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  1. el’Sirame - Seed of the Forestborn The Forest Shepherds, Priests, and Green Dragons of Siramenor The Lore of the Forestborn Haelun Mali’ame. The mother of Wood Elves and Seeds as we know them today. Long ago, when Malin first ruled the Elves under one united Kingdom, Irrin Sirame was born. She bore no noble blood, and lived amongst the common folk. In her earlier days, she served the Kingdom as a sentinel, quickly rising through the ranks as she defeated foe after foe, and claimed victory after victory for the Elven people. Seeing her prowess, the Elvenking himself granted her a place upon the High Council of Malinor, the first of common-blood to ascend to such an honored place at Malin’s table. When the days of the great Elven schism bore down upon Malin’s Kingdom, Irrin Sirame led her followers into the wildlands, deep into the woodlands of the world. These folk would soon be known as the Mali’ame. Under her guidance, they spread over the wildlands, claiming their homes among the forests, the plains, the coasts. The mother of Mali’ame spent many years traveling between these places, appointing chieftains of the tribes that settled throughout the land, creating the first Seed of the Mali’ame. To these Seeds, she passed on her devotion to the Aspect, and ensured that the memory of Malin’s teachings would endure for centuries to come. Despite bringing the Seeds of the Mali’ame into existence, she had no tribe of her own, none to carry on her ideals beyond the Seeds she helped make. Irrin vowed to take no husband, to mother no children. No tribe can claim her bloodline, for there are none in all the land that carry it. But now, centuries later, a simple ‘ame and her family seek to continue her legacy. The Sirame were founded in the year 1760, as a tribe of ‘ame who seek to emulate the mission of Irrin Sirame- to preserve the sacred worship of the Aspects, and to carry on the ways of the Mali’ame through times of peace and war alike, through the prosperous, or grave. Many are priests, or devout- studying the ways of the Mali’ame culture, teaching them to all who may seek to know the ancient ways. Wherever the forest folk roam, they seek to nurture and guide the future generations. Beliefs and Traditions Religion “May the mother give me the grace to spread life and light through this land, and may the father grant me the strength of spirit to protect it...” - An excerpt from the prayers of the mali’ame Following in Irrin Sirame’s footsteps, the Sirame hold a steadfast belief in the Aspects, as was the faith of the elvenking himself, and of the mother of Mali’ame herself. To them, the Mali’ame are inseparable from the ways of the wild faith- their way of life is entirely dependent on the wilds, as it should remain. While the Seed primarily worships the Aspects, their attention is not solely focused upon them. The Seed knows that the Mani, the animal spirits of the wild, hold an important place in the natural world, and will sometimes lend their prayers and offerings to them and respect those that follow them. The Seed holds no patron Mani themselves, as many Seeds do. While traditionally, ‘ame have sought to bring others into the fold through sermon and teaching, the Sirame are the sort to lead through their own example. They believe that only action will truly bring faith to the other Mali’ame, and remain fiercely devout through all, showing the power of faith in this world. Values Tradition sits at the heart of the Sirame, as their purpose is to continue the life’s work of Irrin Sirame. Their values and beliefs line with the old ways of the Mali’ame, and of the forestborn herself. Faith One of Irrin’s most steadfast pursuits in her lifetime was the spreading of the worship of the aspects. The Elvenking himself was devout in their worship, although he was no Druid. As one of his faithful lieutenants, Irrin followed in his steps. When the others turned their back on the worship of the huntsman and the mother, none were more furious than she. She dedicated her life to keeping the faith of her people alive, and so the Sirame adopted this hallowed belief. Unity The most prosperous days of the Elven people have been in the ages of unity, when ‘ker and ‘ame and ‘aheral stood side by side, marching forwards into the coming dawn. Malin knew this, and thus his people knew peace and prosperity like no other. Irrin Sirame believed in this too- in the memory of the united Kingdom. While no King can lead again, the seed of Sirame believes in a united Elven people all the same. Stewardship To always ensure that there is a safe home for the Mali’ame, no matter how the world may look. There must always be a place where the culture of the forestborn may endure, free from the shackles of others. Safe. Free. and Balanced. The Sirame must lead others to this home, if necessary. Fortitude We are long lived. Our eyes take in centuries of life, and with it, centuries of hardship, and loss. As Mali, we must have the resilience to endure all that the arduous road of life has to offer in our long lived days. This does not mean to remain untouched, or unbothered, but to bounce back- to tackle life with renewed vigor once you fall. Connection to the Wild Above all else, the Sirame believe in a deep, spiritual connection to the wilds around them. The forests are a sacred land, and all the life in them