Reece Nolan

I feel like an Alchemy plugin would help with a lot of players trying to make sense of all the scattered lore pieces and make it overall less of a learning cliff, but probably feels unnecessary to people fully aware of the feat. While I understand the desire for crafting skills like cooking, harvesting, mining and smithing, I could also see that going very badly in either feeling far too MMO-like or being used by staff as a means of regulating economy, which just ends up like vortex (or surge? I forget the name) in early Almaris again. While I appreciate the sentiment of maybe trying to make things easier and accessible in terms of professions, I personally do not have faith in the current LOTC staff to not force it into becoming something unhealthy for the server. It's important to understand the type of playerbase you have when going to make these changes, we've seen time and time again that LOTC fosters a lot of grindy people and people with nothing but time on their hands, depending on how you implement a feature like this could have a plethora of unforseen consequences (such as players grinding to the highest possible level if it functions similarly to MCMMO, or players camping nodes again assuming it uses a node system). If the change does go through, just try to keep in mind the negative aspects of the playerbase rather than aiming it at the ideal playerbase (not saying you weren't already, just offering my input.) Thievery plugin also possibly clashes with existing thievery/villainy RP, meaning rules, people might be like "well the plugin let me do it", so you would also be looking at the task of either rewriting sections of the rules and/or writing new ones Medical plugin I'm iffy about, while it could help greatly as it isn't explored nearly as much, it also just kind of makes anyone and everyone a doctor, so you'd have to be careful. I voted no, but if you think you can do it, by all means. Wonkbots? Idk I'm not an Aesopean fan, I don't hate him I just think ideas tend to runaway a little much and I worry that he disregards player intentions and lore sometimes, but I mean wonkbots sound fun I guess. Idk what they'd be for, but it's more content. Also no disrespect to aeso with my prior statement, these are just my feelings on him and they in no way speak to his competency, I'm sure he's really good at what he does and is a fine person. Camps for ct? More CT stuff is always appreciated.

Angr looked over the invitation, giving an approving nod. "Ye've worked hard tae get 'ere, ahm glad tae see two great kings reign back tae back."

Angr, drenched in human blood and horse guts, slid off of the shoulders of Grogg. The golem was similarly painted bright red as viscera was trapped between masterfully carved joints. "Tudey wus ah gud dey, ahnd now t'ey know dah' t'ey cannot hide anehw'ere, daht victoreh does not wait fer t'em on dah fields, nor does et wait fer t'em en ah keep."

Angr Stonehammer mumbled soft prayers as he sorted crates of armaments, only pausing to write down new verses for a war hymn inspired by the Prelates of Dungrimm far in the past.

Angr Stonehammer walked alone at night long after the battle, the only sign of his presence being the silver glow of his golemantic eye piercing the darkness enshrouding the ruined keep. He rummaged through the rubble of the collapsed ramparts whilst everyone else had long returned to their cities celebrating over tankards of ale and slabs of cooked meat. "Dah victors soh easileh forget dah lives ov dah fallen, as ef d'ey were mereleh cattle tae slaughtahr." He grumbled to himself, pulling the corpse of a ferryman out from beneath a wooden support beam and setting them down onto a makeshift sled to tug them down the hill. "T'es es not honor. Even t'ese savage brigands deserve respite ahnd burial befur d'ey are tae beh bid 'pon en dah Khazadentrumm. Weh 'av ah duteh tae uphold respect fer our opponents, even aftah d'ey are dead and regardless ov whethah d'ey would du dah same." Angr stopped before a row of Ferryman and Veletzian corpses he had lined out earlier in the night and deposited the new corpse at the end beside their comrades. He briefly took a sip from a silvery flask, then poured the rest out into the empty pit he had dug for a mass grave. Throughout the rest of the night, few may have heard prayers from a priest of Dungrimm and the clanging of a metal spade far out in the fog over the loud cheering and partying of the allied forces.

"Glad tae see daht dah Grand Kingdom es readeh tae uphold deir end ov dah alliance aftah dah great aid Haense provided us en dah War ov dah Wigs." Angr nodded approvingly.

+1 By dumping the responsibility of special materials onto ST/ET you've basically just made even work for your fellow staff, plus shifted the blame onto them when people get angry at having no materials to work with. It would have been understandable if you just took a bit more time to flesh out a solid system for nodes or resources BEFORE transitioning to Aevos, but here we are now with an even bigger headache.

Why did you pick the dwarves of all things, and what got you to stick with it for so long?

Nope.

