Reece Nolan

Actually about to do some revisions so it isnt another ferrum equivalent if you would like to wait for that.

Material Name and Description (Raw form) Rot Bone is an odd type of black stained Bone material in that it is solely found where it should not be. For this reason it is most commonly found in places with little to no life such as tundras, deserts, and some caves. Places where Rot Bone is found typically perplex people as any living fauna or flora will go at great lengths to avoid it. It is not uncommon either to find creatures decaying next to Rot Bone, as any living thing that touches it begins to decay at four times the normal speed until they remove themself from the Rot Bone. This effect strangely seems to vanish immediately upon taking it away from the location it was found in. Rot Bone takes the form of various bones from pretty much any living creature that can withstand the environment it is found in. It is however stained with blackened marks and lines. Perhaps the most confusing fact regarding Rot Bone, is that it doesn't occur like any other resource in Almaris. The Rot Bone will simply seem to appear in the place it was prior to being harvested with no apparent cause, although it will not do this while it can be observed. Applications (Raw Form) What makes Rot Bone so unique is that it seems to spread its odd behavior to things that can see it. Generally speaking, someone who can observe Rot Bone find that it takes more effort to focus as their mind has a creeping feeling of an unnerving silence in the back of their mind. This can make it a bit more difficult to operate magic and even cause people to suddenly forget what they were doing. Despite being made of bone, this material can withstand impacts up to the abilities of bronze before showing signs of damage. This makes carving or shaping it very frustrating as you would need someone to remind you what you are doing and use a lot of effort to even think about how to do it. People have described the feeling as if their mind was rotting, hence the name. For whatever reason, Rot Bone does seem to excel extremely well at retaining an edge, sometimes even acting like more of a metal than a bone depending on the application. Because of the strange way it behaves, there is also only a few strange ways to use Rot Bone. Some people have found it as an effective weapon as the mental dulling it creates can actually help to tone down one's anger in battle, helping them think more rationally instead of blinded by rage. The major flaw in using Rot Bone in weapons is that it isn't very durable nor is it as practical as a normal weapon. Others have found it particularly useful for meditation, or even use in medicinal practices as a way of keeping patients calm. Red Lines (Raw Form) Rot Bone is by no means a direct counter to magic, and only slightly inhibits the ability to preform it. The effects of Rot Bone extend to the user as well. Any impacts that bronze cannot handle will either damage or break Rot Bone. Harvesting Method Rot Bone is very straight forward to harvest, after all it is found as one or two bones simply sitting where it is usually found. It is usually preferred to handle collecting Rot Bone with gloves as the increased rate of decay can be very uncomfortable. The only time in which this decaying feature presents a threat is from long exposure to direct contact, at which point your body will begin to rot once enough time has passed. Although you may struggle to remember why you want to harvest it or even thinking about doing anything in the first place. The ST handling the creation of Rot Bone is free to decide what kind of bone it takes the shape of, however generally all descriptions are the same. "A black stained bone with lines marked into it, presenting an unnerving silence." Harvesting Red Lines The maximum amount of bones that can be found at ones is capped at three. Something to note is that while creatures will go to great lengths to avoid Rot Bone in its natural area, this does not mean they cannot or will not go near it. If a monster is chasing you, Rot Bone is not a guarantee that you will be safe if you happen to stumble into some. Purpose (OOC) Rot Bone serves the purpose of adding odd and neat things to interact with without breaking the way everything works. It is here to add more to that fantasy aspect without a requirement for practicality but also not being completely useless either. It serves a purpose much like gold does, in that it is there for people to use it but it isnt exactly necessary mechanically speaking. Most of the new interactions it would bring would revolve around its odd behavior and people thinking outside the box when considering how to use it.

A Tombkeeper's Diary ~ o . O . o ~ "Solace" [Ambience] "'Ere, eat yer fill befur et goes cold." Angr sighs, letting a ladle come to rest in the cookpot. Across from him sat a young female wood elf woefully underdressed for the encroaching snowstorm, save for the few layers of woolly dwarven blankets. Their camp rested in a shallow cave in the side of the mountains, far from any sense of society and even further away from elven company. The howling winds whipped around every corner this far up, only interrupted by the constant crackle of their campfire and the occasional metal clank as Angr maintains necessities. With his bone bowl carved from a serpents vertebra, the Ireheart would slurp a spoonful of meaty stew into his mouth. "Now's nae tah toime te' play quiet, ye need tae keep yer frail bodeh warm er ye gonnah freeze tae death en ah few hours." Angr commented, smacking his lips. Yet the wood elf remained stubborn, her eyes moving about as she watched him spoon his food into his gullet. "Ahm nae gonnah spoonfeed ye, knoife ears." He grumbles, picking up the ladle again and serving her stew in a curved rock. "Why are you even helping me?" She blurts out as the meal is thrust into her lap. "The Irehearts hate us." "Yer righ, ah don' like ye, now eat ya spoiled brat." He says taking a slurp out of the rim of his bowl. "I am not-" She pauses, then looking down in her lap and pouting as she realizes he's right. He had done everything, even giving her his blankets and sharing his food. Silence ensued for a moment as the two ate, Angr's yellow and chipped teeth munching at globs of fat rich meat and large bits of onion while the elf prodded at her serving and occasionally brought some to her dainty lips. "What even is this anyways?" She asks, lifting a jiggly piece of pork. "Pegs feet." He replies, setting his bowl down and letting a small burp escape. The elf, understandably grossed out by the prospect of eating boiled pigs feet, reluctantly slips some into her mouth as she grew ever so squeamish. "Ye nevah ded tel' meh yur name yet." Angr commented. After a short deliberation, she came to the understanding that if this dwarf wanted to harm her, he would have by now. She was confused, so many people had warned her that encountering an Ireheart was practically a death sentence. "Zellyr." She answered, face growing flushed. Angr took the emptied cooking pot off of the fire and stood up, carrying a small iron kettle to the edge of the cave. "Now w'y woul ah lettl lasseh loike yu..." He begins, pausing with a grunt as he squats to scoop some snow into the kettle. "Beh wanderen tae remote parts ov ta dwedmar moun'ains?" He asked. Zellyr paused for a while, watching as he set the kettle over the fire to heat up before he goes back over to grab more snow. "I ran away." She responded with an almost defeated tone. "Ran awey? Yu don' luk loike a child." He inquires, depositing more snow into the kettle as the previous layer melts down. "N-no, I'm not a child. I..." She hesitated, looking down in shame. "I left Elvenesse because our allies were choking us, the high costs of peace took a huge toll on the morale of a lot of people." She admitted. "Instead of placing faith in our leaders, I abandoned them." "An' yu feel ashamed fur et?" He asks, pausing to pack in more snow. "Ye dedn' loike yer liven situat'on, so ye left. Semple." "It isn't that simple, these are my people, they're all that I have, I can't jus..." She stopped herself, realizing what she was about to say. "So ye tried tae climb ta moun'ains cous ye knew tae dwed woul' attack ye ef yu took tae road..." He says, putting the lid on the kettle. "Ahn tae umris are tu buseh foighten t'emself." Zellyr smiled weakly at that and scoffed, "Yeah, exactly. I suppose the only good thing to happen thus far was learning that the Irehearts aren't bad." She says burrowing further into the blankets. "Nae, don' trust tae Ire'earts. Yu got luckeh cus ah 'av ah brain en betwen meh shouldahs, but my brot'ers ahn sesters are focken feral." He sighs, rummaging through his bag and pulling out two small metal cups. "So what they say is true? You take our ears and murder us?" She asks frightened, looking up and backing away a little. "Aye, bu t'eres no poin fer meh tu take yur ears righ now or kill ye." This put Zellyr on edge, it was now starting to set in that she was stuck in a cave with a ruthless murderer, a dwarf spurred on by his greedy trials. "Ah kno wut yer fink'n, t'at ahm som evil medgit t'ats gonna rape yu en yur sleep and cut yu up." He says, pouring some hot water into a cup for her. "What ah meant w'en ah said t'eres no poin', es t'at t'eres nothen tae beh learned from assulten ah wee lasseh. Ah coul take yur ears an go 'ome, tell meh famileh t'at ah did t'em proud ahn murdered som nasteh knoife eared vermin, an go to sleep, but w'en tey ask meh 'ow ah got tae ear, et's far less exciten. Yu gottu earn yer trials, ah believe. Yu cannae rush et." Their conversation was interrupted by a loud boom of thunder roaring up the mountain, the heavy snowfall just now starting to come down. After sipping on his water, the Ireheart would look at Zellyr and say, "Et's tae same fer yu. Yu feel loike ye wan tae be rid of yur worries, but ef some'un asks you how yu solved et, et woul sound ah lot bettah saying yu stood by yur people rat'er t'an admitten yu ran away. But donnae confuse yer desire fer peace wif weakness." He was right, and he had nailed exactly what was on her mind too. She sipped on her water and watched as he pulled out some light mats, setting them down on the floor. "Here." She said, offering him one of the blankets. "Nae, keep 'em, ahm foine." He says, laying down as the evening light began to fade leaving them in only the campfire's light. Zellyr laid down as well, wrapped in a bundle of warm green and gray knit wool with a few beard hairs in it. It smelled like it belonged to a family, it smelled like it was fresh from its home, it felt as though she was one of the Irehearts that was being swaddled in that warm connection that kin share, comforting her when her resolve was cracked. As her mind wandered, her eyes grew heavier and heavier until she had drifted off to sleep. Zellyr abruptly woke some time later in the middle of the night to find Angr standing next to her, his back turned. "A-Angr?" She trembled, fearing the worst. The Ireheart let out a low guttural growl that sent shivers down her spine, her muscles frozen in fear when she saw the glint of moonlight reflecting off of his war axe. Her gaze narrowed in on the scene when she saw two dire wolves at the mouth of the cave growling back at Angr. She began to quiver as she was unsure of what to do, but was even more so petrified of what unfolded before her. Angr stomped one foot foreward as he beat a fist to his chest with a strong thud, followed by an almost inhuman snarl causing the wolves to whimper and back up a few steps. When they realized just who was the predator here, the wolves trudged back into the snowstorm to seek shelter elsewhere. Still frozen in fear, she watched him toss a few logs into the campfire, then lay down on his mat and promptly drift back to sleep. It was odd, being in the presence of a force of pure strength, even at its most restrained version no less. She could only imagine what the strongest Ireheart warriors were like. In these harsh conditions during these hard times, she found solace with the Tombkeeper.

