Porkgasm

A lumbering Half-Olog would hear about this new guild during his time spent feasting at his local tavern. His dull mind would slowly out together that some of these bounties may make a good snack! Lumbering over to his local Church, he would have a priest assist him in sending off a letter... Application for Interview (Written with assistance) Name: Boniface the Bonehead Race: He appears to be some sort of Half-breed..you'll have to see for yourself.. Age: He cannot count past 10. I am sure he is older then 10. I hope. Discord#: Bonehead#4321

I found the event to be enjoyable, and the Nuke explosion to be a wonderful surprise. I am dissapointed to read people expressing anger towards at Aesopian regarding this event. Despite the vitrol that people have thrown at him and the event in general, I have found it to be some of the best RP I've experienced. Joining September has been one of the more interesting things I have done since joining the server a few months ago, and I look forward to seeing him create future events whenever the September eventline ends. A point was made that LT's act as the gatekeepers of lore for the server. This is true. However, I'd like to bring up a simple point. LOTC provides a service. It's an entertainment service. It's purpose is to provide RP for the enjoyment of the playerbase. I will repeat myself. *It's purpose is to provide RP for the enjoyment of the playerbase.* When the vast majority of the playerbase is deriving enjoyment from an RP event, it is not your job to break apart their RP like some kind of riot police. Your job, quite simply, is to facilitate it. Is the nuke not lore friendly? Ok, the response SHOULD have been "How can we make it lore friendly" not "What the **** has Aesopian done." Not "Boo hoo ******* playerbase crying." I suggest this become a lesson that staff on every level learn from. Communication is key in making any organization work. LOTC does not have a monopoly on Roleplay servers in Minecraft. Provide the service people excpect when they log in, or people will gravitate towards another server that will.

A lumbering Half-Olog would hear about this trouble with goblins and the bounty as he feasted at a local tavern. With a loud belch, he would get up, and slowly make his way to the Village of Ardes, intent on getting a cut of the bounty. ((Contact Porkgasm IG if you wanna team up for this!))

Barnabas Brittlebranch would nod to himself as he reads the notice. "Ah good time fer relaxin, an git our mind off the troubles o' late!"

A lumbering Half-Olog would be unable to read, but upon hearing others discuss the mayor would bellow "YAY MILNURZ"

A lumbering Half-Olog would hear of the poor man's troubles, and decide to try and find the man and help if he could..

A lumbering Half-Olog would have the bounty read to to him as he ate his 3rd meal that morning. He would shrug his massive shoulders before grunting out. "Ukiez. Smashy du"

If RP can be generated without PvP, then PvP is unnecessary. Regardless of if you like RP combat or not, that has little bearing on the point of the title. From my experience, PvP Kills RP quicker then anything. What could be enjoyable, growing RP in a town can quickly be killed by a raid. All for what, so people can get clicks and pixels? This is a Roleplay server. Frankly, it's time for people to start realising it.

Forum Name: Porkgasm Skype: live:andrewalexanderking or Porkgasm. However that works. God Name: The Maw - God of eternal hunger Appearance: The Maw takes the appearance of a pitch black void, filled with razor sharp teeth, eternally gurgling and growling with hunger. Agenda: The Maw desires one thing, and one thing alone....to devour all of existence. It cares not who feeds it, or what feeds it, only that it is fed. However, it is said that some dishes please it more then others...magical items of great importance, or persons of significance who are sacrificed to the Maw seem to placate the entity, if only for a fleeting moment. It's hunger is eternal, after all, and can never truly be sated... Description: The Maw has long forgotten his name, subsumed by his own hunger that has driven the entity near to Maddness. It's personality is best described as primitive. It does not communicate in any verbal way and rarely chooses to appear before those who worship it, seeing no need to. Instead, it voices it's approval on a matter, if it's worshippers are ever so foolish enough to contact it, by filling them with a gnawing, painful hunger, so they may experience the ravenous desire that fills it every moment of it's existence. Sample Creation: The Pit, as it is known to some, is a truly massive crater set upon the world. Seemingly bottomless, those who would dare to gaze into it's depths would see it stretching down into the depths of the earth, seemingly without end. Legend speaks of how it came to the world, during the early days of creation. The Maw regurgitated a comet from it's depths, spewing it forth and hurling it towards the world. Over the weeks, it grew to be a baleful, glowering orb that crackled and spat above creation, turning night into day and driving the wildlife of the land mad with fear......for they should be. A corona of sickly green light came into focus around the comet as it grew ever closer, and fanciful observers even claimed that this new celestial body had mouth. Finally, one sweltering night, the comet slammed into the heart of creation with such force and magnetude that it was felt on the other side of the world. All life around it boiled away in an instant; The raging, blinding firestorms that followed the comet's fall incinerated everything for miles around. Had there been any survivors left to peer into the massive crater left by the comet's descent, they would seen that the comet had not stopped on contact but instead burrowed deep into the heart of the world. For days, nothing stirred around the chasm that would be known as the Pit. Soon, however, a sickly green miasma began to issue forth from the crater, slowly filling the lands surrounding it with a green haze. Any unfortunate creature who wandered into this haze found themselves...changed. They would find themselves filled with a gnawing hunger that would slowly increase the longer they stayed within. Those foolish enough to remain in the haze would find themselves totally lost to the Maddness of their hunger, unable to think, to feel, to care for much of anything beyond devouring the succulent flesh of any it stumbles across. It is said that some poor souls are called to the Pit by the Maw, in order to feed it's eternal hunger. It is said they live in caves lining the uppermost portions of the Pit, their days spent in agony as they struggle to feed their own maddening hunger while satisfying their patron, least they find it's attentions upon them...