Seems kind of barebones. A number of these runes also don't exactly do anything useful, take the rune of mending for example. I cannot recall the last time someone actually roleplayed having their special weapon or items break. I could see the rune being more useful if people still used actual pvp swords as rp items and pvp'd with them, giving a reason for items to be miraculously mended. The rune of purity might be useful for like ST metals where there isnt a lot of room for error when trying to create something, but the rune of illumination and rune of chanting are just... useless?? So many things already emit light, not just magics, alchemy, even just rply carrying a lantern. This entire rewrite feels like it is in an entry for a different server other than LOTC, one that would actually require these mundane mechanics. I would recommend that for Runesmithing, a magic which is based around creation and word combinations, that either an edit to this post or future rewrites look into creating a vast list of possible effects and rune combinations, even having interactions with most of the large magics (such as voidal and deific) built into it from the get go, otherwise you kind of fall into the trap Sybyll's auxiliary sigils fell into when they rewrote golemancy, where there was basically nothing useable and it was left to a "lol, write some effects yourself, idk" kind of state. At this point, the ST have made it very clear that if Runesmithing is to be allowed back onto this server, it needs to be something very impressive, the amount of times that is has been denied should say as much. You'll need not just great lore behind why the magic works, but great mechanics and usage as well. If you really want Runesmithing to return, it should be a massive collaborative effort by an entire community who can cover every inch of the project, fully flesh it out and fully realize it, it should not be left to a small clique of writers. TLDR: The lore is good but the magic itself is barely usable with its limited content and underwhelming effects. Consider what you are asking for, this is a magic that allows you to quite literally write effects into existence, it should match that in both depth and usage.

"Ye 'ave createhd ah foine clan, Sigrun. Carreh t'es banner tu dah far reaches ov dah realm ahnd du not look back. Weh will make sure dah Ire'eart clan es en gud shape durin' yur absence." Angr said aloud as he read the paper declaring the foundation of the Stonehammers. He pocketed it, going back to drafting the designs for a mighty longboat.

"Well done, as alwehs Sigrun. Et only took a grand marshal da' looked more intimidating befur Norland foinalleh dropped da charade ov claiming victoreh ova everehfing." Angr laughs to himself on a distant mountain campsite, before serving himself a bowl of his iconic pigs feet stew.

"Ah fock, ah don't wannah lose t'is belt too, oi loike t'is one." Angr would grumble to himself, remembering his swift loss at the previous event.

"Minae es ah small price tae pay tah ensure daht dah dis'onorable clan behaves en dah futuah, lest dey rendah our Grand Keng dead ahnd dah meanin' ov respect ah hollow concept. Ah pray dah dah Khorvadec whispers beh purged from Dorimnur's once proud clan befur corruption swallows dah Aurokanar whole." Angr says to himself as he reads the verdicts via a bulletin board in the city.

"Ah shame da' dah gilded tongue Armakak 'ad blessed 'is most loyal clan wif, beh tarnished ahnd rendered impure wif deceit, slandah and lies. Dah Gole'ands 'av fallen from grace 'ardah than dah Grimgolds ded, having exchang'd dah gift ov dah trade ahnd respect fer poison on deir tongues ahnd dishonor." An intoxicated Angr grumbles, sinking back into a worn lazy chair.

don't know too much about the way tiles work now, but I'd argue that before throwing the entire thing out the window to try to force a new system that has a massive chance of failure, maybe remove the things that currently inhibit rp from happening on its own already. Removal of auction house was a good start, but how about making designated areas people need to go to collect vote money to make them actually leave their city to get free mina, or how about removal of /beta from public access outside of pre-scheduled skirms, which forces things like pvp and army training to be done on live instead of off of the server. Or make the map not so absurdly big and everything far away, or remove warps being everywhere and make people walk so they actually use the roads again. Activity checks shouldn't be mandatory but they shouldnt be removed either, just repurposed in a way where a player can inquire into the activity of a region and get staff involved from there (either to decay the structure, remove it or other such interactions)

"Et's ah cryin' shame taht nae even inter-clan relations cahn beh resolved behtween dah clans wifout dah court need'n tae get envolved. Et makes meh deepleh uncomfortabl' wif w'ere t'es kingdom es 'eaded ef evereh single squabble beh undah dah scrutineh ov dah crown." Angr says as he reads the missive, setting it atop a large stack of similar papers amassed from the endless drama of the Grand Kingdom.

