Mescaffier

Helena of Balian gasped, turning to her two ladies in waiting with the flier. "We MUST make sure we attend! I love fall!" she squealed, preparing her first pumpkin-spiced beverage of the season. @Zombiefide@MickMeist

"That was quick!" Helena murmured as she was passed the flier, glancing to the Priest beside her. "Was it worth them letting in all of those . . . people to their Duchy?"

Helena of Balian hurriedly began preparing a gift with many a bottle of glitter glue and macaroni.

Helena Novellen - off on some distant isle away from all the political strife and war, with her tutors - had received the news at last of her mother & father's fate. It was not long until the girl was back on a ship, headed the short distance to return to Aevos. "A trial? Regency!? He did what!?"

-1 Lack of aesthetic and seemingly very few people from our community who helped guide; seems like very little is changed aside from giving necromancy "spell slots" (not lifeforce charges? or some other name?) and several more spells to try and compete with Mysticism & Naz's arms race. Feels copy and pasted aside from minor changes as reasoning for trying to get rid of necros' knowledge of Vicar. A rewrite for a magic so iconic to fantasy, in general, deserves more love put into it

Some roving, rotting figure paused to read the flier, head stooped close to make out the text. "I, TOO, WILL KILL ALL THE CHILDREN!" Bhâal cheered, promptly going on its merry way.

Will redstone doors need to be known of IRP? Or can they all indiscriminately be lockpicked?

Focus crystals with the Quietus spell dye effect 🔫🔫🔫

"No," John murmured, shakily unfolding the missive. His mailbox had been all but crammed full of letters he cared not to read, but the heraldry of his niece's home caught his eye. Droplets on the parchment smeared the ink. "How, when?". The elderly man trudged back into his home, holding his head in his hands as he settled into a chair. "Godani, I should've visited more . . ."

"No," stated some decrepit necrolyte - sneering at the letter as she went to show it to the two dining-room-lingerers with a thin lipped grin. "Gashadokuro's bodyshield has forgotten his place. It's your title he claims, isn't it, Oswine?" @Zombiefide @_NotChris

“Don’t thank me.” In some dank, dark cave, Serthekhur had been ordained. A knife through the heart, prophecies of the future. RUIN. A beautiful, horrible image of a world decimated by droves of undead & the demonic. Seas of flame. She yearned for it all; the Mystiks had ruined her, had left her with nothing but hatred. In some twist of fate, then, she'd been offered the chance of a lifetime - the same art as Edward and Ostromir had employed to wreak havoc on the Orenian peoples. "But . . ." “You’ll regret it.” Gashadokuro became her idol. What she swore to be – the symbol of destruction. Perhaps there was regret along the way, but there was no option to turn back. Hundreds dead at her hand; hundreds more that must be killed. "MINCE THEM INTO RED MIST! GASHADOKURO!" In the end, she and the rest of the coven had fled as the beast that’d replaced the lich decimated those who fought him. Her throat had become hoarse from screaming, hands tired and blistered from fighting, limbs enfeebled. Hexicanum fell, and now, they had to pick up the pieces their dead lord left behind.

HEXICANUM, haven of the damned. Scourge of the earth – lair of the wicked – Gashadokuro’s final resting place. Their coffin in the earth. Time passed quickly. A ghastly, purple-clad figure commanding swarms of zar’malda, bombarding the scorched lands with flame. A black-and-red, plated man pointing the ghoul-archers on their marks. The IMP-KING, dive-bombing and slaughtering zealous footsoldiers. Conquering them within their own home? They scoffed at the idea. Soon, things would return to normal. They'd crush the mortal-lings. But the demons & undead amongst them had forgotten just why humanity and her allies were so feared. Their raw WILL. Steeds and their riders raced across the burnt dirt, skewering undead on their blades and advancing upon the vanguard below. Blow, after blow, after blow. Cannonball after cannonball. But the descendants’ collective push was too strong. Hexcanium’s defenses soon failed. A scarlet beam from the heavens above tore through the walls, and Oyashimans & their allies piled in by droves. The forces of evil ran deeper, and deeper. Each room they sought to hide within was decimated. In the final hours of the battle, Gashadokuro’s most loyal manned the last of their siegecraft and readied their spells. Hemlock, Serthekhur, Lanre, Goibbled, Daal, Beo’son, the Wraith, Tezellionuth, Ikz’Dakzah, the Puppetmaster, Zerath. With each boom of their cannons, fellflame roared and the good Descendants charged in. Even in the face of the Oni Lich and his wicked men, they fought. Prayers to the gods above and below both. Spells exchanged. In a twist of fate, Gashadokuro had been cornered by the dozens of do-gooders, and his zeal men being chased out by one 'Veluc', Slith, Ser Stromheim, and others. As they fled, the doom of their lord occured. Kato Oijin soared through the air, strapped to him a great deal of explosives. In one moment, the Zentherak was in the air, a sea of fire and ash. In the next, a deafening BOOM shook the cavern, and then all was silent. Gashadokuro was dead; no, he had ascended, but his form was only ash. Too, had that legendary Lector been vaporised. . . . As Serthekhur trudged from the ruins, a burning hatred had grasped at her soul. Her mentor – her idol, Iblees’ priest, reduced to naught. All their work, gone. Would the hells take a second chance with them? What of their coven? A vast power vacuum was left, maleficarum scrambling for new overlords lest they be killed and stuck in limbo. The sun had finally set that day, the sky grey with smog and smoke. Rain had begun to smother the flames that ate away at the decimated keep. And in a room, far off along the coast, deals were exchanged. “Gravelord Serthekhur . . . ? I need a new name. This one shan't do.”

- Most/all points have been made by prior comments: it's impossible to make everyone enjoy your roleplay, and player groups themselves, even if they have good intentions/are not even remotely villainy or banditing based, will ultimately only become tired in the face of being shat on - All the same? The dreaded Ferry Diaspora (?) arc has lead to me only seeing people talk about getting 2-emote killed by the roaming Ferry and no more of those nicely formatted posts TLDR pls lead banditry 4ever mick

In some far-ish off nation, Demetrius' . . . Rival? Brother-in-law? Friend? Brother in Arms? . . . John, all of those things, was watching the snow of the last blizzard flicker on by. Two hot mugs of tea steeped before him on the table, his children - not quite blood, but his children nonetheless - laughing and talking over in the parlor. How proud he was. Rowan had become a knight of the realm! And Iduna ... she'd grown so, so much as a person. An accomplishment in its own right. His reflection was gaunt but healthy, and somehow, not a spec of gray hair upon his head, thanks to the figure beside him. The man looped an arm around him as his gaze settled on his own mug of chamomile. The world seemed to still for a moment. He suddenly recalled his fighting with that old Ruthern. Many times where he'd sworn he'd kill him, when he and Irene had actually plotted to, half-joking. Even now, he wasn't sure where they stood. "I need to send a letter to old Demetrius. See how he's doing ..." the man murmured, closing his eyes as he settled back into the chair. "Ah? Sorry, mumbling to myself. I can do it later, he surely has the time to wait just a little more."

"We have no prince. Our only King is Hou Shen," frowned some old gorilla, alone in a far-away monastery; the last of its kin. It was praying to the dead god-emperor. "May he save us!"

my princess is looking for a handmaid!! Adventures guaranteed

Juniper's grandmother spat her drink out as she looked at the flier, rotting jaw hanging open. "SHE LOOKS LIKE ... THAT, NOW!?"