Celestial_Bleh

Case in point then xD Taking the heart of a mortal isnt as much if a deterrent as its supposed to be

A potential issue is the redline in blisterthorn that says “items made using blisterthorn do not require an ST signature.” If players want to use 30 blisterthorn for 1 dust, would they just be dumping the 30 blisterthorn in the st chest? Taking mortal hearts also runs the risk of going the sigismund candle route where something that is supposed to be “taboo” and a deterrent doesn't generate much roleplay around it at all. The time limit put to the harvesting method may help, though. In general…. I /am/ curious to the reasoning of needing this at all. The corc FA barely has any benefits that cant be better achieved through other means. And then a whole slew of downsides. While this seems fun flavor/theory-wise, it might be too soon mechanics and roleplay-wise when we haven’t had the chance to see the effect of the new salt testing amendment.

————————————————————————— Berg Troll The Alpine Brute Art by Paul Bonner Aggressive | Tundra First discovered in the tundra deserts of Azuras, berg trolls have been an intriguing conundrum for scholars— and the bane of adventurers. They hold stark differences to the trolls of the plains but since there are even greater similarities, they are often called ‘trolls’ all the same. No one has ever seen a berg troll less than full grown nor has managed to discover where they initially come from. Some suppose that a warmer climate troll may find themselves stumbling into snow-laden lands and must either adapt or die. Others posit that there are colonies, entirely separate from southern trolls, buried deep, deep, deep beneath the snow. It is difficult to study them and impossible to communicate for one simple reason: they are dumb as rocks. The few brave adventurers who have managed to investigate a berg troll’s loot and survive have found foreign, intricate crafts of bones and figurines amidst the stolen goods, hinting at a culture of greater intellect and depth than initially supposed. Whether or not the stragglers on Azuras are banished outcasts, or sickened by some unknown effect and abandoned, is a mystery yet to be solved. HABITAT —————————————————————————————————— Berg trolls live and thrive in the alpine tundra. The high peaks of the mountains and whatever caverns can be found there are preferred homes. At times, a berg troll will dig out its own cave to settle in. They do tend to wander across the plains and valleys even if far from their homes. Some think it is due to their incredibly low intellect. Others wonder if they hold some innate instinct to search for a lost colony. DESCRIPTION —————————————————————————————————— Berg trolls are lumbering creatures with wickedly curved tusks that protrude from the lower lip. Their height ranges from 12 - 19 ft and their fists often dwarf the size of an uruk’s head. BEHAVIOR —————————————————————————————————— Berg trolls cannot be bartered with. Seeing any adventurers, unless the berg troll is lazy and they are too far, will result in it wanting to acquire a crunchy, descendant snack. Their lacking intelligence makes it easy for them to ignore pain which does not bode well for any who attempt to scare one off with a half-decent stab. The one thing, other than killing it, that would slow a troll is an outstanding performance. The more colors, sounds, and sights, the better, as anything that ‘wows’ the senses tends to enrapture them. Almost akin to a baby. Once the performance is done, however, or the troll grows bored or is attacked, it will resume trying to eat everyone it sees. Due to individual trolls having differing tastes in the arts, it is also more difficult for a performance to distract multiple at a time. Adventurers often struggle the most when camps of these creatures, huddled about a campfire or shared meal, block tundra paths. ABILITIES —————————————————————————————————— Berg trolls have large, lumbering movements but thick skin. Such is thick enough to act like sturdy, leather armor. Their hands, when balled into fists, can be just as devastating as a ginormous wooden club. While they may not cover ground quickly, they have been known to ball up and roll towards fleeing adventurers: a wrecking ball of troll fury. HARVESTABLES —————————————————————————————————— TUSKS Large, wieldy trophies. These tusks have similar density to unrefined bone and can be made into jewelry or other crafts. SKULL An impressive trophy for those who’ve managed to accomplish such. Due to their thick skulls, these can be broken down and formed into armor with the strength of chitin. REDLINES —————————————————————————————————— » Berg trolls can be used in both Player and ST events. » Berg trolls can NOT be tamed nor befriended. » They can NOT be used in combat roleplay outside of events nor can their presence be somehow used to defend a settlement or group, etc., against other players. » It is UNKNOWN where berg trolls come from. Crafts and jewelry from where they originate do not have anything resembling a written language. » Berg trolls can NOT be used in a summoning and/or conjuring spell. » The presence of berg trolls can NOT be used as a means of defending or attacking other players outside of a Player DIY Event or ST Event that all parties have agreed to participate in and allow such.Berg trolls are aggressive to everything and so will attack both sides. » Any part of a slain berg troll can be taken as a Player signed trophy. Unless stated otherwise in Harvestables, they are mundane and hold no special properties. » The hide of a berg troll can NOT be turned into armor. Azwyr Naktrul Emptied Eyes in the Dark Concept Art by Martin Rezard Aggressive | Tundra/Dungeons | ST Only The dwarves delved too greedily and too deep. Ancient tombs, sealed away in stone, crumbled beneath thundering hammers. Once-respected ancestors were found awake and wandering dark halls. Azwyr Naktrul was what they were called; unknowing, violent corpses of once-beloved. This twisted phenomena was discovered to be caused by a parasitic, burrowing beetle. It often appears gem-like when hibernating and is thus buried beside the dead. When moving, however, it takes to rotting flesh, attaching to the brain stem when found and utilizing the corpse as a nesting host. A ghastly affair, particular when it has occurred to the recently deceased. Those who do not guard their dead zealously are bound to see them rise again. In the far North, where bodies are not so easily recovered, it is nigh a guarantee. HABITAT —————————————————————————————————— The Azwyr Naktrul are found in the tundra, wandering in groups or idling on their own. The bugs that burrow within produce an antifreeze in their blood which spreads throughout the host. The beetles have also been known to make their nests in deep dungeons or tombs left untended. Thus should adventurers watch their steps even if they delve far from the northern wastes. Rot ever grows in the dark corners of the world. DESCRIPTION —————————————————————————————————— Due to being corpses of descendants, Azwyr Naktrul will take on the height and properties of who they once were with a few changes. Eyes turn to a burning, bright blue and flesh appears frostbitten. BEHAVIOR —————————————————————————————————— The Azwyr Naktrul wander the tundra, reminiscent of lost souls seeking what once was. Woe be upon the adventurer who thinks them people to reason with, however. Azwyr Naktrul oft work together in collecting corpses and attacking others but that is where anything reminiscent of ‘intelligence’ ends. Though they ever keep far from southern lands lest their bodies melt to naught. ABILITIES —————————————————————————————————— Due to the variety of slain adventurers who have become Azwyr Naktrul, the abilities may vary from encounter to encounter. Some may be less armored and easier to kill than others. Some may have yet to wholly lose their strength. At times, the bite of an Azwyr Naktrul will hold a venomous quality due to the changing composition of its blood. The poison is not enough to kill on its own. Those affected, however, will grow unbearably cold and unable to feel warmth even when the body is being warmed. This can be treated via means of ridding a curse or alchemical means of purging poisons. HARVESTABLES —————————————————————————————————— GEMSTONE EYES Sometimes the eyeballs of a slain Azwyr Naktrul will harden and become similar to a smooth gemstone or glossy ball of glass. They can still keep a visual eyeball appearance or take on more of an ethereal orb of blue. These hold NO special properties. REDLINES —————————————————————————————————— » Azwyr Naktrul is an ST only creature. » Azwyr Naktrul can NOT be used in any summoning or conjuration spells. » The presence of Azwyr Naktrul can NOT be used as a means of defending or attacking other players outside of a ST Event that all parties have agreed to participate in and allow such. Azwyr Naktrul do not form alliances with descendants and so will attack both sides. » Any part of a slain Azwyr Naktrul can be taken as an ST signed trophy. They are mundane and hold no special properties. The poison from an Azwyr Naktrul can be harvested at the ST’s discretion. Otherwise, it dissipates before being able to be gathered. » Those poisoned by the Azwyr Naktrul are NOT immune to fire, flames, and so forth. They won’t feel the heat but they will feel the pain and the physical wounds will still occur. This poison does NOT kill a person nor weaken them. It only takes away the ability to feel warmth. They will still have the normal body temperature. Gluttonous Skeeve Sun Snatcher [Edited] Art by Feradami Aggressive | Tundra That frosted, sepulcher vision is an unforgiving mistress. Ice that cuts as glass. Snow that starves in a desert of white. Yet one creature exults in the month-long nights. It frolics through the lands of traveler’s demise. Eats, with gusto, whatever gruesome meal it can acquire. Delights in killing even when unneeded. One thing above all does it despise, going to every length to have it consumed: warmth. HABITAT —————————————————————————————————— Gluttonous Skeeves thrive in the tundra and are uniquely built for it. Their body produces a compound typically found in northern insects that keeps their blood from freezing. DESCRIPTION —————————————————————————————————— Often thought of as large, squash lizards, the thick plates along its back tend to blend with the rest of it due to an overall dark grey to blue-ish grey color. The average adult size is 7ft long, weighing 100-150lb. BEHAVIOR —————————————————————————————————— Gluttonous Skeeves travel in groups locally dubbed: “Those fecks.” They’ll form large families with adult skeeves remaining until the surrounding ecosystem can no longer support them all. Their ability to sense temperature is heightened to the point of acting akin to Heat Flow lenses. Anything with a warm body temperature is subject to being targeted and consumed; sometimes just killed with the corpse left behind. ABILITIES —————————————————————————————————— When remaining still for a long period of time (such as sleeping), a skeeve emits a thin layer of snow-like flakes of outer-skin. This layer acts as an ‘early warning