AmericanSimp

Yurin looked to the missive, "Kan nevur go wrong wiff zome traden"

A certain musin sat within the firelands, his eyes looking to the ocean of liquid fire before himself as the message of his teacher came to be, "Through the will of the Melter, the Truckles cheese will bear a new world." 

100% see no issue removing those types of FTB. Not a single person on this server needs to RP making a baby, simply do the rolls and oocly agree that one was made. It will end so many problems.

Overall the big issue I am seeing is what Squak mentioned, there is no defined area in which the line is drawn for what's to far. It makes it a whole lot easier if we don't even allow a line to be crossed especially when we have thirteen year olds running around. Better safe then sorry. 

Not bad for your first PK Post!

MC Name:

         AmericanSimp

Character's Name:

         Monk Gouda

Character's Age:

         50

What feat(s) will you be learning?

         Herald of Azdromoth

Teacher's MC Name:

         Qizu

Teacher's RP Name:

         Tobias De Sarkozy

Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your feat app?:

         Yep

Have you applied for this feat on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         No

Are you aware that if this feat is undergoing an activity trial and fails said trial, that you will lose the feat? And that if it is apart of the Lore Games, it might drastically change soon?:

         Yes

I absolutely love it, so long as its not hidden away and relatively open to folks +1

We need more epic gamer smiths

Absolutely OUTSTANDING, I am so happy you put in the finishing touches

+1 A lot more redline heavy than we both had before that's for sure! Good work dude, hopefully this round makes it.

Death of the Hill’s Son 

It was just an ordinary night along the roads leading to the mighty nation of Norland as Bo Jam sat playing his banjo beside a fire. The young man's fingers danced across the strings until a young boy stumbled across Bo, a warm smile and hand gesturing for the boy to take a seat. 

“Come an take yerself ah seat fella, ain’t no problem. Ma music is free ah promise!”

The young boy without a word took a seat beside the homeless looking man, glancing toward the many empty mason jars nearby.

“Yer thirsty aint ya!” Bo then handed the boy a jar of moonshine with a wide smile, “Make sure ya give ah big ole, YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO befer ya drink or it aint gone taste so good.” 

The unsuspecting boy followed the words of Bo Jam, only to find himself spitting out the rather high-proof moonshine. Moments later Bo began to strum the chords of his banjo once more. 

“So fella, ah might’ve lied ta ya. There do be a price fer ya ta hear me songs…..” Beneath the unkept beard of the hillbilly, a set of fangs began to slowly protrude, “Ya got ta tell me what makes ya happy.” 

“I.. I guess meeting new people like you makes me happy mister...” 

The musical strum of Bo’s banjo then ended abruptly, the hillbilly rising to his feet as he stared into the campfire before him. The memory of why he first traveled from his home flooding his mind, a single tear falling to the earth as a result. Without another word the redneck moved beside the boy, placing a hand atop his head, “Tha be ah good thing fella… real good.” Bo then took a mighty gulp of his nightglow moonshine, drinking the entire jar in one go, “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, ain’t nothin like some moonshine… Ya stay safe now fella, ah got somethin ta do.” 

Bo then set off into the forest, it was time he stopped letting his past control him. Stop letting others dictate what he was meant for. It was time for Bo to rid himself of the curse that plagued his blood and mind. 

"The idea of redemption is always good news, even if it means sacrifice or some difficult times." 

Patti Smith

Step by step Bo continued to wander the untouched wilderness blessing the lands of Almaris. Time, determination, and hope breaking the enthrallment brought upon him many months prior though at a cost. The hillbilly that once held an unbreakable smile, soon fell to his knees in tears as he thought of the many egregious acts he had committed over the course of his life. “Ah ain’t never hurtin anotha fella, never…” The hillbilly speaking himself into a small depressed slumber. When Bo Jam awoke, his body was no longer his own as he fought the urge to feed upon his friends. 

The blood of corcitura ran rampant within his veins for the next few years, slowly taking control of his mind in hopes of garnering a feast. Though the heart and mind of Bo remained strong, guiding his body far from any descendant home capable of being harmed. On one fateful night, Bo made a grave mistake and found himself at the gates of DuLoc. The scent of man filling his nostrils as he dashed into the city, a figment of what he once was as he rabidly threw himself toward the first man he came across. In a movement bound by fate the man stepped to the side, sending Bo Jam’s mind into an unconscious state as he collided with a stone staircase. 

