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About Aoxomoxoa

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    Tree Puncher
  • Birthday September 25

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  • Character Name
    Sleeping Hawk
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  1. kinna a larp goon though

  2. ”In my own age, there was no such need for a conclave. All Golug were one; united under Malin, and his own legacy of Malinor.” Sleeping Hawk murmured about, a melancholy sounding in between the kindling of a flame he awaited eagerly, burning at herb, hemp, and whatever may have served useful under the clouds that loomed above.
  3. I had pretty good experiences with you towards the end of Anthos, lot of good times, despite my being a total noob then.
  4. Slowly did the crow flap its own wings, therein landing at Mogroka the Blind’s feet. The bird only struggled, as it fiddled about with its own talon, of which a letter was bound to via hempen rope, serving ball and chain to the little bird, struggling to rise unto its own feet then. With considerable amusement, the man crouched down by the bird, therein withdrawing his own tomahawk, breaking such a chain through use of the weapon’s blunt end. He gestured for the bird to run along, the hulking ‘aheral having been stripped of his armour; and, as time may have dictated, it did exactly that, either of its wings crossing upon each other, the bird lifting itself from the floor, exiting the skyline. In a gesture of respect, the mali but brought his own hand by his forehead, crouching to heave upon his club of bone, Dulugobi-Dâr Stargûsh, rested upon a destitute shoulder of his own, index, middle, and ring fingers erected in but one large box. Kor was the gatekeeper; and he, was his conduit. ”And, may his afterlife be long and fruitful. Soon, we may meet, for it is upon myself to guide those of your ilk into the world thereafter.”
  5. Once, the hulking brute marched, the odd scent of manure and Cactus Green following his own suit of armour. The Dominus saluted his comrade, and brother in arms, hand returning thereupon to its side. ”Long may he live, Rex Murdok’Lak. May Kor take kindly to his soul.”
  6. Sleeping Hawk rose unto his own feet, loincloth of hempen and scale draped across his shoulder, tomahawk gripped tightly in the other. Slowly so, the man hung the peculiar paper upon his wall of scrap, held together by the string of moss, similarly so with the remains of weak pelt, and vermin severed upon his ceiling, doorway only littered with beads a plenty. Ringing through, the wind blew at his wind chime softly, sending a familiar buzz through one ear, and coming out through the other. ”Twelve king fisher birds you shall have,” Humming a past the song of the bayous, the Hawk drew with moss, the symbol presented before himself, messily in his recent wake. He burned at the bundled white sage but once, embellishing his interpretation of the rune with fry, and intent to invoke the Widow washing upon him. ”Dive and swim in the ripples of your laugh.” And then, he waited.
  7. But the kindling of a flame came upon reading the scroll, far beyond where men walked their steps with dignity, and elves with an overzealous therein, but instead below the canopies of trees high and mighty within the heart of a bayou, past where children ran in devilgrass in wake of spring. Sleeping Hawk tied at nooses and pelts, and pelts and nooses, forming himself, from the scale and hardy skin of the marsh’s reptiles a waistcoat for the winters he’d been destined to walk, soon. The winding of strings upon planks of wood, torn from the base of his own home, in the form of a sitar-like instrument sounded through the desolate waters, the crickets coming to a wake, and returning to their own habit of singing lullabies to children, bringing them to sleep. Sleep. A near fear that’d come to the Hawk in recent times, whence birds pecked at his liver in his dreams, taking the form of hawks themselves, in a mockery of himself. It’d seemed Lyes took to a blissful torturing of Sleeping Hawk’s naïveté, in teaching him of what more mistakes he struck himself with. Nie was high time for reflection. ”Perhaps a god may exist, amongst the Aenguldemonica.” He but mused, stringing together unintelligible phrases below the hymns of crows. ”Only Lyes may live to tell me, in my own dreams and reveries.”
  8. - What makes “high quality” & “low quality” RP? In my own opinion, what separates high quality RP from lower quality RP is the player accepting the drive and direction of the narrative, and making it so there are flaws and consequences to each and every one of their actions. One’s ability to write, or form stories is nothing if they can’t learn to accept the consequences and sequence of events they’ve put upon themselves. That, alone, makes things infinitely more interesting for both parties. - How can low quality RP impact the server? As other people in the thread mentioned, it is a bit of a turn off when people care so little about the RP, and refuse to accept, or ‘void,’ certain narratives. But, as long as there is low quality RP on the server, there will, too, be high quality RP. - What makes RP engaging? Call me biased but, I absolutely adore shamanic RP. The shamanism rabbit hole is so deep, and there is always room to improve, and learn to come up with new, fresh ideas with all the lore and opportunities presented, even with the less combat-oriented ones, such as Lutaumancy. Besides that, what really engages me is deep RP rabbit holes, and narratives so in depth and convoluted; it is a really interesting thing, seeing the ugliness and immorality of LotC’s IRP world being projected. - Your favourite niche of RP? I’d say, anything that has severe consequences, or otherwise an opportunity to progress either characters’ arcs is a fun niche to play out. Anything that’ll leave a lasting influence on the characters, or the world, really. If that’s too broad a niche, I’d have to say the really ugly stuff. Be it, occult business or anything of the like, that stuff really gets me going because of how exciting and engaging it can be. And, if stuff backfires, even better. - Is there a storyline or long-term RP scenario that you thoroughly enjoyed at one point? In my years of playing on and off since I was just a kid back in Anthos, I’d have to say some of the best and most high quality RP I’ve had has to have been with @Haesvir. He’s a good friend, and able to build some incredible, beautiful storylines out of even the mundanities of the lore. Otherwise, I’d be inclined to say doing really terrible crusader RP during Vailor, as bad an RPer as I was at the time. Izgul Mau RP this map was also incredibly fun to play out.
  9. Grishnaakh’Raguk only offered a curt curl of his lip, either brows furrowing in an irritated, perhaps even, angered, gesture, the muscles upon his frons and eyebrows having been pulled together to amplify such. Long since had he renounced the ways of ‘thill, and Maehr’sae Hiylun’ehya, but instead embraced those of Krug, and the ‘ker brother Maehr, of ages past. And, long since had he also taken to befriending his most holy manifestation of death, Kor, and the Ancestrals he held a duty to allow to roam free in the afterlife. ”Paint the Diarchy red; reject the teachings of Larihei.” The Raguk only heeded to his call once.
  10. ”About damn time.” Somewhere, possibly buried half-way to Moz Strimoza, a crusader of Anthos’ times rolled in his grave.
  11. I could’ve been a dumbass and just missed it but, can shamans still purge the Shade parasite by exposing the user to Isuz’ light via a spirit walk @Archipelego?
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