as well. They hunt, as their ancestors did, and pay homage to their fallen spirits. To fell a tree is to kill a piece of the forest, and so they live in burrows, intertwined within their roots, surrounded and protected by them. A Canonist prays in a temple, and a member of the Sirame prays deep within the woods, far from the sight of civilization, shaded by the branches of the trees that they so deeply revere. Appearance and Ilmyumier Dressings, Clothes Members of the Seed can come from many various walks of life, though they typically dress in traditional Mali’ame attire, seeking to be role models to other ‘ame. Robes, tunics, and other dressings of greens, reds, and even yellows. They wear no shoes, seeking to be connected to the earth and the world around them. Oftentimes, they will incorporate pieces of nature into their attire as well- flowers, leaves, and others. Ilmyumier The Sirame takes the mark of Taynei’hiylu, the green dragon spirit, using it as their symbol and ilmyumier. The depiction of the green dragon wraps up and down one arm entirely, snaking over the flesh in flight. The ‘ame may adorn themselves over the rest of their body in viridian flame, should they wish to, but it is not required. The mark of Taynei’hiylu mark is meant to represent wisdom and strength, and their connection to the forest. Another mark members may receive however, is the spring mother's wreath, a mark placed upon the palm of an ‘ame, meant to represent the peaceful ways of the tribe, and the harmony that they seek. However, this mark is not exclusive to members of the clan, and may be offered by the clan as a status tattoo to a peacekeeper.
  2. Frostbeard Tales: The necromancer Priest of Kal’Tarak In Kal'Tarak, then, two beardlings, clan brothers and initiates of the Ar Yemarin Anaros, were studying necromancy in secret. A dark magic which uses enchantments and khorvadic spells to summon and resurrect the dead and to manipulate them to their will. One of the beardlings became seriously ill, died, and his friend begged him to die if he reappeared thirty days later; the dying dwed assured him that he would do so as long as he was allowed to. The beardling died and the living friend waited for thirty days to pass, praying to Dungrimm for the soul of the deceased at the temple of the Brathmordakin. It was then when he found his friend inside the hall and in front of the statue of Dungrimm, the dead man fulfilled his promise. The figure of the apparition was pale and decomposed, laying and moaning, his feet and hands tied with glowing chains that came from the mouth of Dungrimm’s statue, and he wore a black suit covered with runes that named his sins. The ghost asked his friend to reach out and he did. The ghost dropped a drop of sweat from his index finger, which at once pierced his flesh and ended up burning on the ground. The friend, still sore from the burn, asked him why he was in such a bad state. -Oh, poor me; so I will burn eternally in the Nether because of that diabolical art we study. Necromancy kills the soul. I advise you, my dear and only friend, to turn away from that abominable magic and to seek, serving Wyrvun and the Brathmordakin, the atonement of your sins by means of religious life. -Tell me, my friend, what must I do to save my soul? The voice of the chained ghost was muted by the booming voice of Dungrimm coming from the statue. -The only way to save your soul is the Redeemed Order. Of all sinners, those of this path are the least condemned, as through their service to the Brathmordakin and Wyrvun our ally. The ghost of the dead beardling disappeared with his torments, and the living, following the advice of the horrifying vision he had just had, immediately left the study of necromancy and entered as a novice in a brotherhood of the Redeemed Order. Some time later he continued his duties as an initiate in the Ar Yemarin Anaros and eventually was made a priest. It is not known where and if he died; if he went by popular belief he died in the siege of Kal'Tarak. Some would see this as a story to teach about overcoming the mistakes of the past no matter how awful, some however, prefer the story and prefer to believe that the priest failed to fully atone for his sins and after abandoning the path of Wyrvun and the Brathmordakin his soul was unable to enter Khaz'A'Dentrumm. But just as it is a mystery how many snowflakes are on a mountain peak so too is the ending of this story. -Written by Inkbeard. [!] Artistic rendition of Nubirous the necromancer. *(art of Jakub Politzer)
  3. "It is time you held the flame in which your children may one day follow, my dear son. A Most Crucial Departure (a collection of thoughts, happening, writings and poems from Johun’s story to give you an idea of his past) Journal Entry, Malin’s Welcome, the day of Gavon’s departure. My father had left. After nineteen years to this day he has led me everywhere I have known and seen. My father had been raised with bones and blood, and arrows and sticks, yet he had not shown remorse or regret for those years past. He grasped embers and brands like they hadn't seen the light yet, cold to the touch it seemed. His hands are thick, like the bark of a tall, old tree. His faithful reliance on the warmth of the flame, I seldom slept without it's glow. I seldom slept without its guidance. Since his most crucial departure, I have found more than blessings and