alarm’ should anything heavier than a rock step on it. Large groupings of skeeves are able to combine this ‘layer’ to cover a large area, often giving their home the appearance of a flaky nest. The underside of the Gluttonous Skeeve is akin to a normal, large lizard. The back of it, however, is hardened to the strength of lamellar. REDLINES —————————————————————————————————— » Gluttonous Skeeves can be used in both Player and ST events. » Gluttonous Skeeves can NOT be tamed. » The presence of Gluttonous Skeeves can NOT be used as a means of defending or attacking other players outside of a Player DIY Event or ST Event that all parties have agreed to participate in and allow such. Gluttonous Skeeves are hostile to all warmth and so will attack both sides. » If a Gluttonous Skeeve is used in a conjuring or summoning spell, it does NOT have access to the alarm ability. » Any part of a slain Gluttonous Skeeve can be taken as a Player signed trophy. They are mundane and hold no special properties. » The harvested, and treated, backside of a Gluttonous Skeeve can be used as armor. It follows all redlines for lammellars in Techlock/Armaments. It gives no bonus advantage nor ability beyond those redlines. Avparir The Ghost of Malin’s Kin Art by Unknown Aggressive | Tameable Variant | Taiga/Tundra For as long as elves have dared the chilling north, there have been tales of the avparir. The most prevalent story captures the hopes and imaginations of elvenkind. Many a century ago, when Malin hid amidst the forests with the first elves, it is rumored that he had tried to circumvent that sterile curse. With magic long lost and the aid of an ancient being, he took the wandering souls of elves and cloaked them in protecting warmth, granting the ability to hide from the sight of those who had cursed him and his lineage. A kindly tale though unlikely. Still, it provided some semblance of comfort to wandering bands of refugees and travelers on the rare occasion that elusive creature was glimpsed. HABITAT —————————————————————————————————— Often found in the taiga, avparir lurk in boreal forests. During the summer months, when food is more abundant, they’ll roam the tundra wastes. Encountering an avparir in the tundra, particularly one of the rare few that brave it when winter arrives, is never a good omen. DESCRIPTION —————————————————————————————————— Avparir, when spotted, has the appearance of a ferocious, sabertooth leopard. Its pelt often shifts in appearance due to its unique coloring. It grows to be a size larger than bengal tigers with 12-13 ft in length (including tail) and weighing about 570 lb. BEHAVIOR —————————————————————————————————— Avparir are opportunistic, solitary hunters, relying on stealth and ambushes to snag their prey. Creatures such as frost salamanders and smaller game make up difficult meals, causing adventurers to seem worth the effort. An avparir may stalk a group, biding its time for when to strike. Any adventurers who undergo a harrowing fight should be extra careful afterwards. They prefer to strike when their prey is wounded and vulnerable. ABILITIES —————————————————————————————————— The avparir is skilled at concealing itself even while moving, its ability to mask its body temperature a necessary defense with the other predators that roam the lands. Their muscles are strong enough to support great, dashing strides… across landscape and up a tree or the rocky crags of a cliff face/mountainside, keeping hold of the prey it drags behind. HARVESTABLES —————————————————————————————————— PELT The pelt is incapable of keeping the avparir’s stealth abilities. It functions the same as any mundane animal pelt. VARIANT: BASTARD —————————————————————————————————— Few adventurers dare risk it but capturing an avparir and cross-breeding with another large cat allows for a litter of cubs capable of being tamed. The raising process is often chaotic with the bastard avparir being energetic and difficult to restrain from newborn to adolescence. Wherever it is kept should be expected to be a mess. A bastard avparir is significantly weaker and less savage than its wilderness counterpart. It holds no particular stealth abilities nor any of the special abilities a wild avparir has. It can aid in snowy travel more than a horse would and keep its companion from being a greater target due to being able to conceal its own body temperature. REDLINES —————————————————————————————————— » Avparir can be used in both Player and ST events. » A bastard avparir has all the mechanical abilities of a horse. The only special trait being that it is able to conceal its own body temperature. This ability does NOT extend to the player character. They are not any more stealthy than a horse. It can NOT be used in combat. They are as skittish as horses and will abandon the rider if attacked. » If an avparir is used in a conjuring or summoning spell, it is not sneakier than any other summon nor has more movement. It essentially acts akin to a larger tiger. » Any part of a slain avparir can be taken as a Player signed trophy. They are mundane and hold no special properties. » Wild avparir will die in captivity after two years. » The presence of a wild avparir can NOT be used as a means of defending or attacking other players outside of a Player DIY Event or ST Event that all parties have agreed to participate in and allow such. Avparir are wild and so will attack both sides. De Gargouille Scourge of the Norns Art by Alia Bird Passive | Tameable | Taiga What comes first: the creature or the legend? The ability of historians to pinpoint exact times, sometimes even exact centuries, of a creature’s origins has always waxed and waned. One of the most notorious examples is the De Gargouille. The frequency of its appearances increased towards the end of Aevos and has kept strong since, with only occasional dips. Its name suggests an Auvergnian origin and yet some scholars believe that such was simply the name that had taken root via popularity. Yet, by the stoked fires that keep the northern peoples alive, in the quiet when foreign travellers have retired or been on their way, whispers of the De Gargouille’s origins spin a different tale than what scholars, with their ancient tomes and rigid investigations, suppose. A creature that cannibalizes its own brethren and hare cousins. One that eats yet fears being eaten. And so turns to hunger. The scourge of a menace. A madness. A craven famine. HABITAT —————————————————————————————————— Tales of jackalopes can be found all about the lands. De Gargouille, however, is uniquely found in the taiga. There have been mentions of them appearing in the tundra but those stem from people who were driven half-mad in their time attempting to survive the harsh, northern wilds. DESCRIPTION —————————————————————————————————— Upon first glance, they seem ordinary beyond ordinary save for horns typical of jackalopes. However, local flora tends to grow from their pelts and horns, aiding in hiding beneath the brush. There is another feature that is perhaps an optical illusion brought about by the superstitions that surround De Gargouille. Some travellers speak of times that its eyes will flash a vermillion red. Others claim that they’ve seen the head of a De Gargouille as a skull. Such occurrences can easily be explained away by the harshness of the wilds and what darkness can do to the mind. But the norns know. BEHAVIOR —————————————————————————————————— De Gargouille is similar to the hare in many ways. Due to its horns, however, it will often make its home in the underbrush as opposed to burrows or warrens. Flora that gets caught in the horns or begins growing from its hide aids it in blending into its surroundings to hide from predators. Though they flee akin to any prey who wishes to live, there is an odd phenomenon that surrounds them. Oftentimes, when hunters work in their habitat, a trap that’d be meant for hares would only ever catch a De Gargouille. When rations run low and adventurers gather about a fire, attempting to forget the hunger pangs, De Gargouille will appear at the edge of the flame’s light. A meal waiting to be caught. Settlements may, at times, attempt to hunt and diminish the local De Gargouille population. Such allows the return of proper meals and rabbit stews. For a time. ABILITIES —————————————————————————————————— Similar to its hare counterpart, De Gargouille provides a nutritious meal that is often the difference between life and death. However, the consumer of it feels hungrier than before they ate it. Yet upon killing one such creature, an omen occurs. It could be anything from the caw of a raven to the cracking of a liquor bottle on hand. They are vague and give no answers to the future. But the killer of the De Gargouille will have an ominous feeling that follows them as well for a few days, sometimes manifesting in paranoia. HARVESTABLES —————————————————————————————————— MEAT Consuming De Gargouille gives a feeling of being hungrier than the person was before. HORNS Those in possession of the creature’s horns find that they are never satisfied with a meal. If a person is already prone to paranoia or anxiety, such has a chance of increasing. TAMING —————————————————————————————————— Many of the norns would never dare to have De Gargouille as a pet. It strikes anxiety in the superstitious and may remind of a harried time. Those of southern lands, however, who are less knowing, are more susceptible to the accidental purchase of such a creature. As a pet, when taken out of its colder climate, De Gargouille never live past a year. Even the healthiest and most well taken care of will die when such a timer is up, no matter how many more years they seem capable of. A pet De Gargouille will bring regular omens to its owners, growing in intensity until its inevitable demise. It will eat whatever it is fed, no matter how plump it becomes. REDLINES —————————————————————————————————— » De Gargouille can be used in both Player and ST events. » None of De Gargouille’s abilities, nor its presence, can be used for metagaming purposes. This includes, but is not limited to, a character’s abilities, magic, history, CAs, FAs, darkspawn affiliations or nature, and location. » De Gargouille can NOT be used outside of Player and ST events in combat role play. As a pet, it will flee or cower in any combat scenario. » Any part of a slain De Gargouille can be taken as a Player signed trophy. They hold NO special nor magical properties beyond what is outlined in Harvestables. Paranoia and anxiety effects are not strong enough to force a character to become insane nor make drastic decisions. » The presence and abilities of De Gargouille can NOT be used to force a character into a particular decision or opinion. They are open ended and up to the character’s interpretation. Purpose Forests, jungles, and deserts are teaming with cool creatures to fight and hunt. The north, however, doesn’t have so many. This pack is meant to both help with that via a versatile set of creatures to use in events and help the north feel as dangerous in a fantasy world as it is in real life. CREDITS ————— Writing Celestial_Bleh Brainstorming & Ideas Halfirate, Moumins Review & Editing Moumins, Karim, Pallodium

