Swqrclan

So why did you write this

thats all i need to know to understand your marbles are in a row here, well done

he returns from the brink. have you spoken with zarsies about the outvoker?

i still recall in clarity when we danced gayly on the frozen fields set before House Thyone, and then forged a brotherhood within and beyond the virtual world that lasts even now i will be the first to coin your work Zarsian, but for now welcome to the other side

wrote it the way it was for a reason, leave that **** be, isnt even a traditional aengudaemon

An old man walks a desert of ash - somewhere, a place and time not known. The last mile was particularly long, particularly harrowing-- because he took witness to a shadeful tree, alive even if clinging to it, in the far distance. A haven to rest in, before the coming peace. At its base he settles, his breathing a rattle. Beyond him he witnessed a horizon that bled the color of fire; a ring of flame was pinned to the sky where the sun should be, its scorned radiance turning as the moon itself blotted out the center of its being. In his settling, the old man took witness to an eclipse -- when the moon encroaches upon the visage of the sun to alert the world of great and sudden change. Its glorious, if distant blaze set the brightness of amber upon his similarly-colored eyes of the Dragonsblood; and then he closed them to finally feel rest, and dream of a better time. … “There are few of them, now … something so unusual. Like how one would notice if birds did not occupy the sky anymore, or if the raw earth was not filled with bugs. The dead who walk have faded, become scarce under the guidance of fate, under the light of the Eclipse. They have been… bound to the world, since men conceptualized violence. But now I see what few are left in this wasteland stumbling, slowing, stiff … nearing death. The sky burns with great change; something has occurred, and now rest has come. I have … fought them, controlled them. Propped them back up, pushed them toward evils, and then turned around to liberate them from barbarity. I have marched across the world five times and more to lands now lost to us with them; we struck at Dragon Gods, and dark scourges, and our own. I painted them black, and then red to give them a face they had lost. When death often neared, I knew it would not for them, and that they would carry on my convictions. But now one struggles at my feet; I feel it now. Close to death, choked upon ash, it moves the buried arm I mistook as a risen root. It has no power to devour me, only expire away in finality of what it endured. The… Age, of Undeath, has come to a close. Am I to follow? I've, seen things ... countless people wouldn't believe. Thousands of men set upon fire, yet frozen to death, off the shoulder of the Old North. I watched--... stormless lightning bolts, glitter in the dark, above burning Aegis. All those ... moments, will be lost... in fire. Like tears, in rain.” … The old man opens one eye - the good one - to witness the Eclipse again. Cracked, dry lips curve into a brief, crooked grin, hidden away by overgrown hair of black dyed gray.

i have not been compensated for my ascended-bias usurpation. i will not forget, and i will not forgive, until the lord of the craft is a pile of burning rubble.