[Music] _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ UNBRIDLED ANGER ᛃᚾᛟ'ᛚᚨᚢᛋᛋ ᚲᚱᚨᚹ _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Ascent Passion Embedded in Fire Far beyond the safety of his homeland, a broken Angr hiked northwest of the jungles surrounding the lands of Krugmar. Loamy soil and frigid grass made up these lands, though snow was scarce in a place like this as the ever present shadow of the Almarian volcanic ridge loomed over the many crags and hills below. Blackened ash-filled clouds cast the land into a warm darkness as thick smoke belched out of many lava spewing vents pockmarking the mountainside. Such was an unforgiving place, hotter than the molten heart of Kal'Darakaan and rougher than the scales of a wyvern. Birds rapidly flew away downhill as he trekked up the trail, singing songs of glee as they escaped the intense heat and into the tree lines where more kin sang. Yet he alone marched up the ridge in a land where most aspects of the Brathmordakin convened, for the land burned hot like Armakak's golden coin in the sky, fires raged on as if he himself stood inside a vast hearth tended to within Anbella's very own home. The winds whipped around him with the joy of Belka and carrying with it ashes and cinders from dying things that both crept above and grew below, Dungrimm's moonlight watchful even from beyond the obscuring clouds. He clung to a cliffside with fistfuls of igneous rock clutched in each hand, further and further he climbed toward the peak of Mount Elithel which firmly held in place an old burnt and torn flag stabbed into the summit. Thick beads of sweat formed and dripped off of Angr's mighty forehead while his matted beard flapped in the scorching winds, massive bolts of lightning would occasionally arc across the ashen clouds above him and cause him to nearly slip to his death. But still, Angr persevered and continued to climb, life barely beating in his chest as the weight of guilt rendered his life meaningless and without worth. He wasn't sure what he was going to find out here, only that he must continue to wander in search of purpose to replace the void in his heart. At the peak a small camp welcomed him, not much safer than simply climbing on volcanic glass and burning rock, but a rest was welcome to Angr nonetheless. He took a seat atop a rotted and burnt log which partially crumbled to dust as he put his weight atop it, he surveyed the entire ridge surrounding him and saw nothing but hellscape. There were literal lakes and rivers of lava far beneath where he sat, the ruins of a draconic fortress far off in the distance almost obscured by fog and smoke, and peaks, endless peaks in every direction. He retrieved a handful of now toasted black bread and oats he had packed for the trip ahead and satiated himself as best he could, downing nearly half of his waterskin in the process. It was breathtaking out here, both figuratively and literally as thick smog threatened to choke you out should you wander too close to a caldera filled with runoff lava, but the raw and unforgiving power of the ridge was undeniably beautiful and scary. It was in his musings that Angr's attention was caught by the distant glint of an indiscernible object on the adjacent peak, a ways off but surely reachable if he could get down in one piece. Thus, he descended the mountain, his mind lulled by the glow of a foreign object in a place where only the land shone. His thoughts were tugged and weaved in a confused state of delirium, his safety was no longer paramount. He heard the whispers of the winds lingering in the air as he merely walked down the mountain in even the most dangerous conditions. He had tempted Dungrimm to claim his wretched oath-breaking soul in that very moment, not even using his hands to scale down into the searing hot magma soaked valley between the two peaks. Yet, Dungrimm must have stayed his hand. For it was not the whispers of Khorvad guiding the dwed whom had lost all hope in his heart, but the joyous and passionate words of Belka drawing him in. The Lord of Death would offer her a moment to speak to his forsaken follower once, and only once. It was through her action that the loose rock beneath his careless feet did not crumble, and it was by her mercy that the nearest vent of lava did not spray him and melt his flesh to bone. It was as if the lure of something so beautiful sung to him, reassuring him with sweet songs of care and compassion. Angr began the climb once more, reminiscing on the days when such adventure held meaning and oblivious to the many dangers surrounding him. The clouds surrounding this peak swirled and churned with unrest, revealing a sole halo of clear sky nestling the moon in its center. As he climbed almost instinctively, he remembered his friend Ulfar, he remembered his words which stung like a hornet, "Never have I seen such a broken dwed." He had been told, and here he was proving him right. He had completely thrown caution to the howling winds, which only grew louder and more violent as he grabbed at the mountain and pulled himself higher, and higher, and higher, and... Silence. At the very highest part of the mountain, there was an undisturbed silence. Save for the occasional breeze and wandering cinder strayed too far above, there was simply a peaceful silence. Angr dropped to his knees in exhaustion, lost and confused. Before him rest a bed of ferrum ore glinting in the moonlight, easily miles above sea-level and piercing any natural cloud that would have formed anywhere else in the world. He took in the raw beauty surrounding him, as far as he could see there was nothing but fire and stone, ash and smoke, thunder and lightning, life and death. Yet here it was, despite everything that should have made this impossible, there was iron that had survived possibly countless rainstorms, an endless assault of volcanic spew, decimating and withering winds eroding rock to dust, blast of bolt after bolt of pyroclastic lightning and raining hellfire. In spite of it all, it still sat undisturbed at a peak, not even the highest in the lands. In mere moments, he understood a harsh lesson. Despite everything, the iron was still iron. Despite everything, Angr was still Angr. He wept alone at the summit, cried out in mental agony, the weight of guilt, betrayal of his oaths, the outing of his family and the swearing off of the sun had rendered him nothing more than he was with all of those present. With them, he was Angr and without them he is still Angr. The message was heavy on his heart, for even broken and forsaken he is still Angr. His soul had not been touched by the light or sundered by the lie of the Azdrazi, he had not been corrupted or destroyed, only having wandered off and lost his way. His tears sizzled and burnt up as they struck the bare stone surrounding the ore, though he remained on his knees for an hour more till his eyes were as sore and dry as the ridge itself. And yet the fateful ore stared at him silently and baring his tears unto itself, even as he lie a crumpled mess atop a distant volcano, it waited patiently for him. It was typical for a son of Urguan to be emotionally charged by the land, capable of being shaped by Yemekar's perfect world just as much as his hands could shape it in return. He could never be sure whether or not his mind had been fractured or if he truly heard the words of the Brathmordakin that night, but there was now work to be done, purpose had been bestowed to him once more. To any other, this was merely an uncanny deposit of ferrum ore in a peak, but to Angr, it was irony. It was literature finely carved into the land just as the Lord of Creation had intended it so, it was metal that carried direct weight and meaning. It was an impossibility among improbabilities, teaching him that no matter the circumstance, if one had the desire and passion, the affinity for life, they could persevere even the worst circumstances the world could throw at them. What sprawled out the broken cap of the summit before him was not merely a random deposit of ore, but a metal which begged to live as the descendants, which reached out for the skies with the weight of a soul and refused to fade, showing its face to the moon and begging the creator to make it as alive as the rest of the world. The songs sung on the wind were of passion and joy for life, it was the very land in reverence of itself. Howling winds were actually the heroic songs of the volcanic minstrels, thunder akin to the beat of drums for the ridge's primal music retelling an ode to the heavens. The song of creation and destruction forever in tandem, molten rock decimated anything before it and in its place created new rock. This metal was its conductor, shining for all to bare witness should they simply stop and take in their surroundings. With this knowledge in mind, he spoke for the first time in weeks, his voice hoarse with the strain of having wept for an hour. "Yu whu