insights. The gods, they speak to me in the twilight, in the depths of my dreams. They speak to me at rest, and the air warms with each word. Stoking the flame each day and each night, grasping to its repentance for forgiving my mothers holy undoing. May the Long Dark find her when the time is right. Journal Entry, Malin’s Welcome, on year after Gavon’s departure. My father had left. One year ago today. My father had been raised from discipline, he was a man of honour and respect, not bestowed from other people, but honoured in the eyes of Mother Nature. He taught me how to hunt and how to truly take a life, granting the departed a peaceful end. I last saw him kill when he sent an oak and flint arrow through the chest of a doe, an arrow I'd whittled myself on that day. As swift as the arrow flew he ran for the marked animal, slit its throat, and hunched over it, peacefully praying. We skinned and gutted the doe and cooked it's meat over a flame my father had carefully kindled. It's hide hung over a makeshift rack, assembled from the branches of a Mountain Ash. A peaceful breeze scattered the smoke and sparkling embers among the trees, with a charred and inviting smell coming from the cooking Venison, I remember this night clearly. It was a calm and mild Amber Cold evening, there was scheduled to be a boat leaving Varhelm on Snow's Maiden, with traders and buyers who might appreciate a few pelts, so we hunted for the whole of The Deep Cold, and hiked4 back to Varhelm that evening, stopping at an Inn until dawn broke. Gavon met with his brother who I'd only met a few times since my Mother left. They sipped on mugs at the Inn until midday on the Snow's Maiden and I sat and whittled arrow shafts from a bundle of branches I picked up on the walk back. They spoke in a strange language I don't think I'd heard before, both leaning in and keeping their voices hush, close to the bar. I didn't know this would be nearing the end of my fathers presence in my life. Thenet and Gavon talk, Malin’s Welcome. OOC: (this section is meta, only Thenet and Gavon know the contents of this conversation, but it will give you an idea of this character's backstory, Johun doesn't know any of this yet.) *Spoke in Lakian* "These pelts are as dry as the bones it once wrapped Gavon, how will you sell them to the men on those boats?" Thenet frowns with a slight snort of a laugh, "This bag," he pats the leather satchel and looks at Johun briefly, "They'll never know that the pelts are useless, and they'll sell for a good few Mina if I can fool them.." Thenet nods and scrunches his face as he thinks of a response. Good game is lacking, as other more ferocious and less respectful hunters plague the surrounding forests. These pelts were from an older deer, less valuable. "A risk is not worth its weight in blood if you cannot give me a good reason for this decision, you know these traders don't play with steel for fun, I don't have the patience to-" Gavon cut him short "Listen, I mean to sell these last pelts and leave.. Johun can hold his own now" Gavon looks at his hands, then rubs his chin nervously. Thenet knew his brother as a lacking father at times, but he never thought Gavon would leave his son, or risk death to do so. Thenet stares at Gavon, as he sits back in his chair, tapping the bar with his fingers. "Gavon, what of the boy?!" He leans in closer now, and in a whispered urgency, "give me strength to understand your conclusion... Does the Father not heed your sin?" Thenet grabs Gavon's hands as if he were praying and shakes him, an attempt to rattle the man out of his delusion. "The Father has abandoned me Thenet, god knows the boy will find a way, I need to leave this place, I cannot support him.. and..." Gavon struggles for excuses. "Is it Seigrit? Has she been sending you letters again? Do not fall for her bewitched nonsense Gavon." Gavon shakes his head, his lies were crystal clear, he was talking to his brother after all. "She left with that lump of a man Gane, do you forget?" Thenet's tone turning deep and demanding, his eyes narrowing as he analyses Gavon's expression.. "It is not Seigrit, I have other matters to attend to also" Gavon says, puffing out his chest slightly, defensively. "Seigrit has repented" he adds. "Do as you wish then Gavon, I am but your brother, in blood. If my words cannot sway your stupidity then I fear nothing will cure you" Thenet stands and throws a few Minas on the bar, nodding to the keep. "That boy is fragile yet, and your leaving will only push him further, in which direction, only The Father knows." He looks at his brother for a few seconds, and shakes his head leaving without a goodbye, Gavon sits and twiddles his fingers, left speechless and pondering.
