Jump to content

Search the Community

Showing results for tags 'pk death goodbye'.

  • Search By Tags

    Type tags separated by commas.
  • Search By Author

Content Type


  • Whitelist Applications
    • Accepted
    • Denied


  • Groups
    • Nations
    • Settlements
    • Lairs
    • Defunct Groups
  • World
    • Races
    • Creatures
    • Plants
    • Metallurgy
    • Inventions
    • Alchemy
  • Mechanics
  • History
    • Realms
  • Magic
    • Voidal
    • Deity
    • Dark
    • Other
    • Discoveries
  • Deities
    • Aenguls
    • Daemons
    • Homes
    • Other
  • Utility
    • Index
    • Templates


  • Information
    • Announcements
    • Guidelines & Policies
    • Lore
    • Guides
  • Aevos
    • Human Realms & Culture
    • Elven Realms & Culture
    • Dwarven Realms & Culture
    • Orcish Realms & Culture
    • Other Realms
    • Miscellany
  • Off Topic
    • Personal
    • Media
    • Debate
    • Forum Roleplay
    • Looking for Group
    • Miscellany
  • Forms
    • Applications
    • Appeals
    • Reports
    • Staff Services
    • Technical Support
    • Feedback

Find results in...

Find results that contain...

Date Created

  • Start


Last Updated

  • Start


Filter by number of...