Bo was then bound, dragged, and beaten within the forests surrounding the city of Du Loc. The rabid hillbilly attempted to free himself to no avail as the man he sought to feed upon began to carve a set of runes into the body of the poor redneck. A depiction soon finding a home beside Bo as the man used his blood as a tool for the art. Moments later a blade found itself along the neck of Bo Jam, a simple set of words following, “Why me? Of all the people in this world, why me?” 

“I never wanted to… I- I- needed to…” 

Slice

The blade swiftly cut the skin it sat atop, the crimson ichor of Bo covering the earth beneath himself before the man began to speak an ancient tongue. The runes and art soon came to life as the soul of Bo was ripped from the mortal plane. Silence then filled the forest, nothing but a futile pile of dust remaining of Bo Jam. It appeared, the time of this hillbilly has come to an unlikely end. 

I.... I thought the feat was saying good-bye when it was denied. I am so happy to see this reposted! +1 

NAAKH-ZA-BARASH

Kashgurkhûr II: Gentharuz

A lesser of Gentharuz fuelling his forges

The orcish city remained empty, the streets and its people scattered about when a single putrid red skinned goblin made entry. Mekun’s eyes golden eyes glazing over the vast landscapes until his gaze evidently fell onto a half-goblin by the name of Kretz’Ox. A small introduction was spoken, before the crimson goblin gestured for Kretz to follow.

“What is it? That drives you to be a tinkerer within the Ox clan?”
 

“It is just something I have always been good at, since the time of being cub tearing apart and rebuilding music boxes. It has always gifted me a sense of intrigue.” Replied the Yazgurtan with a slight chuckle

Their conversation continued until the pair found themselves within the Krugmarian Forges, the flames welcoming them with a joyful wave of heat. 

“That is certainly one way to follow the path of a tinkerer. But, to a goblin like me the art of the forge and tinkering is a way to praise and worship Gentharuz.”

Mekun then placed a crucible filled to the brim with ferrum into the forge, the metal slowly beginning to take on a molten form as he looked back to Kretz. 

“To be in the hands of Gentharuz. Nothing would be greater than that, and that is what I dream to be in life.” 

“That is quite some goal to strive for,” replied the half-goblin, “But what made you realize such?”

“Honestly? I do not know. The forge has always been my home, and my mind always filled with an unending litter of ideas to bring to life within. Those ideas and the forge, are a gift from the Pantheon. A gift such that can only be repaid through sacrifice. . .” The goblin then retrieved a set of tongs, moving to grasp the crucible and pour the metallic liquid into a cast as he continued to speak, “. . . A living sacrifice.” 

Both goblins then fell silent as Mekun retrieved a small bottle of pain, various Raguk symbols making their way along his left arm and leg as allowed the metal to cool. After a few more minutes, the goblin retrieved a hammer and began to work the metal as he spoke in an Ancient Spluttertongue Canticle. 

“Lok! Khlaar khlaarum ob draagh kadak aanghum;

Clank

Gentharuz, udirk lâttuk draaghûr;

Clank

Brek Gentharuz äkaav ob bügd daarkhangazumûr;

Clank

Durub ob draaghûr agh daarkhangazumig!”

Clank

As the canticle came to an end, so did the work of Mekun as he began to paint what appeared to be an eye along the metallic mask to his front. Moments later the mask returned to the forge, its surface slowly returning to a redhot temperature before Mekun placed it atop an anvil. The Redskins digits slowly grasped the anvil's edges as he screamed toward the sky, “Praise Gentharuz! For my will is yours!” 

In the mind of Mekun, the next few moments seemed to last for hours though in reality it was merely a few minutes as his eyes looked to the piping hot mask before him. Doubt, worry, fear, pride, and strength filled emotions flowed within the gaze of the goblin before the silence that once filled the room faded. A deathly high pitched scream erupted from the forge as Mekun threw his face into the hot metallic mask, his mind fighting to back away but his hands forcing him to remain in place. Pain consumed the body of Mekun, his face seeming to melt away as the mask became one with the goblins face. 

“Oh ****….” the concerned half-goblin muttered as the scene unfolded

Mekun’s head then slowly rose from the surface of the anvil, the metallic surface of the mask fuming. The goblin nearly knocking on the gates of Kor as he began to speak,

“I…. Am no longer… Mekun… I… I am… KHLAAR-GENTHARUZ… Yeller of the Pantheon!” 

As the words left the maw of the goblin, the pain soon consumed him. Unconscious he lay upon the floor of the Krugmarian Forge. Reborn, into the path of a Yeller, destined to die as he began to blindly follow the path of the Pantheon of Three. 

