DragonofTaters

Soft footfalls sounded against the wet sands. Traipsing across a south facing beach, crimson eyes sought a horizon. Tears glistened there. Wood creaked and cracked. A murmur fell from the elf’s lips as a strange glowing form, an ethereal squirrel, perched upon her shoulder. “He always takes too much upon his own shoulders. It was my choice, though he felt responsible for it. Stubborn man.” A tiny boat was pushed from the shore, bottom grating against coarse sand. Within she had set a bottle containing a letter as the spiritual companion looked on. Soon the dinghy bobbed it’s way outwards from the shore. Creatures of the sea rose to the surface, casting a glance shoreward before judging the boat further out. Hours later, they and the current had carried it far from the woman’s sight. Whether to be lost upon the sea or reach the intended recipient, it was reliant on fate now. Left alone with the strange squirrel the woman’s facade seemed to crack. Her flesh shifted, flaking and peeling away to reveal a strange bark running along her arms, stopping only near the shoulder. Wood and sap where flesh and blood should be. Markings of the Father burned up the left, while the aqua of the Mother flowed up the right. Upon her back, silver burned. Grandmother’s touch illuminated beneath the twilight skies…

What if we're only serious?

Take care of yourself Keefy, I’m here if you ever want to talk/vent or feel up to playing a game to distract yourself ❤️❤️ Hope you beat this quick and life gets sorted for you.

I quite like this. It’s a good iteration of the past lores, while still being something new and improved. I appreciate how well defined it is as well this time xD Two points though: in regards to the regeneration, being able to heal from a minor injury in one minute seems a bit fast. A narrative day (one ooc hour) seems a bit more feasible, since the moderate injuries take a narrative month (one ooc day). Second thing: blighted epiphytes. Anything blighted must be healed or else it will perish. Tree lords have a set clause on that, and blighted fae or mani will die without intervention early enough. There should probably be a time limit on how long the epiphyte can remain blighted before it’s past the point of no return. Else you’ll likely get deranged undead zombie plants that run around for weeks and weeks. Blight is a progressive illness essentially, and I believe that should be reflected in epiphytes as it is other fae and natural lore.

I expect nothing less 😎

I don't believe Utah exists. Give me the feat anyways +1

One disgruntled woman leveled a heavy gaze at the missive upon its arrival. “They speak of allowing the Paladins freedom in their lands, and in the same moment invite a known Nephilim to his coronation. Hypocrites and madmen, the lot of them.” She would pass hurriedly through the leaf strewn pathways, quick steps carrying her to counsel with the free Mali of Nevaehlen.

A woman sits overlooking the quiet village. Wyvern staff laid against her shoulder, wooden fingers tapping an idle beat upon her own leg. Mulling the words on that missive over in silence. Crimson eyes watched the wood and sea alike. Keen ears perked for the merry sounds coming from below. How easy it was for those to speak up from blissful ignorance. How easy it was to cast accusations unfounded. Her gaze wandered towards a certain shrine, Malikki the Ape, defiled since by a strange creature. She recalled the words it had spoken, that twisted daemon she'd summoned from an innocent facade. "Ne today Qard. Ne tomorrow either. You may wish to dance on my grave, but you have to kill me first. You've taken my niece. You've taken my lliran. You'll have ne others..." A match was struck, pipe being lit. Trailing aromatic smoke behind her the 'Ame slipped from the wall. Procuring a torch, she'd head for the Ape. "Duty calls..."

Regarding the Aurum, does it effect all CAs including natural ones such as Epiphytes and Soul Trees? Would these creatures no longer be able to work with them? What about Azdrazi or other immortal type creatures that aren't undead? Should we expect each lore piece's redlines to be adjusted and clarify if aurum works on it?

“Toime t’ steal the Swagbreakehs…Oi mean, ‘ow terrible.” Someone somewhere begins plotting an unknown plot.

"Gods might be talking to him. Or something." The other shrugged, confusion written over her tired features. Rather than leave despite the late hour, she settled her back against a tree. "Going to make sure nothing eats him...And yeah, it's one of the Hareven things." A pause. "You get used to it."

The woman kept watch beneath a tree. Blade in her hand. Waiting enemies that would never come. A wave of grief, so familiar, had rolled over her just hours before. Little did she know it was for the passing of a friend, a brother. One who understood and helped her through every pain she'd carried for a century. When at last she'd hear, her head would fall but a moment. She'd take to the cliffs, the woods, the hills and plains. Pacing in a never ending vigil, sanguine eyes watchful over the world yet another had fallen to guard. How she'd spoken to him of her longing to move on. Of the need to rest. How tired she grew of the burdens she carried. His burdens similar to her own, the yearning of the seasoned warrior echoed in her own soul. Yet, again, it was another who went ahead. His memory now, to be carried in those who he left behind. The burning sigil of a phoenix, marked forever in her mind. Not to be lost. Never to be forgotten. Avius Csarathaire had given himself to free the world. Nenar Caerme'onn would not allow her guard to falter.

A problem I see here largely is in emote count. Healing for corruption in Fae almost always requires the druidic gift of blight healing. Blight healing corruption of this sort takes 5+ emotes. You've essentially created an insta kill with no counter due to the heavy restriction and greatly limited time frame for death.