  4. (Music to listen to while reading) The Harmony Of Manitari Introduction This group and culture is only starting out. We are hoping to expand more in every way we can, get into more detail lore wise, and hopefully cultivate an active RP experience full of everyone's ideas and passion for the group itself. (Cottagecore and spirituality could be words used to somewhat reference the culture.) Origin During the beginning of Almaris a musin named Shroom found contact with the new goddess Manitari. During this period of time Shroom spread the word of this new found religion, however this led to not just the religion spreading. But an entire culture who all bounded together to live on with their new found ideals. All banding under the name; the Harmony of Manitari. History Shroom found herself with a higher purpose when Manitari, goddess of mushrooms, spoke with the small musin, and in turn blessed her. This is where the ideology of Manitari formed. And soon it lingered on and festered within Shroom's mind. Not long after this all of the ideas given to the mushroom wearing musin were spread between many races. There was no discrimination when these ideas were spurted and thus very swiftly a group named the Harmony of Manitari, or the Harmony for short, was formed with Shroom as the mouth piece of the goddess herself. But without a dwelling the group found themselves spread thin for a short amount of time. This rather prominent issue was soon fixed however when Shroom came in contact with the rather chaotic Porkpie, a young forest beardling, who offered both his crazy mind and lazy hand to both design and build the dwelling where the Harmony reside. Also known as Helice, the hollow of fungi. And for this act Shroom blessed the beardling with joining the group as her hand and Igetis of Nanos, lead protector of the forests of Urguan. However the beardling refused to join the religion due to his loyalty to dwed culture. Despite this the beardling agreed to help protect and aid with the Harmony. Becoming a stand out member of the group. This was the turning point of where the group went from a faint whisper among the wind to a fully fledged group. Building themselves and their residence of Helice up into a strong group to ensure the Harmony were strong enough to protect the forests and their own. Cementing themselves as both a progressive group and a true refuge for all, with absolute no discrimination. Physical Appearance Due to the rather rash and swift recruition of the Harmony many members show off diverse appearances. Especially with the mixture of races who reside within the grove. However despite natural appearance being rather unset. Many members tend to end up allowing their hair to grow extremely long, only cutting it or letting it fall out when they believe the time is natural to do so. This tends to come by when it's an extremely hot day. Or when they need to rush into an urgent situation of protecting their kin or forest. Sometimes it gets so long; they braid it, despite gender. Clothing The Harmony tend to wear simplistic clothing. Handmade by their own people using exclusively natural material. With most putting comfort and practicality over appearance. Common garments worn by the group are flowing trousers, dungarees, shores, scarves, gloves, button up shirts, jumpers, dresses, skirts, flat caps, bonnets just to name a few common garments seen when entering Helice. Another common act with clothing is the inclusion of nature itself. An act viewed to bring the being closer to nature itself. And therefore bind their purpose to protecting nature. As Manitari intended. Combat Fighting is a sacred taught skill within the Harmony. Despite them being neutral and passive for most of their existence. The group takes their role of protecting nature and the balance of life very seriously. Some training for their entire life just to end up never needing to use it. A few common taught techniques are: Common: is the normal way of fighting learnt by many of the group. Its derived from other ways of fighting. With the edit of close ranged bows and smaller shields to allow the shorter members of the group to have a better chance in battle. (A feudal tactic used by the Welsh). This technique's origins are derived from common fighting with a natural twist for dwarves and musins. Most likely formed within the group for Porkpie and Shroom to name a few more stout members. Close Hand Fighting: is the other more commonly taught battle style. Members of the group used weapons such as ‘fist thorns’ (Knuckle dusters) And ‘mole gauntlets’ (Heavy wooden gauntlets with a claw like aspect.) To achieve a brutal carefree approach to fighting. This technique's origins are unknown. Stick Fighting: is a more rare form of battle learnt within the Harmony. This is where the fighters pick up short sticks which are usually 95 cm in length and weigh about 100 grams. These are used in strict fashion of horizontal and downwards hits. With just one hand. This technique originated from Porkpie Grandaxe. (Canne De Combat, a French fighting sport using minimized walking sticks made of wood) Traditions THE SLUG SUPERSTITION Rather often people who follow the goddess Manitari know the superstition of the slugs. It's a rampant superstition within the religion of Manitari and the group; the Harmony. Despite the origin of this ideology being unknown. It often shows itself within conversations of the group or simply the minds of them. Whether left unspoken or spoken. It is a common practice to know of this. And when a member is knowledgeable of this, many look down upon them or teach them through tongue and literature. Tongue made by history of conversation. And the literature from well wrote cursive which sits in a well kept book. Made from rough crocodile skin with dozens of home-made parchment intertwined with harsh vine to hold it all together. However from first glance it is a normal book, as there are no labels, title or blurb. SLIME AND SYMBOLISM, THE SLUG SUPERSTITION. SLUG FORTUNES, Eater of fungi, the creatures mean more