Ang Gund Griish

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/175562-clan-raguk-the-pantheon-of-three/

Rserved

Absolutely 

MC Name:

         AmericanSimp

Character's Name:

         Bone

Character's Age:

         12

Character's Original Race (N/A if not applicable):

         N/A

Transformed form:

         Olog

Creator's MC Name:

         AmericanSimp

Creator's RP Name:

         Sky God

Briefly explain the lore behind this construct or creature:

Ologs are the strongest and biggest open CA race within the orc community. They are known for being freakishly big, growing as small as 8ft and as tall at 10ft while having the mind of a small child. Ologs when interacting with others have no way of reading sarcasm, and no way of being sarcastic themselves meaning they will say whatever is on their mind without knowing whether they should have said it or not. Ologs lack the mind to create music, but they do have a sense of rhythm and can be seen beating massive war drums in times of conflict. When it comes to food, Ologs can eat nearly anything and sometimes can even be found eating themselves to death when left unattended. Ologs on average don’t tend to live past 100 years due to most of them dying in conflict. For an Olog to live a long life is seen as a disgrace due to their fear of running into every conflict possible because it might kill them. Ologs in war are known for their victories, and can often be seen playing with the bodies of those they killed. When it comes to living their lives, an Olog lacks the intelligence to live alone, and relies heavily on other orcs to provide shelter. Ologs do have immense strength, and can be seen doing harsh jobs, whether it be breaking rocks or moving trees when they are not fighting. Like other orcs, Ologs have the same curses passed on from Krug. Ologs in combat are relentless, but their main weakness is that they aren’t as agile as smaller opponents. Ologs can grasp the basic ideas of religion and honor, for example: being able to respect the Rex or by screaming the names of deities in their war cries.

If this construct or creature has some form of aesthetic choice, can you describe how they look? 

Bone is your ordinary red olog standing at a height of 9'2 ft, but unlike most ologs he is rather rabid. Often Bone can be seem covered in a blanket of gargantuan metal chains, bound by a single massive lock that is sewn to his back. Bone is often known for his lack of feeling, and his massive drive to hunt, kill, and feast though this only occurs when the hundreds of pounds of chains are released from his form. The key to unlock these chains belongs to a few raguks, and often they are even scared to unlock this beast. 

Do you have a magic(s) you are dropping due to this app? If so, link it:

         No

Do you agree to keep Story writers updated on the status of your magic app?:

         Yes

Do you understand that if this creature's lore is undergoing an activity trial and that trial fails, you will no longer be able to play this creature and will be forced to either revert the character back to its normal form (if it was a transformative type) or stop playing the character entirely (if it is an entirely new creature)?:

         Yes

Memey RP or using this CA for subpar villain/bandit RP can lead to your app being denied, even after acceptance. Please put "I understand" as your response once you have read this part and understand the consequences.

         I understand

Have you applied for this creature on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         I was accepted in the past B)

I've never seen such a beautiful RP post

I can't wait for the update that lets us craft RP items again. I am tired of only being able to walk around with bland surge items that can't be edited! 

Far off in the hills of bill, an aging hillbilly raised a jar of moonshine, taking a rather deep sip soon after, "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehooooooooooooooooooooooooo, ain't no Musin gone replace Toast..." Moments later Bo Jam retrieved his banjo, the night sky greeted with a peaceful tune as the hillbilly offered up a song to his friend. 
 

Bas looked over the missive as one of his many workers passed it over, "War. I thought war was a myth...." The bandaged figure then returned to his alchemical works, "I will prepare." 

A fashionable figure stood before the burning cathedral, "Fire does quite well..." After another moment he turned to head back toward his home, "I will make good use of this element." 

Finding its way deep within the slums did the golden scroll, soon to be placed within the digits of Bas. The bandaged figure taking his time to read over the many teachings of the opus. After doing such a grand act, he stuffed the scroll within a barrel. Whether it was to see the light of day again, unknown to even Bas. 

This..... This does bring a smile to my face

Bas listened to Gale babble and babble and.... babble from the depths of his slum bound home. Though as time faded he quietly spoke, "One day... One day you'll not be a baby kitten." 

I like it.... I like it a lot

If anything, just require players to have a legitimate bird item in-game. Kind of like how you have to have a mechanical sword to rp having a sword. Maybe even provide a NPC manner of selling bird items that work akin to a beacon/rally machine. (Takes the bird upon use/until its received) 

10/10 +1