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┈﹒✮ ⊰ ‧ ☾ 🌿 ☽ ‧ ⊱ ✮﹒┈ [!] Pieces of a journal, long since lost to time, float through the abyss ⠀ I am Kason de Alencar… …I think that was the difference between my sister and I despite us being so close. She relied on what she thought the world should be. I wanted to learn what it should be from mae and pai. …I would argue with one of my siblings…but it was a good life. ….became a nightmare. Monsters atop pawing beasts. Cruel claws and red eyes. The sun hid. I remember it. Everything nice and loving is a hazy blur of joy. But I remember the nightmare. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣸⣷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢰⡄⣾⣿⢿⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡄⢠⣆⠀⣴⣼⣷⣾⣷⣜⣛⡟⠋ ⠀⠀⠀⣤⣄⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⣾⣗⣀⣿⡏⣼⣿⣿⣿⡓⣿⣧⠿⠿⠿⠟⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⣿⡇⠀⢀⣿⡧⠔⣿⣯⣮⣿⡥⣿⣿⢶⣿⣧⠞⢷⣿⣾⣷⡶⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡿⡀⠀⢿⣿⡃⣺⣿⡿⢻⣿⣔⣺⣿⡿⠟⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⡷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢹⣿⡂⠀⢵⣿⠁⢬⣿⣏⢚⣿⣿⡾⣿⣿⣶⣤⣭⣈⡁⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⢅⠀⢹⣿⢅⣼⣿⣿⣏⠙⣿⣷⣷⣏⠟⠟⠻⠛⠿⠿⠖⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣠⠾⢿⣿⣶⡾⠿⣿⣿⣦⣯⣛⠿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⣤⠴⠞⢿⣷⣄⠹⠿⢿⣿⣦⣌⠈⠛⠿⣷⣷⣦⣌⠉⠙⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠈⠛⢿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣷⣶⣦⣌⡙⠻⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠈⠙⠛⠛⠀ He was cradled in an odd manner, body resting on a bed slick with blood and corpses. Irregular drops of rain wet the cheeks of Kason but even with all the discomforts, he would not wake from slumber. It was the gray twilight of sunrise. Or sunset? He could not tell which. Only that the sun hung just barely over the horizon where the sky was yet to be painted with its vibrant colors. Being used to the noise of the wilds, the quietness of it all was immediately apparent. And yet he was not concerned. The world rocked. Back and forth, back and forth. A sobbing warmth had wrapped its arms about him. Yet his body remained cold. A lulling hum rolled over the hills of that plane. He turned to see a giant. It gathered the night sky about its shoulders as a cloak, head bowing over a valley that it had used to craft a bowl for its incense to burn in. Each step rumbled in rhythm until it had nearly passed him by. “What lies ahead?” He called. For if anyone was to know, that giant likely would. Its head turned, slow and meandering. “Ahead.” It answered. He considered this. “Can someone visit?” The great giant lowered to a sit, its cloak billowing out until the gray twilight was covered in night. The valley rested in its lap, cool mists of burning spice spilling from it. “Who are you?” It answered. He obliged. “I am Kason de Alencar.” “A great house?” “It was.” “I do not hear whispers of it from the people nor see its name set amongst illustrious tomes.” “It was my home. My family.” He was beginning to feel displeased with the giant. “If I say it was great, it was great.” The giant sensed such and moved on to its next question. “Do you regret your life?” This quieted Kason. He had not been happy all his years. Kalldur was hell and the nightmare that caused it to be such still haunted his dreams. Friends were used. Trusted. Then lost. Joy fled him for many, many a year. Then after it all did he suffer an echo of death. That ‘sibling’ of his was there throughout every step. Throwing him into a pond. “Y-you..idiot..You…Wh-why didn’t y-you tell me to protect mae…I could…I could have…I would have lived! WHY DID YOU GO! YOU WERE MORTAL!” Delighting in terrifying him. “Meu Irmao… I’m…I’m so sorry..” Disappearing along with his mae. “I’m s-sorry for getting lost, for not being there for so many years.” Forcing a change upon him. “F-for making you hate me.” Was nothing so undoing as a sister? Was there no other in the world one could hurt and be hurt in turn, anger and be angered in turn, protect and be protected in turn, love and be loved in turn? Kason supposed he wouldn’t have changed a thing. “No. I do not regret my life.” The giant’s unseen eyes were fixed to Kason, studying his soul for a speck of a lie. “Do you have matters left unfinished?” Of course he did. Kason imagined that no one, ever, left all matters well tended. All senses filled with dirt. He was entombed in his final resting place. Yet he did not linger. In a small, nearby home, on a bed where his sword and lantern now rested, he sat and heard the begging prayers. He had left his heart behind. For all his effort to ensure his mae’s protection and wellbeing, he had somehow managed to greatly succeed and utterly fail. There had only ever been one guiding light. One sole purpose. And he had left it behind. Kason looked up into the unseen eyes of the giant. His own blurred as water gathered. “I left her.” “You did.” The giant would not comfort Kason with falsehood. A large hand reached out, wrapping about him. Then did it begin to squeeze. The facsimile of breath left. The phantasmal thought of a body dissipated. Kason was a nothing when the giant, at last, released him. It drew back up to a stand, revealing the clawing colors of dawn as its cloak fell back about it. Kason de Alencar, the world does not know you. It has forgotten your house. It will forget your name. You leave naught. No craft bearing the print of your hands. No poem with hard-labored ink. In the forest of eons, You are a small, rotting leaf. And so I grant you your wish. You may visit as the occasional breeze that wraps About your mother in an encouraging embrace. You may twitter as a bird to draw your sister from Slumber to that which shall feed her. In the small nothings that rarely an important memory make, You may apologize to that which you left behind.