  • Start




Minecraft Username






Character Name

Character Race

Found 2 results

  1. Perhaps, this is hell. Tchort wandered the putrid hallway, the silken, scarlet robe that once adorned his ravaged and scarred body in pride now completely ruined, devoid of its faux-divinity. His dirtied face ran red, two dark, scabbed spots where his eyes should be, a dried waterfall of blood running down his cheeks and neck, blending into cloth. His scarred hands ran across the pus-covered walls as he whispered his mantra without end. Your seat is stained my Lord, And your tears carmine red. A man is dead; a Prince is born, All men should die so a Court is born. All hail the King; A Prince of Nothing. Yilth’r Marog. His hands led him into an open room; a throne room, it would seem. He fell onto his knees with a weak thud, hands trailing across a damp, torn carpet that led further into the royal hall. Upon reaching what he deemed the throne, his frail figure rose, placing its’ mass upon the great stone chair. Within moments he saw once more; a sight without seeing, a vision without light. There he sat, atop a rotting chestnut chair, hands and feet nailed to the wood, yet he struggled not. The newly acquired vision led him to pace around the great hall, head frantically locking onto the nearby environment. With his feet he felt the ground, one not made of stone or plank, but gray ash and dead, wrinkled roots. His eyeless sight then trailed, seeking to find the source of such massive roots, yet they found nothing - nothing but a great, endless and dark void stretching in every direction. — The Prince was at peace, it seemed. A sigh of relief was given, as five figures then approached with a lazy step, each older and increasingly marred by scars than the one before it. Friederik, The Gelt, Horus, Ifan and Aesyr. The nailed man counted, each name spoken with a tremble, of both pleasure and terror. The figures stood a few feet before the chestnut chair, glancing at each other and sharing whispers, only occasionally shifting their gaze towards him, as if with disgust and admiration. They walked onwards after a short while, each passing by the chair, stopping momentarily as family members would before the coffin of a loved one. Tchort tried to move as they passed out of his vision, yet the chair stood stalwart, intent on staying in place. Nothing would help him now. As he turned to face forwards, an antique closet appeared in front, where the five men once stood. He looked down at his body, and the nails that bound him to the chestnut prison were gone. He rose, shaking and trembling as if he had not stood in years. With slow, irregular steps he made his way towards the closet, opening it. The inside was empty, save for a human’s left ear and left hand, laying in a small puddle of blood on the bottom. He knelt, hesitating if the offerings were to be picked up or left alone in their rest. The Prince signed the Cross, and stood back up. With a slow, jerky motion the closet was shut, and he moved back to sit atop his throne. The closet then changed into a visibly older one, and as the Prince noticed, he tried to stand, yet his hands and feet were bound by nails once more. The closet opened without a sound, revealing a man standing inside; A malnourished, contorted figure caked in dried blood and vomit, a descendant’s entrails hanging around his neck like a noose. With a heavy step the figure left the inside of the closet, and the martyr noticed that the other was missing his left hand and ear. — Tchort inhaled as to speak, and the figure spoke alongside him, word for word. Perhaps, this is home. It was then that a great urge arose within the man, and he could feel it rising within the standing manifestation of the Larian Wretch as well. With a final weep, a final look around the endless void, the duo began to sing a prayer. Oh black bird, Sing me your song of sorrows. Cardinal! Cardinal of midnight soot! What do you spy at the bottom of the well? Tchort felt a fire igniting beneath the seat, slowly pecking at his cold feet, as if he was nothing but carrion left for vultures. His fingers began to elongate, skull cracking and growing a snout, legs forming an extra joint. I see a weeping devil damning hell, Dancing, Dancing with its ghosts in its watery halls. A primal hunger took control over his body, and he thrashed, his jaws snapping at the man who only stood and observed, cracking lips singing, as did Tchort’s, involuntarily. It’s shadows sold, It’s children drowned, And it’s God, ever smiling? The skin began to melt, that inkling of flame transforming into a great pyre with Tchort at its center; his malformed, charred carcass screaming the remaining words of the song. O, little devil, crying in the well. Why do you weep, O why do you weep? Little devil, dying in the well.
  2. The Falling of A Blue Salvia _____________________________________________ The 18th of the Amber Cold As the Blue Salvia Flower falls, a story would be shown as to Meira Kervallen-Elmwood's true colors. *A flashback through her life unfolds before her eyes from start to finish as if she would be no more.* Meira had a struggle for her life going on adventures, going places, seeing things, having fun, and doing some pranks as a child. Growing up in a happy family, she was shown her true, colors for the first time as a child. "I see pink! Pink is all I see mat'er! 'nd a little bit of blue too!" Her mother turns to her after performing some sort of a spell and asks "W'at do ye' see now?" Meira's mother questioned Meira. "I... I don't know w'at t'ese colors are." She'd reply to her mother. Her mother then pointed to each color and told her each color until it was time to go out and about, the spell went away and all she saw, was pink again. She went on with her life as she saw it in her normal state, but sadly never saw purple as a colorful color. She grew up in her life fighting for her home and friends. Friendship was the only thing that meant anything to her to those who knew her well. She had a bow custom-made to her. She bought it from the man not knowing who the individual was officially. And to this day always brought it, and never missed a single shot when wielding the bow as her main weapon. She was a proud archer, fighting for her pride, fighting for what she thought was right, fighting for what she believed in. She was the best among all those wielding a bow. However, things changed a lot when she followed her mother's dream. She took over Ravenmire, to follow her mother's belief and try to bring pride onto the lands to make things enjoyable. Always was happy, always working around, and was always busy but able to help those in need. She needed help choosing who to help her as her delegation. Though who better to go to than her friends, including the one who made her, her primary weapon. At that point, things kicked off fast and everything went to plan as she then ventured on making more and more friends. She made friends across the lands far and wide, though she was always able to make time shooting with her favorite bow. Before leaving for good, she was able to shoot her arrow once more at target ranges and moving animals. Though something, took her by surprise, causing her to fall limp in a pool of her very own red ichor that had poured out of her. Her amber-colored eyes shutting as she was passing knowing her time had come and now onto her new adventure. Now seeing her fellow fallen friends, as she entered into the land of the fallen, she would show each and every one of them a smile from ear to ear, as she had always shown to nearly everyone. The background being in her favorite color, cotton candy pink, with her blue outline popping out in the background. Down came what appeared to be a rain of blue Salvia flowers as she looked about. She heads further into the fallen pink lands, and turns around offering a gentle hand to the next person to join her, saying "Trust me, it will be okay!" in her cheery way with a smile to them... whoever it might be. Then continue forth to an edge and fall to be among the flowers of that she truly adored in life in all of their true colors. _____________________________________________ In Ravenmire, her will would be sent out to her family and friends by a raven as a symbol it is from Ravenmire. ((OOC: Only those who are pinged or named or a part of ther group/family is part of can read those sections of the will.)) To Bo Rostova @moosehunter123@Aces__1, To Hacket Hemoss @Hacket, To Kelton Thorne @RedResult, To The Rex of The IronHorde, Klog'Akaal @LobsterLarry, To Vlachia @chaotikal, To The Kervallen Family Far and Wide, @KaptainScarlet@ECS1999@Lmcfc@Snow1770 To The Valiant Seekers @Roguechaotic, To The Entirety of Rhosmark @mojanghunter, _____________________________________________ Now everything below this message is OOC. This is just my goodbye from LoTC entirely. I'd like to thank everyone that I have roleplayed with and around and even those I have talked to only in ooc manners. I enjoyed the roleplays I have encountered, the ones on stream and off streams. Unfortunately, I realized I cannot stream LOTC very well, and streaming is what I wish to do. I will admit, I have gone through the good times and the hard times on this server, but with every beginning, is an end. To all those I have wronged, I am deeply sorry that I have wronged you in any way shape, or form. This is my goodbye from lotc, honor is honor and I wish this gets passed around, hold your honor above everything else, this is just a game to be fair. Who knows, maybe I will come back in the future to have fun, if I have lost all motivation in my future or something exciting is happening. I stress this part heavily though, do not be afraid to be perma-killed, sure you lose items you gained on the persona, but your persona's legacy still lives on to those you interacted with. Do not be the 15 thousand death warrior NL that never perma-kills, takes all the fun out of roleplay. We all want enjoyable roleplay, so make it more enjoyable, make it better than what it is right now. I believe that you all can do it. Speacial shoutout and respect to all you fellow military veterans, active duty, guard, and reservists (Yes Space Force and Coast Guard counts lol), y'all are the real ones, and glad to call you a brother, sister, and everything around. HUA - Heard, Understood, Acknowledged, and I hope every day you all come home safe and enjoy life as it is tough. With all that said, for the last time, peace out, stay safe, and have a great time on lotc!
  • Create New...