Some kind of written extension of the historic volume of “Unspoken Lores” has been spread to many libraries and nailed to walls where the public often dwell. They are free to be read or torn down, or taken and kept preserved by others. These pages are, however, limited in number, suggesting one man – possibly the author of the record – was responsible for this message. Music “... Truth of the 1st of the First Seed, 1708. ‘Might controls everything, and without strength, you cannot protect anything’. When I had come to the land of Arcas, I had done so after scouring half the world in search of some written esoteric truth waiting to be discovered among other peoples, other societies - but what I found instead was ruin and broken dreams, where men had long since fallen and withered away alongside their pillars of civilization. The few peoples I found alive and functional were tribal or primitive in some manner; they had not made a mark on the world, and so they were left to quietly squabble in what little territory they controlled. They could not offer anything to me; from what I have witnessed, I already knew they followed the same path as the others. I learned from what I witnessed. The way spires tilted and crumbled told a story about betrayal and mortal evil. The way dead fields were dyed red, where the shriveled bush still bore clumps of mattered fur spoke of a desperate, now failed fight against the inhuman. When I had walked enough to see with my fallible eyes the state of Lost Aegis, now the Abyss, I knew in my heart that it was no different from the others. This tragedy is shared everywhere, and no one man or God can be marked for blame. History has been comprised of countless cases of conceit and temptation and darkness; the sins of Men and Gods had risen up to the waists of the victims of calamity, culminated by their mistakes and misunderstandings as how to move forward, to grapple the world and make it their own. This has gone on for an amount of time I cannot even fathom. No chronicle or record reaches back far enough to suggest when this repetition of downfall began to spin like a cycle. The only footnote I have been capable of clinging to in memory is of aforementioned Aegis -- a land of a time many do not remember, that many had not lived or experienced. From the moment it had burned under the wroth of conflicting divine ideology, the “Descendants” had been cast forth into the world as nomads. This has been the way of things, and not many seem to realize it. There is some form of mechanism - or curse, to the superstitious - upon them, a hex that provokes evil, terrible things to manifest, whether through our own mistakes or by another will. It does not matter where these things come from, only the repetition of apocalypse -- where, in the end, the Descendants of the Four are always driven off to another land to settle. One who had I called Master, who was among the last to live in another land decimated by these calamities, called them “upstart darknesses”. They are forces attracted to the grand congregation of life and progress we call mortal enterprise, and they will not stop their aggression against our kind. To try to elaborate on their motives and their origin is futile, because upstart darknesses do not require a motive against us, or an origin tied to ours, or anything relative to the core of our history. All they do is come, and then they destroy. This will continue until mortalkind loosens its grudges against one-another. Our political discourse and countless wars of Man against Elf or Orc against Dwarf are meaningless; not only because they prove to weaken us under the shadow of upstart darknesses, but because our inner-conflict is for land, birthrights and claims to power that fall apart as soon as another Great Enemy arrives before our doorstep. Violence is among the roots of our world; this is something I cannot deny. When there comes a day when we secure a land for all of us, where no monstrous evil would dare oppose our presence, I do not expect a peace that lasts forever. We are divided by our tribalisms, a nature embedded in his since days unrecorded … this is something I can forgive. But there is such tragic futility in these wars and these conflicts, of these ideological vicissitudes; a kind of poetic thing that the Descendants have ignored, up until all that they fight for is threatened by another upstart darkness. Might controls everything. When another mad god or murderous, inhuman legion makes way upon our land, we must destroy them. They must be taken and ground into dust, broken in countless ways and given no reprieve, or once again we will be driven to another land, where we will be forced to forget our mistakes in some form of mass-lunacy that knows no expiration. Stand your ground, or the Tragedy of Aegis will repeat until there is no land left to run to. And when we are driven into a corner with nowhere to go, the only option will be to die.”

all of these staff trogs beefing on my minecraft legacy like i dont notice and **** go ahead and seduce some synco on the lore team to edit in a PK system when this goes through so they have to suffer another 5 months of rewrites and delayed communication -big c

:OOC: MC Name: onewhowalks MC name of those living with you: N/A :RP: Head of household: Anvaril Family/individuals staying: N/A Number of Children: 0

why did you make this? knowing you have already experienced the whole striga extravaganza, and that you are well aware of the good roleplay put into eliminating all strigae characters (including your own), why would you allow this concept to continue where it would be better fitting as something that has passed on? and on top of that – why did you choose to mix blood magic, striga history (both of which are completely unrelated) and a completely incorrect history to justify this? let us take a look at a few things: none of this actually occurred, because I was the one responsible for Malghourn’s general narrative and direction, and had worked with raptor14 to incorporate him into blood magic’s revision. the fact of the matter is that he would not have rounded up these randoms to “experiment” on them to produce any result along the lines of archons or these new striga, because thats not apart of his narrative and general character design. in fact, all he did regarding blood magic, following Setherien’s defeat, is call upon the characters that were chosen to be the first blood mages after the Shadow Druid (my character) had communed with him in order to justify finding and kickstarting the magic with that event the blood crystal was originally used to impart blood magic onto the first blood mages, and it was created by Malghourn no bohra existed in the land that Malghourn reintroduced blood magic in (4.0). this is entirely fabricated and literally clashes with what actually occurred within that timeframe, let alone how severely it cuts into Malghourn’s actual character design i can go on with this, but can you see what i’m getting at here? i understand what you’re trying to do because the striga was a cool concept, but if you wanted to do that you need to steer super clear away from all of this because you’re just going to stomp the **** out of what has actually occurred in roleplay, replacing actual history and narrative with something you wrote in a few days

stop this rewrite space race shite, leave it to geoboy

”I will never again grovel for a place in this world!” - Raide of Ashford to the Hexer known as “Jin”. He believed he was something better than what he was; that, to lend his sword to those who stood as pinnacles of humanity, would forgive the sin of what he was. In Mordskov, Ser Raide of Ashford fought relentlessly and tested the curse of the Unseen, butchering monster and man alike and driving him closer and closer to the fate of all Striga who think to boast their higher strength to the gods. In the end, when he took witness to the true shape of the Beast of Mordskov, it broke him in two; reducing Raide to the animal that he was, and cursing him to decades of animalistic butchery hidden by the cold south of Atlas. It reminded him, in his bestial depravity, of the fight he participated in; it reminded him of the men he fought with, even if their battle was futile. While an animal, a frothing madman that cannibalized those he caught, the landscape bid him some degree of homeliness, and a dull recollection of someone he was chasing after. A struggler whom he had witnessed grow into a man, who hated him for what he was, yet the only other person he truly related with. A son, almost. Raide never told the boy he thought of him as a son, but he wanted to. He searched ages for him, in his madness, but never found his ‘son’ – his brother, his equal. His other struggler. When he was brought back from the precipice of madness by one who also bore the Unseen blood, it was too late, and the only stable mind that return to him in clarity was the egregore – or, shade, as they are known – placed upon him by black sorcerers far before his time as a Striga. Assuming the name Ur-Raihan, he rampaged across the Atlas countryside after being lured from the south, and became known as the ‘butcher’. This egregore that stole the body of Raide made a mockery of the broken mind he once tormented; insistent that he was different, that he was free, and in control. But he was never in control … always struggling with the animal that remained inside, in a sickening irony of what Raihan was. In the end, Raihan struggled with newfound humanity, and sought to fight for his freedom against those who branded him ‘anathema’. It was too much for a creature not meant to have a mind of its own; and soon Raihan lost his hold on worldly desires, waiting for the peace of death he knew would soon come to him and the maddened psyche of Raide. They caught him, shortly after several skirmishes that he either prevailed in or escaped from. They put Raihan in a cage to wait for an end just like he was put in a cage to wait for a new beginning, and then the one that watched over Raide for the entire duration of his immortal suffering came to take him out to somewhere where the sun did not shine to put a bolt in the back of his head. What he was told by the watchman, this noble secret that only Raide was afforded, was enough to bring the divided mind some clarity. Whatever was left of Raide returned, channeled through Raihan, to experience death denied him in the battles against Mordskov. Raide fought to prove he was better than what he was. Raihan fought to prove that he was free.

you actually make a valid point here – you’re right, most if not all of these things should cease to exist, for reasons other than whether or not they’ve retained their original “purpose”. here is a comprehensive list of their purposes though: the paladins exist for no reason because they were spawn as a holy magic copy-cat event copout, the druids exist because they at least proliferate their numbers and uphold some kind of druid-like cause that tells some kind of story, the shades exist to fulfill an edgy mental illness niche that has been way overblown with the recent work that was done on it, and the frost witches exist purely for antagonistic purposes. the ascended existed to fight iblees when iblees attacked aegis, they fulfilled their only proper purpose (kind of, they ended up failing), and now they’re literally hanging by a thread because you guys need to make up new reasons as to why your magic should stick around like for real? this is the best reason to keep this magic alive, even when the magic isnt remotely like what it was beforehand? its like you wrote something completely new and slapped the name on it to preserve what justified keeping your group unified. why does a magic need to be given plastic surgery and then kept on life support in order to fulfill these extremely mundane things that normal people without magic can do themselves? not everything needs to be streamlined by magic, and this is among the most prime examples of it – if the entire idea is based on “helping people along” and “assist in event lines”, do you really need magic for it? imagine the genuine experiences you could inspire if you guys just put up the coat, accepted this effort as a dead weight, but remained unified as a group with the same goals you just listed here because you believed you could help people without the crutch of a magic? the ascended being deprived of their heavenly graces and being reduced back to normies, and then deciding to roam around as a band of grizzled guardians driven by salvaged good will is ten times more appealing to me than just another iteration of the same group with the same name and different sparkles to justify the same rp. if the magic is the only thing that keeps your group together, is it really worth it?