Somewhere, sometime, an exiled romance author sneezes. Some hundred years or so ago, he had heard a rumor that a sneeze meant someone was talking about you. While such was clearly untrue, he couldn’t help the chilling feeling that his writing was being blamed for some wild occurrence again.

Well part of it is… arrrr pirates. xD Makes sense for them to not be under a nation. But also there’s a lotta changes happening with various nations/groups. And then new rules/policies being implemented have burned the group irply before with them being ousted. So… arrr pirates and a place where the laws are the land and ocean. Restless exploration etc.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡ ╔═══━━—–━─── • ───━—----–━═══╗ 𒆜 If you are a DREAMER come in If you are a DREAMER, a WISHER, a LIAR A HOPER, a PRAY-ER, a MAGIC-BEAN-BUYER If you’re a PRETENDER come sit by my fire For we have some flax golden TALES to spin COME IN! COME IN! 𒆜 ╚═══━━—–━─── • ───━━—–━═══╝ Invitation by Shel Silverstein ┆　┆　┆　┆　┆ ┆　┆ ࣪ ˖☆ ࣪⭑┆ ݁˖ .☆ . ݁ ˖ ☆⊹ ࣪ ┆ ˖ ࣪　⊹ ࣪ ★ ⋆.˚ ⊹ ࣪ ࣪ ˖⋆˚★ ₊ ⊹　 ࣪˖ ࣪ ₊ ࣪ ˖　 . ݁　⊹ ࣪ ˖　　　 ࣪ ˖ 　　. ݁　　　 ݁ 　　. Art by Bilques Evely ⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ✩°｡⋆ .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・． ｡･ﾟﾟ･　　 ･ﾟﾟ･｡ ____________________________________________˚₊· ͟͟͞͞↠❤ ˚₊‧꒰ა T H E C A L L ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ❤ ͟͟͞↞˚₊·____________________________________________ Whencefore did the lilypads go? The ones so tall, the sun could kiss them? Where are the beasts that roamed the roads? That brought awe to those that saw them? What year did the drums cease their pounding? Did my people go and follow them? What year did laughter turn to fading? Did the bards of old capture them? CORANN DAEVEAR. Last of his name. Last of his clan. And bored out of his mind. A mali’ker who decided to have a bit of FUN. Books to entertain. To provide an ESCAPE from the drudgery that had become the everyday. Fantastical mysteries and unbelievable tales. Murders. Mayhem. Betrayals. Friendship. All wrapped up with a romantic bow. Then it became more. A proper escape. A means to a quiet life. A way of connecting to other bards, writers, and more. Where had the magic gone? It was there. In their art. Where could those scorned people of the world turn? There. To the arts. ╔═══━━—–━─── • ───━—----–━═══╗ 𒆜 All the words that I gather, And all the words that I write, Must spread out their wings untiring, And never rest in their flight, Till they come where your sad, sad heart is, And sing to you in the night, Beyond where the waters are moving, Storm darkened or starry bright. 𒆜 ╚═══━━—–━─── • ───━━—–━═══╝ Where My Books Go by W.B. Yeats ┆　┆　┆　┆　┆ ┆　┆ ࣪ ˖☆ ࣪⭑┆ ݁˖ .☆ . ݁ ˖ ☆⊹ ࣪ ┆ ˖ ࣪　⊹ ࣪ ★ ⋆.˚ ⊹ ࣪ ࣪ ˖⋆˚★ ₊ ⊹　 ࣪˖ ࣪ ₊ ࣪ ˖　 . ݁　⊹ ࣪ ˖　　　 ࣪ ˖ 　　. ݁　　　 ݁ 　　. ____________________________________________˚₊· ͟͟͞͞↠❤ ˚₊‧꒰ა T H E F A L L ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ❤ ͟͟͞↞˚₊·____________________________________________ CORANN DAEVEAR. Last of his name. Last of his clan. And in desperate need of repairing his reputation. No one needed reminding that the humans could be cruel and flippant. A past he had worked to recover from had been thrown in his face once more. Did he pass the test? Yes. Did the investigation find anything? No. Was he still exiled and claimed guilty? But of course. Yet plans were in the works. The clearing of his name, once and for all. Then he could retire at last and find peace in writing his novels. A missive was placed in the hands of Corann Daevear. Famed romance author. And the reason romance novels were banned. “....Shit.” The mali’ker didn’t much care regarding the other laws though the one regarding cursed children took his attention for longer than a moment. Romance novels… affecting the mind… corrupting the people…. One would think his quill had the power to craft something more addicting than drugs and more damning than a warlock’s curse. If he had such power, he would sway those in charge to properly read his novels. To see the fun in it all. The entertainment that was desperately needed. That in order for people to learn to live, they needed something to get them through to the next day. What was next? Banning all bards? Likely. -- OOC The post formatting is inspired by these lovely people. You should check them out!

