ferdaboy

A long dead Titus shudders at the mention of the Lord Protector Adrian.

Owyn nibbled on the corpse of a street dog, pausing as the news was delivered to him. He was ready to kill half-men.

Yep. Just you wait and see the landscars and griefing that will happen without the map team. This is a mistake Daisy, just you freaking wait.

“It’s over…” dooms a squire as he feasted upon a squirrel he found in the street.

another dev spit out and used to death by the java team poop cycle

Mount Shrine - The Silence Between Our Houses ⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱ ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ Within a dark recess of the Palace, a Princess and a Squire spoke, their voices low and secretive. The royal spoke to the Squire with an unreserved, yet wary tone. They spoke of him, of who he is, who he was, who he claims to be. They spoke of a figment of his whole, of Owyn, as though he was someone else entirely. None were privy to the conversations at hand, questions asked and answers given, and he felt the weight of his lie. It ate at him, crawled within his skin. He was no liar, or so he thought. She never asked the truth, he reasoned. To her, he had been laid bare, with nothing left to hide. This could not be further from the truth, and it bothered him. Far too often he hid, pretending to be someone he was not. No more, he told himself. ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ 𐃏 “Joan.” His voice cut through the conversation, putting an end to the rarely silent Princess’ words. ❇ “Josef.” the Princess answered with his true name as he had revealed, despite his request to refrain from its mention. 𐃏 “I believe you are owed the truth. No more lies, no more omission.” ❇ “Have we not discussed all there is to know?” 𐃏 “I shall show you.” ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ The Squire steeled himself, preparing himself for a ritual he seldom performed. He knew the consequences of what he intended to do. Be it calamity, death, exile, imprisonment, he cared little. Thus, the Squire lowered himself to his knees, and set himself to work. He traced the floor with a finger of flame, drawing runes into the stones. North, South, East, and West were all marked with pointed arrows, and were connected with angular lines. At the center, the Squire drew an ouroboros, a depiction of a being that bore the head of a crow eating itself whole. The Squire rose, and bid the Princess step forth, and she did. ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ The Travellers suddenly found themselves in a forest that seemed both grown and familiar. The greens of the tree were muted, echoes of its true colour. The Watcher fell to her knees, the contents of her stomach spilling onto the forest floor. The Companion offered her his handkerchief and she took it, holding it firmly with a desperation previously unknown to her. The Watcher steadied herself, the distant sounds of clashing steel and shouting folding itself into the forest, muted, as if it was uncertain of its own place within this world. The Companion stepped beside her, and together they set towards it, pulling them like a thread towards unwoven tapestry. Soon did that green forest fade into the reds of fire, and thus a city of wooden palisades and treehouses erected itself before them. The screams of death, the crackle of flame and the clashing of steel were distant, and yet the Travellers stood before the city. Figures, people, were everywhere. Some fled from the gates, only to be shot by a volley of arrows. Others jumped from the walls in an attempt to escape the flames, only to break their necks upon the ground. And the rest fought the invaders, only to be cut down by their swords. Yet, with all of this happening, none seemed to notice the Travellers. Some escaped, fleeing the city in a desperate attempt to survive, and to the Companion’s surprise, none took notice of the Travellers. The Watcher observed with unrestrained horror, death of this magnitude leaving her jaw agape in acute fear. Distracted, something caught her eye, a figure bounded towards them, or away from the city and instinctively Joan brought her mace to bear and crushed it with an overhead blow. The death was instant, and so was the pain she felt in her skull. A dagger, a pinprick, prodding at her brain. The pain was nigh unbearable, and she struggled to remain on her feet. Her eyes closed for what seemed an eternity in response. ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ ⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱ ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ Within the darkness of her mind, the sounds of battle faded, the screams of thousands slowly harmonizing into the scream of one. The Watcher’s eyes slowly opened and the Travellers found themselves in a vast room, as pretentious as it was regal, lined with gold, purple and columns. In its center, was a figure, bloodied by its own ichor. The figure seemed frail as its feet kicked to the air in pain, a hand to its face as blood pooled around its head. The Watcher observed with narrowed eyes, unwilling to act. She watched, those narrowed eyes slowly fading into a face of concern. Figures surrounded the downed man, unintelligible screams erupted from the crowd and swords were drawn. The room lit up in activity, and giants rushed to the bloodied man’s side. The behemoths raised the figure high above the crowd whilst others pushed away the gathering, threatening them with drawn swords. The Watcher stepped forth and the Companion followed. None impeded their path, and the people seemed to part away from the Travellers as they moved. Finally, the two made it to the bloodied man’s side, keeping pace with the giants as they carried him. ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ 𐃏 “I do not like this familiarity.” ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ As the Watcher spoke, the world around them seemed to cease. The figures surrounding them all snapped their heads, staring at Joan. Then her eyes shut, and the world went dark. Pain flared up once more, daggers stabbing at her mind, punishing her for the interruption. Within that darkness, the noise persisted, the screaming man’s voice slowly softened, its pitch changing ever so slowly. Eventually, the screams turned into words, conversation, and the Watcher opened her eyes once more. Two figures stood before her, one, a perfect likeness of her brother, and the other, an oddly familiar woman. The Travellers instantly recognized the brother, his regality and majesty apparent even in this wispy form. Yet, they did not recognize the woman he spoke to. The Companion extended an arm out, bidding silence from the Watcher. Words came and went, some indistinguishable from others, yet some persisted through the fog of memory. ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ ꙛ “Is this the same face you remember?” the Emperor asked, the wound in his eye twisting in itself, “Am I still the same boy who pranced in the fields?” ꙛ “No, you have aged. Time was not kind.” said the woman opposite from the Emperor, “But - …” the figure paused for a moment, and the Watcher muttered to herself. 𐃏 “A different face does not ask a different love,” the Watcher said. As the words were spoken, the Watcher braced herself for a pain that did not come, flinching in anticipation. Her eyes closed, and darkness took her. ⊱︎ •✦• ⊰ Seconds passed, and the pain never came. Slowly, did her eyes open, and horror took her. There lay the Emperor, flat on his stomach amidst a pool of blood. In his back, a dagger. The Watcher fell to her knees, and the Companion remained standing, vigilant. She crawled to the Emperor’s side, and howled into the sky, crying in pain. The Watcher held her brother’s corpse tight in her hands, clutching at his clothes that hung loosely on his frail frame. She brought his cloak to her face, and hid within the regal silk, sobbing for an eternity. An eternity later, the sobbing ceased, and the Watcher brought herself back onto her knees. The dagger that stuck from his back mocking her, and slowly she reached a hand to it, and slid it from her brother’s back. Lethargic and tired, she rose, and looked to the Companion. The next moment, they were home. ⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱༒︎ •✦• ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱

then implement armour repair LOL

"What if I stabbed you with my sword" suggested a squire.

“UNTRUE!” Spat the squire, covered in the blood of the foes he’d eaten, “Dwarves bleed piss!”

A SQUIRE FELL TO HIS KNEES, TEARS STREAMING DOWN HIS FACE AS HE CELEBRATED THE VICTORY HE CERTAINLY FOUGHT FOR.

A SQUIRE FED UPON THE CORPSE OF A DWARF. HE PAUSED, AS NEWS WAS BROUGHT TO HIM. “AVE IMPERIUUUM!!!”

A bloodthirsty squire squirmed as he read the dwed demands. . . Would this mark the end of his beloved Emperor’s Reign? Will the almighty dwed bring upon the fall of the Empire?

The squire seethed at the memory, allowing such a prize to escape him so easily. He vowed he'd not allow such a failure to happen again.

A crazed squire frothed at the mouth as he nibbled on the remains of a street dog within the Empire’s capital, “MORE BLOOD!” He cried.

holy shit this is like the 2008 financial crisis STOP LIQUIDATING

"TWICE CURSED, TWICE THE OATHBREAKER." cried a deranged Haeseni prince, still babbling about how the dwed had forsaken his people when they needed him most.

This Lore has been accepted. Moved to Implemented Lore, it will be sorted to it's appropriate category soon. Please note that if this is playable lore, such as a magic or CA, you will need to write a guide for this piece. You will be contacted regarding the guide (or implementation if it isn’t needed) shortly.