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About Boruto

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    Reiters on the Storm

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  1. Boruto

    How’d you get your Username?

    Feb. 16, 2015, rumours were surfacing about this anime sequel called “Boruto”, of which the name I found kinda ridiculous. So, my 13 y.o. self trying to be funny, decided to rename my mineman to that before anything “Boruto” was announced or official at all. Several months later, an animated movie called Boruto comes out, and it was no longer a meme. I’d like to change my mcname, but it’s too costly for me to just throw away. I get offered hundreds
  2. I concur in that halflings should get land
  3. Boruto


    Noble & Gentry Registration Name: Barian aff Vallberg (Boruto) Age: 22 Title: The king-hit specialist Holdings: Vrakai Heritage: Vrakaian & Vallberg heritages Events: J o u s t i n g and duel
  4. Boruto

    [Bounty] Raide of Ashford

    Adalbert, the fat, pot-bellied rotund, ran a clean silken cloth over his arbalest, flicking through the poster with a loathly glower gauzing upon his scurvy, dour facials. For a moment, the man, a neurotic hellion and a wretch, a brigand, still wilting off the exhaustion of their past endeavour against the thing, grew tetchy and distraught, quick to rip off what abject, monstrous illustration of the accursed devil had stained his sights. “A gross, atrocious clod, worth of being numbered among the beasts – yet, whoever alleges the strength to overpower this thing, shall have as much success as a dog biting through steel. Abhorred. Vile. The devil must speak through him.” and at that, he spat a mouthful of mucus, leaving to seek out his evenly worn comrades.
  5. if you confuse me for phil, lol ok you’re not epic