I appreciate the showcase of the little village me and my friends made on Arcas. It was never intended to be a full blown thing. I got tired of politics and went out there to build myself a little burrow (I like burrows, yes I main elves, it's a me thing oocly. Halflings <3). Went on to make farms and such for materials, and just to grind late at night because I found it therapeutic. Built some trees, another cabin, and a little pond on my own in survival (survival trees suck by the way, do not recommend). A lot of my friends started growing tired of the politics as well. Had GammaRose, @WestCarolina , @Lockages, @RainbowRoad1234, and several others all come out to just add their own little builds and touches. Trees, terraforming, little buildings. It wasn't planned, but it was a nice place to hang out and just get to muck around without worrying about if we were being too memey or weird or getting in someone else's way. Was real pleasant, and a privilege to see how it grew from the funny little burrow I started out with out of boredom at 3 am xD. (It was also never given a name so don't worry about that). As staff, I can understand some of the pain free build can make. As a player, I understand the delight and whimsy it allows. It's nice getting to just build, and get to enjoy what you build in rp without having to worry about the great nation overlords and stewards yelling at you. There's pros and cons either way, but what I can say is doing it with friends makes it a wonderful experience.

Her hands had been stained crimson many times. From friends, as she healed them. Foes, as she felled them. Never had the woman thought that she'd bear her sister's crimson ichor on her skin. Spilled, willingly, by her own hand. Nenar had done something incomprehensible. Unforgivable. The moment the blade touched her sister, the druid's soul was torn in half. A burning, unending ache and sorrow. She wandered, lost and unfocused. A constant song of loss, of grief and betrayal, thrumming through the fiber of her being. A promise had been made, broken now, replaced by another. What good was a promise if unable to be kept? The red 'Ame walked alone, a path of abiding pain. Her sister, free now, leaving Nenar the sole survivor of the Pale Fae's corruption. The sole memory of those horrors. How can she explain, to anyone, the myriad of emotions coursing through her? That Tanila's passing brought relief for the protective sister; but the manner it happened, the cause for it's need, struck her very soul. A twisted mass of relief and guilt, pain and joy, eating away at the druid's heart. Nenar was left to walk alone, unable to speak on her pain. She would not, could not, detract from her sister's choice. And so she walked, a young beaver held to her chest. Promises....always promises. The first was broken, by Tanila's request. And again, by her request, those that followed would be fulfilled. Starting now with her favored companion, ensuring it had a fair start in the nearby river. Safety and comfort, she'd promised Tanila. A promise she would keep. Small steps, going forwards. Steps to carry on the duties, until her tasks were done. But every step, every heart beat, felt the rush of sadness. The silent cry, begging forgiveness for the unforgivable. Wicker began to unravel....

A woman tread quietly beneath the emerald canopy. Alone. The earth still, forest quieting around her. Mourning. Nature felt her pain, and so fell into a lull because of it. Blind with tears, she sat by a riverbank. The woman’s lone hand placed in the water. Crystal clear liquid flowed merrily by, but all she saw was red. Plagued forever more with her youngest sister’s blood, an innocent life stolen, staining her skin crimson. A life to save the world. Her duties demanded such a sacrifice. Only nature and Tanila’s spirit would feel the unending ache which would never abate. The anguish the woman agreed to carry. Her burden, now and always.

Tucked away in a village, a creaky ‘Ame sat brooding. The stem of a pipe clenched between her teeth. Soft wisps of aromatic smoke curled from the bowl. Crimson eyes stared unfocused at dancing flames, and beyond, a distant canopy of trees. “She’d better remember being eaten is forbidden.”

“Typical of the ‘Thill to welcome those who torment and torture their Mali kin amidst their walls. Warm or cold, the Silver Elves are all the same.” A woman scoffed, nose wrinkled with disdain.

Adventure stuff adventure stuff let me become a pog Druid adventurer

A lady of crimson and azure strode beneath the star filled blanket of the midnight sky. Laughter and revelry echoed in the distance as ‘Ame celebrated and entertained one another in their camp. Paper clutched between ink stained fingers crackled loudly. A breath let loose, face turning heavenwards. “Not yet, Grandmother…They’ve kept me here a while longer it seems…I pray this one is not captivated by my chest.” A wry chuckle as an oft forgotten memory resurfaced. Though heavy her burdens, the woman’s spirit lifted in recollection of her dwarven friends.

An angry 'Fenn twirled a fork in between skilled fingers. Then a sharp turn and careful throw. The silver stuck into a distant tree trunk, handle buried in the wooden surface. "Trying to gut me, for carrying a frog out of a gate...The chef shall die...All chefs will die..." And so, the fate of any chef that crossed the woman's path was sealed. Death would meet them, at hands of ice. Elmer and his fools, bringing the end to great cuisine across Almaris.

Skin: 6 Bid: $20 IGN: DragonofTaters Discord: you have it ❤️❤️❤️

A scowling ‘Fenn passed by the missive. It was the childish scrawl that caught her eye and caused her to stop short. Silver brows lifted, then the corner of her mouth perked up in a faint half grin. “I hope this lads takes a few of this Dyr’s teeth.” Bemused, she’d continue on her way.

Up in the trees, a tiny figure of red crouched. High overhead, a hawk circled, letting loose an eerie call as it flew over the southern straight. Long its journey had been, and a wing dipped to bring the avian down. It circled thrice the small coastal village before alighting near the red figure. Keen were the crimson eyes that sought the hawk’s own. Misty grey lighting them from within. No fear was shown as the two shared the last few hours of the day together. Tales and visions of a strong mali’ame, shared from the raptor to its friend. In the darkness, as moon rose over the southern seas, a proud smile would be seen on the Wicker’s freckled face. “Ayla, Ker’avern…”