A Tombkeeper's Diary ~ o . O . o ~ "Our Source Of Ire" [Music] Beneath Urguan lies a massive cavern, an expanse of winding abyss that forms the underbelly of the mountain home of the dwarves. It is down here that a plethora of predators and hostile creatures dominate the local ecosystem, monsters that would give voidal horrors a run for their money. In the inky shadows of the underground sat a lone Ireheart, scribbling away at his journal as he is illuminated only by a nearby campfire, and the crumbling gate of the Doomforged hall in the distance. Beside him, a hot bowl of stew with lumps of cooked purple colored meat and beets swimming in beef broth, served freshly from a boiling pot sat over the fire. "Since my residency in the chasm, I have had plenty of time to wonder to myself, or at least among my various. My days run into the next, my weeks are starting to feel like days. I continue to persevere towards the end goal, bringing peace to the souls trapped behind these collapsed walls. I can only hope that they understand the slow pace given the amount of work ahead of me, it's exhausting digging around the clock." Angr put down his quil for a moment, spooning a mouthful of stew from the bowl. Sighing, the Ireheart would look around himself and gaze into the darkness as he chews the tough and gamey meat for a while. In the void before him, Angr noticed a figure of short stature shuffling towards him which stopped when it was only just barely visible. The dwed took a seat on a rock at the edge of the light's reach and remained silent. "Can ah 'elp yeh?" Angr asked, unsure as to what they wanted. "Nei, jus com'en tae check on me famileh." The figure grumbled, his voice almost mournful. "Yer an Ire'eart?" Angr probed, intrigued by the sudden arrival of a relative, and in here of all places too. "Aye." He commented, not sharing another word. "Ahm gonnae contenue meh journal fer ah momen', ef ye don' mind." Angr commented, picking up his quil once more. "Though my body tires and my bones ache, I can feel an anger inside me that propels me onwards. It isn't a hatred towards any one individual or thing, it's a general sense of displeasure or dissatisfaction with something currently lurking in my mind. I've heard countless tales and remarks from the dwed telling of an unbridled rage that defines the Irehearts, but what if they're wrong? What if what sets us apart isn't an uncontained fury, but rather an unending determination to see things through?" Angr paused at the sound of shuffling, as his mysterious relative was getting ready to leave. "Oi, wut's yer name brothehr, maybeh weh can grab ah pint later?" He chuckles. "Tha's alrigh, ah've spent enouf toime aht tae tavehrn alreadeh..." His brother comments as a stone hand reaches down to grab a mangled hunk of metal with the stamp of a Starbreaker smith from next to where he had sat. As the figure began to leave, Angr squinted his eyes as he tried to narrow his focus on this unknown dwed, deadset on seeing any discerning features. He could make out what looked to be a white pelt singed at the edges, clinging on to charred skin as the rest of the dwed disappeared into the darkness. "Hmph." He muttered, taking up his quil again. "Perhaps this is what guided us sons of Yavok to mercilessly fight in any battle, not out of rage but out of a sheer desire to see the conflict through to its end. This very well may be the same force that beckons me to heft my spade and free these forgotten tombs, though my body is weak my spirit remains strong. Though the thought might be heresy, if we are truly to be driven by the same blood as our paragons, then even the grip of Dungrimm may not be enough to keep fallen Irehearts from returning to our mortal coil for their own purposes. To this end one could argue our tenacity, our ferocity, our Ire..." Angr was again interrupted by distant sounds, this time the sound of metal and boots against stone coming from the abyssal plains ahead of him. It was at that moment that Angr believed he had found the conclusion to his entry, as he could see the quickly fading image of several unfamiliar Irehearts sat around an illusory fire with smiles on their faces, the darkness quickly spilling in to replace where they once were. He nodded after a moment of deliberate silence, walking over to the large purple cave monster he had slain earlier and retrieving his war axe from its flesh. As Angr tidied up his belongings, he wrote one last line in his journal entry. "Our Ire, is proof of our worth to the gods. Our Ire is us."