yearns fer dah stars, rock whech dares tae challeng' dah bright glow ov dah Khaz'a'dentrumm..." He begins, pulling a chipped pick off of the back of his belt and bringing it into his hands. He felt the old hickory handle for but a moment, a weak sigh escaping him. "...Yer cries 'av been 'eard, ahnd oiv come tae liberate ye from t'es peak soh daht yeh may ascend wif meh on dah dey ov moi demise." He beckons, striking the earth and cracking the darn rock. Sparks flew out in all directions as clumps of loose stone tumbled down the mountain. "But untel t'at dey comes, ye shal serve as dah bodeh ov ah moiteh 'ammer," He continues, striking the ore again and piercing the ground with building fury and resolve. "Ye shal shoine loike dah moon, brightah d'an Star-Steel!" He shouts, yanking his pickaxe out along with various igneous debris scattered about. "Ye shal strike strongah dahn boomsteel ahnd crack loudah d'an thunder!" He roars as he finally sunders the ore from the summit and split it in twain. "Ahnd ye shal beh named Passion Steel, fer ye bare ah spirit wifin ye daht longs tae live wif dah dwedmar dwellin' en dah Khaz'a'dentrumm 'bove yer 'ead. Ye bare nae significance ahs ferrum, bu' yer twinkle shines soh passionateleh daht ye 'old strengf wifin ye greatah dahn bluesteel." He finishes his declaration, carefully collecting the bed of broken up ore and storing it within his wrapped up cape and pelts before descending the mountains one final time. The whispering winds followed Angr down the mountain with material in tow, clutching his shoulders tightly and nipping at his bare skin with glowing hot cinders. The moon would recede into the clouds once more, satisfied by the ballad of passion embedded in fire. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ [Music] The Rekindling A Broken Oath Reforged Twice as Strong The deep roads are, in stark contrast to Mount Elithel, a soothing, cold and damp expanse that one could truly grow comfortable in. Whilst deadly creatures lurk in the shadows and in the cavern walls, you may find your surroundings odd and almost ethereal in nature. Thick mycelium webbing lines portions of the collapsed tombs, bursts of information whiz through the network at your feet in visible pulses of light between each interconnected mushroom, thick vines and soggy roots cling to the roof illuminated by the various slithering Slystel eating away at any good patch of stone they can find. Humongous beetles push oversized balls of dung and mud to their dens paying little mind to you, a small and insignificant foreigner only worthy of the occasional grumpy glance from a deep toad. Nothing makes sense down here except for the rock and stone comprising the walls of this sheltered habitat. Yet it is here, in the derelict camp of the long abandoned Forgeguard that Angr spends a good portion of his time if not at his own home. Protected by nothing more than a rickety and warped wooden gate, the Ireheart stood shirtless in the cold smithy as he set the mass of ferrum ore atop his London pattern anvil. He places a worn and callus hand unto his workspace gently and drags it along, scooping a thick layer of dust off of the wooden top. "Ah nevah wan'ed t'es..." He mumbles to himself, cleaning his hand off on his trousers. Angr crawls between the forge and worktop, sitting down with his back against the wall tucked away from sight while in deep thought. The room was dark, cold and empty, the sound of dripping water in the cavernous expanse outside echoed and reverberated ceaselessly, masking the quiet sound of sniffles. Angr was once a great dwed with ambition, even if it was built upon falsehood, but now he sat in the empty chambers of a derelict guild amidst himself and his failures. He would weep if he could, had it not been for the soreness of his eyes in his prior escapades a stone week atop the volcanic ridge. "Oi walked dah path ov Khorvad, ah 'eld ambition ahnd atrociteh desguised ahs righteousness." He speaks out to the empty room. Angr knew full well that Dungrimm had always known of his intentions, but his lonely confession was an effort to lay out what he had done bare for himself to observe, to judge just as the Lord ov Death would. "Moi therst fer blood led meh astray from ahn othawoise noble caus', ah lied tu dah face ov Dungrimm and desgraced dah Lord ov Sunligh' whu hath endlessleh tried tae 'elp meh..." Angr wipes an accumulation of snot from his nose with the back of his hand, taking in a deep breath before continuing. "...Ah wesh tae walk t'es path nae more. Et's toime fer meh tae right dah wrong oiv comitted tu yeh, Dungrimm. Ahnd tae mend dah bridge between moiself ahnd Xan, 'swell ahs ah dear friend ov moine ah 'ave hurt, ensulted ahnd disappointehd." He says, sitting upright. "Ah wesh tae restore dah bond between us, bu' t'es void en me 'eart es vast and weighs 'eaveh wif guilt 'pon moi shouldahs. Ah dednae even possess dah loight ov dah lion en moi chest ahnd stell ah feel weak wifout et's presence." The light of the lanterns in the main chamber would slowly fade, their radiance becoming dimmer and dimmer as almost an hour of contemplation passed over Angr. Just as the camp would have been plunged into darkness, the forge ignites with a fresh tinderbox having set a shovel full of coal and coke mixture alight just beyond the grate hatch. Angr stood, spade in hand and boot gently compressing a wooden pedal meant to pump a small bellows at the base of the forge's body. His muscular silhouette cast a long and wide shadow towards the entrance of the smithy, embers flying out of the grate and fluttering about the room as he stared deep into the fires dancing around within the vessel. "Bu' tae admet dah truth es bettah dahn tae live ah lie." He affirms, slamming the hatch shut and preparing many tools such as a pair of blacksmith's tongs, a heavy crucible which he rest at the foot of the forge, his hammer, files and chisels. "Ah ahm an Oathbreakah, such es ah fact. Bu' oi ahm nae irredeemable though moi honor 'as been stained fer meh actions. Fer now, ah mus fill dah void en me breast wif somfin else." He states as he turns to face the forge once again, the olive glow of his golemantic eye dim, almost absent as he continued to feed the fire. Angr would retrieve his hammer and chisel, bringing it to the anvil and firmly planting the sharpened end of the chisel against one half of the split ore. "Yu whu 'av seen moi tears, whu hath dared tae reach fer dah moon and dah stars, whu wethstood scorchen 'eats ahnd survived maneh storms." He whispers to the ore as he brings his hammer down on the head of the chisel, cracking the ore into smaller chunks. "Yu whu oi named Passion Steel." Angr continued, grabbing ahold of the other half and preparing it the same. "Yu well bare witness tu moi secret oath ahnd carreh et en yer memoreh fer as long as ye exist, untel all 'as turned tae dust ahnd dah world grows cold." He coughs, having inhaled some of the dust kicked up from the process of dividing the ore into manageable chunks. He clears his throat and continues. "Oi ahm ah shoddeh smith aht best, ah beardlin' tae meh clan ahnd ah khazad broken. Bu' togethah wif yew, ah beh forged entu somefin differen, somfin strongah." He said as he scooped up the broken ore and deposited it into the crucible below. Momentarily, he'd leave the working space and approach the forge with a fire poker in hand. He opened the hatch and carefully made a large divot in the bed of the coals for the crucible to nestle inside of, then began preparations to create his first ever attempt at crucible steel. Angr worked tirelessly, shoveling in fuel and compressing the bellows as necessary, consulting Starbreaker penned books he had rented from the library on the grueling task of refining metal and the art of smithing. He had worked up a glossy sheen of thick sweat coating his whole body and dripping profusely from his massive ******* forehead which shined like a silver mirror, he had already received several burns as embers belched out of the forge every time he opened the grate to feed it. Once the ore had been processed after many hours of careful observation and focus, Angr retrieved the crucible from the inferno and cast several ingots in a pre-prepared clay mold and allowed them to cool completely into the shape of large bars. It was then and only then, once the crucible was cool enough, that Angr re-introduced the ferrum ingots, coal dust, sand and added a layer of glass over top the mixture before he rounded it all off with a clay cap. It was a very questionable attempt at carburization and risky seeing as this was the only material he had; This was his only chance to make it work. And work it did. When the process was complete and Angr finally broke off the clay seal, staring back up at him was a beautifully shining mass of crucible steel truly worthy of bearing the title of Passion Steel. It was so stubborn in fact, that Angr was forced