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Fair enough xD Simple is best 99% of the time.

I do know of another instance of it being sreq-ed besides mentions of sreqs in this post. Of course, I don’t have access to those logs at all so it’s admittedly a presumption asides from that. But several times I’ve entered crp involving malflame or have seen someone else enter crp involving malflame and then this gets brought up. It has ranged from insisting that malflame not only affects animii prosthetics but also melts it (utterly whack) to “well it doesn’t burn it but if you touch the flesh limb before the prosthetic, it’ll spread across it.” So at the very least, will hopefully stop that sort of back and forth and cut down on something that could make crp take even longer. Doing the sreq recently was to make sure for myself that a current ruling on it was what I also assumed to be obvious.

There are two types of playable animii CAs. The first is not a machine spirit because it lacks a soul but it is still intelligent and can function. (Says in its redlines that it cannot do any magics that require a soul.) A machine spirit is essentially a prepared husk that got “infused” with the soul of the person it was prepared for. Since prosthetics are a lesser tier of crafting, do not involve the soul preparation and identifying processes a machine spirit does, and are supposed to be worse versions of actual limbs overall (cannot feel temperature and person will completely bleed out into unconsciousness in 5 emotes if the life blood starts to leak), it stands to reason that they fall under the category of the soulless automaton CA. You’d basically be trying to malflame an alchemically advanced pegleg, etc. Edit: It could be interesting if soul-infused animii prosthetics were an option for the ability to feel temperature etc. in exchange for being affected by soul magics and items. But that would need to be in a different amendment attempt.

Animatii prosthetics are expressly mundane creations (described like that in the lore) and are just cool alchemical feats. They don't do anything to the soul blueprint nor does losing a limb damage the soul blueprint. Malflame cannot attack the soul unless it strikes a soul bearing material according to the naztherak lore so it wouldn't effect animatii limbs.

OLD N/A - there is no redline expressly referencing this NEW Added to animatii prosthetic redlines: - All prosthetics are not soul bearing materials. Spells and items and so on that affect soul bearing materials do not apply due to such. PURPOSE The amount of times this has been sreq-ed justifies it finally being added to redlines. If only to lighten the ticket load on ST. FURTHER EXPLANATION Animatii prosthetics, as per the lore, are crafted from “solely dead and inorganic materials.” Automaton CAs, despite having lifeblood, can exist without a soul. All blood is transformed into lifeblood when entering the prosthetic.

The uniqueness of lotc is that all the different role-play niches are (typically) able to collide together and it results in intriguing storylines. "Hey, I think there's something off about the tavern keeper? None of the other workers are allowed access into the basement and one time someone heard something kind of like a shout?" "You're just jealous he agreed to go to the ball with me! And he says he'll show me the wine collection in the basement so obviously it's not THAT much of a secret."

Corann looked down to the tool in his hand. He flipped it about. Fiddled with its contraptions. Already were the thoughts and ideas buzzing through his mind of what it could be used for. But above them all, there was the dour thought of Hart having passed, feeling as though he didn’t do enough. Prayers in Vel’luah were offered on behalf of his human friend. Fumbling remembrances of what would have been said hundreds of years ago. And along with them came the request that wherever Hart then lay, he’d know it was all more than enough. In a time of fear and anxieties, Corann had rather needed the laughs.

"I am writing a book." "...And you tell me because it is a romance?" ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ Gloved hands held the papers, pondering the timing of their arrival. A journal, simple in appearance with jagged edges, rested in his bag. In a cozy, cramped room, upon a mess of a desk, this new book was set. Birds roosted there. A mechanical raven, a plush crow, an inkwell twisted into the image of a nest, a quill that remained sleek with a raven's feather. All grounded and caged within the author's abode. Ink splattered on the page. Conflict to the beginning. Notes and thoughts were scrawled into margins. The very first of which was how much he despised the freezing cold no matter its faux peace.

Two, violet eyes brushed over the worn, journal cover. The eyes had not always been his. The ones that came before had long since rotted. The mali'ker noted that no embellishment had been added to the edges of the paper. No refinement had seemingly been added at all. They were coarse and jagged. The book had no title to greet him. But there was skin and there was muscle and there was bone. He was astounded to find marrow and the careful lattice of veins. It breathed. It died. It dared. It sparked. Whilst not even enchanted tomes could provoke such a thing. There came a click of a tongue. A reluctant admittance. He would not mind more of such corpses.

“Godric” tucked armor and halberd safely away, a thought spared to the javelin that had nearly dented it. But none had been hurt. None had been caught. It gave greater hope to other such acts. He hummed as a certain song still lingered on the tongue, turning his thoughts to what was next to come.

WHISPER WHISPER HI. What would you say have been your favorite badass moments 🎤

[!] A copy of a signed writ is attached to the notice. [!]

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡ ╔═══━━—------------------------–—---–━─── • ───━—--------------------------------━–━═══╗ 𒆜 DISCLAIMER FOR ALL DAEVEAR WORKS 𒆜 ╚═══━━—------------------------–—---–━─── • ───━━—------------------------–—---–━═══╝ While dark times call for fanciful lies within which to escape to, it has been brought to the attention of this author, who is utterly committed to the joy and wellbeing of his readers, that his works may have unintended influences upon the good, malleable minds of loyal Canonists. THEREFORE Allow this writ to serve as a warning to all those who would become lost betwixt the pages. These books are born of lies to distract and entertain. One should not look to them for truth. So long as this is understood, enjoyment of the novels, plays, and other such merchandise would serve their intended purpose: a means of escape. ╔═══━━—------------------------–—---–━─── • ───━—--------------------------------━–━═══╗ 𒆜 THANK YOU 𒆜 ╚═══━━—------------------------–—---–━─── • ───━━—------------------------–—---–━═══╝ ｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

That doesn’t seem snarky at all! I think the real point is not “do they know and if they know, how can they use them out of moral reasons?” (Especially since a lot of nations would be just fine using the corpses of their criminals) The question is the fact that it’s a low cost for something that has a reveal with no way around it. Relying on irp moral implications (that really aren’t moral implications…) isn’t a good fix for it.

A good idea! To my knowledge, no other darkspawn CA or FA has a darkspawn reveal that cannot be worked around with enough cleverness or given proper doubt. Even a spirit walk can be OOC denied permission and such would be unable to be used irp to determine a character to be a darkspawn.