Sat in the dimly lit annex of collapsed ruins, a lone Ireheart scribbles away in his journal. Beside him rests an iron half-mask on the pine table, with a one-handed ferrum war axe resting against the leg. Strewn around him are a variety of chipped and bent tools used in clearing out the space he currently occupies. The stench of a tallow candle wafts out of the short length hall and into the cavernous underbelly of the new dwarven cityscape. Taking his time, the Ireheart scrawls an entry into the ram hide book before him. "Often I wonder, do the mountains carry our fallen dreams? When our kin are born under this stone, raised beneath it and taught to defend it, when we are given titles and aspirations, do these mountains silently cheer us on? Time and time again we have been protected by the very lands we struggle to defend, whether the foe be of fiery hell or watery ocean. We return our bodies to the land we swore ourselves to, and in doing so these mountains remember us. It is this reason that the mountains endlessly weep green. Like a mother who has lost their child, they can do nothing but cry. Our derelict halls and abandoned lands do not forget the lives of those whom they nutured. For the mountains who have provided us with everything they had to offer, we gave them back our loved ones in good faith. They shield our eyes from rot with tears of their own; Blades of grass and blooming flowers shroud the mounds where our fallen reside. Even the most ferocious of warriors are swaddled by the love of our homeland. My ramblings need not be interpreted as poetic, visit your relatives and tell me if the mountains have taken good care of them. Perhaps this is an unspoken way of Dungrimm granting privacy for the dead, as prying eyes can pressure one into making choices that are not their own. An iron visage obscures the transition between life and death, giving the weary travelers time to be themselves again before passing onwards." Satisfied with his work, the Ireheart leaves his work to dry beside his dainty candle. He rose from his seat and grabbed a torch, carefully lighting it with the candle flame before propping it upright with a few stones. Pick in hand, he continued to chip away at these forgotten tombs.

Minecraft Username: Reece_NolanRoleplay Name: Angr IreheartRace: Mountain DwarfTimezone: EST

Dont know if you can hold it tighter than soulbound, but, go off There was already a big thing that happened when ST forcibly took the hammer which was soulbound off of beamon so...

Doesnt matter if you change your mind, shouldnt have been declared in the first place. Half of the server still thinks thats a thing. You do realize that once you kind of, tell the entire server you’re going to try and kill them, that tends to spread like wildfire. The entire thing can’t just be undone with a single ping in a discord with less than a tenth of the server in it.

Shoulda thought about that while you were declaring you’d PK half the server if nobody participated. Yikes

As you all can likely see, I just went on a huge rant in several discords regarding the unfairness of the current end of the map event. So if I’m going down, I’m taking those responsible with me. I came back to this server for god knows what reason, and I am constantly reminded why I left, seeing toxic actions taken by players and LOTC’s various teams. I’m not going to beat around the bush, so let’s get right into it. The Inferni event has been a big question mark for a lot of us, I can say that with confidence. Whether it be the fact that the guidelines for the event were written in the middle of the event, or the fact that those heading it seem to have a complete and utter disregard for the players participating in it. A bit of context as to what I mean, this picture right here https://image.prntscr.com/image/d7asQ2D9TDO9se-cETwpjw.png is the limit of the dwarven defenses, meaning nobody at that camp can go beyond the red border there. Now, there is an exception to this, that being the fleet that has been positioned outside the dwarven gate on the coast since the start of the event. I came home from my overnight shift at work to hear that an inactive landmass owned by goons was forked over to the ST for the event as seen in this image here Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, as the fleet is right there and can see them if they try to move out of their new land, I’m fine if they have land that is inactive, the goons shouldn't even have a say whether or not the ST get it anyways because they don’t play. Now our problem arises in the fact that I have been informed via VC that an elephant with the hammer of urguan WALKED RIGHT PAST OUR FLEET AND UP NEXT TO THE SKULL ignoring the entire fleet. This is further backed up if you simply observe that the ST spearheading this event have been playing CIV as of late, and while this may seem insignificant at first, you begin to realize that they are treating this as a turn based game of CIV, which is even further backed by the fact that every week the nations make their actions, and afterwards the demons do theirs, back and forth. LOTC is not a turn based game in case you weren’t aware. Anyone who plays this server would know that, it’s one of the first things you see upon launching the website even. LOTC is an RP server, people didn’t go to a game store and buy LOTC to play a turn based war simulator, they got on mineman and began to play for free on an RP server. To address this, upon joining the leadership chat in the Inferi Alliance discord, I scrolled up quite a ways to see if there were any bits of information that I would need in order to play the game that Dingo has laid out halfway into the event. (The logistics you can see here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BAdLi5p8DQ7_TKBKtzAP6s3DXmrh9xjoyLoyfTGevos/mobilebasic) This here is a blatant lie, these ships were formed prior to him writing the logistics above and have been there since the start of the event, and scrolling up quite a ways in leadership chat shows no signs of dingo ever asking anything about the dwarven fleet (unless he asked at the very start of the event, which even then would be strange because if something were that important you would want to keep pestering people until you get the answer so you can, y’know, properly lead an event.) As well as at the time, there would've been no need to consult dingo as he again, waited until halfway through the event to actually write the rules for the event. Then there’s the whole “Mass PK if nobody participates in my event” thing that I’m not even going to dig into, that’s a whole other mess entirely. To those who know me, I don’t take too kindly to being lied to, let alone in an attempt to discredit me. To this, I bring the title of this post. I ask that moderation and administration hold the leash a little tighter, as to not allow one of your own branches to needlessly anger/run off part of your own playerbase, things like this can be avoided with honesty and being accepting of criticism, or something as simple as asking for feedback before doing. In simpler terms, think before you do. And it is not just me sharing in this frustration as I am sure dingo is plentifully aware of, as I spoke with him prior about people disregarding his event. Dingo is already VERY aware of the fact that people have been displeased with his event and his “Act first ask later” tactics, to which his response appears to have simply been “I will PK basically everyone that participated in this event” should they not do anything because they aren’t enjoying the event. Simply put, the lesson to be learned here is to carefully plan out things like this. Large map ending events should not be made as they are being played out, nor should they be based off of the mechanics of a game with an entirely different set of mechanics. Things like these should be handled by people mature enough to take on such a task and have it ready from the get go. If you cannot handle the criticism and feedback of a community telling you they aren’t enjoying your event, chances are you shouldn’t be the one handling the event. So this brings me to the last part. The consequence of ignoring your player base so that you can run a movie. https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/190137-im-tired/ I’m sure many of you have seen and known what this post is, and I reference it because I am leaving again. Clearly in my time apart from LOTC things have sadly gotten worse, and as much as I love the playerbase and the rich mechanics, the diversity and the potential to do so much, it is in those who turn the cogs of the server that I share my despair with. Is it simply too much to ask for a server that is not subject to the whims of those clearly not capable of fulfilling their position? With that said, I am going to be of the first to leave because of this event, and I have no doubt there will be plenty of others that jump ship once they realize they are being forced to PK for an event they had zero control over. Cy@

MC Name: Reece_Nolan RP Name: Hraaken Underhammer Discord: You know me, Beamon4. Which part of the tournament do you wish to participate in (PvP/Archery/Both): Both Timezone (EST, GMT, etc.) EST

It was at the dwarven ruins that supplies had finally arrived under the orders of Hraaken Underhammer in the King's stead. Far from the camp which had begun being set up stood the lost lands of Korvassa, home to demonic beasts and unsettling screeches. In the charred dunes was there no remnant left of mortal resistance, no evidence of a struggle apparent as the ashes of the brave were now part of the sands the Inferni Legion walked upon. Following the announcement of the Grand King, the floor of the throne room was once again emptied to reveal a single dried spatter of blood blending in with the orange tiles before the throne. it would seem that at least one fighter who met their demise at the hands of the Infernis was right. The hopes of those who had fallen, the dreams of those to come... They would not be shattered.