to split in half his only good crucible in order to free the massive heap of metal. Yet as soon as it was free, it was thrust back into the fires to immediately be worked once again. Soon enough the steel was brought up to temperature and removed, gently sat down atop his anvil where Angr set his tongs aside as the air in front of him rippled and crackled with immense heat. With a deep and mournful sigh, Angr brought a hand to his hip and unsheathed a master-crafted aurum shortsword, the Yemarin Anaros. Wielding the blade forged by his friend, the late Grimdal Irongut, he placed the pristine and sharpened edge firmly against his blackened and dusty left palm rife with tough and calloused skin. The room was bathed in a glorious golden-orange light as the weapon shone brightly in the presence of the forge's fire, the room plunged into gilded silence before he spoke. "Dungrimm." He called out, "Ah swear t'ess blood oath tu yeh, ah reprisal ov moi broken oath between yeh ahnd dah Lord ov Sunlight. Dah task assigned boi Garedyn es nae enou' tae rid moi 'eart ov guilt fer lyen tae yer face. Ahnd soh now ah swear, on moi own blood, dah same blood da' carries endless ire en meh kin's veins..." He'd begin, his hairs standing on end as he felt the watchful gaze of an absent presence, a paradoxical and tensing entity must have been listening carefully as he had began his declaration. "...Oi swear eternal servitude tu dah Iron Mask, dah ah may nevah retire even when moi bodeh fails meh. Dah ah mus' beh death etself fer t'ose undah dah enfluence ov dah Betrayur. T'ose whu would t'ink t'emselves immortahl ahnd all fings wicked da' breng imbalence tae Yemekar's beautifuhl creations. Daht oi shal beh dah unstoppable force meetin dah immovable wheel ov nevur endin corruption cyclin through dah loives ov all livin' fings. Daht ah wel usher moi kin en ahn age ov bliss untel dah dey t'aht yer mask falls 'pon meh at moi final breaths." There was a brief pause as Angr held his tongue, choosing his words very carefully. The forge suddenly snapped and sputtered loudly at him as if commanding the dwarf to continue. "Oi shal beh denied ah bid en dah Khaz'a'dentrumm 'pon moi passin should yeh wesh et, bound at yur 'ip tae assist en dah usherin ov souls tu dah great ahnd sacred 'alls, loike ah shepherd's dog. Ah ahm ahn extension ov yer fist ahnd ferevah endebted tu ye." He says, gripping the blade in his hand tighter as he had declared his legendary blood oath to the Lord of Death. "Dah onleh witness on t'es mortahl realm ov moi oath shall beh t'es metahl, t'es Passion Steel. Ferrum blessed boi Belka, fer et must 'old dah passionate dreams equivalent tu ah livin, breathin' khazad." And though his first proclamation was complete, the tension in the air did not subside. Angr looked deep into the forge's fires and welcomed the light into his eyes before he spoke again. "Xan, Lord ov Sunlight, Bringah ov Ordah." He began anew, "Oi swear t'es blood oath twu fold, fer oi 'av trespassed ahnd en duin soh, betrayed both yer trust ahnd yur guidance fer moi own sick ahnd twestehd desires. Ahnd thus, ah call 'pon moi blood twice, fer oi swear tae yu daht oi well replace dah void en moi chest dah wus entended fer dah radiance ov ordah, wif dah unendin rage ahnd anger ov moi lineage, dah fury ah 'ave supressed for soh maneh decades needlessleh..." His words echoed out of the smithy and into the cave at large, those creatures that crawled and slithered and burrowed and writhed all silent and listening from just beyond the safety the camp's enclosure. "...Oi will wield dah moon en place ov dah sun ahnd bring ordah tu dah dwedmar lands, ah bulwark fer all descendan's wifin our mountains tae stand be'ind; Da silver sword en place ov dah gilded glaive. Oi will punesh t'ose who nae value dah loives ov descendan's or t'eir own lives, beh et witches, dah mockery daht ahre da Azdrazi, gnarled beasts, constructs, spririts, murderes ahnd all such wicked fings daht cower be'ind impurities. Fer en dah absence ov dah sun, dah moon stell shoines." He declared his legendary oath twofold. "Ahnd thus, t'es Passion Steel beh our onleh witness." Angr slashed his palm open immediately after the last utterance of his double blood oath, not once, but twice. Spurts of his own life blood shot out of his palm and trickled out of his hand unto the burning hot steel below, instantly vaporizing into a plume of horrid steam billowing up from the metal's surface. Angr donned a single mitt on his right hand and wielded his smithing hammer, in one single fluid motion he forced his injured hand to grab onto the blistering hot steel with bare skin. As he held the metal firmly in place his wound was cauterized almost instantaneously. The immense pain of his flesh sizzling and searing as he refused to let go caused tears to stream down his cheeks and his teeth to grit. A long repressed anger began flowing through him, pooling in his throat and chest as he roared out with sudden exacerbated fury. "OI GIVE YE MOI RAGE, PASSION STEEL!" His voice boomed out into the deep roads as he slammed his hammer unto the metal's surface, deforming it for the very first time. "OI GIVE YE MOI MALICE, PASSION STEEL!" He bellowed again, "OI GIVE YE MOI ANGER, PASSION STEEL!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, striking the metal again and retracting his grip. He threw his hammer to the side, a crimson stain having been left on the top face of what would become a mighty hammer as the stench of burnt flesh wafted around it. He would quickly bandage his hand after crudely disinfecting it with cheap liquor, then donned both mitts and got to work. It had been days since anyone saw Angr, the only exception of this being Ursus Grandaxe. The voidal scion was a friend to him and a zealot of Dungrimm, one who made just as many strides as he did mistakes and wore each of them with a badge of honor. In time, a mountain dwarf would in fact leave the camp, though they were Angr Ireheart no more. Wielded tightly in their grip was a great-hammer with square faces and intricate design etched into its surface everywhere, runework detailing many tales and fables in the days of yore with a complex and sprawling rune of Dungrimm at its center. Even the sight of the weapon was intimidating, exuding malice and an almost hateful animosity dripping from its surface. It's steel body was warped and patterned, gleaming lustrous like that of Star-Steel but without its renown supernatural properties. The dwarf wielding it was Angr the Angry, his cape flayed and torn at its edge from sojourning in the northwestern hellscape. His expression seemed noticeably grim and his voice grittier from his experience in creating this powerful artifact, there was none who would know of the process and dedication poured into his work. The steel might as well have been quenched in a barrel of his own blood, for every time it was removed from the forge he would dig a razorblade into his forearm and soak the metal once again. Every reheat meant carrying his blood oath to the end of his work until the hammer was complete and a new rune tattoo had been made from wounds in his arm which would scar over, reading "ᚺᚢᚾᛞ-'ᚢᚱ'-ᛞᚨ ᚺᚨᚱᛁᛏᛉ", or "Dog of the Dead". It was a miracle he could even stand, but having fed himself blood-lotus beetroot stew and remaining committed to the very end, he had shed enough of his own lifeforce to make even a blood magus blush. The hammer itself had been partially affected too, under the right light one could see a tinge of red reflection in the steel's patterns and bands. Angr had been reforged and re-released unto the world, carrying unparalleled ire and unbridled anger in his chest. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ All screenshots and content involved were the result of one IRL week of solo-roleplay and character development following abandoning the Paladins and breaking an oath sworn to both Dungrimm and Xan. Over 8 hours of writing, revising, digging up screenshots and formatting. Both cover photos were sourced from Google Images. While the contents of the post may not contain any significance as you could merely boil this down to me being overdramatic about an iron weapon with no ST signature, I really hope this post demonstrates that you can have amazing roleplay and character growth even when there's nobody online or you have nobody to play with. As nice as it would be to have made this an MArt weapon or some other fancy overpowered weapon capable of combatting blatantly overtuned CA's or event creatures, I think there's something to be said about making a emotionally or symbolically significant item as opposed to grabbing for power all the time. For a while I was stuck as I had backed my character into a corner after suddenly deciding to veer off attempting to become a Paladin, but after weeks of burnout and feeling my way through it carefully, this was the result. I hope y'all enjoyed as much as I did!

