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  1. You wake up with something in your mouth. You open it, and pull out a crinkled up piece of paper that tastes like dirt and grubs. You wonder who it could possibly be from. And what ever the hell this is
  2. Nummy

    Nummy's Art Auction

    Nummy’s Art Auction It’s rather simple, folks. I’ve come across the need for minas, and since it’s end of map, why not spend them all on an art auction? What are you bidding on? You may ask? Well! Winner of today’s auction will walk away with a colored bust art! Like This!! Just post what you’d like to bid. Highest bid by the time I get home from work today (Tuesday) at 7est wins! The Minimum bid is set at 2000 minas.
  3. This account is written by Selion Drogon. The information included is supposedly an exact account of the creation of Sirame Khel. The Empty Agreement There was mist, a slight wisp that traveled over the cracked and dusty ground. It was out of place in the dry air of the desert night, crawling over warm dirt. It seemed to speed up rushing angrily and haughtily into the air, screaming into the ashen night, devoid of moon, or stars. Its topmost tendril reached for the darkness, its shadowy form stretching for nothingness and then it was nothing, a little mist, the smallest amount of vapor, floating through the air. Tide’s eyes glanced quickly over the mist as he walked up stairs. He thought nothing of it. His mind was focused upon the task ahead, convincing the council of Ker’Okarn that his group should have a place near their city. He took one step after another, feet making a rhythm on the sandy floor. As each step fell, he went over the same mantra in his head. The same mantra that had been in his head for the last thirty years. The one thing that drove him above all else. In fact, for this diminutive dark elf walking in the corner of the world, this mantra might have been the only thing left. It’s a strange idea that a living thing can so entirely be consumed with one thought. We often consider this to be a good thing, a sign that progress will be made and dreams realized. I suppose, on the whole, the greatest achievements come from mindsets entrenched with a single thought. Those types of people, no, creatures, are often considered the harbingers of effort necessary to produce a desired effect. In the world that we live, no other method seems to be possible. Failure is expected and success only comes from a driven personality that defeats all odds. Was this the idea that made Tide think he had a chance to turn the tides of the world? Was it something else? Perhaps he didn’t think about it. In fact, I’m sure he didn’t. For Tide, it wouldn’t matter if individuality was a myth or if individuality was the best way to induce change. His one thought was the change itself and not whether he had a chance as one among millions. Tide glanced to his side. Artius was walking slowly up the stairs to his left. “Why does the meeting have to be at night?” Tide asked softly. “Would it not be better to have this in the morning.” Artius held his hand behind his back giving the sense of calmness and sternness. Yet, his fingers twitched behind him, a sign that this position had been carefully designed for the very purpose of seeming calm. He was still a young elf and his presentation meant a great deal to him. Yet the absence of experience betrayed itself in his slightly stiff posture. Tide wondered how such a young dark elf could become so powerful. He’d have to ask him at some point. “The council was busy in the morning,” he mumbled curtly not looking at the dark elf. Tide felt a slight tightening in his throat. He didn’t know why Artius was being cold to him. He hoped it had nothing to do with the council. His trek over the desert would become useless and he’d have to start over at the beginning. At that moment, a cool breeze ruffled Tide’s white hair. His chin lifted almost imperceptibly. His eyes narrowed and his finger, which had subconsciously drifted to touch his face, returned to relax at his side. His eyes closed and a small sigh escaped his mouth. Mind blank, he continued to step forward. Each footstep sounding loud and unnatural like a drum in the night. Finally, they reached the council room, which was nothing more than a table. It stood on a raised platform with railings on each edge. Vines were growing around wooden pillars that held up a simple roof. This was the highest point in the city. None of the council had evidently arrived yet so Tide walked over to the edge of the platform and looked over the edge. There it was. Laid out before him. Ker’Okarn. Light flickered below like a vast constellation of stars. His hands grew white as he grabbed the railing that was built into the platform. Unseen by Artius, his mouth split into a thin smile. “Would you like to sit down?” a high, authoritative voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned slowly back to the table. Before him were six dark elves. They had already sat down. Tide didn’t know how he hadn’t heard them come up to the platform. He seemed to be missing a lot of things since his coming to this city. His first instinct was to walk swiftly to the table and apologize for not noticing them. His right foot stepped forward to do exactly that. It was what he would have done on any other day. His face hidden by the moonless night, he paused. He waited, standing there as the nights cool air blew his colored cloak around. After many seconds, he stepped forward, taking as long as possible to sink down into one of the chairs. He folded his fingers and closed his eyes for a few moments longer than was necessary but not long enough to seem as if he was agitated. His ashen lips tightened. “My name his Tide Falkmoor, suliin of Sirame Khel, son of Norn Falkmoor.” He said calmly with poise, almost aristocratic-like. He stared at Artius, who was sitting at the head of the table, his eyes sharp as an eagle’s beak. “Tide Falkmoor, you sit with us today to discuss an offer you made to me the moment you were able. I hope you are not wasting the council’s time. Please state your case for why we should give you land and the protection of this city.” Tide began, his words collected, his phrases lilting, his face emotionless, “Sirame Khel is a group of dark elves dedicated to the preservation and honor of our race. We were founded after the fall of Renelia. We believe that ways of old where dark elves largely stayed out of the dealings of other races is long past. We believe that in order to bring about a better world we must work within and around the cultures of other lands and civilizations.” He paused looking around. The dark elves who were sitting had their face turned in interest. As he stopped talking, however, Artius cut in. “We have stayed apart from the dealings of other races for good reason. There is no reason to needlessly embroil ourselves in silly wars and conflicts. Furthermore, as I’m sure you’re aware, the dark elves have a history of coming undone when they extend themselves too far. Why should we permit your group to begin tension that has long since died down?” Tide made absolutely no motion that showed he had even heard Artius speak. However, eventually, his head turned back to the elf “we will not start conflict. We will not endanger the race. Those of other cities and races will not even know that we intend to impact their lives.” His voice was clipped and somewhat cold. “Sirame Khel is not a group that will, as you put it, engage in silly wars and conflicts. We do only what is necessary.” “What is necessary might be different for every person! How do you know that your people will not do something stupid” Artius glared at Tide with an unexpected angry expression. “Training” “No amount of training can make someone smart,” Artius said his strange angry outburst disappearing as soon as it materialized. “It can make them careful,” Tide spoke calmly, yet swiftly. “Aye, I suppose that’s true. But if you intend to send dark elves across the realm why do need a place here?” Artius asked. “Everyone needs a home Illr,” Tide said dismissively “While they travel the realm, they must have a place to return to.” He glance again to the so-far quiet onlookers sitting at the table. At Tide’s words, one of the dark elves sat up a little. His face becoming clear in the light from the lamp attached to the ceiling. He said softly “home is something that shouldn’t be treated so lightly Illr.” Tide faced him, considering him for a moment. He was thin, carrying a cloak with strange symbols on it. His eyebrows were large and his face worn. “I suppose my view of home is tainted as mine was torn away from me as I was still very young.” Tide paused before continuing, “yet many of our number have face the same fate as have most of our race. It is the way of the world. Yes, in a perfect world, you are correct. We have no choice these days but to lose what was considered important in years long past.” Artius suddenly stood up, his armored hands smashed upon the old wood. “I have heard enough.” He paused his eyes narrowing, “If the council agrees with me, I think it time to start writing up the agreement. Poem written by Tide Falkmoor at this time: The Last It seems things That last, Are memories, Of loss. It seems things That die, Are eternal, Nonetheless. It seems things, Survive, Not in this world, But above. What will happen, When you are the last, When you are the note, Held before applause. What will happen, When you sing, When you run Out of air. What will happen, When the harsh Sound, When the harsh Sound, There it is. The last note. The one before applause. When the song stops, What will you sing? Entry five of “The History of Sirame Khel and its Rise to Power” by Selion Drogon
  4. Hello, many of you might know me as Dashing or Latte. One thing you might not know about me is that I like to skin in my free time. I have roughly started this hobby at the beginning of the new year. Having a lot of time my hands since then, I would like to say that I have improved! Which is why I wish to start an auction as well as just advertise in general. Auction Rules: Ends at 12:00 AM EST on Sunday August 23 Bidding starts at 500 Do NOT edit original comment or your bidding will be null and void Highest Bidder gets the Outfit Bidding Format: IGN: Discord: Skin: Bidding amount: =Skins For Auction=- Peach Flowers Savinian Regality Teal Rennaisance Fire Lord Ohani Elven Two Piece Faded Yellow Regency -=EXAMPLES OF COMMISSIONS=- My information: IGN: ILOVEG3CKO Discord: LATTE HOT-TAY#9269
  5. At 3 PM EST, there will be a festival at Ker’Okarn. More details can be found here. These are the five poems that were written by Tide Falkmoor and will be performed at the festival: A Forsaken City The last gong rang, Through empty streets, No dreams, no dreams, When the city fell. Sometimes rock crumbles, Sometimes bells toll, For fallen lies, And darkened souls. There was no sound, No laughing voice, No crying child. Sometimes sorrow, Comes after nothing. Sometimes death, Comes before life’s end And then the bell tolled. The stones sang. The stars fled. No dreams, no dreams. And the bell rang. The Last It seems things That last, Are memories, Of loss. It seems things That die, Are eternal, Nonetheless. It seems things, Survive, Not in this world, But above. What will happen, When you are the last, When you are the note, Held before applause. What will happen, When you sing, When you run Out of air. What will happen, When the harsh Sound, When the harsh Sound, There it is. The last note. The one before applause. When the song stops, What will you sing? Darkened State The heads bowed, Statues, shrunken. The weak cried, Eyes, sunken. The strong sighed, Backs, broken. The liers lied, Tongues, forked. A meeting of hope, lost A meeting of future, past A meeting under stone stars, A meeting never to be had. Light thought not to leave, Must in sky be hidden. Shadowed flame burned, Eternal life stricken. Fire killed, Like mist, it fell, Burning cold, Freezing souls. The Door Mist deepened, Sound damp, Silence screamed, Through ashen night. Words spoken, Seemed stolen, From that quiet, Deathly dusk. Now, nothing, No glaring sound, No hopeful grin, No guidance from the past. Perhaps forgiveness, A furtive goal, Was as shapes, In roaming mist. Then light, Blazing brilliant light, It flooded, Burned, Battered, Drove away soaked statues. As wind on early winter days, The mist lifted. Mirth of Loss This world is full, Its story old, And always, love, Leads to loss. For things that last, Are memories, Of what once was. This world is full, Its story old, So let's not wallow, When one closed. We sing, we dance, We revel in The mirth of loss. This world is full, Its story old, We must not cry, When one is told. For all of us, Are here at last, To revel in The mirth of loss. This world is full, Its story old, So let’s not let, This day grow cold. We drink, we crow, A merry sight, For all those, Here tonight. The world is full, Its story old, And now I must Join the throng. My stories done, My voice spent, Let’s join together, to revel until loss is lost. After being performed, they were categorized and entered into the history of Tide Falkmoor by Selion Drogon
  6. This account is written by Selion Drogon. The information included is supposedly an exact account of the creation of Sirame Khel. The Next Morning Tide Falkmoor laid in his bed, wondering whether to get up. His throat felt like someone had poured sand down it, though that was an improvement from last night when it felt as if it was splitting from the inside. He tried to close his eyes more than they had been before. It seemed to him as if opening his eyes would mean a great deal of trouble, which he just didn’t feel the need to start at the moment. He rolled and turned over. Tide Falkmoor considered just lying there, just waiting until something forced him to do something. Then he remembered his reason for traveling across that desert, for living with minimal water for so may days, for finally walking into the city at dusk only to be frightened at the sight of a small bear. He instantly sat up, his red eyes jumping open like a fire starting ever so quickly. His hands jumped from under the cover and began to sweep away them away, intending to throw himself off the bed and search for someone to talk to. “Slow down, illr. You need to drink something first.” Tide eyes jumped incredibly quickly to the elf standing in the light of the morning sun, his features dramatic, lit as they were from the suns early orange light. “You need to take it slow. You almost died out there.” The elf said as the light of the morning sun began to abate. Tide Looked at the elf standing impressively in the door frame. He was the same elf who had stopped him from killing that poor bear during the night. Now that the shadows of dusk no longer hid the elf from Tide’s searching gaze, he could finally see him. He was wearing plate armor, held together by leather, which was well treated and smooth. His face was gruff and worn with a large beard, unusual for a dark elf. “My name is Artius Morvayn. I don't know if you remember our conversation. You were a little out of it at the time.” He gave Tide Falkmoor a harsh and impenetrable smile. “Here, you should drink. We tried to give you some while you slept but it was difficult.” He handed Tide a flask of water. Tide stared at the dark elf for a couple seconds before slowly taking the flask. “Thanks,” Tide softly mumbled in a gravely, throaty voice as he began to sip from the flask. He wasn’t fool enough to try and drink it all at once no matter how thirsty he was. His throat began to clear itself. Artius waited patiently for Tide to finish drinking. He took the empty flask. “You can have more after we talk. I think you said your name was Tide Falkmoor?” He asked in a sharp questioning voice. Tide nodded assent, his eyes still taking in the impressive figure of Artius. Artius was peering at Tide, evidently doing the same thing. Tide was wearing a multicolored cloak, which seemed to shimmer, changing colors as one looked at it. His hair was bone-white and his eyes blood-red. There was a curious scar under his left eye. Whatever had given Tide this scar had come within an inch of taking out Tide’s eye. Artius waited, continuing to observe Tide. He believed that silence sometimes told more about a person then speaking with them did. Tide simply waited, giving Artius a knowing look. Tide knew that it was better not to speak first. Artius, seeing this, spoke one word in a seemingly brusque businesses-like manner “alligence?” “Mali’Ker” Tide answered, copying Artiuses tone. “Mali’Ker huh? Very idiosyncratic of you, choosing to be allied with our entire race. You don’t consider one group more important?” Tide looked at Artius still trying to discover whether it was safe to be open with the elf. Finally he decided that there really was no choice either way. His decision made, his face split into a warm and open smile, “as you said, my name is Tide Falkmoor. I have lived among wood elves, dwarves, men, and animals. I have seen much of this world and written of it as well. I now return to my race, a changed elf, ready to give my allegiance, not to one group, but to the honor of the ashen folk. I was hoping that I would find help in this city.” Artiuses face began to twitch ever so slightly in a frown. “The dark elves as a entity are difficult to hold allegiance to. I think you’ll find that by helping some of us you’ll bring pain to others.” Artiuses face would then lose its momentary unhappiness. “Still, it is a noble goal no matter its impossibility. You’ll want to stay here then?” Tide’s eyes would stop flitting around the room and stare straight into Artiuses. “I actually came representing a group, which has the same allegiance and goals as myself by the name Sirame Khel. We seek a place near other ‘Ker to call our own and begin operations,” Tide said in a surprisingly open and truthful fashion. Artius paused, his hand, covered by a steel metal gauntlet, was moving forward ever so slightly before falling back to a resting position. “And what would we gain from such a... uh... drastic move,” Artius asked, his face not betraying anything about what he thought about what the elf had so haphazardly and confidently asked. “An alliance which will prove beneficial to you in the future. Our group will exist no matter where we call home, but I thought it a good idea to offer our services and loyalty. to someone who might have vested interest in our success.” Tide’s former smile no longer left any trace upon his lips. His face was deadly serious as he watched Artius considering his offer. Artius spoke in a careful, articulate manner that still did not divulge any of his thoughts, “It might be a good idea. However, we don’t just make decisions so rashly. We may not take as long as high elves, but it will not be a quick matter, Illr. You’ll have to stay here many moons. I’ll have to discuss it with Ker’Okarn’s council. If they think that we should consider allowing you to make your plea, you will speak before them. After that, if they decide to permit discussion, we will talk about the many aspects of this potential allegiance.” “That is all I could hope for,” Tide stated, while he thought about the inefficiency of bureaucracy. Poem written by Tide Falkmoor at this time: A Forsaken City The last gong rang, Through empty streets, No dreams, no dreams, When the city fell. Sometimes rock crumbles, Sometimes bells toll, For fallen lies, And darkened souls. There was no sound, No laughing voice, No crying child. Sometimes sorrow, Comes after nothing. Sometimes death, Comes before life’s end And then the bell tolled. The stones sang. The stars fled. No dreams, no dreams. And the bell rang. Entry four of “The History of Sirame Khel and its Rise to Power” by Selion Drogon
  7. This account is written by Selion Drogon. The information included is supposedly an exact account of the creation of Sirame Khel. Tide Falkmoor entered the gates of Ker’Okarn. His eyes flitted from side to side, taking in the surroundings. Was this place what he was looking for? Could this be the very place to bring his plans into action? His piercing red eyes roamed swiftly over the sandy walls. He breathed in. The sea air again rushed past his face. His white hair wafted in the wind. His tired eyes burned in the darkness of the late evening. The silhouette of broad walls fell on the ground. Shadows filled the corners giving the light from torches posted periodically a sinister gleam. They danced, endlessly fighting the darkness, or perhaps embracing it. Tide glanced slightly fearfully into the darkness. His footsteps rebounded off the walls echoing in the night. “Perhaps it’s abandoned,” he muttered to himself as much to quench his irrational fear of the dark then anything else. He then shook his head. A dark elf afraid of the dark, what joke. He laughed quietly at himself. He had spent too much time with forest elves. Then a sound burst from the shadows behind him. It was a sound that would have chilled any heart, of any race. For in the quiet, the dusk, the night that so quickly falls upon deserts like an axe on wood, there was a terrible growl. Tide froze. He hadn’t seen anything when he came into the city but he supposed that the shadows must have been too heavy. Tide’s hand fell to his sword hilt, sweat forming on his knuckles. Tide knew that there were many beasts in this realm for which his sword would have no purpose. If one of those creatures laid behind him, he would surely die. He now would have to lay his life into the hands of the ancestors. He took a deep breath, knowing that once he moved the creature would surely spring. His sword sprung from his sheath like water from a mountain spring. Tide whipped around, his sword blade diving forward like a spear, its point turned slightly downward. The sound of metal striking metal rang through the small city. A gruff but powerful voice rang across the square. “Trying to kill something, are you?” Tide immediately retracted his sword. He looked to who had spoken. It was a ‘Ker, tall and proud. He was also sheaving a beautiful and well-wrought sword in his leather sheaf. He gave Tide a suspicious look. “You don’t have to kill everything that moves, Illr.” He motioned to the shadows, “could have killed snowflake here.” Tide saw that the thing he had heard was an altogether harmless looking polar bear who was tied to a post. He let out a breathe. He had, after all, been frightened of nothing. “I’m truly sorry. I think the night may have made my mind believe in monsters that weren't there.” Tide glanced at the ‘Ker’s face, which was not unkind. In fact a small smile broke out at these words. “Ah ,even the best among us are still afraid of the night. The dark elves are not named such because of their affinity with that which is dark or evil!” The stranger paused before continuing “though some among us seem to have forgotten this.” The dark elf shook his head bringing himself back to the conversation. “So, what are you doing in Ker’Okarn at this time of night?” Tide walked forward, and gave the ‘Ker a slight bow. His eyes, however, never left the ‘Ker’s hand, which was still resting upon the jewel encrusted hilt of his sword. Tide had long ago learned not to take a friendly voice as proof of friendly intentions. “For the moment, Illr, I seek only a place to stay the night. Any conversations of my intent could wait until the morning couldn’t they?” The unknown ‘Ker frowned, his eyes also not straying from Tide. “Let us at least exchange names first. I can see you are tired from your journey...” the ‘Ker glanced at Tide’s sun-burned face and cracked skin, “and soon I can give you all that you might need, but I need to be sure that I can trust you. My name is Artius Morvayn, Patriarch of the Bands of Ker’Okarn and you are?” Tide glanced at the ‘Ker. He realized that he should have given his name earlier but his manners had abandoned him. His legs buckled, unable to hold his weight any longer. After the scare with the polar bear, any adrenaline that may have been fueling his ability to stand straight was no longer there. “Tide Falkmoor” the elf managed to mumble before his legs gave out and he fell to the ground. His eyes closed from exhaustion. The torchlight played on the backs of his eyelids. They laughed and cackled, their eyes black as coal. They stabbed each other, danced with each other to music only they could hear. Now they were carrying him, lifting him to the sky, to the light, and then Tide Falkmoor could remember no more. He awoke in a comfortable linen bed the next day. Poem written by Tide Falkmoor at this time: The water bubbled, Dark from dirty depths. Rising like many messages, Under the glow of a setting sun. The pond hid its face, Shy from prying light. It grumbled gently, As the bubbles popped. I stare as the sun does, To find a hidden gem. Deep below the surface, A secret must lie. I stood as the sun sinks, To slowly walk, The orange path, Away from little bubbles, Entry three of “The History of Sirame Khel and its Rise to Power” by Selion Drogon
  8. Sup gamers I bought a new ipad for uni and art - super cool whoop whoop, but also super expensive so I’m spitting out commissions like I’m santa on the 25th of December right now What can you commission you may ask? Hoh hoh hoh do I have some super cool wow spectacular art for you! Super cool and wow, I know. Now, you may be asking : but Grandpa, how do I commission you, and do you do any other art? But fear not my sweet summer child for I have answers: Information on other commissions (like maybe a SICK nation wax stamp) and my gallery (which has a lot more than just chibis): https://grandpablue.weebly.com/ Contact me on discord!: Grandpa Shay#1084 I asked my mom to rate my commissions but she said no (she didn’t actually say no, she’s asleep right now but we’ll look past that) - I still think they’re super rad and cool and can be finished in a day!
  9. OOC: From now on I’ll be writing these posts in a somewhat dramatic story-telling fashion. This was not uncommon in ancient times. Most history was written in rhyme or in a the dramatic. (It’s also more fun) The sweltering sun beat down upon the thirsty dark elf. Used to the cool of the forest trees of Siramenor, the heat of the desert plains during the Sun’s Smile fell like a hammer on his shoulders. The sound of his footsteps sounded hollow across the barren landscape. A soft, hot, humid wind ruffled the gray grass. It whistled past small rocks that stuck up from the red dusty earth. The crimson eyes of the ‘Ker rose slowly to glare at the sky. His lips were curled in a slight grimace as if daring the sun to shine. The sun paid no attention to the small, figure. The light of the sun seemed to sparkly lovingly off the red sand. It jumped from stone to stone. Yet as the elf cleared the next small hill, his gaze fell upon an orc who lay dead upon the ground. His mouth was open and his tongue protruded from the side, cracked, swollen, and stiff. The dark elf glanced at the orc. He walked over to the body and knelt by its head. The voice of the elf sounded in the deathly silence, croaky but still with a touch of sadness, “Hello my friend, I suppose you fell to the sun’s embrace.” The elf then smiled at the orc, a smile that seemed entirely out of place in the brutal heat so close to death. “May you have died so that the sun does not seek to take me.” The elf paused looking at the orc before continuing on, his feet plodding, each impact releasing a fine cloud of red dust. It was for ambition that the elf was to be found on that day, on that road, in that heat. His eyes shared a kindred spirit with that terrible sun, as they burned with the intensity of fire, his irises flickering. Yet who are we to judge the sins of elven kind or of the morality of powerful ambition. For do we consider the world to be filled with only those perfect and those evil? This elf struggling through the heat was no saint. But like the sun, a force of nature, he bore no ill will to those that stood in his way. Like the sun, his hammer would fall regardless of race, creed, or allegiance. Should we call that evil, or immoral? If you define it be so, yes. But, like the sun, this elf could be gentle, giving life to those he loved. Like so many emerald trees, the fruits of his labor would grow and would be loved. Perhaps, in the end, we shouldn’t think of this elf as the sun that killed that orc, or as the sun hovering over the trees of Siramenor, but instead as a flawed being just as any other. Good and evil in equal measure, internal struggle radiating outward, burning and loving, killing and growing. On this day, he was none of these things. He wasn’t the sun, or powerful elf. He was a small figure who was thirsty and lost. The elf was searching for Ker’Okarn. He hoped to bargain with the ‘Ker who lived there and begin the building of the tower of Sirame Khel. He hoped to start a great dynasty lasting thousands of years. Yet, on this day, he was nothing but a young wandering poet. It was many days till he reached the sea port of Ker’Okarn. He looked down upon the small city, his throat parched, his eyes stretched thin, his water bag empty. Yet the salt air woke his tired mind. His thin ashen lips curled in a smile as he surveyed his new home. He could imagine where the tower would stand, a little off to the side, and near the shining sea. This was a dark elf without family, without a father, without a clan. A dark elf who lived during one of the the most dangerous and terrible times for his race. Yet as this elf of little means looked down from that small hill his lost heritage didn’t matter. He would forge a new family, a new clan, and a new future for the dark elves. Poem written by Tide Falkmoor at this time: A deep sorrowful note, A long forgotten song, A wailing from each throat, The tale of those long-gone. Silence upon the scene, For birds knew not to sing, When the oldest did keen, When death the breeze did bring. No comfort for the weak, No promise to forgive, Paradise they did not seek, For they sought not to live. A rushing of dark wings, As quiet ravens flew. The dissonance now rings, Of stories sadly true. Deadly rain, Fire of incessant pain, Fire of a realm insane. There is no light. Except burning deathly bright. Light that only dead may see. Entry two of “The History of Sirame Khel and its Rise to Power” by Selion Drogon
  10. Tigers Outfit Auction 。☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆。 Heyo, so I’ve recently been seeing a bunch of these on the forums and I thought why not? All of these skins are either brand new, never used, or used maybe once. The categories will go as followed: Elvish, human, bundles and Miscellaneous. Please excuse some of my older works their shading is a bit wacky. None of these skin have been uploaded to pmc. If you later down the road upload it after being bought please remember to credit me!! ゚+*:ꔫ:*﹤RULES﹥*:ꔫ:*+゚ Once you post a comment, do not edit it! Please add a new comment to up the bid. You must be able to pay the full amount once the auction is over. Bidding starts at 500 minae, and the minimum it may increase by is 100. There are a few ones with recolours those come together and start at 800 mina Increase of bid by 100. Bidding will on end Saturday, August 8th. So you may bid properly it goes Spoiler, underneath it the name of the skin. BID FORMAT: Discord: Skin Name – Bid (List multiple separately please!) No editing your comments! 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · 🙦 Elvish ⋆┈┈。゚❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ゚。┈┈⋆ Mani Eagle Golden Beach Purple Party His sunlight Human ⋆┈┈。゚❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ゚。┈┈⋆ Rouge Court Babushka’s Festival Watermelon Sugar Prince Edward Daisy Princess Navy Dream Morsgrad Child Ruska Violet Helena Magenta Magic Student Miscellaneous ⋆┈┈。゚❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ゚。┈┈⋆ Desponnia Autumm Wedding Peach Hanbok Forest Gladiator Bundles (skin with recolours) ⋆┈┈。゚❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ゚。┈┈⋆ Gothic & BabyBreath Druid Houzi Hanboks Dusk & Midnight To the dudes im sorry there are like 3 male outfits in here. sorry boys
  11. Hello! I have tons of skins and am willing to auction them off so they are being used and not just taking up my space on my computer and so you can enjoy them just as I did! Here are the rules. Once you post your bid, do not edit it! Please only comment to up the bid and no spam. You must be able to pay the full amount once the auction is done. Bidding starts at 800 minas, and the minimum it may increase by is 100. The auction will last until 8/9/2020. Skins Format Skin Name: Bid: Previous Bidder:
  12. "Some say Timothée was the best bard alive." The Bardic Spirits Present In order to honor our fallen bard, the Bardic Spirits of the Amphitheatre have decided to hold a celebration, one of song, drink, and dance, three vital ingredients in our remembrance of a true master of the arts! Everyone is invited to pay homage to this great man, whether it be through performance or your role as an audience member! As long as the air is filled laughter and joy, the fields filled with food and drink, and the echoes of song in the air, hope and passion shall remain in our hearts ever-strong! WHAT IS THIS? Our late friend and musician, Timothée, was always fond of improvising tunes on the spot, whether they be about his beloved wine bottle, or his grand travels! And so, the Bardic Spirits have decided to hold an improvisational tournament in his memory. The Flyting Tournament will consist of a simple competition. Much like a Bard-Off, musicians will be challenged to improvise a quality, lyrical, and rhythmic song on the spot! However, there is a catch: we will be asking audience volunteers to shout out a word and, whatever the word may be, our bards will be required to include the topic in their tune in some way, shape, or form. Judging will be based solely on the reaction of the crowd (for to a bard, the only judgment that matters is that of the audience). Whoever garners the best reaction will be deemed winner of that round. And whoever ultimately creates the most impressive music shall be praised as musician of great talent, blessed by the late Timothée himself! May the best bard win! WHERE IS THIS? In the Amphitheatre, on the road to Aegrothond and near Siramenor WHEN IS THIS? (TIME HAS BEEN EDITED, PREVIOUS POST MENTIONED 7EST. EVENT HAS BEEN MOVED UP) 2PM PST /5PM EST on Saturday, 8/8/20
  13. You open up Althea’s diary scanning through the pages absentmindedly, till you stop on a page with a drawing on it. [!] You look at the drawing, trying to figure out if Althea drew herself or if someone else had doodled her.
  14. Hello, I’m currently opening commissions for busts. I can do waists, and full body commissions at this time, but this is mostly for people who want character art in busts or headshots. Cheers! ( Discord: bb zoë#3737 )
  15. You wake up wearing a messily folded paper hat, you open it to a new buck news.
  16. Bralt is dead and the war is over now original song by: Billy Joel parody by: Limo_man It's seven o'clock on a Sunday The smallest crowd shuffles in There's an HRA brother sittin' next to me Makin' love to his carrion and halfling He says, "Am, can you play me a memory? I'm not really sure how it went But it's flames and it's smoke and I knew it complete As we sat at the gates" La la la, le li la La la, le li la, da dum crush us a scyfling, with your logs They’ll al burn tonight Well, we somehow lived And Hra get another day Now Manfred the barclay is a friend of mine He got skewered like some meat And he’s lost a pc or two and has always died But he somehow survived the siege The priest says, ",God please have mercy for manfred" As he sat there, and he prayed "Well, I'm sure that he will die But please have him rest in peace" Oh, la la la, de di da La la, de di da, da dum Now Bralt is a scyfling king Who never could be killed And he's talkin' with erwin, who's still in the hra And probably will be for life And the shaman are throwin’ drugs As the Brotherhood slowly get stoned Yes, they're sharing a fate that only bring death But it's better than dyin’ alone, Bralt, you're a psychopath Killing the hostages Well, we're all in the mood to see his ash And you lost your first fight It's a pretty bad ral’ for a Sunday night And the xarkly gives us a smile 'Cause he knows that nat 20’s are all he rolls To kill all of the knights And the nat 1’s, they sound like a pk And the cocktails smell like beer And they shriek at the walls and they burn in my gaze And say, "is there any god?" Oh, la la la, de di da La la, de di da, da dum Bralt is now dead, we’ve unlocked scyflings He sat in a pile of ash Well, we're all in the mood for a drink After the 4 hour fight
  17. Original song by: john denver Parody by: Limo_man, Cheezzy_Garlik Haensetti Mothman: Almost to Reza gates, ruben bridge, hangmen river, helena our neighbor Life is german there, older than the Dwarves Younger than the buck, happy like Amelot Haensetti mothman, take me home To the gates, where I belong Back to reza, mothman noises Take me home, Haensetti moth All my memories gather 'round ‘em Mini’s single, though he’s married, To saint karl, wait that is homo, Dead volik children, painted on the field Sweet taste of carrion ,we all die at the siege Haensetti mothman, take me home To the gates where I belong, Back to reza, mothman noises, Take me home, haensetti moth I hear it’s noise in the mornin' hour it chirps, the late nights with lick remind me of my horrible life (IRL) walkin’ down the road, I get a feelin' That it was watchin’ me yesterday, yesterday Haensetti mothman, take me home To the gates, where I belong Back to reza, mothman noises Take me home, Haensetti moth Haensetti mothman, take me home To the gates, where I belong Back to reza, mothman noises Take me home, Haensetti moth Take me home, mothman noises Take me home, mothman noises
  18. You wake up this morning, no buck news in sight. With a sigh of relief you slip your shoes on. There’s an odd crinkle coming from underneath your feet. And one of your shoelaces are missing.
  19. Now that it's always night, buck doesn't quite know when to sneak into your house anymore. It gets slingshotted at you in a crumpled ball from the roofs.
  20. Buck news has been nailed to the ceiling over your head, so you can read it as soon as you open your eyes in the morning! How convenient(?)
  21. The Imperial Association of the Performing Arts Est. Anno Domini 1769, Under the Company of Thespians and Revelers About this Worshipful Guild The Imperial Association of the Performing Arts, established 1769, is a guild under the blanket administration of The Livery Company of Thespians and Revelers. The corporation is a cooperative assembly of verbalist artists. Formed by Peridot Beryl Carrington, the guild represents the interests of comedians, spoken word poets, musicians, actors, playwrights, and other performance-based artists. The guild organizes events for these performers to enlighten the masses, spread their so-saught after fame, and, of course, make money. The primary goal of this merry association is to bring entertainment to all the crowds of Oren, whether it be a high society gala or the local tavern. The Chamber of Romantics The guild is governed in a loose manner, so as not to oppose the freedoms of its performers. Each man or woman is their own, the guild serves more as a means to hone their craft, create bonds with the rest of the performance community, and find jobs. Further, membership is accompanied by a license from the Company of Thespians and Revelers; a member of this guild is a member of that company as well and attains all rights that come with that status. Despite this loose structure, there are basic rankings amongst the group: the organization of this ranking is called the Chamber of Romantics. A key necessary to understanding our organization is that rights afforded to each rank are relatively fluid and ceremonial in nature. Each performer, regardless of their rank in the Chamber, is an individual and has the right to their pursue own activities without oversight. Director-President: The Director-President is the chief amongst the Chamber of Romantics. They are charged with the overall management of the guild and organizing guild-wide events. Further, they are charged with the duty of the purse and are the primary representative to the Company of Thespians and Revelers. The Director-President acts as a manager for all artists and will represent them to potential clients. Master: A master has proved themselves a capable performing artist. Whatever their form may be, they are recognized across the land as a titan of art. Within the guild, masters can induct official apprentices whom they can teach in the arts. Lesser Romantics can also take on students, but these students will not be immediately inducted as apprentices. Journeyman: A journeyman has proved they are above instruction from a master. They can provide their own lessons and earn the right to independent representation. Journeymen are afforded the ability to organize their own events, incorporating other guild members as they please. Apprentice: Usually young, the apprentice is just learning their craft. Apprentices are assigned to a master of their craft if there is one. If not, they are supervised by the Director-President when possible in their performances. Relatively, the apprentice has free reign on their journey to becoming a full-fledged artist as there is no true plan to make somebody into an artist. The Enlightened Endeavor: Stagecraft While the guild does indeed field a wide array of sound-based performers, ranging from musicians to poets to comedians, the primary and recurring function of these artists is the pursuit of drama. Those who come onto the company as thespians will find themselves as the actors of a variety of plays. Further, the company seeks out talented playwrights and directors to aid in the creation and production of these spectacles. The entirety of the guild is incorporated, with musicians and comedians both being brought into the unifying art of stagecraft. Associated Playwrights: Playwrights with associated status are those who primarily identify with the troupe itself. These playwrights can produce their entirely unique scripts and utilize the expert artists and thespians of the guild at their will. The guild, ultimately the Director-President, will act as a producer for the playwright’s plays and coordinate times, venues, and handle the marketing side of the art. These talented writers need to make money after all! Associated Thespians: Actors with associated status are those thespians who run with the troupe and see regular employment in the many dramas set by the company. Thespians of the guild rely on the playwrights (whom they can also be themselves, as artists can be both actor and writer) to provide them with plays and will hone their craft through such endeavors. Actors receive a paygrade from the Director-General via commission of the plays and an actor’s respected role within said play. Scheduling an Event with the I.A.P.A It is hereby decreed that any citizen of Oren or beyond can contract the Imperial Association of the Performing Arts to perform any variety of entertainment at their events. Whether it be a gala or a comedy night, the association can provide entertainment. Below is a format by which to submit a Letter of Request to the Director-General to schedule such affairs. Client Name: Client Aviary Address (Discord): Venue: Entertainment Needed (Music, Improv, Comedy, Actors, etc.) Joining the I.A.P.A Hear hear! All performing actors, musicians, thespians, etcetera, are called to join our Association. You will have access to top-notch production and management, as well as to a semi-regular source of income. Further, you can hone your craft and network within and without our art market. You need not experience, just hope! We can provide lessons and top-notch education in the ways of the performing arts. Applicant Name: Applicant Aviary Address (Discord): Applicant Sex and Race: Form of Art: Would you be interested in acting (Y/N): Experience in the Performing Arts (if any):
  22. This buck news has been just tossed at your doorstep. Buck just doesn’t seem to be in the mood tonight.
  23. Buck

    Buck News.

    You wake up this morning.. no sign of buck news. you check your pantry, all of your food is there. No more holes in your window, all of your possessions intact. Not even a single smidge of mud tracked on your floor. You breath a sigh of relief, opening your closet for you morning coat when 50 MORE COPIES OF BUCK NEWS SPILL OUT ALL OVER YOU AND THE FLOOR
  24. Buck

    Buck News.

    You wake up with a buck news in your bed, and more food missing. For every food item missing, there is another buck news left in it's place. Unfortunate(?)
  25. Buck

    Buck News.

    A new buck news has been glued over the hole in your window in an attempt to cover up the damage done by the previous buck news outing. Also more of your food is gone. He just couldn’t help himself.
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