than presumed. If: One slug is seen: The spotter will have a day of sadness and unluckiness. Two slugs are seen: The spotter will experience a day of joy and goodluck Three slugs are seen: The spotter shall lose something. This may be a favorite item such as a weapon, a memory of a loved one or friend, or even an idea which had been brewing for months. Though these are only examples. Four slugs are seen: The spotter shall experience a gift. This can come in the form of a revelation, a physical gift of money, a wish being granted. Among other things. However many other gifts are viable for this fortune. Five slugs are seen: The spotter could be pregnant, or have a pregnant lover. This could also mean that a friend or animal is pregnant. Sometimes even insinuating that a plant is about to spread. Six slugs are seen: The spotter will experience dying or harm. This could mean tripping over, to a near death experience, or death itself. Though this doesn’t necessarily mean the spotter. Perhaps an animal, plant, or friend will experience this. Slug Rituals, Slugs should only be naturally found. For better or for worse. However there are two rituals which can swade fate but still maintain the natural order of things. These consist of: The Fungi Wreath: A common practice to persuade slugs to come to light is often done by preparing a wreath made of intertwined wood and vines, often decorated with fungi of all kinds. This should then be left outside the door of the person hoping to experience more fate telling the day before they wish for the effects to occur. depending on emotes to make or place the wreath: (1 emote = +1) (2 emotes = +2) (3 emotes = +3) (max out at 3) all to the original number, rounded to nearest fortune.) The Salt Bowl: Another common practice is to place a wooden bowl with half of it filled with salt just outside the intended person's door. Around this bowl should be two rings of salt which should amount to fill the bowl. This represents water rippling outwards. Warding off any slugs. Depending on emotes to make or place the salt: (1 emote = -2) (2 emotes = -4) (3 emotes = -6) (max out at 6) All to the original number, rounded to the nearest fortune.) CRYSTALS AND GEMS Purpa gem (Amethyst) A Mystical looking stone, occurs in primary hues from a light lavender or pale violet, to a deep purple. about half the size of a descendant's hand, and is believed to give off a calming aura to the beholder which relieves stress, strain, fear, anxiety and anger. It is also said that the Purpa gem activates spiritual awareness, opens intuition and enhances psychic abilities. Rosea stone - rose quartz A stone of pale pink coloring and a translucent transparency and a vitreous luster. It also has a hexagonal crystal system. The meaning of the Rosea stone is love and compassion. The other name for which Rosea is known is as The Heart Stone. This crystal is often used in helping the heart heal from the pain or trauma left from deep emotional wounds. Rosea is also used as a calling card for those who crave more love in their lives. This doesn’t always need to take the form of romantic love, but more in finding a deep sense of compassion and care in this world – especially if it comes from one of the most important sources who can bring it – oneself. Virida gem (Jade) Known for its green varieties, though it appears naturally in other colors as well, notably yellow and white, this gem is believed to be a protective stone, Virida keeps the wearer from harm and brings harmony. Varida attracts good luck and friendship. It stabilises the personality and promotes self-sufficiency. Soothes the mind, releasing negative thoughts. Albus stone - white quartz A hard, mostly clear crystal like stone. Albus is believed to be the stone of master healing. This means that it has a heightened capacity to deal with disorders of all kinds. For example, physical ailments or spiritual maladies. The Albus stone helps people by absorbing negativity and disease-causing energies. It also helps release them into the environment. This crystal is particularly useful in neutralizing different kinds of evil energies. Especially those who come from envy or jealousy of your success. Along with this it is known as the universal crystal. Leading many to use it in conjunction with other crystals to enhance their abilities. MANIFESTING Manifesting is the act of writing down a wish or desire. By doing this act it's viewed as if the writer has put part of their heart and brain into the ink. Once this is done the paper is to be neatly creased into a flower-like object and then let go gently into a bedding of water. Once this is done the person must work hard towards their goal and with this manifestation it is believed to come true. NAMING CONVENTIONS Due to the abrupt beginning of the group and the fast recruitment naming convention has never been a keen topic for those under the groups name. Though a common trend seen within the residence and members tend to be that of less typical things. No James’s or Charlottes. More physical things cut down into an abbreviation or simply left on its own. For example members such as Porkpie, a real food and Shroom, a shortened version of mushroom. And for more examples names like Rose, Leaf, Emerald, Kat, and Dandy (from Dandylion) would be seen. Last names are the same as the common convention. Though some members do not use one. (Naming isn’t necessary, you can join with any name so please don’t feel you can’t! This is a simple extra detail to add layers into the lore. Please use any name you feel comfortable with.) WEDDING/MARRIAGE Marriage within the Harmony is viewed as a tedious task. Those who participate within the group or reside within the guarded grounds of Helice are often scolded if they go to run off with a loved one. As everyone is believed to already be married to nature itself. So if one is to get married it has to be what is professed as true love; and there has to be a promise made during the ceremony that the pair will either stay, or visit the Harmony's dwelling. Other than that small sentence marriage ceremonies tend to stick similar to other races and cultures religions; the halflings for example. The bride or groom walks in whilst their soon to be partner arrives. The person binding the pair tends to be the high Dasi or close friend of the couple. They must accept their will and say their oath. After that the couple are pronounced married as soulmates. This being the chance to bind their last name to another. A large party then tends to be celebrated in Helice. By all the people, even strangers. Drinks are given, pipe-weed is handed out, and then gifts are exchanged. This commonly falls into the list of; a poem, a hand carved item, a piece of jewellery, a garment, a weapon. However other gifts are also known to be given. FUNERAL/DEATH When a Sylvain or other member of the Harmony passes they are wrapped in willow leaves. Covering their entire body except their eyes. Then flowers of all kinds are sprinkled atop the leaves. An incense is also commonly done to mask the smell as this practice occurs. Once everyone has sprinkled a flower over the body it is brought over to Manitari’s forest, often carried on horse or by foot by loved ones of the deceased. Once it is there it is laid under the tallest tree with the most shade and left to rest. The body being sapped into the roots of nature itself to live on in another life. GAMES A common game played by predominantly younger members of the Harmony of Manitari, or uncommonly older members, is called three in a row. (Tictactoe) This is where there is a grid of 3 by 3. Commonly marked on a wall with chalk. Then the players must each take a turn to attempt to create a row of 3! They do this by placing a sapped block of wood with an X or O carved in it onto the grid. (Using heads in game which are spread about already to play with!) Diving, although not always classed as a game, is a common enjoyment within the people of Manitari. Players will often strip down to a simple undergarment and dive off one of the two diving boards almost always made at a dwelling. During this time they must do their best trick within the air, whether that be a spin, roll, or divebomb. Points are then given to the one who created the least water to upsplash. This happens three times and the person with the most points wins! (/Roll 20, highest one wins, best of three) Smoke Shapes is another game played often within the tavern. This is where the players must bring their own pipes and smoke, inhaling pipeweed into their lungs, holding it there before puffing it through their lips. Attempting to create a shape. The player who creates the best shape, judged by others around, wins! (/Roll 20, highest roll wins or players around judge description.) Social Ranking Keeper of Dasi - A passed down title, originated from the time Manitari blessed Shroom with the title, any who holds this title has the responsibility to watch over the forests of the realm and therefore its protectors. Igetis of a forest - The title of a Sylvain who has the responsibility to watch over one of the 7 forests, the Igetis of the Elkdi forest would be called ‘Igetis of Elkdi’. Sylvain - The title of a Resonant that has completed all trials successfully . Resonant - The title of a Descendant who is on the path of the Harmony. Novice - The title of a Descendant who wishes to follow the Harmony Religion Overall the religion of Manitari is more of a debt to life. Protecting one and all of the 7 forests for their entire eternity. This means usually that members will not class this as their religion. And more their life's purpose. Meaning more strict cultures such as dwarves may still join the group without consequence. The realm has been divided into 7 forests each one with different attributes. (click for ->) Forests Map During the 3rd trial the resonant in training will pick out the forest that mostly relates to them so they have a greater connection with it so they can more easily protect it. Poulia forest Elvennesse "This forest showed growth and love, sprawling with fauna and lush vegetation, home to great trees and exciting animals." Andras Forest Sutica "This forest included a mangrove The forest and dry terrain gave me a sense of wisdom and curiosity. I was eager to know more, it houses the mysterious blue ladybug." Ork Forest Krugmar "I wandered through this forest and I became overwhelmed with strength and tactility. Orcs hail from the centre of this forest, leaving behind the remains of war." Nanos Forest Urguan "Nanos forest is the home of the dwarven city, they construct excellent inventions and beautiful cities, their creativity and skill spreads throughout the root network of the trees." Sapon forest Oren "Beautiful blue skies cover the Sapon