Sepulcher Heart Volume One Part One For a fully illustrated pdf: Sepulcher Heart - Volume One Part One Prologue Lord Raithorn lounged by the window, wine sloshing in his jewel-encrusted goblet. He listened to the screaming howls from below. They were the unmistakable, guttural warble of beasts. Sometimes with the bark of a command, sometimes with a whine of pain, and, sometimes, a dark howl drowned them all, laughing in its own cruel way. No purpose to it than for the sheer joy of exulting in bloodshed. A dribble of Fortengue’s 1300 made itself acquainted with Lord Raithorn’s collar. What a mess. A finger flicked. Nothing happened. The lord grew truly irate. His hand swayed but not in the way he wished it until the third try, beckoning towards himself, at last, the ever-present guard. “Vellikor.” Lord Raithorn drawled, the wine making him sound out the beginning longer than necessary for it sounded rather pleasant on the ears. Far more pleasant than the howls that drew ever closer. “I believe it is time to prepare for my death.” The stalwart guardian showed no sign of surprise. The lord wondered if it was capable of feeling such. “I can prepare your will.” It rumbled. Despite being the one to have suggested it, and still feeling it very much needed, Lord Raithorn grew frustrated at Vellikor’s quick acceptance. “My will?” He cried, aghast. “Prepare my death!” “What method would you prefer?” The jewel-encrusted goblet of silver clattered against Vellikor’s armor. It didn’t flinch. “Listen! Bend that ear of yours to the drabble outside! I know you possess a keen one for I ensured such craft myself.” He paused and, whether for its own benefit or his, Vellikor tilted its head towards that narrowed window. “You hear it, yes? It is the siren song beyond Death’s gates.” The guardian could certainly hear a pounding upon wooden gates but it knew this to be the work of beasts and that howling, ferocious Direheart. There was no singing. It judged, accurately, however, that Lord Raithorn did not wish to be corrected. “How shall I prepare?” The lord slumped within that chair, shaking his head as though it were the most ridiculous question in the world. “I need time and resources and damn the thought of a will. I need an heir.” Vellikor awaited further words. When none came it prepared a mental list of questions to ask. It decided to start with the most difficult one. “Am I to bring you a wife then?” “NO!” The lord was kept from a following rant by the sudden, piercing crack of wood, the shattering of those gates quickly drowned by triumphant howls. He reached for his goblet but it was well across the room. “Vellikor.” A tremble had taken possession of his voice. “Go. Fulfill your duty and protect.” Vellikor bowed. It left the room and descended the narrow, winding stairs without a fleck of fear or even mild concern. Rather, in the time it took for it to stroll across the inner courtyard, Vellikor had already drafted a list of still living relatives and narrowed it down to the best potential candidates. Presuming Lord Raithorn lived past the night. I It was an undeniable fact that a Lord Raithorn lived in a manor in a secluded wood a long, long ways away. What was not known was how this Lord Raithorn fit upon the family tree nor even what he looked like. The oldest of the eldest recalled there being a lord when she was young but not much elsewise. While some did investigate, nothing came up to discredit this lord in a manor that shared the family name. Nor did anyone truly wish to find something to discredit it. For certain members were given a decent allowance and birthday letters always came with much appreciated well wishes and coin. But no one ever visited and no one was ever invited. No one. Until, one day, an invitation came for Eric, Ernst, and Ezra. The invitations caused such a stir that the city guards thought a murder had occurred in the family. But, no, it was simply the Raithorns wondering about gold, treasures, trickery, and the health of the lord in the manor. For of the current living members, the brothers were not too old, not too young, not too abandoned and not too coddled. The perfect candidates from which to choose an heir. Or a meal. As the crotchety Goldhere continued to insist to all who had the misfortune of being within earshot. The eldest, Eric, was of course presumed to be the obvious choice. Perhaps the other two were invited as a formality. Or, perhaps, the lord was to test all three and choose one from among them. Already were the invitations unconventional. Maybe he didn’t much care for age and the rights of the firstborn either. Whatever the plan, the brothers and their parents scrounged up the money for mended clothes, two fine horses, and a few more amenities. Quite a few were willing to donate. With the understanding that they would receive an invitation from whoever became the new lord, of course. And so it was that Eric, the eldest, left upon a stalwart mare, fine clothes dyed a deep blue in remembrance of the Raithorn standard that no one remembered anymore. Ernst, the second eldest, rode on the other horse, a chestnut beauty, with an old dagger that supposedly belonged to a Raithorn knight once upon a time. Ezra, the youngest, rode behind Ernst, arms wrapped tight about his brother who took up much of the saddle. He bore nothing new save for a small book of children’s tales that Goldhere had shoved into his hands. ‘To keep you from being a meal,’ the crazed old man had claimed. II As the youngest, Ezra enjoyed the trip the least. Riding on the back of a shared horse was not the most comfortable. Nor was having the threadbare blanket on the floor of inn rooms nor the smallest portion of meals. Not even the promise of becoming a lord could make such a journey worth it in the end for much everyone had agreed that Ezra was the least likely of the three. No. What made it worth it was something else entirely. A deal that gave Ezra a blossoming hope to cling to. The mere thought of it put a smile upon his face even when Eric would suggest that Ezra walk beside their horses to give Chestnut a rest. Such a hope carried him through Eric’s stubbornness when going the wrong direction and Ernst’s proclivity for sleeping through their intended time of departure. It held strong when rains buffeted him and nearly caused him to slip from the back of Chestnut. It comforted him all the way to the last town upon their journey and up to that town’s gates, where the three lingered before the woods the manor lay within. Then did it desert him. The town itself had been odd. The woods were foreboding. Lengthening shadows stole across the heath, crafting shapes that clawed at where they stood, drawing closer as the sun sank below the grasp of the trees. A large, gnarled oak kept watch over the path that led deeper within, its knots seeming to come together akin to eyes, boughs splaying as many-armed limbs that danced in the evening breeze. It watched the brothers, or so Ezra felt, waiting for whether or not they were foolish enough to continue at night. “Lord Raithorn’s words feel all the more wise now that I see the woods at dusk.” Ernst spoke. Perhaps it was Lord Raithorn’s words that were causing each brother to feel as though a maliciousness lay beyond. For the invitation had expressed many things, one of which was the insistence that they do not travel at dark nor stray from the path. “He had also expressed urgency.” Eric replied, straightening then with his chest puffed out. Ezra groaned. Nothing made Eric feel more like the eldest than correcting his siblings. And nothing made him more stubborn than needing for his corrections to go unchallenged. Ezra wondered if he might bid Eric and Ernst farewell so that he, himself, could set out in the morning. But with how great a fear had sunk into his heart, he wasn’t certain if all of it would be gone come day. “If we prevail upon him at dark, we will be interrupting his sleep, which has never put any in a good mood.” Ezra ventured. Ernst nodded eagerly. “Then the lord would not look favorably on any of us. That’d be a poor start to our visit.” For a moment, Ezra thought that Eric might readily agree for once. “The servants could tend to us.” The very thought of having people attend to him put a dangerous, stubborn glint in Eric’s eye. He shifted in the saddle to look towards his brothers, head tilting