    1. Show previous comments  1 more
    2. KeatonUnbeaten


      @Pond i see phil is embarassing himself online again smh

    3. The_Broken_God


      I hate you you Greek mookazoid

    4. Boruto


      i hate you too you... android

  6. Judging from my OOC interactions with you, you’re a well-meant guy for the most part Jondead. But alas, I feel like you’re too blithesome and sympathetic for a Game Moderator. A position which demands an indelicate and hard-hitting character.
  7. What lies beyond the sky? A recurring question. In fact, so frequent that the vast amassment of men had ceased to think of it. No longer was the stranger set in earthen land. It was then a deep abyss, a chasm. It was hell in its fire. An ethereal adumbration of darkness, formed before him. Uncanny; but not as strange as the creation that had cast it. With a ghastly head, buried in a slack veil meant to conceal the abomination it was. Anorexic extremities, tensed tight on what surely resembled a scythe. A well-known one at that, retold in fictions, covered with spots of pastly carnage, wherein each speck lived to tell a different tale. As the beast edged closer, the deadened moans became imminent, plainer… Beyond the raven shafts of midnight, glew the enigmatic substances termed "suns", or “stars”. There, they were of varying heaps and forms, eddying, twisting, and churning amidst themselves in a tremendous battle that was too stolid and much too large for the descendant mind to speculate. The glistening of the stars were beguiling; they flashed and glittered apart, and yet eventually wound back like scoundrels skulking away in the depths of umbrae. Still, regardless of what asteroid, what planet, or what galaxy any petty essence may have been on, those ardent beams charging across the heavens in diffusing violet streaks constantly relished. Yet, who would’ve ever thought of visiting such dark, harrowing bodies of the heavens? The silence, the everlasting serenity of a grey, undulating atmosphere, and an undefiled globe, was rent clamorous. And there he was. Man, transcended to heaven. Seemingly unscathed, despite the height from which he’d dropped. He stretched, glanced up, utterly isolated and high from where he lay upon the sky. There, alone. Far away at last. No one could touch him, remind him of something, demand his respects, threaten that, “this moment would be the end of his rides.” Alone at last, liberated, free and independent. The grey-haired mercenary, much past his prime, peered around and caught mental notes. Pairs of decked oaks— no problem. A wealth of twigs— nothing far from the ordinary. A crater rinsed out by acidic downpours— all petite obstacles, he’d just cross over. A large open field— a decent spot for rest . . . Trails? What trails could be here? There’s no one around. There’s the woods. There are birds shrieking amongst green, lush leaves. A jolly black feline runs lazily along the path. And everything scents of… decay. Birds? Cats? But how, what brings these vile earthlings here? Is this truly it? What ominously lies beyonds heaven? The mere absence of mankind, their pity quarrels? A path split off midway up the mound of dust, dissolved in the sandy canyon, weaved through the twisted pines which clung to the hills. The stranger dropped the trail and, aching to scrutinise the area from a slope, climbed the sheer slope. And so he could feel the damp, ash-smelling stalks, and leaves. On the other front of the hill was a wide expanse, cleaving in the thick of the woods like a pocket nibbled out of the trees—left, no doubt, after a wildfire which had stormed here very long ago, for there was no mark of tarnished or scorched remains, everywhere was grassy with low oaks and small magnolia trees. The path, as far as the eyes can see, looked free and passable. And safe. What were his predecessors scared of? he thought. The strangers? But what was there to be scared of? I’m not threatened by some fairies. I’ve done nothing to them. Leprechauns. The aliens. Strangers. Before Emreis escaped the cell, he had managed to take a look at the corpses in the fort. He spotted one in particular—his cast met by strands of hair clung together with shaded gore, like mucilage. His neck, unnaturally distorted and crooked. Drawn back in a gruesome, fixed grimace, his higher lip bore fangs, so quite bleached and little, non-human. Must be. He remembered the man’s boots, ravaged and stretcht to the knees, tied at the bottom and bound at the top with many wrought clamps. An elf. But what had the poor elf done? He kicked a piling dune and, spent in thought, dug his spur into the dirt. Who and whom, whom and what should one forgive? No matter. Something, something warned the man—whether it was the swift silence which swept over the woods like a stiff shadow, or the sudden motion caught out of the corner of his eye. But he responded in a whizz, intuitively—with a reflex he had long since ground in the timbers of Axios as a youngster when, escaping from a band of marauders, he had competed against death. He dropped to the ground, crept under a great thicket and held, motionless. Just let the birds not yap, he thought. A stomp. The constant rattling of torn sprigs. A boundless tremor of the soil. Screams, and beastly shrieks. Vertebrates and critters from all around the lumber scattered, in futile flight. A great, towering figure entered the precinct, exuding a daunting air, a psychic theme from where it threatened a slow, and gradual approach. The only visible tell of its presence had been the massive shadow in which it shot beyond, and the earthly vibrations which constantly agitated at the bush-shielded man. In comparison, he was feeble, a rodent; for all he could do upon catching sight of the extraterrestrial was stifle his fearful pantings. It took no excessive sensitiveness to the malformed to provoke such regressions from any man. In fact, the strange, unearthly sinister nature of the alien, easily overthrew all the mythical monsters of abhorrent grotesqueness and malignity in Earth, when it came to sheer disturbingness. “Thar’ s whar it all begun—this cursed place of all wickedness whar the dark freaks arise.” hissed an archaic voice, elderly, echoing amidst the eerie forest in some vague hints. Little could be ascertained from the voice which came from nowhere in particular, but one; It did not belong to the demonic colossus. Whichever sang it, was not visible to sights. “Gate o’ hell— we caol it. Sheer drop daown to a bottom no livin’-line kin tech. Menfolks haff done it befoar—them that faound aout more’ n was good fer them in the far Saouth.” “Never was nobody like Caz’ n Vas- old limb o’ Iblees! Heh, heh! I kin mind him a-tellin’ abaout forren parts, an’ callin’ all the folks stupid fer goin’ to Canonist meetins’ an’ bearin’ their burdens meek an’ lowly. Says they’d roter git better gods like some o’ the folks in da shores—gods as ud bring’ em good fishin’ in return for their sacrifices, an’ ud reely answer folks’ s prayers.” “ ‘un day, ‘e wormed the story aout some ol’ ancient art uv star ‘oppin, and nobody but Vas believed the ol’ yeller devil. Heh, heh! Nobody ever believes me naow when I tell ‘ em, an’ I dun’t s’ pose you will, young feller—though come to look at ye, ye hev kind o’ got them sharp-readin’ eyes like Vas had. If ye believe in a’ god, pray nae. Pray ye don’ meet his faet.” The old man’s whisper grew fainter, and Emreis found himself practically shuddering at the terrible and sincere portentousness of his intonation, even though he thought such tales could be nothing but drunken phantasies. Dismal blue eyes began to glow all around, stemming amidst barks and leaves, logs and stalks, misfit. They were savage and maniacal, bared far looser than it is naturally possible. The unseen eldritch form saw Emreis blenching back, for he had begun to cackle evilly. “Heh, heh, heh, heh! Beginnin’ to see, hey? Mebbe ye’ d like to leave faster, te’ terror uf da Achernar does nae’ loike intruders.” The old man was getting hysterical, and Emreis’ shivering grew, grew with a nameless dread. He was really screaming now, and the mad frenzy of his voice shook all life. The Vrakaian struggled to resume his ritual of passage, but then a gnarled claw fell down against his shoulder. A severed limb wrought from thin air. Cold, arctic even. It seemed to him that its shaking, was not altogether that of mirth. “S’ pose one night ye seed somethin’ heavy heaved offen Vas’ sdory back in Atlas, an’ then larned nex’ day a young feller was missin’ from home, ‘’ey, did anybody see hide or hair o’ Gilme Ristrick agin?’ Did they? Nae, ‘n they won’t ever.” In a flash, the naive star-rover was spared, let go of, with a chaotic cackle ever haunting his formless soul as it sank back to the depths of Earth. To the helpless cell of stone, in which he was momentarily trapped. For once, the trivial quarrels and cons of Atlas weren’t so bad.
  8. Boruto

    The Ascended - The Tears of Aeriel [Rewrite]

    yeah, give this a hard miss. if the ascended community isn’t willing to change for the better, no amount of rewrites will cut it.
  9. Boruto

    [AMA] Doing one of these again

    What are your thoughts on me and in what I play? Favourite album?
  10. Boruto

    Varendoz Adventurer's Guild [Enroll Now]

    Name: Adalbert. Race: Human. Age: Mid-twenties. Discord: Callisto#6280
  11. Boruto


    So long, fellow Reiter brother. Ride on.
  12. Boruto

    Boruto's Lore Master Application

    not planning to
  13. Boruto

    A Red Sun Rises

    A masked enigma, Emreis, blade of the barbarous order stood stern an ample distance away from where he’d silently watch, a false smile gruelly carved upon his mantled face and a tetchy gaze, brewingly weighed upon the crowd like a predator would its prey, disrelished and athirst for the butcheries to come. The figure of wretched garms, apparelled in eldritch robes which were soon to be befouled in the dreadful blood of voidal abominations, flourished. The grievous sable mare, soon prodded by the hunter’s heels, carefully stepped over a pile of bricks and passed through Gladewynn’s ravaged hills, prickling its ears in an act not so far removed from the tedium of conventional elven irregularities. “An age of blood, death and yet prosperity shall soon dawn. Cursed is the day wizards and magickers entered our realm, cursed.”
  14. An aged resident of Vrakai cursed and spat a spiteful as he came upon the poster, tearing it off the wall with twisted violence. ”Tf, tf... men of Vrakai my arse...”
  15. Boruto

    They Strung Up A Man.. They Say He Murdered Three

    Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be...