Honestly, this rewrite seems like a godsend. I entirely disagree with every point Tabby has made and don't quite understand why a moderator of all people is replying to this post but, it's painstakingly clear that a lot of the hate on this post stems from the 3 folks being grandfathered in, as evident that some have even shut off their brains while trying desperately to scrounge up an argument, such as tabby's gripe with prosthetic strength. Obviously if I hit someone with my fist, it's going to hurt a lot less than a fist that's the same size but made of solid stone, as it's not soft and weak, it's a rock. As far as stealing parts are concerned, it's always seemed like a sort of ooc rule (which I've observed even during pre-lore games) that the force of the soul connecting to the prosthetic prevents it from simply just being "pulled out", and while it is a lame excuse, it serves for the consent based system in place in current rules where you cannot force someone to have to RP an injury in most cases, just as you cannot force them to pk, as they could always just respawn and use the excuse of the monks. For Valannor, you've done a really great job at taking the vague and bland lore and balancing it with current lore where overpowered CA's seem to be the norm, while actually updating the catastrophe that is Sybyll's writing and making it so that golems are not nigh unobtainable thanks to Thanhium, but in turn making them much more high maintenance. Your piece has generally cleared up the ambiguity left by it's predecessor in terms of how durable and strong golems are. I love the change that the golem is mostly as strong as the race/height it is modeled after, that way you don't have a swift golem with human strength despite being built like a dwarf. It provides options, as again Tabby's point of removing originality is moot as he appears to have entirely glossed over the alternative method of creation that is putting the core in a pile of rubble. You've provided new options, clearer redlines and a very much impressive lore piece all in all, as a golem player I hope this gets accepted so I can do more than play death stranding but I'm made of rock in LOTC while I wait for an impera to log on.

A letter would soon arrive via a pigeon, so aptly named Nepja as the top of it's wings were as white as the powdered snow that cakes the hills of the Iron Mountains. "Norli, you have not failed in your endeavors, but merely taken a loss through chance. As you have claimed in your missive, it is through triumph and therefore work that we uphold our relationship with the Brathmordakin, not through worship alone. Do not let defeat cloud what you have wrought, you who hath raised a mighty fortress in a land where no-one else could, who led a company of khazadmar to glory. You struck the earth and it struck back, simple as. Yemekar, as defined in the simplest of terms, may be appealed to by labor and creation itself, an indiscriminate concept, and just as he had instilled into Dungrimm, so too did your creation eventually perish just as all things created should. Hold pride in your heart, Starbreaker, for you were certainly a dwed worthy of holding the title of Rhun Prophet during the time that such a title blazed within your breast." At the bottom of the letter would be a lime colored wax stamp indicating a hollow and featureless half mask, the signature of Angr Ireheart.

Angr reads the missive and laughs, making a particularly chadly face as he reads of Sigrun Rizzheart's endeavors.

Far beneath the mountain of the Grand Kingdom, a whistling could be heard. The sound of iron clanging against steel rings out occasionally as many prying eyes peered at the shadow cast in front of the forge. Creepy and crawly things they, arachnids and vermin alike, they dared not approach the deep dweller. They could smell the raw anger and hatred exuded from their predator as it toiled away in front of the fire. The missive hung on a wall above as a sickening and brutal hammer had begun to take shape atop the anvil, a new craft signaling a new wave of death to come.

Angr sat atop the peak of a mountain, one of many such in the Urguani mountain range. He had nestled in a cragg slowly working it's way through the cold ice capped summit, snow clinging to his black and unkempt beard which grew ever more mighty as he lived out his years. Behind him, his iconic pig's feet stew bubbled and frothed as it shook the thin tin lid of a cooking pot sat uneven over a campfire. He reads the declaration again and again with much frustration. "'Ow could yeh du t'es, Norleh? Yeh nae onleh committed dah act of treason, followin' en da footsteps ov da late Torsun, bu' yeh condemned meself ahnd da entireteh ov me clan fer de actions ov ah despicable few." He'd clutch the paper in his grasp, a rage of betrayal brewing within him. "Yeh knew our clan es bound tu dah throne by oath, ahn yet en an act ov impatience ahnd lust fer powah, yeh used me entoire famileh as scapegoats and fled reprocussions enstead ov simpleh waiten fer dah next election. 'Ow could yeh condemn meh tu dah loikes ov ah goon?.." Many hours would pass, and Angr would have departed the peak, his camp dismantled and the fire stamped out. The only thing remaining was a soggy parchment in the snow aside the blackened ashes of a used campfire.

"P'raps t'es beh why dah path ov Xan wus laid oot befur meh..." He shakes his head, giving a miserable scoff. "Ah wel' nae beh taken part en t'es babeh tantrum, ahnd ah can onleh 'ope da' dah book of grudges remains free ov t'es 'orrid excuse fer genocide, lest dah Ire'earts beh marked heretics." Angr Ireheart tosses the parchment aside and spits on it. "Ah wus t'ere, weh considered our options ahnd found evidence, yet rathah t'an review wut weh found ahnd bring et tu dah attention ov dah Grand Kingdom tae settle t'es togethah, yeh used it as anothah excuse tae pick up yer axe fer dah joy ov killin."