up so that he could peer down his nose to them. “Stay at the inn if you wish but I plan to prove myself worthy of being heir.” Ezra would normally pay little heed to Eric and simply let him do as he wanted. But the darkness twisted branches into foul shapes and a horrid whispering lay on the wind. His older brother was a nuisance, and often parroted ridiculous rules at him, but he did not wish him harmed. Or worse. “We’ve already taken longer than the journey ought to have been.” Ezra ventured. “A few hours more so as to travel by day matters little.” Ernst went to agree but Eric cut him off sharply. “It is not my fault the map was outdated.” The map was not. “And that is ever more reason to not be later than we already are. When one holds rule over people and lands, every moment counts. Something that should be impressed upon you if you wish to reside in the manor once I am lord.” Ezra was no longer adverse to the idea of Eric being harmed. At the very least, a startled fall from the horse that would bruise the ‘lordly rump’ would be good. And so it was that his arguing with Eric was at an end. Ernst had reached a similar conclusion. “Go forth if you wish to.” Ernst declared, pulling on the reins to turn Chestnut about. “We’ll stay at the inn and join you in the morning.” The thought of going into the woods on his own seemed a great blow to Eric’s determination. As they cantered back to the gates, Ezra half expected their brother to follow. Perhaps saying that ‘it was a test’ and ‘clearly they would make fine advisors to a lord.’ But a final look back as the watchman let them in did not show such a thing. Rather, Eric had urged his horse onwards, the flickering light of his lantern appearing small and frail in the gloom of the woods. At the inn, Ernst was beside himself with uncertainty. “Perhaps we should have joined Eric.” He wondered. “Not at all.” Ezra insisted. “But what if Lord Raithorn finds his stubbornness impressive?” “Then you can spend the rest of the visit showing that you are far more impressive.” “If only that were so.” “It is. And even if it were not, I will be helping you.” That eased Ernst some. Though Ezra was not to be lord, he knew well which of his brothers he did wish to take up the mantle. In exchange for his help, Ernst had promised Ezra a permanent stay at the manor. He would not be disturbed nor ruled over and the marriage that the family had been pushing Ezra towards would be all but forgotten. For once in his life, Ezra would be free. That was well worth journeying alongside his brothers and braving the woods in the morning. The morning, however, had other plots. Ezra awoke to a letter and an empty bed where Ernst had slept. Dearest Ezra, the letter read, I cannot help but think that Eric is right. Every little bit counts. And so I set out before the sun, aiming to arrive right when it does. I believe I can insist on my being both early and polite as opposed to Eric disturbing Lord Raithorn during his slumber. Once pleasantries are done and we break fast, I will have a horse and escort sent for you. Ezra packed his bag and hurried towards the woods, a terrible dread nipping at his heels. III A mist had rolled lazily down the northern mountains, pouring through the woods at night before settling over the town come day. It coated leaf and branch in a glimmering film to catch the morning rays, turning what was once a frightening venture to an inviting, picturesque landscape. It was so great a change, Ezra felt entirely ridiculous. Ridiculous for ever having feared the path and for ever having thought his brothers would come to harm. Even without a horse, he could reach the manor early afternoon, but why do so when a horse and escort would be sent for him? A flitting shadow caught his eye. A sparrow, swooping low before landing on that gnarled oak. Unlike the rest of the woods, the make of that tree had not changed. Its eyes stared back, gloomy in those mists, unminding of the stranger that leaned against its trunk. Ezra started. He had not seen anyone there a moment ago. “G-Good morning.” Ezra spoke. The stranger bore a dull hood and cloak, arms crossed before a tunic that had seen better days. The mist obscured much but Ezra thought he could see a sword at the stranger’s side and, quite possibly, the vague shape of a quiver. There was no horse nearby, however. This was not the escort Ernst had promised. “To where do you go?” The stranger inquired. “Nowhere.” Came Ezra’s response. “I am returning to the inn.” “You left whatever city you had come from…to stay at this town’s inn?” “No, but I…I do not see what business that is of yours.” He worried for a moment that he had been overly rude but the stranger had an oddness about him. One that reminded Ezra of the fear from the night before. “If you are one of Lord Raithorn’s guests, it is my business. I am to aid in protection.” Ezra hesitated. “I was told that a horse would be sent.” A snort. “I can carry your bag but I will not whinny.” He glanced at the sky. Surely his brothers and Lord Raithorn had broken fast already and the promise was fulfilled. But he could not be certain and he did not wish to be within the woods at dark, with an escort or not. Ezra drew closer to the oak and the sparrow and the stranger. “...Who are you?” Locks of blond poked out from the hood, falling just shy of violet eyes. “Alwin. A forester for the lord’s lands.” With that distance closed, Alwin moved forward, taking hold of that bag and slipping it away himself. The startling eyes had properly stunned Ezra so that by the time he thought to protest, Alwin already had his possessions slung over a shoulder. “Come. You do not want to see the path at dark.” Ezra felt his cheeks begin to flush. He hurried forward before the forester could notice and so add to his embarrassment. “I have seen it at dark.” He said indignantly. The two travelled in silence for a time, Ezra uncertain of what to speak on and Alwin content to speak of nothing. Oak and beech dotted the woods, not nearly as clustered nor as sinister as the night before had suggested. Occasionally were there swathes of heath so thick, to step from the path would be to drown in an ocean of twig and leaf. But, for the most part, it was clear and inviting. Wildflowers dotted the ground. Moss crawled over rock and branch. If it were not for the forester, and the desire to reach the manor before sundown so much as neared, Ezra would have stepped away a few times to look closer at a flower with intriguing petals or follow the sound of what must have been a pleasant, babbling brook. Not a fleck of that fear lingered and he felt all the more ridiculous for it. Yet even Alwin had spoken of not braving the path at dark. Ezra glanced to the other, whose hood remained even as the midday heat fell upon them. “I can carry my own bag.” He offered. “So can I.” There was little reason to argue against such. As they continued, Ezra realized he had yet to break his fast and he was beginning to feel it. He was glad for the bread the innkeeper had offered and that his rush hadn’t been so great as to have denied it. Upon pulling it out of his bag, the scent of doughy goodness filled the air. All a sudden, Alwin’s face was looming beside his own, the other’s words brushing too close for comfort. “Oh? That smells like Maude’s. Might I have a bite?” So flustered was Ezra, he merely stammered a “If you wish…” Not at all thinking anyone of polite manner to actually accept. But Alwin had spoken in honest earnest and he leaned forward, not bothering to shift his grip on the pack and so free a hand, but took a direct bite of the bread. “Thamf u.” He said. Many were the emotions of Ezra then, none of which he wished to think on. His mind fumbled for some other distraction before blurting out. “What is Lord Raithorn like?” The silence that stretched after was so long, Ezra feared he shouldn’t have asked or that the ruse was easily seen. But eventually Alwin spoke. “Impressive, at first. Then you talk with him and think that there is a man who should not have been entrusted with a manor. Let alone lands and people, even if it is only the town at the edge of the woods. But you work with him and are continuously surprised until you once again consider him impressive.” “Oh.” Was all Ezra could think to respond. It was an odd description. He could not tell from it whether such