The Call to Victory Written by Hraaken Underhammer, To every living descendant across Arcas. [Music] Where the Dwarves rest did a lone candle streak through the inky darkness. No forge was lit, no hammer rung, only blackness occasionally interrupted by the dim glow of bubbling magma below. An armored figure marched up the winding spiral of Kal-Evraal barely illuminated by the flicker of a lit wick. Shortly after did Hraaken Underhammer finally arrive in the clergy hall where a few other lit candles welcomed his own. As he entered the main chamber, Hraaken could see the High Preceptor passed out at a desk to his right, buried in parchments and books detailing the gods and times of old. To Hraaken’s left, Kazrin the Brown sat silently regarding him as the rest of the city slept restlessly, their uncertainty resounding through the quiet caverns. Hraaken then moved to pass the cave dwed, taking in details such as a newly forged axe by Kazrin’s side, and a few open books in front of him. He wondered whether the sage-like Starbreaker he saw was reading multiple books at once, he wondered what purpose such a person would have to be up while the rest of the world lays uneasy in their beds. Regardless, he continued on and left Kazrin to his work. Hit footfalls echoed to the shadowy back end of the library where he quietly took a seat on one of the wooden chairs, a small creak coming from under his armored weight. He took off his helmet and set it aside, the blackened glass inside metalwork faintly reflecting his candle as he passed the flame on to a few more candles at the table. There Hraaken sat, unfurling a blank parchment and beginning to scribe away at a document with enough power to potentially shape the future into a new fate. ”In this message, I wish to address all living descendants on Arcas. You may not know me, I am an Underhammer, a dwarf belonging to an old race, an old family of wise and unshakable workers. In my time on this land I have come to learn that despite those who are sun stricken being assailed by the light, they lead happy lives. They have families as I do, they have cultures, they have values, they have dreams and ideals they wish to hold to the end of their days. Countless others before me have wrote tales and recorded history, and I intend to believe that countless others after me will continue to do so. There are warriors of men, mothers that hold their children dear, there are lovers that embrace each other even during this perilous time. All of it would be for naught should we lose it all to the spawn of Khorvad. That being said I do not make this letter to bring yet another scroll of sympathetic dread to your doorstep, as I have heard of the mighty heroes across our many lands and realms of old. I have heard of the might of Kjell, I have read the wisdom of elves past, I have seen the will of Humans, the ferocity of Orcs. I have seen what occurs when all descendants band to together, they write history so strong that even the book recording their actions trembles at the raw power of change. I write this to all living descendants reluctantly, as it is not my place as a simple elder to ask for this. I am no king, I am no emperor, and I am no leader, but I am calling for every last one of you to band together once again to bring forth the tides of change to our history books. To that end, I will be gathering a small force including my son and grandson to travel to each of your major cities and discuss actions to be taken against the incoming threat. There is no where to run this time, there is no city to abandon this time. It is do or die, we have no time to bicker among each other over wrongdoing or one’s honor. What matters is that we win for those who have fallen as well as those who have not yet had time to enjoy the world of the living. I urge any nation leaders that may be reading this document to band together with your neighbors despite your differences, for they can be settled afterwards once we have ensured a future for us all. To reinforce this claim, I have already gathered workers to produce the resources necessary to fortify the lands with which our final stand will take place. I do not wish to win, I wish to beat them back into their hole, a total call to victory.” – Thane of Century Omega II and Clan Elder, Hraaken Underhammer With his document done did Hraaken rise from his seat, quietly push in his chair, and make to the exit of the clergy hall in haste for there was work to be done. As he proceeded past the tables where Norli slept, Kazrin still sat reading away as if sleep were not a concept applied to him. Hraaken gave him a solemn nod as he left, regardless of whether he noticed. It was only then did Hraaken come forth to endure the Endless Toil yet again as he ventured back down the spiral of Kal-Evraal’s walls. His footsteps again being the only disturbance to the snoring of countless dwarves in their homes. As he drew near the Underhammer clan hall, he passed his parchment to a figure hooded and cloaked like the dark itself before letting them walk out of the city into the night to spread his word in good faith. Soon after Hraaken returned to the small forge in their hall and unstrapped his armor to reveal his tree trunk arms with valleys of gray muscle rippling across. He would grab a hammer and continue to shape the Gorix-Az on the anvil in front of him as he prepared for war.

A somber wind blows across the sea separating Korvassa from the mainland. On this wind is carried a single flake of ash that was once doomed to roll in the dunes of the land lost to the Infernis. This flake gently wafted down to Siramenor’s gate and joined the dirt of the path leading up to a gathered crowd of wood elves reading over the letter. Although they could not share in this flake’s tragedy, the wind understood who’s ashes it would soon be carrying next.

