves, after awl, ees taht naht they'ah jobs?" The mighty kharajyr would then turn the missive over and gaze upon the hammer. he'd remark only with a grunt and a shrug, before padding away.

"These past few days, have been a waking nightmare. but what of the ideals? they have left you barren, void of anything worthwhile. but, a greater purpose? all of your work has been for naught." The Chronicler, Prodayo, sat by the road staring down it. what was that in the distance? he could see... a figure. one he hadn't seen since he started out on the roads. she called to him now louder then ever. He looked down at his hands, callused and worn from constant use, his clothes worn and threadbare from the road. "has this really been, for nothing?" he looked up at the road again, the figure was closer. He looked down at his worn boots. they were well taken care, and yet the road had still taken the toll on them. slowly reaching into his jacket he retrieved his book. It was a small sheaf of papers bound with leather. he sat there by the road and stared at his life's work. And he saw. He walked into Haense, a small town at the time in Axios. he spoke with Otto, and the Marshall, who's name had long since left his mind. They asked who he was, and he told them. They asked if he would join the guard, and he said he didn't. "I don't kill anymore and besides, I made a promise." what if he had said yes? what would have happened then? "it is not the destination, but the journey," Prodayo shook his head. why did the ideals still come to his mind, they had done nothing but ruined him, anything he could have amounted to, lost. Perhaps he was being too hard on himself. he looked back up the road, and saw her standing there. he felt so weak. his wounds were healed though? "Blood hemorrhage son, should a person loose too much blood the last thing that can save them is a cleric, if you can't get one, then say your prayers and leave them behind," the voice of Prodayo's father came unbidden to him. He'd chuckle weakly, seeing that death was finally going to reunite him with his wife. he looked back up at the road, and he saw her face. A weak smile appeared on his face, as he raised a hand towards her. He could see her smile, and reaching her hand out to take his. His vision began to darken at the edges, and he started. He shook his head and brought his hand to his mouth, whistling. He waited for a few minutes, his vision beginning to fade as his head began to slump. "Please.. Prodayo.. just rest, you've worked so hard.." her voice rang in his his ear. he looked up and saw her kneeling next to him. "there, is but one thing I have to do." he whispered. she smiled at him, waiting patiently. he looked up at the sky, now a stark blue color. A few moments more and a flurry of feathers signaled his companions arrival. He reached for the book in his lap, and held it out to the large raven "Take this.. to Hareven, old friend." The raven tilted it's head slightly but complied, grabbing the book by it's spine and flapping off. He let his arm fall to his side, he was just too tired to keep it up. he looked around him one last time, relishing the open road, and the clear sky. Before he closed his eyes, and ran with the wind.

we, are the Chroniclers -- x -- ~ Chronicler Order ~ Founded on axios circa 1637 -- x -- ~Purpose~ The order is based around the collection of knowledge and distributing them to the populace via story telling. Imagine a bards guild of sorts. -- x -- ~Lore~ -- x -- ~Rules~ -- X -- ~Ideals~ -- x -- ~OOC~ -- X -- ~ways of sign up~ If you want more information or have questions, contact The Chronicler at Twofeather#9468 *these rules are subject to change or be modified in the future, and the ideals are subject to be expanded on or added to.

Out-Of-Character Information What’s your Minecraft account name?: TwofeatherQ What timezone are you in?: UTC How old are you?: 17 Are you aware the content and interactions on this server may not be appropriate for children under the age of 13? (You won’t be denied for being under 13): aye Have you read and agreed to the rules?: aye What’s the rule you agree with the most?: I find a keen liking to staying in character, it's hard to find anything that enforces that rule Are there any rule(s) that confuse you or don’t make sense? (if so we can help clear it up!): I have read through the whole list and find the rules well laid out How did you find out about Lord of the Craft?: I was looking for a hardcore roleplay server for any game I had and this one came up as the best. Link(s) to past Whitelist Applications (If applicable): N/a Have you logged into the server yet? (You cannot be whitelisted without logging in at least once): I have What is Roleplaying?: creating a character and living in their shoes What is Metagaming?: using knowledge that you know but your character doesn't to progress What is Power-emoting (Powergaming)?: forcing your actions on another character In-Character Information Character’s name: Prodayo Character’s sex: Male Character’s race: Human, Highlander Character’s age: 19 Biography: Prodayo's parents were born on the tide of the revival following Zitoun's Revenge. They were a poor family and married young, and had Prodayo's older sister soon after. Poverty forcing them from their humble life they signed onto a trade caravan, Prodayo's father acting as a cheap source of protection. Seven years later Prodayo was born on the roads. During an unexciting journey bearing cheap goods tragedy befell the caravan. Prodayo's sister was killed, when he was only at the age of two, too young to truly remember her. Prodayo's father suffered from horrible guilt following His sister's death, and devoted all of his attention solely on his duty. Prodayo's mother grew distant and quiet. when Prodayo was a boy his only tutors where the merchants on the road who told them of their homelands and the stories that hark from each. These tales of Teutons and Dwarves sparked a fire in Prodayo. To travel to distant lands and meet exotic people. This spark stayed with him even when his father tried to train him with the spear and shield. Prodayo's fate lied not with the caravans but on the roads of far away lands, and with the sole idea of attaining knowledge. Ambitions: A story Teller Strengths/Talents: Prodayo is a charismatic individual having been with a multitude of crowds. Weaknesses/Inabilities: Prodayo's daydreaming during the practice of arms with his father led him to this moment, but hopefully it won't lead to repercussions. Appearance: Prodayo is a tall and hearty individual, standing at 6'2" he has surprisingly dark hair for his race and skin, hinting at maybe a strain of farlander in his parentage. Skin: