NightOfTheWind

Sitting along in a dimly lit room, the only thing producing any light was the glowing wick of a candle, illuminating the top of the notice that was delivered to him - Dark Dael - via his usual messenger boy. The tips of his gloved fingers quietly traced a few very specific letters, his teeth scraping against the inside of his cheek.

Thanks Llir !

you actually made my fight or flight reflex turn on

Dark Dael notices the return of Carrington Inc. and nods.

i like it bro

it's a good post i really liked reading it jojo, i have a few questions tho 1. why is seer-ism able to work with paladinism? 2. what happens when mist healing is interupted - does the wound stay the same or is it half-healed? otherwise it was a great read +1

pepto bismol lore

cant wait to get my friends to make musin so i can pluck out four per person and then sell them all on the auction house for 200 mina a piece

The Dark Lord of Edenia flaps the paper in his hand, straightening it out upon the table. After searching three times for his own people, he shakes a fist. It hurts to be irrelevant!

Dark Dael thinks twice before using mousetraps now.

A certain Dark Lord notices the re-opened shop, happy to see it return.

A Dark Lord loomed over a mountaintop with his hands behind his back, watching the harsh rapids bash against the large jagged rocks collected at the beach. Dreaming, brooding.

A basket of fresh fruit would be delivered a quarter of an elven day after the news was printed. Hoped to be placed by the Sohaer's bedside via a personal servant, a white card could also be seen nestled within the straw rims of the gift. "Dear Othelu Orrar, I wish you a speedy recovery. - Dark Dael."

After reading the Rex's demands upon Elvenesse, the Dark Lord withdrew a heavy sigh. Surely there was nothing else strange happening lately. Then he flipped to the next page of today's newspaper.

The Dark Lord's brow only lowered more and more as he read through the Rex's words. The first thing that caught his attention was the mention of such a foolish attempt on the life of the war chieftain, a subtle grin forming across his pale features as he skimmed through the demands. Perhaps he found them silly, and assumed it would have been quicker to just declare war. Dark Dael did drink a shot of liquor for the Honorable Korgahk'Gorkil however, wishing the best in regards to his plight.

mister crumena

@Lliron that grind though O_O

A certain Dark Lord hears about the news in silence from one of his trusted allies, sitting alone in a dark room; thinking, pondering.

The Dark Lord, Ser Dark Dael, straightens the sleeves of his coat. He prepares to attend the festival, after receiving a special (mostly imaginary) invite.

PROSPECTIVE BACHELOR FORM IGN: Remeron Name: Crumena of Kamees Age: 800 Place of residency: N/A Bank account balance: Xan's Light (world admin, btw) Hobbies: Xan, finding a fertile wife, finding a fertile wife that's high elven, finding a fertile wife that's a high elven female. One interesting fact about yourself: Life is a never-ending torture for a pained soul such as I. The thread beckons my presence, its loop offering me an escape to this tiny, tiny life of mine. Yet, my duty stands above my selfish proclamations of suffering - self-sacrifice will hopefully be the key to my happiness, and once I perish He in the Seven Skies will thank me for my service to Him. Why should Tatiana choose you?: I'm really old and rich in pride so once I die you can claim my inheritance.

It begins. It is time to wrong the rights of the past.

In some unknown area, lost to the Descendants, a certain Dark Lord carried himself across the emerald plains - multicolored leaves crunching beneath his feet. The animals below him followed, tipping a barrel topped with feed into a long wooden trough. An assortment of hens and chickens soon collected around him, their necks raising over the feeder before a red-feathered Bokolo went to scoop a few handfuls into its beak. "Peace in our time, right?" One would mistake him talking to the large creature as a hand went to pet the feathers on its neck. "I'll be seeing you soon."

A disgruntled expression was met with the missive in his hands as he wandered down the path from Elvenesse, having snagged a missive upon his travels nearby. The thing that bewildered him the most was the matriarch's report on the Red Coyote's pelt, a slight grimace being brought upon his features. He soon rolled the missive up between both hands, keeping it within a tight grasp. The Dark Lord was neither humbled nor offered pity to those involved, only feeling something futile.