The Battle for the Hammer [Music] It was as the city of Al-Faiz fell amidst the drums and screeches of the demonic legion’s advance that the lone Ireheart stood. Atop by his six foot bear Joff, he charged into the city attempting to rally the panicked warriors calling for retreat, but to no avail. Seeing that the city’s fall would spell the inevitable end of everyone he loved and cared for, he swallowed his pride as a living descendant and charged into the fray. Releasing his bear upon the front line, the Inferni soldiers were mauled by tooth and claw relentlessly as Durgar himself pushed on wielding no more than two Starbreaker forged steel knuckledusters crying “Narvak oz Urguan!” His advance split the fray in two, soldiers falling left and right helpless to fend against the rage of an inspired son of Dreek. A shadow cast by a gargoyle flew by, soon crushing several of its own infantry under foot upon landing. Atop the beast rode one of the Infernis Generals, Zekul’akudah wielding the Hammer of Urguan which was held in a red light as the sky soon blackened with his words. “You.” He stated, his body slithering forth as several snake heads plumed malflame around him. But Durgar was not phased, his onslaught continuing as he fought his way to the general. His eyes spoke of many trials and tribulations. Tales of grief, of disheartening guilt for his actions, stories of seeking redemption among his kin and loved ones. His eyes were filled with a bloodlust that showed not reckless abandon, but a righteous cause in his heart. “The only one that remains.” His voice slithered, coiling around the sand stricken battlefield as his soldiers obeyed mindlessly, surrounding the pair. “You deserve the bite of your ancestors.” “Spare me your words, I’ve come to ensure that the lives of my loved ones are not in vain!” Durgar spoke out, crushing the skull of an Inferni soldier under foot. “The hopes of those who have fallen, the dreams of those to come, they will not be extinguished!” He affirmed, charging with nothing more to say at the general in full stride. With this fatal mistake, the general hefted the Hammer of Urguan up and cracked Durgar upside the chin at full force using his own momentum to further the blow. With a sickening thud echoing through the air, Durgar flew into a spin and landed in the footfall of their arena with his jaw dislodged. But he felt no pain, he felt only his ancestors, including Yavok himself coursing through his veins to bear witness to this duel. Popping his jaw back in place, he rose once more. “You realize it too don’t you? I think I understand it now myself, I’m no hero.” He grunts with a lisp, charging forth again and putting all his strength into a blow with his stone golem hand, its olive rune flickering violently as it reflects his mental state. “I didn’t even stand a chance the moment you came off of that beast.” He utters, grinning as his eyes welled with tears. Hellfire raining upon the city behind him as he drops to one knee trying to gather himself. “Mine, agent of the betrayer.” The general said, as Vorukhan-Ur strode forth to the scene. The general now looking back down at the dwarf kneeling before him. “Choose your death.” He hissed, one of the snakes of his body slithering forth to lift Durgar’s chin so that he may behold his executioner. “I make myself known, now!” Vorukhan-Ur calls forth. “...As the one most fitting to destroy the champion of the Irehearts.” He says approaching the ring of Inferni soldiers guarding this sacred duel. “Grant me this chance to scorn the memory of Urir forever!” He begs the grand general. As the pair discuss his demise, Durgar’s hand lunges forth to grab the Hammer of Urguan, which resonates and glows with his sorrow and realizes shortly that his fate is sealed, the anguldaemonic runes only being able to glow to acknowledge him as his grasp was contested. “I’ll die a fighter then. If I could not teach my kin honor, I’ll teach them to be inspired!” He declares in one futile last attempt to free the hammer, mustering the last of his strength into repeatedly blows towards the general’s elbow yet again to no avail. “Navark oz Urguan!” Yet the generals snake like eyes watched, respecting his efforts yet fully understanding it meant little to change the face of the battle. Joff, finally breaking through the last of the infantry called out to his owner with one last roar before being gutted like a pig and slamming head first into the sand, lifeless. In Durgar’s heart, he knew his time was up. He knew he would not walk through the hall of heroes guided by Dungrimm’s hand as he had failed to uphold his blood oath. “Durgar Ireheart!” Vorukhan-Ur announced. “Suffer now the culmination of your forefather’s sins. You are, the descendant of the rapacious, the glory of failure, and the fear of the unguarded and meek. Never will I ever... Forgive your lowly kind.” He proclaimed, his spell now finished as a bolt of black crackling lightning struck down upon the Ireheart ready to annihilate his entire being, denying him any further chance of life and possibly existence in the afterlife. It was in this final split second that for him, lasted years, did Durgar lastly utter, “I love you mom, pop.” “Distasteful.” The general hissed as his kill was stolen by his lesser. Looking back upon where the valiant warrior stood, remained only a pair of Starbreaker forged steel knuckledusters atop a pile of ash. The general then looked out to the waters, seeing the last of the troops claiming to protect to city retreating with their tails tucked. His piercing gaze watching as the beasts of his army made comfort in their newly ruined home. https://imgur.com/a/9MxrpxC

[Music] [!] A rolled parchment containing a message for all who behold it would arrive in Krugmar. ”I cannot speak for my brothers and sisters in Clan Ireheart, nor will I attempt to do so as I have already questioned their honor once. It is clear, the animosity between both Orcs and Irehearts is a thick and darkened blood that runs deep in our veins. With the grudge still going strong, it is however unclear to me whether we will ever make amends for the damage done. For the Orcs that have been disgraced for so called ‘honor’ in duels that actually hold no honor at stake. It is my wish to even the playing field, even if it is just myself acting upon this, I still hope that by attempting to honorably complete my trials that I may set an example for those after me that not everything need be solved with blind rage and fury. It is in this message that I propose a rivalry to the Orcs of Krugmar, an antithesis of the grudge if I may. As you may very well know I have formed a Blood Oath to bring honor back to the Ireheart name in my own way, and I have set out on foot to do just that. This rivalry would be one of a competition rather than hate, a display of strength rather than a showing of brutality. One as to say, ‘Come back when you’re strong enough to face me’, rather than the humiliation of taking the skin off of ones back. At the peak of this rivalry will then, and only then, honor be brought into question. The hide on the back of the Orc’s hand being wagered, and the skin of my chin along with my beard being my wager. Should I not be strong enough to overcome my opponent in an equal playing field, it would be the skin that my beard grows from that shall be severed, preventing me from ever growing it back again. Should the opponent lose, the skin on the back of their hand is less severe than their entire back, however it would be nearly impossible to hide that said Orc had lost at the hands of an honor bound Ireheart, thus branding them the lesser of the rivalry. It is now that I ask for three different Orcs of different clans, different colors and walks of life to step forth and become my rival in good faith, rather than the throws of a falsely proclaimed Honor Duel. It is here that I wish to grant this aforementioned even playing field so that we both may have the opportunity to prove each other wrong with a smile on our faces, to prove that both Orcs and Irehearts have honor, regardless of whether one or the other wishes to admit it. While this may unfortunately not bring about the end of my kin’s grudge, I hope that it may right a wrong in another way, as a sort of apology.” - Durgar Ireheart

Name of the creature: Golem Spider (Optional) Link to a picture of the creature + name of the artist: Is this creature tamable and if so, how: No. Can you use this in combat: N/A Habitats - Check all that apply: Caves/Caverns Summary of the creature: Golem Spiders are massive scaly spiders that are unable to spin webs, instead violently hunting down anything that moves, sometimes eating things that don’t move. As they mature, the raw material that they produce turns the composition of their scales to something akin to stone, which lends them their name. While still soft and mushy on the inside, Golem Spiders are incredibly strong and durable hunters that will even go as far as sticking half their body in searing hot lava just to catch a prey. Their main forms of attack are with their legs and mandibles, often seeking to pull apart their victims to keep them from squirming about. Characteristics of the creature: The Golem Spider is usually found in their adult phase, on the brink of death as is their life cycle. From birth, the Golem Spider has an unending hunger that deems it an Omnivore. The baby upon hatching will eat the waste that the mother ejects from its body and feed for generally one stone week before having the strength to move on its own. After around three stone weeks from birth, the Golem Spider enters its most deadly phase of life, adolescence. Golem Spiders in this phase can peak around 10 feet in height standing on all legs upright and boasting a leg span of about 15 – 25 feet depending on its diet, usually weighing in at 500 to 700 pounds again depending on its diet. Adolescent Golem Spiders are what primarily shape their ecosystem, acting as extremely nimble hunters that usually attack anything that moves, even their own reflection in water. Golem Spiders metabolism will exponentially increase upon nearing their adult stage causing them to always hunt until they can no longer keep up with their metabolism and must sit themselves in one place where they begin to consume stone. Once they have fully entered the adult phase, they will be incapable of moving on their own except for their front mandibles which aid in shoving more stone into their mouths, processing sediments and minerals as a form of nutrition and ejecting low temperature magma as waste. As they continually feast, mother Golem Spiders will then deposit their eggs in their own waste after carrying their eggs inside them until they near death, usually being fertilized during teen years. One thing of note is that, Golem Spiders are unable to die of age, instead Golem Spiders will almost always starve to death as their metabolism gets so fast that they simply cannot stuff enough food in their body to keep up with the demand their body exerts on them to stay alive. (Optional) Origins of the creature: The Golem Spider is a native to the cavern structures of Almaris, while their origin isn’t entirely unknown, what species they were prior to evolving into the Golem Spider is a mystery. It’s believed that the Golem Spiders resulted from not having enough food to survive after hunting all other cave dwellers to near extinction. The Golem Spider is believed to be what is now known as a starved alpha race, or, a race of creatures that dominate the food chain as the alpha so fiercely that they inadvertently endangered their own species from lack of food or resources. Strengths/Weaknesses Due to their size, Golem Spiders MUST always eat to keep up with their metabolism and they can possess top speeds of up to 45 MPH in short bursts as well as physical strength capable of sheering stone. Their scales tend to be similar in composition to stone in both strength and material which lends them their name. The older the Golem Spider however, the weaker it becomes as it becomes immobile upon fully entering the adult phase, yet almost as durable as black steel plating. Golem Spiders have a clear weakness in their joints, the tough scales giving way to thinner tissue which allows them to remain nimble despite their weight. These joints are easily damaged by something as simple as a wooden spear, their other weakness being cold temperature which freezes the lubricating fluids in their limbs making them immobile and rendering them unable to eat should they not already be in their adult phase. This lubricating fluid freezes around 40 to 43 degrees Fahrenheit making it very susceptible to ice and other cold objects already below the mentioned temperatures. Red Lines Golem Spiders must eat every day roughly 10 pounds of material during their adolescent phase. Golem Spiders cannot create webbing and do not possess any poisons or acids, making them entirely reliant on brute physical strength and incredible speeds for their size. Golem Spiders have damaged their ecosystem so badly that not even they can survive in it easily, making them very hard to find due to their low numbers. Golem Spiders are by no means magical despite their name, they simply get their name due to their stone like scales, making them entirely a natural phenomenon. Golem Spiders during their adult phase are extremely difficult to kill unless you can flip them over, and while they do create low temperature magma as waste, they contribute to only a small fraction of the lava found in underground caverns. Golem Spiders are not able to be tamed or swayed, period. If you offer them food they will simply eat you and the food, as their hunger pains are their primary driving force. Golem Spiders CAN go to the surface, but typically do not due to the awkward terrain of the surface being more difficult for them to navigate without having cavern walls to push off of. Golem Spiders can be killed by a single player, but it would be an incredible feat to say the least; If you play a Golem Spider as an event team actor, DO NOT HOLD BACK, YOU ARE A CREATURE WHO IS ALWAYS ON THE BRINK OF STARVATION! Availability: Rare - A person requires lore approval to discover one of these. EDIT: THIS IS NOT A PRODUCT OF GOLEMANCY, IT IS LITERALLY JUST CALLED A GOLEM SPIDER BECAUSE ITS SCALES ARE STONE LIKE THANKS TO ITS DIET!

[Music] It was in the clergy hall of the dwarven city that Durgar Ireheart stood. Among the conflict sparked by empty words between the Norlanders and Irehearts did a standstill take place. Blood drawn between kin over a quarrel that had no merit, and yet Durgar's anger refined him further in the face of the Brathmordikan itself. As the shrines solemnly spectated two Irehearts fighting each other did they finally reach him. As his brother left the hall disheartened by the actions of his clan, Durgar came to realise why he had not felt like an Ireheart. He had heard stories of his ancestors slaying dragons and taking on foes that no one dared to challenge. He had heard tales of great honor and courage to which none could fathom. Heroes that had saved not just themselves, but everyone around them using their grit and anger as an emboldening fuel. He was none of those tales. He did not feel as though he were an Ireheart because he simply was not an Ireheart. He was a murderer, along with the rest of his clan. He had taken the life of a dark elf on the road and wore its own ear as a twisted trophy, he had barged into the grove and demanded of the druids to defile their tree to prove an empty point. Like those before him, he misused his anger, mistook it for bravery just as those prior had done as they needlessly slaughtered elves and orcs alike, declaring death upon those who resided within the grove in peace over a piece of wood. With his blood, shed by his own clansmen to bring forth his conviction, Durgar painted a new line in the place of his green war paint upon his head. He swore a blood oath at that moment, shouting out not so that the citizens could hear, but so that even Dungrimm himself could bear witness as the shrines paid him heed. He declared in this oath, that he would bring glory and honor back to his clan in spite of the murderous souls among him. He swore on the Brathmordikan, on the Ireheart name, and to himself that he will uphold this task, defeating all including the demons in order to absolve his clan of their crimes against their ancestors. Striding forth, he walked to the grove of the world tree, bringing word of his promise and thus extending his oath two fold. He amended, stating that never shall a descendant race, not elf, not orc, not human and not dwarf, shall have their necks met with the blade of an Ireheart again without an honorable and worthy cause lest they wish to be forcibly removed of their clan name in the throws of an honor duel with Durgar himself. Slitting his palm on one half he allowed his blood to mix with the soil of the grove before his audience, then marking the second branch of blood paint upon his head. It was then that the Ireheart, renewed with purpose and the blood of Dreek pumping through his veins mustering the courage and wisdom of Urguan himself to draw him before the scrutinizing gaze of the current Grand King. It was there that he planted his feet, extending his oath a third time, thus making his promise threefold to the title of Grand King. He spoke of the atrocities committed by his clan and by himself, seeking redemption through his oath to make Clan Ireheart once again prosper. He swore off his trials, crushing the rotting dark elf ear under the sole of his boot and abandoned the bark of the world tree at the foot of the throne. He declared that his trials would be to uphold that of his blood oath through his life and even persisting to do so through death should Dungrimm grant him that privilege. As his threefold oath was sworn in by yet another slit on his palm and a drop of his blood soaking the tiles of the throne room, he made one final request. Should he fail in his endeavors to bring the Irehearts back to its former glory as it had been in its founding days, he asked that the Clan Ireheart be added to the Book of Grudges.

MC Name: Reece_Nolan Character Name: Durgar Ireheart Character Age: 122 Appearance: Light skin, black hair, brown eyes Bloodline - Feel free to contact Utak (Mickaelhz) or Axel (LeftyBojengles) for help: Dreek Define who you shall be related to inside the bloodline (E.g, Son of __, grandson of ___ etc): Son of Dreek II Do you agree to follow the Clan Tenets OOC’ly and IC’ly and face the consequences for their breaking?: Yes What is your Discord?: Reece | Samuel N.#2622 Image of the skin you intend to use: https://namemc.com/skin/e496301cf31fca92

IGN:Reece_NolanRP Name: Durgar Stonevine Any past experience in taverns? (not required to be employed.): The Bearded Lady (I think thats the name, it was the one in the previous city that Atandt was king of. What role do you wish to be employed as (Bartender/Brewer):Bartender (if you have the need for any cooks then that too. What is your discord (not required, but really helpful if you wish to be notified on events and other important things):Reece | Samuel N.#2622

