Callistus

MC Name: Boruto

Character's Name: Olgierd aep Halsten

Character's Age: ~50s

Character's Race:

         Human

What magic(s) will you be learning?

         Blood Magic 

Teacher's MC Name:

         Mordu

Teacher's RP Name:

         Alwin

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         C&C - Blight Healing

Do you agree to keep the MT updated on the status of your magic app by using the Magic List Errors topic?:

         Sure thing

Are you aware that if this magic is undergoing an activity trial and fails said trial, that you will lose the magic?:

         Yup

Have you applied for this magic on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         N/A

The heat of the campfire strived to penetrate the wintry air as a weakened elderly man, Olgierd, sat close by - daring to feel the radiating warmth. Numb, bony hands were stretched out for heat whilst the individual’s callous gaze silently studied the poster it had lodged upon. With a curiously heaved brow, the ex-Reiter reached to grab it.

“. . Name rings a bell..”

He'd mutely remark, before lethargically turning back to the flames; blowing gently into its red ashes. 

Within minutes the coals glowed orange, and he reached to his knapsack for some kindling.

I attest to the fact that this individual can help cull magic. +1

okay now lol this is epic. +1

hE's a FLaY

+1

give this a hard pass

The night brought such a silence that the crackle of the campfire was all that could be heard, like a demented natural harmony. Flames thrashed at the wood, and the red sparks swept amid the cool breeze. Olgierd sat close on a mossy log, the Black Reiter's rugged and scarred visage heated warm and his back cold, mesmerized, relaxed. Numbed and bloodied hands were held out for defrosting, whilst his attention was to the fire, breath blowing slowly into the red ashes. Within minutes the coals glowed ocherous, and the light cast by the flames whirled across the dark trunks, twisting and curling in obscure shapes to provide a small radius of radiance.

"War was on the brink of breaking out among our company and the Kingdom of Elvenesse because of this. t'was a rash decision, a foolish one; but the priest's persistence in holding his ground was even more so. . . Shame."

Just now, Destroyer_Bravo said:

literally a flay

wdym

just ideas.

5 minutes ago, Pond said:

and the 'red cloaks' werent even my ******* group, LOL, it was zhaldaks. i was literally a ******* GRUNT in it, a private, a ******* recruit, the best thing i did in that group was burned some wench at the stake, i held no power in that group, ive said this literally DOZENS of times, but i guess dominion does literally just not understand what the words 'im not the leader' means, so i'll break it down for ya, 

 

it means i held no power in that group. after i pked my morlak rex char, i was done with orcs, it was time for some1 else to take the reigns, and that happened, so i was like "huh, i got my human char, ill main that for awhile", and then i found out about zhaldaks group, the red cloak inquisitions or whatever. only reason i joined, NOT because my friends were in it, but because id reminded me of my amyas days, (when i first joined the server is 2013 i played an amasymen, a holy order), anyway, the group reminded me of those days, burning elves at the stakes, clipping their ears, etc etc. 

 

so, tl;dr, i dont do **** on this server anymore, so dont got blaming me on **** i have no taking in. 

 

@Boruto

yes I am too, bub

Really? Because it seems like you keep going back and forth on how you no longer do anything on lotc, which is irrelevant. I'm talking about what you did back in time. Then again, idgaf. Have a nice day.

2 minutes ago, Pond said:

lol im ******* banned what do u think im doing???? ya i organize **** on lotc while im banned, totally. i dont do **** with LOTC now, i got a life, got a job, have to pay car payments, i got a life. don't mention me when i dont even play this server anymore, i havent told anyone to do ****. im not in orc discord, im not in kazulrah discord, im not in the clown discord, nottingham, im literally in 1 discord and that is the 'followers of september', and theres ******* staff in there that probly alrdy moderates my ****. thanks : )

take a chill pill bub, I'm talking back when the red cloaks were a thing.

On 8/29/2018 at 12:14 AM, Ougi said:

because the redcloaks were made of clowns and a bunch of human rpers, not just orcs lmaooo

 

and guess what? clowns stopped playing block game. don't talk about what you don't know

 

huh

45 minutes ago, HolyTortoise said:

Also, I know you like to make the Dominion seem oh so important, but the red-cloaks did more than just raid you, they were more than just 'orc alts'. I personally rp'ed with them many a time on my priest, they raided you because you are heretics and if you hadn't noticed, there is a holy war declared against you. Get educated on them before trying to bash them. They also raided you as one of your officials threatened to scalp the Vice Chancellor of the church for preaching in the Dominion, an ergregious sin to many within canonism.
 

4

I find it strange how the red cloaks only saw fit to call the dominion heretics right after Krugmar fell. How coincidental!

And the Red Cloaks only did what they did before a holy was declared, they never even re-emerged after the crusade. Huh

Daily reminder that Hydrophobes will soon fall.

3 minutes ago, ZachoSnacko said:

This is a constructive comment, there is already lore that fits into the exact same category and fills the exact same niche. As i said it seems like you are attempting to create this for you since getting striage is hard due to their secluded rp. Instead of denying my criticism, defend yourself.

That's a harsh accusation. He didn't know Strigae existed until after he wrote this, a conversation's been had on discord. 

It's respectable that you're actually trying to avoid being a cliché bandit by adding some background and depth to your character, more than I can say for a few other players...

The casual laughter of the noble, Aragon Silversteed, died fast, guillotined from his mouth. The sharp steel end strapped to the sellsword's baldric had hooked into his neck and pulled out his carotid, ripping it in two. 