Huckle Honepot waddled into the small Knoxist shrine in the heart of Dunshire. His movements stiff and pained, his wounds stiched closed, and his entire body sore from the troubles of the past few weeks. He sat on a pew in silent contemplation. He did not consider himself important in the grand scheme of things. He was a simple halfling, with simple hopes and dreams. A peaceful life, in a happy burrow, with a pleasant community of other weefolk to share it with. And yet...he could not help but let his mind wander to the tragedies that he has seen unfold, time and again, during his years in Dunshire. Bandits. Psychotic murderers. Troublemaking Bigguns of almost any stripe, coming into his humble community and causing chaos. Orks demanding tribute. Worse still...creatures of darkness that Huckle would be hard pressed to explain. He looked down at his hands. He left pointer finger, lopped of off when a random monstrosity in armor came to town, the finger bone resting in his Burrow, reclaimed by the Pumpkin Preacher himself. It would be a relic of his family for the rest of his days, and a reminder of how the Pumpkin Lord watches over the Halfling people. He reaches up, touching absentmindedly at the fading scars on his forehead, carved into him by a bandit. He sighed. Life in Dunshire has taken it's toll on his body, certainly. And yet, he worried more about those wounds unseen. His people are renowned for their toughness of spirit. Able to keep a positive attitude despite any troubles that beset them. Huckle sighed. He felt as if his spirit were worn down to a nub. He thought of Ley, the poor child he found wandering Dunshire, and adopted as his own. Was this truly a place where one could grow up in safety? He closed his eyes. It had taken an enormous effort of will to post a note the town boards. It had caused quite a stir in the community. Some weefolk suggested arming themselves. Others suggested moving entirely, finding shelter in one of the Biggun communities. Still, the Elder members of the town seemed to simply shrug and shake their heads, clinging to ancient Halfling tradition, determined to keep to the way of life the community always had done, regardless of the troubles these same traditions bring. Huckle did not know what to do. He would have spoken to Daisy, the Prophet O' Knox..but she had recently given birth. He respected the new mother's need to rest. So he came here, to this simple shrine of Knox, and he prayed. Prayed for patience. Prayed for peace. Prayed for Guidance. Halflings, as a whole, did not express their faith as some other people did. Theirs was a simple faith, perfect for a simple people. He laid his offering on the shrine, a bundle of wheat, laid a hand on the Pumpkin that rested on the shrine, and then slowly waddled back towards the town. Life in Dunshire would continue as it ever had. The fields needed harvesting, and Huckle would have his work cut out for him.

*A note would be posted on the town boards.* I'm Huckle Honeypot. Lived here for a few years now, and have tried my best to live a proper life. I don't make trouble. I try not to cause a fuss. I'm a simple farmer, trying to live in peace with my own people. These past few years, I have experienced troubles. Common enough for weefolk living in a world filled with Bigguns, yet it does not seem to be getting any better. It seems that I cannot even step out of me Burrow without some BIGGUN strolling into town to try and rob me, or hurt me. This past year alone, I have been attacked four times. I urge the Elders of our community to do something about these troubles. I for one, am tired of not feeling safe in my own village. My own home. - Signed, Huckle Honeypot.

Huckle Honepot waddles along, living his best Halfling life, when he stops to read a small note posted on the town boards of Dunshire. He strokes his chin as he reads it. "Awelp. Been farmin', fishin', and other such things 'ere, maybeh ah kin 'elp this fella out." He murmurs, bobbing his head firmly. In-game name : Huckle Honepot OOC Username : Porkgasm Character's Profession : Farmer Experience in said Profession : Been farming in Dunshire for a month now. Expected pay (weekly) : Whatever is fair. Due to Halfling tradition, Huckles will also accept goods as payment Why do you wish to work for "us" (optional) : I seen a few of your posts around. Seems like your putting in effort to get your estate off the ground. If I can help in some small way, I will Player activity :  Varies, but I have alot of free time.

Goodbye and good luck!

Name: Huckle Honepot Race: Halfling! Who are ye voting for Deputy?: Daisy Applefoot Who are ye voting for Sheriff?: Rollo Applefoot Anything else to add? DONT TRUST BIGGUNS!

Huckle Honeypot would Bob his head enthusiastically. "I've always said them 'arvest spirits is ah right an proper faith fer weefolk! Hurrah for tha' new prophet!" He exclaims!