So it’s about time I did one of these. I am leaving LOTC and I’m not going to look back. But before I go I want to make a few key points made in hopes of things changing for the better. I’ll save you all of the long walls of text and get straight to the point. When I first joined this server I was amazed by how in depth everything was, everywhere I looked there was new mechanics and new things to be learned, I joined the Curon Ursus and made a small name for myself, after which I learned that Humans are incredibly toxic. I got into several altercations in which despite the actions being taken made sense, a moderator would come along and tell us to just void the encounter as a solution. This happened over, and over, and over, and over. It got to the point where I had only been a month and a half into the server and was already about to leave. Then I met Mickaelhz. He gave me one of the best opportunities I had on the server, he let me play a Dwarf, no, he let me PLAY properly, with the features implemented by RP and PVP being used properly. While I admit my character was quite a meme at a lot of times, emoting having swamp ass and clapping ass cheeks, I still got the chance to experience wholesome RP, cooking, smithing, battle, and life in general. Even something as simple as sitting at a bar and talking to a friend of the persona was entertaining because you never knew where it could go. I got to learn and better myself in PVP, something I was absolute GARBAGE at. He taught me about lore and RP that wasn’t even on the wiki, such as the history of Ireheart traditions in game, he took me under his wing and showed me the good in this server. For all intents and purposes, that experience goes toe to toe with the most fun times I’ve had playing minecraft, ever. For that, I commend the Irehearts as being THE most rich clan in terms of what it has to offer, and I urge any new dwarves just starting out to try them first. While other clans like the Starbreakers have deep rooted history and facts, and the Goldhands have money and positions of power, the Irehearts have fully fleshed out trials, a sense of progression and people there to assure you and make you feel like you are accomplishing something. I then went back and forth between Human and Dwarf RP, with a bit of Olog RP on the side. Things weren’t as fun anymore when I stopped committing myself to the Dwarves. I found the Orcs to be constantly fighting among themselves, I found the Humans always dull and bland, offering nothing more than people sitting in a throne room or court room and hanging around taverns. My Olog was mildly entertaining in the idea that it was a self sustaining source of RP that could go anywhere and do nearly anything based on the premise that it just could. I endured so many toxic encounters that it left a bitter taste in my mouth, I couldn’t taste anything other than the hate from people who wanted to ruin the experience for the other so they could gain and the other would submit to them. Instead of it being a two way street, it was a one way street. Either one person kneels before the other and lets them do what they want, or a moderator will simply come in and void the situation, causing both to lose. It became so toxic in fact, that even as an Olog versus one Human in their early twenties, I would simply do PVP default because it was less toxic than trying to explain to them the reason why in almost every scenario like that the Olog would easily overpower the Human. Even my source of RP from the Olog was ruined by people who simply didn’t want to cooperate because they had nothing to gain from it. Rather than respecting the health and mechanics of the server, they strongarmed their way around any situation that dare stood in their way. The screenshots that are below are going to be proof of my encounters, to show that I am not talking out of my ass. I genuinely did enjoy the good times I had here, and I thank each and every one of you that let me have that fun, but now I must go, for my own health. Goodbye. ^^ Context for this one is an Olog trying to lift a gate. You shouldnt need to provide evidence to back up the fact that an Olog can lift heavy things, but the situation was resolved by staff pointing out that Ologs were no longer able to lift gates as a game mechanic. However this argument still stood. Ologs can weigh up to one ton and be up to ten feet tall, a mixture of muscle and fat that you have to apply to play, nobody should ever have to provide evidence that an Olog of all things can preform a task like that in an RP sense.

The Key to Coexistence [Music] “Sorry, but these Monstrosities aren’t welcome here.” Spoke one voice, “See to it that this Abomination is removed from here!” echoed another. “Orcs aren’t allowed to join the ISA, let alone Ologs.” came another. It seemed that no matter where Slog’s mind wandered he couldn’t escape the reality of it, they all hated him. He put his life on the line, he saved two humans and a child, he gave people laughs and large hugs, he was happy for all intents and purposes. He couldn’t understand why his heart was full of pain, as food was no longer the only thing he yearned for. For most of his life he was fed scraps and leftovers, left to sleep on dirt mounds in the heat of Krugmar. He was nothing. When he had arrived at Oren he learned the comfort of made beds, the pleasure of a warm meal in his tummy which was crafted with care and taste in mind. He learned of the great GOD of the land, the one who made all food in the world. But even then he wasn’t complete, not until he felt a love for someone rather than something. For him that person was Mariana Dubois. Although he didn’t fully comprehend the concept of a higher being such as GOD, or racked up debt by putting all his food on a tab since he saw someone say it and get free food, there was one thing the giant understood. Love. As the gentleman in front of him explained that he was no longer permitted in the city, the Olog stormed off into a nearby shop nearly overflowing with these emotions that he couldn’t understand. It was all too complicated for him, the idea of joy, happiness, grief, and all other basic feeling with which he was unfamiliar. His heart ached with a metaphorical pain that could never be accomplished by any arrow or blade, it was the pain of never being able to see his friends again after being shown what true happiness was, life beyond eating food and fighting for the Orcs. He wanted to belong, he wanted to be free like the others around him. He wanted more to his feeble life. As his thoughts had finished racing he realized his body had already made its decision as the blood of raging war had coursed through his veins. He stood in the shaggy pawn shop holding a lumber axe, and donning armor made of junk and scraps. His heart went numb as the soldiers outside kept insisting to Mariana that he must leave. He could feel the blood pumping to his eyes, it whispering dark and evil things. “You’ll never see her again.” Whispered one. “ZLOG HAZ ENUF! ZLOG ZHOW LATZ MONZTER!” He screamed as his emotional blood rage consumed him. Screams echoed as he saw a his carnage began with a massive dent in the wall where his fist rested. He stormed out of the shop with the intent to kill, guards now surrounding him and taking formation with their swords drawn and two on their steeds. He was now beyond the point of return. “Why would anyone love a disgusting creature like you, you’re made for war and nothing else.” It spoke again, prodding at his conscious as if to lure him to the inevitable. He swung wildly, first at the horses, then to Captain Peter of the ISA. He landed a blow strong enough to shatter the man’s guard and force him onto his knees, the Captain wheezing as the very air was knocked out of him. Slog recoiled as the man he spoke to the day prior, the man who did not hate Orcs like the others, the man he held with respect for doing the right thing was now kneeling before the monster he became. Impressive as it was that the man was still able to move after being hit with such a blow, he stalled. Swords hacked off chunks of his hide and buried into his muscle, but he felt none of it. The pain in his heart was so great that not even a great sword could measure up. He turned to the nearest person and buried the lumber axe in his shoulder, nearly dismembering him, but they still stood, the collective force of the humans proving to be stronger as they stood together as one functioning organism to take him down. He was smacked by blow after blow, even a steed ramming him into the shelves of the shop he exited from, but none of it phased him. None of it could reach him. "They aren't your friends, they wanted you dead from the start." Whispered another. He finally felt something, not blades, nor arrows, nor fear. He felt cold. A cold liquid dripping down his back, and a sharp pain protruding through his spine. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t move his legs or arms. He panned his eyes around seeing men, women, and children all cowering in fear from what he had done. Men with swords, people who he once called friends were now filled with the intent to kill, and he could do nothing more to stop them as a metal spike from the building he had damaged impaled him in his lower spine. Among the crowd stood Mariana, he saw her silently screaming for them to stop, but he knew it was too late. He knew the damage had been done, and the corruption had won. “Zlog j-jus...” He grumbled, his vision beginning to fade after all that he had done. “Zlog wanu b-be luvd... Zl...” ”Don’t you get it, you big baby? Nobody ever loved you, nor will any God accept you.” It spoke for the last time, the secrets of war finally vanishing from his mind. “Zlog z-zo kold...” He muttered, his final breath taken. Although the soldiers had won the battle, Slog had won the war. His death would go to be a reminder of the corruption that banished him despite his overwhelmingly large heart of gold, despite his innocence the laws had mandated his destruction from the get go. His death would prove how little his efforts to be a good person and live comfortably meant to those in the seat of power. His death, would be the Key to Coexistence.

