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Found 22 results

  1. Entry 14 of The Frankland Diaries Below is an excerpt from the personal diary of Leon Barclay [!] I had never engaged the Franks before that day. I, nor my father, Grand Prince Ferdinand, expected a fight. I was told stories, but I had always dismissed them as exaggeration. Quickly, I learned that I was mistaken. We were supposed to meet with an “informant” in a secluded thicket in the Franklands near the keep of Velen. We were urged to dispose of our weapons before the rendezvous and, trusting our would-be allies, we obliged. During the meeting, I admit, my mind wandered. I regret that. We should've known that diplomacy, peace, and decency are all alien to these savage peoples. As my father spoke with this "informant", he was offered a drink and assured it was safe. I watched as he drank from the same wineskin, though they did not share a glass. I don't know if it ultimately caused his death, but his drink was poisoned. After my father drank of the poisoned wine, and we had all been lulled into a sense of safety by the Franks' deceit, the "informant" tore off his disguise, and revealed his plot. He declared that he, the Roach, had poisoned the Prince. I knew almost nothing of the Roach, but I can say now that he is a coward and a traitor, and that I will make him pay. The Roach quickly dropped a smoke bomb, which then filled the small meeting area as he made his escape. The heathens then lit the underbrush on fire, trapping us within a hell of their own making. The two Franks that were still within the thicket assailed my father, who was unfortunate enough to be within their reach. They gouged his eye, but he fought them off as long as he could. My grandfather, The Cardinal Albarosa, came to his aid with the brave Johanna von Minitz. Had it not been for her and my grandfather, I fear my father's demise would have come much sooner. The rest of us, in a frenzy, desperately struggled to claw our way out of the burning thicket. My first thought was to flee the way we came in, before realizing it had been blocked off by the traitorous Franks. I watched my father’s Knight, Sir Varik Sturmweber, and our Warchief, Roland von Sturmweber, break down the barricade, and I did what I could to aid them. Once we managed to free ourselves from the blazing grove, we were met with Franks, blocking our escape. The Cardinal Albarosa and Johanna, thankfully, managed to secure my father. I stood alongside Sir Varik and Roland as we endeavored to fight the heathens back. My grandfather, having returned from ensuring The Grand Prince’s safety, handed me a dagger and buckler that he concealed during the meeting. I held the shield high as the Franks stabbed at me. They surrounded us, and we found ourselves forced into a fight for our survival. There was hell at our backs and Frankish spears were aiming to drive us toward it. As the situation grew increasingly desperate, hope was nearly lost. I heard Roland pleading for GOD to save us. It was then that my friend and champion, Yvon Galken, arrived with a small rally of allied Franks, led by The Hawk, Olaf von Reinmar, and Ser Alfred Barclay. As they approached, we saw more of the traitorous Franks rushing from the forest. We were surrounded, but now, so was our enemy. As the ambush morphed into a skirmish, myself, Roland, Sir Varik and The Cardinal Albarosa found ourselves forced back, closer and closer to the flames which licked at our heels. The melee became dire as the burning flora of the thicket began to bake us in our armor. Outnumbered as we were, we barely held our ground before our reinforcements could turn the tide. I personally witnessed my grandfather’s valiant heroics; he saved both me and our Warchief from Frank spears that day. As our saviors, Alfred, Yvon and Olaf crushed what remained of the Frank ambush, we thought we had won, but we quickly realized it was at a great cost. My father, the Grand Prince, lay dying just outside the thicket. Prince Alfred made many attempts to save him, and I stayed by my dear father’s side in his last moments. I held onto him as he spoke his final words to me before his demise. I pray he did not suffer in the end, and that he went to the Skies. We attempted to take my father’s body, along with our wounded, to Velen, but the Roach harassed us with bombs. He threw Godsflame onto me as I tried to escape, carrying my fallen father. I collapsed, writhing in pain as the Roach sent another down at me; the coward was hidden in the treetops. I was saved by the heroic Olaf von Reinmar, who risked his life to mitigate the blast by leaping atop the bomb. By the grace of GOD, Olaf’s shield protected him from harm, and we were able to escape without further casualties. It was after we had escaped the Roach’s final assault that I took a long look at the burning grove, and wondered how this could have happened. Under flag of truce, my father, Grand Prince Ferdinand, was slain by Frankish savages; poisoned and brutalized. I will never forgive this heinous crime. The Roach will pay-- By blood, by fire, he will pay.
  2. Me and Lhaura were about a day’s walk from Norland. We were camping for what should have been our last night in a tent before arriving in Vjardengrad. It ended up being a nightmare. I slept soundly. A bit too soundly. I woke up and noticed Lhaura was still asleep. “That’s odd, she’s normally the first one up,” I thought to myself. I got up and ate breakfast. A slice of bread. I really should have taken a bit more food from those mercenaries. I went back into the tent and shook her to wake her up. She didn’t respond. Suddenly, I noticed some red oozing from her clothes “No, no! No! No!” I shrieked. I began to sob when I noticed something by the foot of her sleeping pad, A note. Oldoln Taalios, YOU ARE NEXT -Demisetus I looked at the note then at the body of my sister. “You’re bold, Demisetus, but now I know your name. And I’m going to stop your little game.” I calmly folded the note and began to take down my tent. Wrapped her corpse in the tent and burned it plus her body within. That afternoon I reached the path I had taken the very first time I had arrived at Vjardengrad, before I knew anyone, before I had even seen the city itself. I chuckled as I looked at the path, stained by memories and a feeling in my gut that I had found my home. But this time it was different. It wasn’t instinct. It was knowledge. I really was home after all these years. For better or for worse, I was back. “Let’s pray to the All-Father that the saboteur didn’t mess things up too badly… I have a lot of explaining to do.” I remembered looked back on Rhea. Lhaura's daughter, safe in the fortress I was heading towards. I hadn't seen her in five years. "I'm sorry, little one." I looked back on the past six years. Too all of the people I had inadvertently led to death while I was in charge. Innocent people, good people who just wanted freedom. I shed a tear of remembrance as I looked upon my memories, and towards Vjardengrad, and the site where we had decided our last course of action behind it by the waterfall. "I'm sorry my friends... I failed. I let you all down." I sighed and began to walk the path home.
  3. ANNOUNCEMENT OF PASSING Penned by HH the Prince of Merryweather & HRH the Dowager Lady of Alba In the year of our Lord, 1935 Following the discovery of HH, the Prince of Merryweather, it is with great sorrow that we, the Royal House of Alstion, announce the passing of our Crown Prince, Henry Charles. The remains of the Lord Alba were carefully returned to the Hand of Horen where the Household could pay their respects. With a passing such as this, the Royal House requests a mourning period of five months following the death of our beloved Prince and heir, and subsequently vigils shall be held in the coming months. With the passing of the Lord of Alba, the right of succession to the throne passed to his firstborn son, Edmund Alexander Alstion. May God grant our Prince safe passage to his eternal garden. An official funeral shall take place on the 5th of Tobias’ Bounty in the year of our Lord, 1935. Signed, HIS HIGHNESS, Heinrich II Lothar von Alstreim, Prince of Merryweather HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, Adela Olympe of High Peak, the Lady of Alba
  4. As the dwarven forces stormed Norland's capital, Dagius Fylch instinctively drew his blade... or at least he attempted to. He forgot that one of the guards had taken his blade because he was "suspicious." Homeless was the right word. He sighed and bought a low-quality weapon from one of the many shops around the city. As the battle commence and the Norlanders charged out the back gate, they realized they had been tricked into coming out, and they promptly went back inside. As everyone made it back in, the gate slammed shut, leaving Dagius outside with nothing but a pair of shears and a low-quality Warhammer. He looked through the gates with a pleading expression at Knox, the guard who had taken his sword previously. All he saw on his face was a hateful smirk. Dagius now realized that he was indeed fighting on the wrong side. As he turned to face the oncoming dwarves, he tried to take one down with him. The dwarves were too quick and dodged his attack, his hammer shattering like glass when it slammed into the ground. As Dagius accepted fate, last thing he saw was a dwarven battle-axe crashing onto his head. As the axe came down, he muttered some comforting words to himself. "I'm back dad, I'm back."
  5. After the trial stripping Valens of his position in the warband Valens returned to his home and wrote his final message to the world. His final note said: They took it all away from me. Even after all I have done for Minitz. They took it all away. I have decided its better to die than to live with knowing I have failed Minitz and it's people. So this is my final goodbye. Thank you for the adventures and the memories. Some day I will return and fulfill my duties as Theoderic. Goodbye and glory to Minitz. -Valens His note was found with his body on the ground after he jumped from the roofs of Minitz.
  6. The Tale of Two ‘Roches The mounted force of Adria stood at the border of Petra, awaiting the signal from Sir Joseph Helvets of Vasile. Through the young marshal’s network of spies, word had reached him that a meeting would be held between the traitor Sigismond Varoche and the Archduchess of Petra. With this information in hand, the knight quickly rallied a cadre of soldiers of Adria. Among them was the Duke himself, riding out donned in his armor. While the King of Aaun may have been content to lounge behind the white walls of his empty city, the Duke of Adria would ride with his men. For several minutes they waited, and waited, and waited. The order was finally given to dismount, and under moonlight they crept through the quiet, sleeping streets of Valfluer. The host went undetected as the comrades-in-arms made their way through the central keep of the city. There was no doubt, Sir Joseph had told them, that the ongoing discussions were to be held in the council chambers. A room that he happened to have the keys to. Darting their way up the spiraling towers of the castle, the men of Adria sprung their trap! Flooding into the council chambers, they surrounded the Archduchess, her council, and the two brothers: Sigismond and Charles Varoche. As quickly as they had entered, the Adrians were soon out of the keep, leaving the stunned Petrans there to wonder what had just occurred. Racing back to Velec, the Adrian party were greeted by cheers as they brought the two traitors back in chains. To an eager crowd, the two men were given their sentences. Sigismond Varoche, displaying some final gasp of honor, died with dignity, offering a prayer to the Lord and insults to the victors that surrounded him. The Aaunic army, after its stunning defeat when it tried to take Velec nearly a year before, was not to come for his rescue tonight. Final words were said, last letters were written, and the Duke of Adria, triumphant again, raised his blade and brought it down on Sigismond’s neck.
  7. THA HARATH GORD KA’AZ “I’m Coming Home Father.” Ulfric, standing atop the mountainous ranges of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, SA 111 In all his life, Ulfric had never been as big a mess than he was now. The loss of Khron’Hundmar, disappearance of close friends and family, the attack of the Undead Dragon in Balian and the state of his clan… all weighed heavily on his mind. Had it not been for the support and care of one or two select individuals, it would be safe to say that Ulfric might’ve gone mad. Even so, the brief return of his grandfather helped ease the mess that was his state of mind. A return to old times, simpler times. Filled of laughs, of family, of duty, a time where things just made sense, where Ulfric didn’t have to worry for he knew he had support no matter where he turned. But alas, this brief return was, in fact, brief, and for all the reasons Ulfric suppressed, for reasons he pushed aside, for reasons he knew were to come eventually whether he liked it or not. The reunion had gone as all reunions go between two close members of family that’d been separated. Hugs, laughs, quips of graying hair and reminiscing. Things of which Ulfric needed, things he missed. But the mood changed, the moment Azkel offered Ulfric his staff. “I remembeh Rhewen, an’ his old cavern home. Eht is yer toime teh carreh on his memoreh and legaceh.” For what felt like eternity, Ulfric stood. He gripped the staff carefully, feeling like even the slightest movement could shatter it, before he’d gaze to his grandfather with a resolute nod. It was from here that Azkel led Ulfric to Ulfric’s home, where Azkel passed his belongings on, from one generation to the next, even that of his most prized. From this point on a feeling of… melancholy, took hold of Ulfric. He was happy to see his grandfather, back and smiling and chuckling and reminiscing, but something gnawed at him, something he did not dare bring up for even he was reveling in his grandfather’s smiles and didn’t dare to end it prematurely. But ended, it did. Not a moment or so after the chuckling and reminiscing died down, did his grandfather speak to him again. “Ulfric, wannae take eh walk wi’ meh befer moi departure?” Ulfric would oblige, reluctantly, and off they went to Tal’Rhewenholm, home of the Frostbeards. They would travel to the top of the ridgeline, to the funeral pyre where Rhewen ‘Papa Bear’ Frostbeard himself, Azkel’s father and Ulfric’s great-grandfather, was sent off to the Halls of Khaz’A’Dentrumm. It was here they sat and spoke for awhile about times past and present. Of the clan, of it’s teachings, of the Kingdom and they’re time together leading it, of Rhewen, and all that they’ve experienced since. Though out of all that was said, one thing Azkel spoke to him stuck. “As Rhewen once spoke teh meh oi now speak teh yeh… It is your turn. Take wo' yeh have learned and add teh eht, yeht neveh tarnish deh historeh of deh Clan. Deh greatest theng aneh Frostbeard can deh is simpleh continue. Nae hardships will matteh sae long as our teachings survoive.” Soon after this, would the conversation near it’s end. Ulfric would ask the one question he wished to avoid asking. “So… w'at will yeh do now? O'I know yeh said yeh'd go back teh meditatin' where Rhewen once did, but es t'at all? Will o'I eveh see yeh ag'in?” All because he knew the answer. “Oi think this spot is as good as aneh teh rest moi eyes… Oi will alwehs beh wi' yeh, jus' as Rhewen has been wi' deh both ehf us. Yeh have learned everething dere is teh learn frum Rhewen en oi. Eht is up teh yeh fer wo' yeh believe is best teh come next.” It was here that Ulfric would gaze up, the beginnings of rain starting to hit his face. He knew what Azkel had meant, even if he tried to tell himself otherwise countless times before. He'd look to his grandfather, offering a smile again, though this one less beaming than the last. “O'I seh. Thank yeh, Azkel… fer everythin'. Et's because ov yeh an' Rhewen t'at o'I'm teh dwed o'I am, an' o'I will alwehs remembeh t'at. O'I'll do everythin' in meh power teh ensure t'at who comes next es wortheh, o'I promise.” It was here that Azkel would remove his bear pelt, one of the few times in his life he’d ever done so, as he went to lay his head back, closing his eyes to be drenched by the downpour. “Oi do love deh rain…” He’d say, before uttering his last words at a whisper, his breathing slowing as he would seem to fall asleep, and as the minutes went by, would continue to do so… until eventually stopping. “Tha harath gord ka’az…” Ulfric, sitting alone-now, atop the ranges of Tal’Rhewenholm, SA 112 To my fellow Dwedmar, With a heavy weight upon my heart, do I regret to announce the passing of Azkel ‘The Scholar’ Frostbeard, on the 14th of The Amber Cold, SA 112. I’ll admit, it took me a long time to write this, too long, infact. I could not find the right words to say… and truthfully, for once in my life I still cannot. There is so much I wish to say, but to write it out would mean confronting what had happened, and I don’t think I’m ready for that, not for awhile at least. Azkel lived a very long life, like his father, Rhewen. Not all of it pretty, and in the end, forgotten as he may have become, I’m beyond happy to have had the time I did with him, to learn from him, from the both of them. When I returned to Urguan all those years ago, I was lost. The Clan I had left all those years before, all but nonexistant. Many an eyebrow was raised when I returned, for not many within the halls of our grand city thought a Frostbeard would return, and from there, it only got worse. I had no inkling of how to run a clan, no idea where to start. A recruiter I was not, still not, to this day. But then, one day, I recall being invited to the tavern. I remember rounding the corner… and there he was. Azkel, the dwedmar who would turn me into who I am today. From that point on, it was a rush. I recall Rhewen returning, and from there, so to did others of the clan, of both sides. Ulrah or not, we came together. I still recall all the clan meetings, of seeing all of us in one room together. If I had to choose, that would be my greatest memory from then. Ferek, Asvi, Bharus, Nardor, Ajax and Bojakk and many more... all of us, together. All thanks to the luck I had for both Azkel and Rhewen to reappear when I, and the clan, needed them most. Given all this though, Azkel never was the most liked. The Kaz’Ulrah Frostbeards, the Irehearts during my reign, such and so forth, all had their reasons, but one cannot deny the work Azkel had done. Of the Remembrancer Guild, of it’s library, of serving our nation as Lord Chancellor despite the dismay of many. I am proud to be of his line, and nothing will ever shake my belief of such. With all that being said, he requested to be sent off to the Halls of Khaz’A’Dentrumm much like his father, Rhewen, and I plan to honor such. The funeral will be open to all, however, if you do attend all I ask for is your respect, or if that fails, atleast give your silence. Grand King Emeritus, Lord Chancellor of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, Great-Grandson of Rhewen ‘Papa Bear’ Frostbeard [[To Be Held: Sometime within the next 2 weekends]] “THE FUNERAL OF AZKEL ‘THE SCHOLAR’ FROSTBEARD”
  8. Elden Ring Lord Of Chaos - Tribute【GMV】 “Death following, death watching, as each step was followed with the next” Then like how most things started the day was young, the sun lit in the cold wind aching for it to be warm. They birthed a new flame mother of it - He the dwarf walked that path that he rightfully set out, it haunted him, it overtook Brankhyn the thought to embrace it was overwhelming. But how could he have any regrets? He sent out letters and had his last words spoke clearly The halls of fire, the halls of everlasting dreams sworn to truth to freedom overlapped the dwarf as he bid his last. “Draakopf do not fret, you started I and now I have become that very thing” “Let us not dream or speak, let us take action - for that is thou reality, our reality.” “Thus sweetness is made in calamity and in that there births anew, something odd ; ancient. Fire and stone. “The thousand steps, the fire does not die or quake it simply awaits it begging to be fed it ever avarice it lacked as much beverage, thus it swallows you whole old friend” Then the thousand, steps yet none began. The Doomforged in all his mortality and his young life answered to the An-Gho and the prophet answered with “When do you wish to die?” Then with each step - With every single step it felt like a thousand in this finite mind of his. Brankhyn embraced the thought he sang to himself, he dreamed in the moment… He was full of everything and anything yet nothing. He could not lie nor spout the truth. What was this? This feeling that death awaited, he could not. But this is something that he needed to do for the betterment. “Donny cannot see, he wouldn’t understand. But he will” Said he who took on the thousand steps with his mentor. Of stone and fire, he followed the statue as he tried to embrace to imagine the reality that was to be. He faced the starving fire… It begged to be fed. Those flames danced with it and sang with its cackling in the sunken depths of tor - azdroth. That thing that stood beside the Doomforged spewed terrible secrets, ohh they were something to be locked away in a deep vault. the thought began to embrace it all emerged. The thought embraced now it was only the fire to be left… Then the prophet clung onto his leal warrior ‘Brankhyn’ the first of his name and threw him unto the starving flames.. “The dwarf being burned alive by scorching flames” No time to dream, no time to slumber, no words could leave now action is dyre. The avarice starving fire was fed Brankhyn. It clamped and clung onto him quickly engulfing him whole it crawled in places none would know and in enveloped his form - His bones popped and splat open, they struck open with booms that called out through the halls His skin bursting open, terrible moans of anguish. The ugly screams of great pain left… then From ash to ash to ash there will be what is released, now there's only ash… That which is within is like that which is without; that which is without is like that which is within. “Sacrificed himself to bid my word, for I am reality itself I am” Then the bells rang like a song, a poem dancing. Something arose, a warrior of yore marked with ancient scales horns exploding from its head crowned atop like royalty - those scales riddled across him erupting like a volcano birthing lava.. Eyes were red and gold serpentine. They judged and they observed. It stood like a beaming tower that touched the stars. From stone to scale, my wings are torn, A song of death do I sing. A curse to fear, a rite to mourn Love not the pain I bring. Splendor to dust, my soul forlorn, We are your fallen kings. But now we die, to be reborn, When daemons clip our wings.” That thing watched and it met the An-Gho with such callousness, such little care it was born cocky; its juvenile behavior bore witness to the prophet. Then it met that golden third eye of his… The eye humbled the thing that rose from the fire, it quickly bowed for it had witnessed it. The thing was curious about the world so it made questions and it made answers out of them - It wondered deeply, it was fascinated and it yearned to know.
  9. ON THE MATTER OF OUR PARENTS Penned by the bastard son of late Margrave Jan Jazloviecki, on the 2nd of Sun's Smile 1891 As certainly every person in Almaris knows by now, our parents - Maciej Jazloviecki, son of Borys Jazloviecki from Savoy, and Ottilie Franziska Jazloviecki née Castile, were executed in a public execution in the Sedan town square. Our uncle, Otton Jazloviecki, brother of our beloved father, also died with them. All three were beheaded by Prince Joseph I using his own sword. We condemn the actions of our parents and uncle, yet this does not change the fact that for us they will still be the people who brought us into this world, baptised us, brought us up and gave us a basic education and a decent life. We don't know how or who infected our parents and uncle with vampirism, but let them be damned whoever they were. A test conducted on us by one of the Cardinals who was instrumental in discovering our parents' secret showed a NEGATIVE result for each of us, saving us from a certain death. As of this date, our eldest brother Borys IV becomes the new Margrave and Patriarch of the house. Our house has survived a lot, yet this may be our greatest test. We love and will not forget our dear parents, may GOD have mercy on their souls. THE CRUSADE GOES ON, JUST AS OUR SAD LIVES GO ON WITHOUT OUR PARENTS. Signed, Borys IV Lukács Jazloviecki, son of Maciej Walentyna Stasia Jazloviecki, daughter of Maciej Bianka Jazloviecki, daughter of Maciej Valerija Anastazja Jazloviecki, daughter of Maciej Marek Jazloviecki, son of Otton
  10. The night crept upon the small halfling quickly, her addled mind only making the time pass quicker. But there she sat, beneath a tall willow tree, only a day's trek away from the destroyed and deserted Rozania. The smile on her lips shaky and her eyes unfocused but her hand was in the form to write. 'To those who may not have known, my years have doubled… As I sit in a place that feels familiar but in my mind I have no idea where I am, I grow weary that my days are coming to an end.' The small halfling stopped to draw a shaky breath and blink some wayward tears away as she continued, knowing that this note is important for the people she loves. 'Since Rozania my mind and spirit haven't been the same. The days fly by now, I don't know my way home anymore, I am starting to lose memories but don't remember which. Even forgetting the ones I live with on occasion, Donna and Marb.' She stops again to blurily look at the paper before crossing out the names. A concentrated frown on her face as she tries to think but sighs and continues once more. 'I remember more though, mostly bad but some good. With this note shall be a series of letters to the important folks I've had the honor to meet and know… I'm terribly sorry that things must come to this. I never thought my time would end this way either. I feel old and I never wanted to feel that way ever. Bless be, safe travels, and don't forget to wander off your path everyonce and awhile.. you never know what adventure you might find along the way' The halfling smiled at her closing line. Then signed her name 'Delphi Wanderfoot' the one thing she felt confident in anymore. She then took another shaky breathe and gave the letters to her snowy owl with a short order. "Deliver these to the proper folk, and make sure to be there for my rose bud" The owl flew off quickly as the previous owner drew a couple more breathes before grinning down at the ground below, right before death managed to capture the tortured soul that was Delphi Wanderfoot. To Bella, To Mellow, To Per, To Rosebud, To Otter, To Will, To Filibert, (OOC)
  11. In the dead of the night, a hooded figure snuck into numerous buildings in the Vortice capital city of Talon's Port... Nothing was taken, however some choice homes would find notes placed atop spots where the council members would have no choice but to see. Once this task was finished, the hooded figure made their way to the top of the Alley Alehouse, not bothering to lock the doors of the rooftop. The figure sat upon the wedding stage, sighing and dropping their cloak, revealing a de-crowned Vivian Maelstorm, her face reddened and puffy, running mascara covering her cheeks as she withdrew a moonsteel dagger from her waist-sheathe. “....Syl always told me that elves would last hundreds of years before devolving into madness… well, I guess that wasn’t the case with me, huh?” The short ‘aheral chuckled dryly, her free hand lofting to remove a final note from her bosom. “...Maybe one day, everybody can forgive me.” Another tear fell from her real eye as she set the note gently against the ground, away from where she had planned to die. As she did such, a tinge of hurt shot through her core. The woman had lost so many in such a short amount of time… how selfish was she, to take her life at this, when so many others had suffered so much more! She grit her teeth as she sat back down upon the stage, deliberating upon her next course of action as memories flooded into her mind. Her wedding with Joakim af Orvar… How they married under the Heart Tree. The birth of Dana and Corrin af Orvar. Her short-standing marriage to Seryne, and how horribly that turned out in the two years they spent together. Her thirty something year long marriage to Eoghan O’Cathain, the wedding they had within the settlement of Talon’s Grotto, and her children- Eliott, Lilith, and Seteth… Two of which were now dead. Her marriage to Sylvain Ainzworth Majin, and their many, many children… those of whom the pair had adopted, and those of whom the pair had produced of their own blood. She choked back a sob as she remembered the pain the pair had endured together. Her sisters, Athri, Lenora, and Sana, and the love they shared… Her brothers, Gail, Ren and James, and the laughs they had... her best friend, Eugeo, and the secrets they had kept together… her many children, two in particular stuck out in her memory- they were only thirty four, how could they live with the loss of their mother? Mystralath and Belladonna were both old enough that they would remember Vivian forever more- unlike Fable, Claude and Aer, who were still mere babes and had hardly spent any time with Vivian. The red-headed monarch sobbed again as she raised the dagger, staring up to the sky in emotional agony… before plunging the blade into her chest, taking the moonsteel directly to the heart. After a few seconds, the elfess slumped down, the colour draining from her once purple eye as tears fell, her hands dropping from the hilt of the blade and down to her lap as she fell to her side, dead. Inside the note, when she were to be found, was a single paragraph, reading as follows. “To my people, to my family, to my friends… I have loved you all so dearly, but it is my time to depart now. I bid thee farewell and I hope to meet you all again in another time. You are all so important in your own ways. As of the Deep Cold of the 35th year, I wish for Athri Onfroi Belrose-Maelstorm to carry on the Monarchy of the Unified Domain of Vortice on my behalf, and to be crowned as the Heir Monarch by the Congress. Thank you all for your time. Vivian Maelstorm”
  12. In these current times of war, death has become an extremely common occurrence. Friends, family and even loved ones passing. But what is most alarming, is the lack of funeral homes, the lack of mortuary services - and this is where we come in. Our Services include: -Cleaning up crime scenes -Cleaning bodies and preparing them for funerals -Cremation -Full autopsy and written examination of the body available on request in the case of an investigation -Any other method of preparation or cleaning upon request -Funeral hosting and preparation of the area -A wide selection of coffins We are willing to prepare both the deceased and the funeral based on their religion and culture. In case of any specific ritual, method of preparation and/or room decoration, this can all be hashed out in private. Prices are all negotiable and vary on a client-to-client basis. For more information, contact Naele by bird, or visit our funeral home in Lubba's Keep. (OOC: Diogen#5338 if I’m offline)
  13. It is with a heavy heart that I announce that the almighty Tori the messenger parrot...has fallen. He was loved by many but no one loved him as much as I did. I spent hours training Tori in to copying my words to be reliable. His training wasn't finished by the time he passed and I hope wherever he is now, he is still practicing his words. Tori will be laid to rest somewhere he loved, with the trees. Rest in peace Tori, you were a good bird. -Andria
  14. A lonesome Uruk, clad in pale-red steel. Once youthful, vibrant, and naive. Now weary, tired, and wise. Though he had met many enemies throughout his long life, he knew that time would always be his greatest challenge. He made his way down the winding path towards Krugmar, having once again decided to return home - just to visit one last time. Though he could not call himself the most loyal of Orcs, he still knew - deep in his heart - that Krugmar: a land of blood, combat and death, would always be where he came from and where he would return to no matter what. Though his vision faded, and the world around him continued to turn black, he urged onwards towards the gates of Krugmar. Lifting his helmet, now just a bucket of rust, off of his head: he dropped it to the dirt beneath him. Onwards he stumbled. Unclasping his trusty chestplate, he allowed it to fall behind him like a snake would shed its skin: feeling free for the first time in many years. Onwards he stumbled. His back would bend no more; he could not find the strength to remove the rest of his broken, fragile armour. So, onwards he stumbled. He gazed around at the many heads decorating the bridge to Krugmar: his eyes matching their petrified gaze, with their mouth agape - serving to remind him of the life he had led, like many other Uruks. He coughed once, blood seeping onto his red skin as he tried to cover his mouth: attempting to keep any remaining vitality inside his wretched body from leaving. His ears perked at the sound of a roaring forge, not far from the gates he had just entered. Onwards he stumbled, his gaze and mind affixed upon the open forge: its smoke rising into the night sky. Making his way down the steps, slowly, he found himself looking around for any fellow Uruks: perhaps intending to rely on his brothers for once in his lonesome life, but found only the comfort of cawing crows and the call of the fire ahead. Onwards he stumbled, finally finding himself where he had spent much of his time. Kneeling down before the soothing orange flames, his arm resting on the anvil beside him to support his aged bones. He stared deep into the flames, as he had many times before, but for once he thought not of crafting; not of steel; nor of blood. His mind raced as he instead thought back on his companions. His teacher, Shagarath. His friend and respected warrior, Wud. His first and most respected Rex, Kharak. He frowned as the faces he conjured in his mind faded: struggling to picture those who had grown alongside. “I’m sorry, brothers.” He could feel his heart beginning to slow. His eyes begged to rest, but he continued to vigilantly stare into the fire of the forge. His back slumped, but his head continued to face forwards as it had always done. “I’m coming… To reunite with you all at last.” His heart slowed and performed its final symphony: one last slow beat. The colour in his eyes had now faded, overtaken by the bright orange of the forge. Gukdan was finally home.
  15. Jackson Porter b. 323 ES | d. 372 ES The Rimeveld Jackson was undisputedly tired, for the last few years barely a day went by when he wasn’t battling the elements of the Rimeveld, whether it was the cold sweeping winds, that felt as if pure ice had settled beneath your skin, or the beasts that prowl the deep cold tundra, and yet here he was still enduring the seemingly tortured existence, that had been so gratefully bestowed upon him, his sharp blue eyes stared out into the snow white landscape the woods that surround him hiding the majority of anything in its dark clutches, however with his traps painfully empty, the old Lieutenant of Haense simply marches upward back to his basecamp atop a painfully steep incline, and opts to rest for the evening. However as the saying goes there is no rest for the wicked, the man sits, toes pointing toward an orange hue the flames licking at his stabbatons, the stars above seem to watch the ever Resolute Jackson Porter, his trusty blade made for him by the Ever present father figure in his life Ser Zoddric Calliban, rests by his side sheathed, it's only recent glory was slaying a bear or two, He hums as he watches the sky darken over head, and from his glacial isolation Jackson would wait, the last words of the man he had done so much to save Friedrich barclay Rattling from within his conscious tomb, a great sadness falling over him once again, “I miss my home” He would utter glumly as a fall of light snow would begin to fall from the sky to which the only answer Jackson had was to throw his large bear cloak over his chest, taking a deep sigh he wasn’t entirely sure this could be any worse. As the night began to fall in atop the snow tipped peak of Jackson’s eternal concealment he hears the soft lull of the wind and the occasional howl of the wolves that roam the deep woods below and yet he slumbers reasonably sound, his dreams entirely revolving around his fiance, and how he had slipped away, grabbing only his essentials before making his move into the Rimeveld, knowing he hadn’t got long he broke away from Haense with haste, desperate to not answer any further awkward questions and perhaps be forced into more uncomfortable situations as the one that had forced his hand had been. Within two weeks he had found himself in his now aforementioned camp, and years had passed since his abrupt departure, but yet there was not a day he did not think of her, with that notion in his mind it stuck like a brand to naked flesh, the man could never forget, he jolts up suddenly. Jackson would awake to the sound of all hell fire erupting around him, staring out into the crisp white landscape still mostly veiled by the velvet darkness of night, he would see what appeared to be torches, and the booming echoes of combat harrowing up the mountain side he eyes the scene though due to the distance and the darkness he could only make out in a squint, grabbing his blade he stamps out the remnants of his fire crushing the embers beneath his boot, before moving alongside the outskirt of his mountain abode, trekking down slowly but carefully as to not reveal himself, his greatest fear was that his failure had not been forgotten and now the consequences came for him, so with that thought placed firmly he would set forth down the slope. As he approaches the rather interesting scene, he would see around fifteen HRA men, sieging a defended position against the troll menace, though it seemed they had come under heavy fire and in fact taking a severe beating, Jackson ponders a moment holding the sheathed claymore as he watches the onslaught continue for a few moments, before taking a deep breath allowing the cool mist like Rimeveld air pass from his lungs, he waits for a prime moment to begin his plan, watching the lord marshal bellow his orders to those gathered as they continued to struggle against the heavily armed troll position. After the momentary silence, Jackson would stand taking a mighty deep breath raising a Haeseni War Horn to his mouth, a gift from Friedrich Barclay months before he had left, and blowing hard to create a deep rumbling sound of war, from the mountainside the natural echo of the sheltered cave only amplifying the sound into a vicious roar, the whole field would hear as Jackson lept from his position drawing the Claymore Corvus Albus and charging towards the trolls whom had managed to corner the Lord marshal of Haense, Jackson Crashed into their lines swinging his blade with every ounce of Ferocity the old Lieutenant had, slashing across limbs the man fought bravely his only task to make his way to the Lord marshal, his oldest friend. Crashing through the line, he faced off amongst the infinitely more powerful troll group the only thing standing between the lord marshal and certain death. As the dance of death intensifies, the Resolute would be faced with a deadly ultimatum he found himself picked up by a troll, tightly in its grip, its war hammer cocked back ready to near enough wipe him from the lands of Almaris, his only solace was his blade was still free, so as the beast moved to slam him with the force of 10 men, Jackson rammed his blade downward meeting the trolls shoulder, slipping between the bones and deep into the chest cavity, eventually meeting its mark, at the beating heart of the enraged being, the victory was short lived however, as the piercing blow felt from the back end of the hammer was felt rupturing through his chest and armour, deep into his organs, Jackson’s eyes fell wide as he slipped from the trolls grip, his blood like so many times before staining the cold snow below him, though it seemed that this time, was the last time, the damage irreparable. Jackson would lay there, coughing weakly as his life force drains from him, the warm crimson ichor snaking rivers and trenches into the cold snow below, his eyes setting upon the sky above him as the dark velvet night had slowly transpired into dawn, the bright golden hue shone over the highland peaks however the valley in which they found themselves in became illuminated, the trolls around lay dead the HRA stood Unbroken in the dawn of the light the brotherhood having survived another costly ordeal, and yet Jackson found himself lying there, unable to express the joy the others had found, instead he knew that within a few moments his soul would leave his mortal coil, and his faith in Godan would be tested, the only solace was that of the sun, its warm light seemed to embrace Jackson’s body for the first time in years, he was not cold and it was bliss. A unison of howls emerged front the untamed forests of the Rimeveld, the day was won, the true cost no one would know but as Jackson found his own peace Friedrich would approach, Jackson would stare at him before beckoning him closer whispering into his ear, the exact details are unknown though it is told that he recited his Othaman’s oath, and gave Friedrich his final will and testament. The man's slow death was painful yet a slight relief of the burden of his rather interesting existence, he closed his eyes for his final time, as his soul dispersed from his body, leaving the mortal essence left, and thus ended Jackson’s final battle. His final debt to the Lord marshal repaid, in blood, Jackson’s name respectfully restored into the kind thoughts in people's minds, from the eighteen year old boy who had wandered into Haense to escape his boring life, to the twenty year old serving upon the front lines of the Inferi war, to the thirty year old who had spent his time protecting kings, and pontiffs and now the fifty year old, who had died where he belonged, alongside his brothers in arms, despite rescinding his oath he had always been a true Haeseni and now laid to rest in Haense land. Memoriae At a young age it was clear to Jackson that he was destined to be a little more than the oversized farm boy abused by his parents, and from his tragic beginning he transformed into someone of notability and stature, the man practised his craft, and in his time saw two kings, two pontiffs and two Lord marshals, serving each in his own distinction, He had loved, he had lost but most importantly he had found his true self, Jackson Porter goes down into Memory, though with any luck his legacy survives. Upon the heated battle field of the inferi war, Jackson Found himself side by side by the first Lord Marshal of Haeseni Ruska, Lord Manfred Barclay, Jackson had fought bravely and as per usual the HRA had won the day, but as a brutally heated clash came to fruition Jackson Saw a spear heading straight for the Honorable lord, and instinctively threw himself into harm's way to protect the man, which in its own right had saved him, before dragging him back before the medics to be helped, he returned moments later to engage once again upon the field. This act earned him two medals, One being the Queens cross gifted to him by the Queen, Isabel Barbonov, a woman who unfortunately for Jackson only spelled trouble for his future, and also the Infernal scourge medal, presented to all those whom had put their lives on the line to hold back the demonic tides. As Jackson Progressed through his time with the HRA there came a moment after his oath hunt in which he had to make the choice of what regiment he was destined to join, in the end he picked the Rangers guild led by none other then Ozark Mondblume, whom quickly took Jackson under his wing as he realised his own potential, for the first time in his Life Jackson felt as if he belonged a smile would emerge and stay for most of the man's youth, a vibrant happy smile, one of a completed person. He rose to infamy within the Guild of Bounty hunters which resided outside of haense, Jackson leading the group on many assaults against the seemingly never ending enemy, here he met his lifelong friend Fyodor Erhdhart although they didn’t always see eye to eye, the care these two placed within one another was astounding, as when the slum dwellers looked to Jackson to lead them for a final assault against those who wished to do them harm, Jackson had no choice but to answer the call, the man knowing full well he was their last and only hope, he led the group of unarmed untrained slum dwellers against a well equipped and well provisioned stack of men and by the luck of Godan above Jackson and his men, won the day, at the expense of many, though nonetheless a victory was a victory. His new found confidence saw him skyrocket within the HRA as he continuously showed his value in trainings and leading, in fact it became apparent that the men that surrounded him had grown a fond respect for him, his brothers in arms, some notable ones were Friedrich Barclay, Ellisar Aevaris, Fionn Castaway and of course William Carolus, the bond between these men emanating to this very day, this showed to his most profound achievement, Becoming a Lieutenant within the HRA, Jackson was working side by side the Lord marshal as his second in command. Jackson earned himself a holy medal, in quite the extraordinary fashion, as the City of Haense welcomed the newly elected Pontiff within her walls, they had come to realise this pontiff was not so well liked throughout the lands of Almaris, in fact so much so that the HRA was on a full standby for riots and assassins, and after returning from an intensive situation the HRA were armed with batons and riot gear by the current lord marshal Manfred Barclay, and took up positions over the church to defend from all manners of evils, Jackson found himself as he always did on roof duty, which up until this point had been quite the boring set up, however when Jackson rounded the corner to find an assassin attempting to murder the pontiff from the window his reactions kicked in, Jackson went toe to toe with the man, fighting with him until he had managed to subdue him with a small help from none other then the young Stefan Vyronov, and act that still had impressed the middle aged man to the day he passed. He was awarded a medal for his efforts from the High pontiff himself, though notably a few years later when a new one was elected Jackson handed the medal back to the High pontiff saying that he did not feel like he had earned the right to wear such a thing as things about the man who had given him the medal began to surface. Jackson was offered a knighthood for his service to Haense and Almaris, something he had longed for, and yet in the end was unable to claim, he had always felt a desperate urge to make a name for himself and to bring the wreckage that was the Porter name up into value and legacy, perhaps he did manage it in his own way though only time will tell, either way, he passed through his trials with relative ease, taking on a dire boar for Norland, even a wyvern for the Druids and still continued in his duties, to the Koeng and to Godan he found himself at his last trial before the Late Isabel Barbanov at this time the queen mother as well as Princess Juliya found themselves placed seconds from death as a suicide bomber entered Haense, within an instant Jackson had flung himself before the royalty of haense taking much of the blast to his back, littering his flesh with yet more scars, his blood stained into the Crow in the center of the city forever, for such a deed he was awarded a free pass on his trials, deeming him to be a man worthy of Knighthood. Yet just a few days before his oathing, He pulled out, advised by the Koeng himself to do so, as to provide himself once more to service in Haense, though that service can never be spoken off, and though he will never utter the words again one could likely decipher that what the Koeng had Asked Jackson Porter to do was at the utmost importance.
  16. Saint Harald Vuiller. The patron St of Priest combatants & Demonic banishment. Born on the First of the amber cold 1699. Dead at the Sixteenth of the Amber Cold 1760. Father Harald Vuiller cirka 1756. The Life of Father Harald Vuiller Harald Vuiller was born on the first of the Amber Cold to Alf & Johanna Vuiller in 1699 in the city of New Reza while his mother and father were on a business trip to the city to buy supplies for their keep and the land around it. He was the firstborn from a group of siblings of three. Harald, Auriann, and Lukas Vuiller. As the firstborn Harald was the heir of House Vuiller and to the family lands but when he chose at the age of 14 to join the army and travel the realm of Godan serving the armies of man. It was during these years that Harald picked up an interest in becoming a Priest and Bishop. He would at every new town and city they went to join the people in prayer in their churches and temples. His family had always been close to the church and followed the laws of the Scrolls and it was from this he chose that any man who fell in battle either at his own side or at the side of the enemy should be given a proper burial. he would spend countless hours after each battle tending to the bodies of the dead making sure they would get the burial they deserved. while on the road or awaiting battle he would spend his time making wooden or stone crosses that he would place on the chest of the dead as he placed them to their final rest. At the start of his time in the army his comrades would chuckle and joke about his actions as he would move countless bodies from the battle ground and digging individual graves from them. But after a heafty battle where they had lost over half of their men Harald was asked to host a prayer for their fallen brothers as their souls traveled to the seven skies. It was after this he was given the nickname of “the Battle Bishop.” After serving in the army for close to 16 years Harald would get a letter from his younger sister Auriann about the passing of both of their parents. He would be granted a leave from his duty in the army i fought for and set sail back to Arcas to join his family in morning his wife who he married just 4 years earlier joined him as well after being let of her duty. On their way to the Vuiller keep they went through New Reza Harald was filled with joy seeing how the city and its people had recovered after the battle of the Rat King. After the burial of their parents Harald would spend some months with his family in their family land before leaving for New Reza joining the Brotherhood of St. Karl but as he entered the city he would be surrounded by the soldiers he wished to join not understanding what had happened or why they would surround him. after getting attacked by the five men he would be dragged out of the city and thrown on the ground outside the gates getting told “We do niet wish for your kind here Vuiller!” without understanding nor knowing why he had been removed from the city he had early in his years helped to defend he would finally get his answers from a member of the Brotherhood and the Chaplain at the time Jacques De Beaumont who would inform him that his sister had been accused of witchcraft. Hearing these words Harald would sit down outside the city walls looking over to the River Rubern asking Godan for guidance. a vision would come to him of a man wearing a white cloak whispering the tounge of Iblees. From these visions he would track the man down trying to break the curse that had been placed on his sister but it was already too late. as a letter would reach him informing him of the trial of Auriann Vuiller in New Reza. he would come there just in time for the sentence of the lord Palatine “Auriann Vuiller, you are found guilty of witchcraft and is sentenced to death by drowning!” as these words where uttered a tear would fall from Harald´s eyes as he saw his little sister being dragged out of court towards the docks of New Reza he would quickly follow them watching them as his sister was thrown in the waters with rocks binded to her feet, as her body went down in the dark waters he´d look to the ground as tears would stream down his face. But has he though all hope was over the guards would shout as they could see her swim away as they had forgotten to bind her hands and remove her knife. After this Harald would spend many years cleansing his family name as he joined the Brotherhood and quickly raised through the ranks and became the Chaplain of the Brotherhood. During these years Harald would also be Ordained by the man then known as Cardinal Boniface swearing to spend the rest of his days in the service of the church. Many years pass as Harald keeps on his mission to serve Godan a mission and promise he would keep until his final breath. During these years many great things would happen during his life, but also many sorrows. While he was out fighting in a battle with the Brotherhood of St. Karl his wife who was pregnant at the time would be kidnapped. no matter how many years he spent searching for her he would never see her again. After the loss of his wife and their children Harald would commit the rest of his living years to serving and studying the Holy Scrolls and to serve Godan. Living in New Reza as well as at his Family's keep he would use the money he had earned during his times at war to build and start a Orphanage in the city of New Reza while being active in service at the Brotherhood of Saint Karl taking part in the Voidal battles, and the war between the Holy Orenian Empire and AIS. Turing this war Harald also discovered a cult spreading through out Haense, reporting this to the Regent Tiberius, he kept his work in the shadows until he was finally able to remove the cult from the Kingdom he loved. when the time of war was finally over the city of New Reza would be indangered by a new treat as Demons would often attack the city. Harald a now old man but still in fighting spirit would take his part in fighting of these demons while using prayer, blessed weapons and exorcisms to remove the demons from Godans Terra. But one day a demon too strong even for the old priest would attack the city making fire rain from the sky using his voidal magic to attack the city and GOD´s noble flock. Harald would draw his sword from his cane running towards the demon attacking it as he shouted prayers to his brothers the demon would strike him making the old man fall to the ground before turing his hand towards him making the old priest float 15 feet in the air. The voidal magic would make Harald twist and turn in pain as his body would slowly turn to stone. as the magic had reached his neck he would still hold on to his golden cross shouting out “In GOD we trust as he shall bring our souls to the seven skies in eternal peace with his love!” This would be the final words of Father Harald Vuiller. As the magma still went around and inside Haralds body the demon would not be able take the attacks that stroke him after spending so much of his magic and energy on killing the priest. as a final blow was struck towards its head the demon would explode in a fire of magma that all would fly through Harald before his now stone body would fall towards the ground. Just before he would hit the ground being guaranteed to break into a million pices a beam of light would strike him making the body float over the ground. and this was the end of Father Harald Vuiller. or so we thought… Miracles “The Beam of light” As his body of stone would fall towards the ground a beam of light would strike the body making it float just before it would hit the ground saving it from breaking into a million pices. “The help of a fallen father” over twenty years after his passing during the time of need of the noble flock and after his old friends and family had prayed for guidance a shadowy figure would show to offer them guidance. This would be the soul of Father Harald Vuiller. after roaming God mortal realm for some time he would finally meet with his old friend High Pontiff James II. they spoke for hours about the seven skies and both agreed that God must have sent Harald down to the realm of the living to serve and do whatever he could to help in the battle against the Inferni. This work of information is taken from my fathers jernals over the years. the later part describing his death is from eye witnesses and the information given by people who where there. This has been written as a tribute to my father and our Saint Harald Vuiller. Singed~ Cardinal Johan Vuiller of Aquila, Horens Giant Knight-Regent of the Holy Order of the All-Saints Guard. Holy Sir Head of House Vuiller. Knight of the Black Sepulchre & Cardinal Judge Headmaster at the University of St. Sixtus Protector of the Church of the Canon and its faithful
  17. The faces that surrounded Garret Palmer Junior at the family gathering were familiar ones, and perhaps that’s what made it all the more frightening. His attempts to bring together the Palmer family together once more were futile at best, and completely useless at worst. His siblings rebuked every effort at his attempts to recentralize the family, and others, such as Merith, argued against his every word. The table was full of both the Palmer Family and the Morgaine Family alike-- some chatted amongst themselves, while others argued amongst themselves. The roasted chicken, potatoes, and carrots that sat upon the table were nearly untouched by all there, and Garret simply picked at his food once more, “This whole damned family is goin’ to fall ‘part…” He muttered lowly, more to himself than anyone else around him. Garret took a long draft from the cup that had been set before him, shaking his head as he looked around at the family he was supposed to be in control of. Garret took another small bite of the food that had been set before him, before sighing and setting his utensils down once more, electing to keep listening to the bickering that occurred around him. It was after this moment that Garret’s memories seemed to fade-- his thoughts became disjointed. He saw himself stumbling towards his bedroom, complaining of how tired he had been, the family blankly watching him go. He promised that he would be back downstairs after a quick nap. Garret blinked, and suddenly he was laying in his bed, eyelids heavy. Another blink, and there were multiple figures entering his room. He blinked. He opened his eyes and he was within the very manor had fallen asleep in-- sitting in the very same position on the bed fifty years earlier. He was nothing but a bright-eyed child, his wavy black hair falling across his face messily. There were paintings on his wall-- paintings of figures so magnificent, so revered through the world. His mind wandered, dreaming of one day where his portrait, too, would be hanging in the rooms of children, looked up to by all. He blinked again. The image shifted. His father and mother stood by him, looking down at him with smiles upon their faces. Garret Palmer Senior was speaking, though the words were muffled as if his head was underwater. His siblings stood around him-- Aerielle, Merith, and Miray, who were all talking excitedly to one another and their parents. Garret’s eyes fluttered shut once more and the image shifted, the walls of Ves now surrounding him. Cameron Halmar stood nearby, a small smile on his features as he held a wooden practice sword, offering it out to Garret, who took it nervously. Garret looked up to the aging Kaedrin Army officer slowly, who nodded in approval and helped shift his hands to the proper position on the hilt of the mock blade. Another flash of light. Garret saw himself traveling through the lands of Arcas, a worn travel pack slung over his shoulder, the now adult man looking at a torn map with his initials inscribed in the bottom right corner. He traced a dry quill along some of the more frequently traveled roads, plotting the next course in his travels. He saw Beatrix, and the many trips he took to Kaedrin to see her. He blinked again. Garret was standing at the imposing front gate of Al-Faiz, Fahad Al-Nabeel peering out through between the bars. Each time he blinked, the city of Al-Faiz grew more familiar-- Elena, Saeed, Antar, Damon, Esmae, Hamzah, Abdullah, Ameen. Their faces flashed before him in a blinding torrent, the times he knew them for at the forefront of his memory. There was another flash. Garret was speaking with a girl named Lelani. They talked amongst themselves, sitting next to eachother. Lelani had a small journal in her hands, and was pointing out letters to Garret. They sat beneath the stars within the walls of Al-Faiz. They kissed. Then, just as suddenly as she had arrived, Lelani vanished. He blinked again. Catherine lay on the ground, a wound in her throat as those from within the city of Al-Faiz rushed out to help her, the bandits who had done it to her retreating into the night. Garret sat next to Catherine as she healed, and finally accepted the girl into his family as Catherine Palmer. There was yet another flash. Garret was speaking to Sky Mesina in the middle of Helena, just out in front of the tavern. Garret looked middle aged at this point, and the two seemed to be conversing happily on the bench where they sat. Each time he blinked, a different scene played through his mind-- Garret and Sky’s wedding being the foremost. Another flash. Sky held a young, brown-haired child in their arms-- Astrid. The pair smiled down at the child. Scenes of Astrid’s growth played through his head, from the multitude of fights she had gotten in within Sutica, to the calm nights she spent around home. Then, the visions became darker-- visions of the Inferi. Visions of battles and scars. The older Garret grew, the more rage-filled he seemed to become, lashing out at those around him to take out his anger. The older he became, the less he became like the compassionate man he once was. The city of Al-Faiz burned, and the encampment of Al-Hadirah beckoned. He blinked and saw Elijah through the mist that had covered him, the young, innocent boy happily trotting throughout the paths of Al-Hadirah. The last scene he saw was an Inferi cannonball traveling towards his feet. He tried to jump away, but was only partially successful, the cannonball sending debris scraping across his face, then, his vision went black. Garret woke up in the present moment, a dagger buried in his chest, the figure wielding it too blurry to see. He tried to scream, yet no sound came out. Even when he did manage a hoarse cry, the sounds of the Palmer Family gathering below drowned it out. He struggled, and struggled, but his vision went dark. The last thing he ever saw was the blurred form of a figure turning away from him, dagger in hand as they exited the room. Garret Palmer Junior – 1732 to 13th of the Amber Cold, 1787
  18. *A note is left on every notice board,house door,shop saying the folowing*" To all who wish to Make coin,gain honor,power or wish to make a name for there self But live in the shadow's or work in them place.Or just to learn magic, gain land,knowledge or to seek some one's death bed. Or just want some one to neel at your feet. Then just place a torch out side of your home and we will contact you. Follow The call of darkness and Power that one might seek or maybe you seek coin then join and your wish's will be granted as long as you stay loyal to the black crown Rank's Black crown -leader of the guild Head blade - They handle giving out order's to the rest of the guild Black knight - Do alot of the small thing's but are the basic soldier's of the guild Shadow -One that is there to be nor seen or heard but is to do as asked also sent on assassination missions (basically a dark knight in training) Slaver - They handle the slaves of the guild and make sure they do there work((will only have vary few of them it is the same rank as a shadow))but will be sent out to capture new slaves Dark minion- They are the newly accepted member's of the guild and will be sent to rob people follower - They are trying to prove them self's worthy of joining Reason the guild was made: To keep the good at edge to give all of these's new guard groups a job and to give city guard's a reason to patrol there area and there road's. to keep them on edge. and to add more rp. And spice up the whole every one wanting to be a good guy or the next hero it's getting quite annoying Reason for joining the guild: to kill some people/rob them to keep the bad guy's alive .To make people fear you or just to seek knowledge,power,land,honor the chose is up to you App OOC mine craft username: do you have have Skype (leave Skype name if yes) or ts: Country: Age: IC Age: Name: Reason for joining: Are in any other guild if so what guild: none lol Can you use magic? Race((all thought it dosn't matter )): Combat skills: Extra info you wish to share:
  19. The Axis The Lore It is said that The Axis spawned out of the gates of hell itself when time began. Some say it took century’s of evolution to get to the point where they became big within our world. Wherever the Axis hailed from, it was clearly evident that they were not sane. They were outcasts in the world, bringing torture and death to those who failed to abide by their teachings. They captured innocent men, woman, and children and held them as slaves. Mostly, they would hold victims as slaves or kill them out of the pure thrill of it. They were not normal in the eyes of humanity and decided that the shadows would be their only light and hope. The Axis, as they called themselves consisted of those who were truly loyal to one another and would put their life on the line to get what the Axis required. They were skillful assassins, sneaking in and sneaking out without being spotted by the public. They were vicious killers who sought only vengeance upon their counterparts and would kill to get the blood upon their lips. Many have feared them however, very few have actually seen them in person. It was only a matter of time before they showed their faces again... The Order Of The Axis The Axis is an organization of pure trust and strength. The Axis recruits only those they see fit that make their criteria. Trust is required, not asked of. They seek no remorse and will recruit even the youngest of those they see willing to provide their assistance. Honor will be given to those who prove their worth and persistence within the organization. Nothing is earned rather rewarded to those who truly can be given the name of “brother.” Alone they are strong but in groups they are unstoppable and will stop at nothing to do their job and bring honor to the Axis once again. The Levels Of Assassins Initiate- A new member's rank. In this rank the Master views the Initiates progress and attitude towards the Axis. He can and will be taken away if the Master chooses so if he sees him not fit. He must abide by the rules just like every other member of the Axis and will be disposed of if not worthy enough. Neophyte Assassin [Neophyte Sicarius] - After being promoted from Initiate, it is now the Neophytes role to keep his honor alive. He gives protection to his brothers and them alone. The Neophyte is to be treated as a blood brother and be there when in need. The Neophyte will be given temporary shelter however he/she must prove their worth and be able to provide for and keep the Axis alive. Secondary Assassin [Anapora Sicarius] – After gaining trust within the Axis the Neophyte may be given the opportunity to be allowed the position of Secondary Assassin. This rank shows others that you are able to truly be a part of the blood and ash of the Axis, however you must continue to show your honor to the group and set down your life for your kin. Giving your honor and blade will prepare you for the path ahead. Prime Assassin [Primus Sicarius] – He has shown his worth continuously and has provided for the family. He is now to be respected as a leader among those below him. Anything he says to towards those under him goes unless told off by a higher official. He is also given immense honor within the eyes of The Father and will continue to do so until they day he dies. Elite Assassin [Mors Sicarius] – His allegiance has been incredibly displayed. He has proven himself trustworthy, honorable, and a leader among his brothers. He now has power within the Axis and can help make decisions along with the Councillors and Magister if he is called upon. The Mors can make decisions for the rest of the group below him as long as it's in his power. He has reached the highest and most honorable ranking within the assassin title. To have himself obtain greater responsibilities, he must prove himself beyond all belief and make his allegiance continue to show. Councillor [synedrus] – Those who are given the rank of Councillor have leadership qualities and can be trusted to the point where there decisions will impact the entire Axis itself. They are there to aid the Magister on events and provide contracts for the entire group. The contracts must be reviewed within the council and be accepted or denied under the the councils jurisdiction. To obtain this rank one must be chosen. High Councillor [Altum Synedrus] – Very few have been named High Councillor within the Axis. The High Councillor only answers to the Magister and can be honored as his right-hand-man. He may conduct decisions for the Axis under the rule of the Magister and be named his permanent adviser. The rank of High Councillor is kept throughout life and has the most power of those under his rank. This is the final and most sacred of rankings in the Axis and should be considered an honor to be a part of. If for any reason something happens to the High Councillor a new one is chosen under the Master's decision. Dark Friar [Caligo Frater] - He is the one who binds the Axis together. He is the one who conducts prayer throughout the group and hands outs the last rites among those being held captive and killed. He is knowledgeable and wise and will stop at nothing to make sure the group stays together. The position of Dark Frair is nor elite, nor weak. A soul of knowledge and wisdom would only deserve such a rank. Grand Master/The Father [Magister]- The supreme leader of the Axis. He and he alone listens to no one but himself. He will sometimes take advice from the High Council when he feels the need to. He has the power to banish and put down those who try and bring the group down. He is more than a brother, rather a father within the organization. Anything he says goes without question. Additionally, the Grand Master may call upon the council or any member he sees fit and may execute tasks for them. Outsider [Peregrini] – Outsiders are those who have no connection to the Axis. They have no rights and are merely called Peregrinis within the Axis. If one Peregrini decideds to challenge a brother, a contract will be placed on his life. Allies [sociis] – Sociis are friendly towards the Axis however they are not directly associated with the Axis' plans and procedures. They sometimes may be called upon by The Grand Master during times of need. The Council Consisting of only four seats (including the Father) the Council is an honorable spot to be a part of. Few are ever chosen to be part of the council but once one is, they are there for life. No one within the Axis knows of the contents that are presented within the council besides the chosen three councilors. The three are sworn to secrecy and will abide by the oath under all circumstances. The information they posses is vital and will do whatever it takes to keep it locked away and stored for eternity. The only exception to viewing the councils proceedings is the High Councillor himself. All others are cut off from any information contained within the meetings. Who we recruit We look those with a violet personality and brute strength. We seek cold blooded killers who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. We don't seek those looking to make peace, rather we find those who wish to make chaos within the world. If you seek us looking for a chance we may consider you. If you seek us looking for power we will dismiss you and if you seek us for vengeance, we will kill you. If your lover has left you for another person, if your king has banished you out of your homeland, and if all is lost in the world, seek us out. We possibly could make you one of our own. We take only the willed in this organization and if you don't think you have the will, don't even think about calling upon us. We would much rather have those who truly care about the brotherhood's ideals than those are in it for the thrill of the game. Become a member today and leave a life full of despair and anguish behind you. You will not be disappointed. Rules: Application: Who we are We offer several services within the Axis. We offer assassination contracts to those willing to pay the mina to provide us with a hit. We also enslave those we seek are corrupt in our eyes and will continue to torture them until we get what we are looking for. We offer many other services, however they are classified and kept secretly within the group itself making sure none of the information is leaked. Axis members who betray their own are outcasted from the group leaving behind everything they worked for. If a brother leaves due to banishment, there will be a contract put upon his or her head as they contains information the brotherhood doesn't wish being shared with the public. Those who are banished within the Axis are no longer trusted within the organization and may never return. (More Coming Soon)
  20. Event Planners, MC Names: I leave this to the ET (Also possibly the Nation Leaders if they agree to let this affect their settlements and capitals.) Event Type: World-Wide uprising/riots Event Date: 6/12/14-Undecided (Most likely when nation leaders come to an agreement and somehow discover a cure.) Factions/Nations effected by the event: All Event Location: Various cities and settlements across the Fringe Summary: The 29th of the Grand Harvest. Only a few days had passed since a disease so horrifying not seen since the days of Asulon had rose and dispersed across the Fringe reaching hundreds of settlements and even the hearts of the major nation's capitals. Thousands daily collapsed from the disease while those lucky enough to endure the terrible sickness continued to wander the realm hopelessly. While in the beginning they had expected for their beloved friends,comrades, and nation to save them and assist them in this time of crisis. But oh were they so very wrong..... The nations across the realm lay in in a shattered state of disarray and panic. All nobility, military leaders, and nation leaders were evacuated from their very capitals, leaving only a small handful of guards to man the gates, and each day they would lose another twenty soldiers from the sickness. Instead of protecting the ill citizens under each of the leader's respectable nations the world powers had decided to resort to a more drastic and terrifying way in an attempt to end the spread of the infection, slaughter. Each day a military squad marches through the lands and slaughters any poor and innocent traveler without warning. Even previous military men loyal to their homeland are turned away or murdered on the spot if found to be infected. Thousands are driven from their own homes with these methods while hundreds more die before they even escape the borders. With nowhere else to turn and a cure not in sight anger and panic mix and boil. The people had been betrayed by these selfish methods of self-protection by the leaders of their homeland and would no longer stand by and die without reason. With the armies of each nation abandoning their posts in fear of infection, various of towns and cities are left vulnerable. This would be the beginning of an uprising.... Concept Images/Screenshots Other Information: This will be an event to give those who are sick a actual role in the plague rather then being slaughtered everyday and denied by their own nations. Together in organized raids with the ET the infected will attack chosen settlements or capitals and cause a considerable amount of damage such as setting fires or tearing down certain structures in riots. The armies of the nation that own the settlement or capital can defend, however they are highly at risk of being infected if they attempt to do as so. Do you need the Event Team's assistance?: Yes as they will be needed to organize these riots so infected know when to partake. If so, do you require actors and/or builders?: Yes, any actors that can play infected will help bolster their numbers. Also builders will be needed to assist in doing the damage or setting fires after it is RPed.
  21. In battle, men cannot rely on strength and wit alone; they must have supernatural guidance if they are to succeed. A scruffy man sits within a ramshackle tavern, speaking to the inquisitive minds that watch him. You decide to venture closer, curious as to what he is saying. Indeed, the crew of the Lady Luck were a tumultuous band of pirates that reveled in the act of looting and fighting. These men were strong, brave and somewhat intelligent, but their success was not driven by these aspects; their fates were influenced by something far greater. You see, in a world such as ours there are seldom stories told that do not involve great magicks, terrible beasts and hooded miscreants. This will certainly be no exception to the rule. Many of you have not taken to the harsh seas, and so I do not expect you to have ever come across these men. They encompassed everything you would expect of a pirate, but their macabre ideologies were something most unusual. As the sun was tucked beneath the blanket of the sea, these men would take to their rooms and adorn themselves in robes of blacks and reds. They would emerge in the open space of their ship, a pleading man's cries barely piercing the air over the chanting of the crew. With the spillage of blood, all would fall to a deathy silence as the men watched their latest victim return to the darkness. Yes, these men held dear to the idea that everything once emerged from the darkness, and they believed that Death existed to return what had been taken from the void. Death is the only certainty in life, and these men thus considered it to be a real force, an absolute truth; and therefore absolute power. In order to prove their servitude to the absolute and it's cause, they would allow "Death" to act through them. Their reign lasted for half a decade before they were disbanded by some terrible event. On a night of sacrifice, an overwhelming tide crashed against the Lady Luck, forcing her into a cliffside. Amidst the crimson waters and wreckage, a handful of men flailed about as they tried to find a means of escaping the water. Few managed to escape on the debris of the Lady Luck, but those that did ventured off into directions that would cause the remaining crew to disperse. I know these men are still out there somewhere, searching for their brothers... OOC: My intention with this guild is to create RP involving the men of the Lady Luck finding their brethren. Once this has been achieved, I should like for them to once again partake in the acts of service detailed above. This will most likely require new characters, though I am willing to talk to anyone that should like to have an existing character be a member of the crew. These men are to be clandestine in their endeavours, and are by no means lacking in common sense; therefore, I do not expect to see any glaringly obvious skins. Let's keep the clothing normal. OOC Application: IGN: ICN: Age: Race: Personality: Ambitions: What happened to your character after the crash? Do you have a lot of RP experience? I will require an image of the skin you intend to use. If you are accepted, I shall PM you and ask for your Skype details so that we may create a group.
  22. A note falls from a rooftop and lands at your feet. Confused you pick it up. ((People who have no intention on killing (People who are not "Determined") would not receive this note)) We have seen the determination in your heart and mind. You are a deadly Warrior But you wish to take it further? You wish to kill for money perhaps? Well you have drawn the right people In our dealings we do not kill for pleasure. We kill because we must. So that the rotten people in this land are dead and the people who wish them dead are free. We are the Assassin's Guild "A brotherhood bound by blood" We welcome you with open arms if you wish to join us, It is a dangerous life, but you will have your brothers to guide you Upon further enquiry you are approached in a dark alleyway by a man dressed in white and a dark but rather regal purple. He begins to speak. I am here to speak with you about our Brotherhood. Ranks: Grand Master The head of the Brotherhood, everything passes through him. Contacts, Targets. Everything. He is the top mentor which all of the Assassins go to to seek advise and tips. He leads the Guild with an Iron fist ensuring that there are no spies or anything in his Organisation Assassino Highest ranking Assassin other than the Grand Master. These Assassins may go on the most difficult jobs and are there to help mentor the newer recruits and Guide them along the path. Marauder Each Marauder is in charge of a group of Coroners and their Initiates. Marauders are a key point in the Guild they are the arm in which moves the sword. They are sent on missions which they can either do alone or get help from their group Coroner The Coroners are in charge of 2 Initiates, who they must keep in line and help. It is their job to detect spies or any suspicious activity and report it to the Grand Master. Initiate The Initiates have 1 foot into the guild. They are trusted but they are still being watched by their Coroner leader. They must fill out contracts and seek help and advice from the Guild Master. Recruit The Recruits are the rookies to the guild. Everybody has to start out from somewhere. The Recruits aren't told a lot and don't really do much. They must take at least one set of training before they move up to the Initiate rank and are initiated into the guild. You will start out as a Recruit and work your way through the Guild becoming a more deadly Assassin as you go We also recruit: Messengers Spies at this time. We are waiting... and watching So if you wish to join or If you seek information send a bird to our Grandmaster at this address: *An address is written here* ((Watty_Banker)) IF YOU NEED SOMEONE DEAD SEND ME A BIRD ((Message on here not in the server))
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