a thing would make Eric more likely to be chosen as heir or Ernst. Further along, the path slipped through a clearing. Alwin took a moment to point out a distant view of stones, peaking just over the trees. The blue of the sky intermingled with their darker color.Little else could be seen, but it gladdened Ezra to be close to the end of the journey. And it emboldened him. “Lord Raithorn had instructed us not to travel at night.” He said. “It made my brothers nervous but I suppose it was to keep us from getting lost.” The expression on Alwin’s face was so startling, Ezra nearly tripped over a root that had stretched out over the path. “There is more reason than becoming lost.” The forester warned. “Reasons the townsfolk speak of often when comforted by drink and a fire.” “What reasons?” Ezra regretted such a question the moment he asked it. No more was the sunlight and closeness of the manor such comforting thoughts. Alwin’s face screwed tight with a confliction before violet eyes fixed to Ezra once more. “Ask the lord if you want proper tales. I won’t speak a word of them out here.But whatever name the King has written for this place on maps, all within a league know it as the Witchwood.” Terrible thoughts of curses and hexes plagued Ezra then and he wondered for the wellbeing of Eric and Ernst. He was so distracted that he did not catch Alwin’s next words for a moment. “You spoke of others. Do they remain at the inn?” Ezra’s reply was interrupted by a scream. It drove his heart into his throat and bled the color from his face. For he recognized it from the time Ernst had suffered terrible nightmares. Alwin’s instructions were lost on him. He sprung away from the path, running towards that shout as quick as his legs could carry him. IV Ezra didn’t know what he was thinking. Rather, Ezra was fairly certain that not a thought was going through his mind. The grass of the clearing gave way to roots and rocks and low-hanging branches. Several times he went to move forward only to find that the ‘even ground’ was, in fact, a short drop hidden by vegetation. Each time that he nearly twisted an ankle, some bit of sense drove its way into his mind and he considered turning back. But Ernst’s screams did not cease, instead growing more desperate as time went on and Ezra drew closer. “Ernst!” He shouted, heart pounding. The mist was no longer pleasant. The sun had somehow dimmed. Trees that were once gentle held that same menace as the night before. Fear clawed at Ezra’s mind. This was the Witchwood. “EZRA!” He bounded beyond a fallen trunk, stumbling across an imperceptible decline until he managed to dig in a heel and regain his balance. A bush rustled beyond, the raucous caw of crows sounding as wings flapped to escape whatever prowled just out of sight. “E-ernst?” He had meant to shout it but now Ezra did not feel comfortable speaking louder than a whisper. He pushed onwards. Needed to push onwards. To find Ernst. To keep from being a standing target. He could no longer tell whether snapping twigs came from his own steps or from something keeping pace just a few feet away. Shadows of leaves raced past but so too did a loping darkness that wove ever closer. He could hear its grunts. Feel its breath. If Ezra looked back, he was certain that gleaming teeth would meet him. Sunlight broke without warning, the trees giving way to open air through which flowed a rushing stream that sloshed against the banks. An old bridge served as a place of crossing but what lay beyond rooted Ezra to the spot. It was Ernst. He assumed. For the body that was slumped against the tree was covered in muck, limbs twisted in an off-fashion. Was he…dead? Ernst stirred, head raising. Ezra clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting. What he had presumed to be some pack or other object twisted behind the other’s head was an arm. “Ezra…?” It was hoarse and trembling. Ezra stepped towards the bridge but just beyond the treeline, eyes glinted in the shadows. Cruel. Violent. They drew closer, some other sound joining the rushing water. He looked to Ernst. Ernst looked back, eyes wide in terror. Terror at something behind him. Pain shot through Ezra’s shoulder as it was pierced, a heavy force knocking into him from behind, causing the air to escape from his lungs. The ground rushed to greet him, the thud of impact drowned by a sharp SNAP. Ezra screamed. Or, at least, he figured he did. But it was difficult to hear with the searing, throbbing pain that engulfed his mind and radiated throughout his arm. Black swam through his vision. He was barely able to turn his head to look up at what was atop him. Ragged, wild fur surrounded the snarling jaw of a wolf, wet with blood and slobber. A crimson gaze met Ezra’s and in it was a ravenous hunger. Its maw opened. Suddenly, from the midst of its forehead, a tip of metal sprouted, a black liquid seeping from it. There was a whine and the wolf stumbled off of Ezra, shaking its head. The black ichor spattered about. An arrow had pierced it, feathers rustling with the movement. He tried to stand but that pain grew all the greater and he fell back to the ground as tears streamed down his cheeks. Across the way, howls sounded, joined by the frantic shouts of Ernst. His brother. Who was soon to be eaten. Boots came into Ezra’s view and a rough hand took hold of him, forcing him to a stand despite his cries of pain. “Rodraugr!” Alwin shouted. “They’re crossing the bridge!” A deep voice bellowed back. “Take the lad and get to the manor! Cedric, Lauwry, hold the bank.” Shouts of acknowledgement followed and growls intermingled with speech, the twang of bows never going without an accompanying whine. Ezra was barely able to keep from falling back down, wishing that he would soon awaken at the inn. But Alwin turned him about, a steady arm and a string of encouragement helping him move forward. But what of Ernst? “He will be fine. The others will get him. It- get back!” Ezra was pushed backwards, the support of Alwin suddenly gone as the other slipped away, a dagger drawn from beneath the cloak. That wolf, arrow still lodged in it, snapped at the forester, growls flecked with its own blood, black as night, gurgling on it. Ezra’s head pounded, hardly able to keep standing. His left arm still spouted flames of pain. He didn’t dare look at it. But his heart was pumping, adrenaline flowing through, and at the sight of Alwin and the wolf clashing in a ferocious wrestle of fangs and dagger, one thought pierced the growing haze. Run. Any moment he could fall. Any moment he could die. Ezra did not have the wherewithal to keep his steps silent, crashing through branches and crying out each time his arm jostled. Where was the path? Where was the manor? If he kept straight, perhaps he could come across it. But there was thick brush he could not cross and steep terrain his arm could not be used to steady himself upon. Shadows lengthened within the woods and upon his mind. The darkness of a curtain falling closed. He wasn’t aware when his steps first shifted from grass to well-packed dirt to cobble. Ezra hadn’t noticed the high stone-walls nor well-trimmed hedge. It wasn’t until he was passing a bubbling fountain that he realized the Witchwood had been left at the gates. Or, perhaps, he was dreaming. He must be. For clanking down the steps to greet him was a motley of metal contraptions, ranging from lanky coils and grinding gears to humanoid figures with shining eyes. They surrounded him, babbling with questions. “E-ernst.” Was all Ezra could say in reply. “Ersnt needs help.” “Terrible thing! Do they all come like this?” “Of course not. Look at the arm! They are not supposed to do that.” “I thought there were two more?” “My brother!” Ezra tried again. “My brother is going to be eaten!” “You need help.” “Oh someone should get Vellikor. Or Lord Raithorn!” “I don’t think the lord–” “There he is!” The odd crowd parted. Down the manor steps walked a man just as odd as those who had come before him. Jewels glittered from his hands, from his neck, from his ears, upon his clothes and even on his shoes. His arms were outstretched in a welcome, several layers of robes splaying out in a dizzying assortment of colors and patterns. “Welcome–” Lord Raithorn’s voice boomed “–to Wolfsbane Manor.” To Be Continued For a fully illustrated pdf: Sepulcher Heart - Volume One Part One