Soft and sullen, the lavender sky housed a brilliant orange sunset bathing alone for all to see across the land of Arcas. Cattails swayed slightly at the nearby river edge, only their faded dull color distinguishing them from the tall grass entangled with their stalks. Dragonflies whizzed around just as stars began to penetrate the sky's haze, the dawn of twilight summoning a cacophony of cricket chirps for miles and miles in the expanse of the wildlands. There, in this serene scene, sat an elderly couple on a shaggy picnic cloth woven from yarn. The two dwarves as aged as some of the pricks of dim light that flood a night sky. Her fair yet wrinkly hand rested on his thigh as his arm pulled her to his shoulder, their body heat splitting the cool crisp air of the approaching night. Under the watchful gaze of hundreds of stars that peered into the valley they resided in, she finally broke the neverending silence. "I don' fink ah evah wannu leave t'is spot." Her weak and ancient voice whispered. "Aye, nei ef ah 'ave yu by me side." He replied, his gaze refusing to move off of the sky as more and more stars began to loom over them with the fading sunlight. "Cheeseh as alwehs are ye?" She chuckled lightly. "Nae 'ave ah choic', wus alwehs ah pain en me arse tu woo ye any'ow." He said after a slightly exaggerated sigh. In his eyes he beheld thousands of stars, and thinking to himself he just couldn't fathom how, after everything the two of them had been through, they got a perfect ending like this. "Taht twinkl' en yur eye, et's loike ah child yeh? Are yu lost en all o' dem pretteh stars?" She teased, trying to keep their conversation going. "All o' tese twinklin' gems..." He paused, his eye catching a shooting star streaking across the sky. "...Ahn non' o' tem ar moar beautifol t'an yu." He said finally turning his big blue eyes towards her. For a moment her heart began to skip, her mind in bliss and her body swaddled in emotional roses before she retorted. "Ye dahft ***** yu! Ahm as old ahs ah fock'n brick ahn yur still tryen so 'ard to charm meh!" She laughed, letting out a small snort as she was hardly able to contain herself. "Aye, et reminds meh ov w'en we wer young. Ets somfin t'at can nevehr gro' old." He said pulling close to his warm chest in a heartfelt embrace. Together they watched the moon fly high through the sky at a snails pace, their hearts adrift like the celestial bodies. Behind the pair stood a lone weathered cottage with the fireplace smoking out the chimney. In the window stood a young and stout beardling with scrappy clothes, his ambition swelling as he washed the dishes and let his mind wander. He wondered to himself how far his family name could go if they went into business selling their jelly, wines, and cheeses. Maybe if he could find himself a wife he could spread the family name to the far reaches of the land, he could even achieve clan status. But even that was high hopes for the likes of him. Stepping outside for some air, he heard his parents conversing distantly under the grand abyss that was filled with starlight. "Yu two 'avin fun out t'ere?" His gruff voice echoed through the landscape as he approached. "Aye! Get yur arse o'er here, make t'is ah famileh moment!" She replied enthusiastically. The beardling knelt beside his mother and father in the grass behind them and looked up into the chasm of space. "Nae even ta sight o' Dungrimm guiden yu tu teh end es gud as t'is. Et's loike sparks flyen off o' Yemekar's anvil o' stars." He remarked in slight awe of it all. "Nei ah bett'r place fur teh Stonevine famileh tu set up busines, right?" Replied the Father. "Wait yu mean were gonnah-" The beardling was cut short by the expression his father wore. A look of determination that already gave him the answer he was looking for. The family dream would finally be realised. The Stonevine Vinyard, nestled in the Cottage of the Valley.

I was informed by ST staff earlier today that it doesnt exist yet.

Description A basic spring consists of a steel wire which has been bent around into a helical or coiled shape using methods either done by hand or forged into said shape. In order to achieve spring quality steel, one must create quenched and tempered steel or any variant as strong or stronger than the above mentioned quality of steel. By strengthening the steel, one may make it resilient enough to bend and then “spring” back into its original shape with a force that varies dependent on the stiffness of the steel as well as the thickness of the steel. Because springs wear out easily, they may have a few uses before they begin to buckle from the pressure of repeatedly compressed and decompressed, however this negative would likely be outweighed by the many more positive applications of this invention. The simple explanation for how a spring functions is that when force is applied to it, it will throw some of said force back out once the compressing outside pressure is released. Creating springs from other metals could be considered, but is likely impossible without the usage of alloys. Unfortunately, due to the limitations in the size of tools and technology, the smallest effective size of a spring possible of being made would be little under an inch tall and half an inch in width. Capabilities Whilst the humble spring has a plethora of potential applications, there are a limited number of practical uses that the basic spring can be used for. By attempting to create a spring out of a mundane steel, one might find they have made what is known as a slinky. Due to the far lesser stiffness of normal steel compared to that of spring grade steel, the thin design of a helical spring can still distribute force evenly, but it fails to measure up when faced with compression. Little more than an oddly shaped wire, the slinky could be quite entertaining when pushed down a set of stairs as it consistently carries the force applied to it from end to end. In terms of the aforementioned practical uses of the spring, one could make a shock absorption pad to prevent doors from damaging walls when flung open. In terms of the niche combat role that it could fill, one could find a spring implemented into their crossbow to increase the force without increasing the recoil. Spring loaded mechanisms and other complex machinery may be a bit too far away from our grasp, but the usage of a basic spring is a game changer in some fields of work or even in daily life. Restrictions As mentioned previously, tiny springs smaller than an inch in height and half an inch in width is simply not possible given the current tools and technological limits of this day and age. In order to even begin making a spring one must know how to refine or reinforce steel, as well as be knowledgeable in the handling of steel. Due to the sheer power of creations that could be made using the spring, it is recommended that one must apply via the forums in order to use springs in their role play. Springs also have a small number of uses before they break due to their relatively new discovery lending them not much research in the way of making them better. The smaller the spring, the sooner it breaks. Purpose By adding springs, this pushes the tech limit slightly further without exploding into an era of industrial revolution or clockwork nightmares. Springs in their simplest form bring what no other lore piece can really bring to the table for the time being, and that’s collective progression, not just in terms of per say the invention of a gate, but more along the terms of the lightbulb. It lays the groundwork for others to be built upon. One could not simply invent the lightbulb and then suddenly have efficient means to power it as we do with switches now. When the lightbulb was invented it took time for it to become completely practical in every day life, because not everyone has stable electricity, and some even still used torches or candles to light their way despite the superior product existing. By adding the spring, we aren’t thrust into a new time, but we have a sense of general progression that could not be achieved otherwise.