Droplets of blood fell to the earth and created a stark path, marking the crossed road all the way to Olgierd's set destination; Arbor.

It was unnerving to see the eyes of the mercenary glaring from within the black hood obscuring his visage from accidental onlookers. His gaze was one bereft of passion, devoid of conscience. In a subliminal gesture of disgust, his nose wrinkled. His filthy grip latched unto the decaying head to relieve it of the sickle it dangled from and, with an indifferent expression throughout the ordeal, it was flung before the gates of Arbor.

There laid an expressionless male head who rested on a pool of mild cerise substance, which stunned the living daylights out of each being who stood there. He was grotesque. Already, Aragon's eyes were swollen over and bloody spit drooled from his slack jaws. He was now as revolting as he should be, finally the outside reflects the man within. It served as a grim reminder to the inhabitants of Arbor who so foolishly sought a conflict, who heedlessly bit off more than they could chew.

"Some day," muttered the Black Reiter as he strolled off. "When songs are written about this, you'll be mentioned as a stain on our swords."
 

The riders of Vrakai on their way to Holm.

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The few mercenaries of Vrakai, led by Captain Cato Darius Godwin af Morr, wore thick leather armour, cushioned by various plate and chain appendices as they stood in formation. Two rows were all they had as their narrowed eyes trained across the halls, weighing the pros and cons of the various and creative means available to them to settle the dispute. They utterly demanded that the Silversteed blokes leave only to be met by Holm's firm and hostile rejection.

Their answer had come. This is what it meant to insult the sellswords' honour, no excuses, no mercy. Every face, Dwarven and Silversteed, blanched to a grey and nervous cast while the lines on the Reiters' faces bore testimony to their skill. No member among their host had lived to appear that weathered if they could not hold thrice their own in battle. This was a clash the Republic of Holm could not win.

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When the cry came, they launched forwards without delay, the rubble shifting beneath their boots on their foes' homeland. The motivation to repel the foreign mercenaries was all that drove the Dwarven ranks against their declared enemy.

It was a sight to behold, amounting to the unceremonious and swift destruction of the defending forces at the meeting. The guardsmen fell like dominoes, faceless villains defending Stouts and Norlanders smearing the reputation of the legendary fighting force. Their loss did not raise the pulse and neither did it arouse the sympathy of the audience, only scoffs and mocking murmurs from hushed tongues. It was a loss well-deserved, for they had not regarded the warning bestowed to them.

The clanging of swords and hammers had died away, the shouting and screaming of the slaughter was hushed; silence lay upon the red-stained stone. The dim bleak light that glittered from the interior's ceiling struck sheens of silver from rent corselets and broken blades, where the dead lay in heaps. The battlefield lay tranquil, for it was now a graveyard of the unburied. The wind still blew, but the corpses' eyes were as immobile as their limbs. The battle was won, the enemy had lost.

It was yet another lossless victory awarded to The Black Reiters. For true power lays not in word; but in deed alone.

Cato af Morr, in a deadly clash of steel against Aragon Silversteed.

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From the odious field of cadaver emerged but one shivering man - Aragon Silversteed, a coward who sought reprieve from behind the dwarven ranks, relatively unscathed and safe.

He was surrounded. All around, all over, scattered in every direction possible. He was left helpless, hopeless, lonely. Surely, all the man could think of was a way to escape alive, for he will either bleed- slowly, agonizingly-drop by drop, until he's met with a bitter, bitter death, or he could demand a duel.

And a duel he was granted.

Cato leapt. Every movement he executed, every step, was part of his constitution: hard-learnt, automated and lethally certain. Three quick steps, and the third finished on the left leg with a strong, rigid stamp. A twist of his trunk and an acute, forceful cut. Aragon's blade slid over the diagonal parry. He retaliated instinctively, spinning his blade, trying to knock Cato's weapon aside. A mistake. The blade was deflected and slashed before the Reiter pushed to dive under the swirling blade and, with the base of his hand and his silver-studded cuff, hit his adversary in the temple. The Silversteed was shoved back, but his helm softened the blow.

The captain's steel did not cease to clash decisively, like countless times before, with the axis of the blade. Rapidly, and following the cadence of the movement, he took a fourth stride and a part turn. The blade, freed by the partial-turn, hovered after him, flashing, carrying a fan of sanguine droplets in its wake. The jet-black hair, bound by a ponytail, floated in the air before tumbling onto the pebbles.

It was but another corpse summed to the pile.

Credits

Written by Boruto

Veist for minor alterations and edits -

First reference art:

(RobbieMcSweeney , Deviantart)

Second reference art: 

(Artorious, Artstation)

Third reference art:

(Justo Jimeno Bazaga)

Scratch marks lay fresh and new against the Reiter's blanched skin, just by his collar, as he eyed the city from afar - unsmiling and impassive.

"Poor men almost get their tongues cleaved in half by their own teeth in fear. Pitiful."  he spat the bitter words out before steering his mount, wending his path off the battle-field with an unscathed figure - save for the stains of mud and blood.

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I wrote half the post and I get a size 9 text mention ? ty dog

A mercenary whose visage was masked under a white scarf calls out soon after. 

"Four thousand five hundred minae for the cleaver." 

What do you think of me

and my persona

((A massive round of applause for you, new good sir.))

The once scarlet blood that had oozed down the Reiter's blade in thick droplets now spattered the peeling linoleum and had quickly blackened in the First seed's heat. The blood that had flowed so freely from the severed neck now lay in pools around the corpse at which the merc spat at. "The Dusk of the Red-Cloak Inquisition. . . that was quick."