forest during the day spreading agility, at night dark, starry skies absorb the forest, spreading quick thinking." Elkdi Forest Haense "Elkdi forest is home to the city of haense and Knoxville, both inhabit the kindness and unity of their people, the forest emits this in a calming aura." Kyro Forest Norland "The cold and harsh climate creates a need for survival and fitness, the forests are scattered with cute but deadly animals that will rip you to shreds for a meal." Manitaris’ forest "When a Sylvain has passed onto the next life they are carried to Manitaris’ forest, full of lush fauna and cute, caring fauna, Manitaris’ forest is a haven for Sylvans until they are ready to be one with the forests and their spirit is absorbed by the roots of the flora." Trials of Manitari 1 - Trial of Manitari The task is to create a small offering to Manitari, but it has to be something Manitari represents, an offering representing Growth, The Forests or Unity. 2 - Trial of Flora The task is to create an informative piece on any type of flora, the piece must include the uses if it has any, where it can be found and its appearance. (A minimum of 2 paragraphs is required.) 3 - Trial of The Forest This task is about evaluating the forests and choosing which one to protect when you have completed your trials. To do this the task taker must wander into each forest to decide. Once chosen they must spend a month (1 day ooc) in the forest, living off the wilderness. 4 - Trial of Loyalty The task is to hand in your most precious collectable/item to be put within Helice. A symbol of giving up a piece of their mind and body to the forest. This can be earned back by completing a task specially set out by the Dasi or Igetis. 5 - Trial of Song The task is to create a poem dedicated to the forests of the realm, Manitari or nature as a whole. This must be at least 3 paragraphs. Fine Arts ARTS AND MUSIC Art and music is an over presented thing within Harmony but one which is often talked about. Many tend to play wind instruments as they walk; such as the flute. And others choose to create art with charcoal and berry dyes in the confinement of their own home. However if you’re lucky you may see some masterpieces hung up around. This tends to be because the Keeper of Dasi or a high number of people take a liking to it at a showing or presentation of the piece. However the most viewed art of the Harmony is their knack for carving items out of the cheapest wood into the most elegant of designs. Though unlike the carvings, murals painted on cave walls are overly presented. A large mural of Manitari herself standing on one. FOOD AND AGRICULTURE Most food is gathered by hand in the grove where there are plentiful farms and animals lingering about. However food is a prime debate within the culture. A divide between veganism and carnivores. This leads to many actually hiding what they eat. Though a few recipes are known to be sold in the tavern. Slug stew: A sloppy slug slimed stew mixed with lettuce, tomatoes, and Manitari knows what else, it looks like gunk. Baked Cakes: Simple baked cakes are often made to be sold. Usually made with berries such as blueberries and raspberries. There are many more recipes but secrecism in the cooking sector is a key aspect. Chefs within the Harmony all keep their mouths zipped so they can wow at events and be crowned the best chef by the talk of the town. ARCHITECTURE Architecture is a prime part in protecting nature. Knowing how to both enhance nature without destroying it with the ability to create buildings. Therefore to do this much of the architecture incorporates own grown woods. With plants grown around it. and secure it. Along with using natural given trees and caves. A lot of the inspiration of the architecture is taken from both the top two founding members' races; Shroom, a Musin, and Porkpie, a half forest dwarf. This leads to spreaded housing across different levels, burrow-like buildings down in the ground, tight spaces, crowded areas, and lots of nature all amongst it. All with an emphasis on communal living. ‘ Language and sayings Once again due to the rather fast coming together of the group with their diverse amount of races. Language is often disregarded as being specific to the culture. Instead they assume they speak the common tongue although many speak Elvish and Blah too. Residence [Current] The first dwelling of the Harmony of Manitari: Helice, hollow of fungi Designed and built by both Shroom and Porkpie. Helice was and currently is the very first dwelling of the Harmony, located in Elvenesse. The terrain Helice is settled on is fairly flat. Towering spruce trees are scattered around it. And a few lakes nestle nearby. Overall the area is lushous and full of both fauna and flora. Especially enlarged mushrooms which are dotted about the place. Helice, classed as just a settlement, Other times referred to as a village, is built into two separate sections: The Grove: Secluded by trees and mushrooms the Grove is the hidden dwelling of the wailing willow. And the prime section to Helice. This is where many find themselves when following the path. Noticing the enlarged willow tree towering over the often busy farms, populated stage, and other notable places such as the marketplace where traders from all over Almaris gather to trade goods. Such as the ones carved and forged in the back of the Grove. The Hollow: Once you enter the wailing willow you may take a gander at the notice board on the left, leave a donation and finally find yourself down to the bottom vere the rooted moving platform. Or as some call; an elevator. Once down there is a large protective gate amongst other precautions. However once through you are greeted by a mystical cave of crystal and mushrooms. Labour workers work hard at work mining out the precious gems, harvesting mushrooms, and congregating over by the fire fit and other areas. To the left there is a small cave full of doors. Each leading to personal abodes with entrances to the community storage and bunker left in the middle. Back to the right of the centre plaza there is a library esc communal area, and below that a garden and tavern. Named the Tiny Toadstool. This is where most labour workers come to drink and smoke after a long day's work, A prized part of Helice itself. Due to all of this the Hollow is known to be highly protected for the precious resources, and therefore also a more sacred and holy space for the Harmony. (Image of the Tiny Toadstool Tavern. One of the more cramped n communal spots.) [As of this moment 26/06/2021 the build is not pasted in as we are still obtaining the mina to fulfill the cost.] However we are excited to welcome more people into this community we are building. So if this culture interests you shoot me or Luxcio a dm in game or on discord at: Luxcio / OddOllie123 Luxcio#8321 / olly#8553 If you got this far, thanks for reading! And here's a cookie <3 and please +1 if you liked reading this! Special thanks to Luxcio for helping with creative brainstorming, help writing and building too, and Kaiser who proof read. Along with everyone else who took a look at both the post and build for me!
  5. ╔═════━━━━━───── • ─────━━━━━═════╗ Quenter's Handbook: Fennic Folktales and Myths Collected and spread by Arevthor Tathvir ╚═════━━━━━───── • ─────━━━━━═════╝ ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── Due to the numerous cataclysms the Fennic population has faced over the centuries, maintaining a consistent library detailing written history has been a difficult task. Because of this, many ‘Fenn opt to pass on stories of history through word of mouth. As years go by and generations rise and fall, these oral tales slowly alter and evolve, being twisted from the once historical accounts. This is most often the origin for Mali’Fenn folklore, existing as a twisted view of reality where nightmarish creatures and outlandish heroes are frequent. While the validity of these tales are questionable at best, most of the written works that could counter these tales has been lost to one of the many cataclysms, thus leading almost all Fennic children and even most mature Mali'Fenn to believe in these tales and the values they hold. The folktales themselves almost entirely take place within fin'hesin, and are often used to explain natural phenomena, teach lessons to children, and urge listeners to aspire towards certain goals and values. The creatures within these stories frequently range from fantastical horrors of the imagination; to deific creatures depicted in religious works; to well known, common monsters. The lessons that are intended to be shared will often be representative of the core values of the Mali'Fenn as well as warnings meant to caution young children. While the range of stories told is vast and ever changing, one of the most consistent points that will always persist is the oral method in their retelling and their ever changing and evolving nature. Bestiary A collection of obscure tales that describe creatures more than an actual story. These range from common house gnomes to horror inducing creatures living under the sea. One commonality of all these tales is the distinct lack of characters, using its time to describe the form and habits of these folk-landish beings. Arctic Elementals In the darkness of night, unlit by fuel-burning fires, some speak of light appearing in the thickness of the black beyond the walls, not of normal shades of fire-light, no oranges or yellows, but rather of whites and blues glimmering at times. It’s as if in a single moment the pitch-black would come alive with resistance in its center as an elemental attempts to wake and wander the walls of Fenn in search of ways in. Some say it’s not a creature but rather Wyrvun gathering power away from the watchful eyes of other higher beings, yet others exclaim it is merely the moonlight scattering in shards of ice and onto the neighboring environment. Vul-kina Howls from afar, through the tips of the trees, through the valleys of snow & ice, through the timber and stone walls of the capital: a deep howl. Many Ivae’Fenn reports recall a deep and ominous howl coming from afar, nothing like any known beast, yet without fail, someone is always found dead near or around the sounds. Some Guardians outright refuse to go anywhere near those sounds until at least a full day has passed, reports of disobeying orders and outright fighting in defiance, as if the deepest part of our strongest fighters is screaming at them “don't go there”, and rightly-so, cases of lone Guardians or small patrols of two investigating and never returning are all too common. Something prowls around for whatever reason, it’s a certainty of death and an impossibility to find, unless it wants to be found. Faesullral The Faesullral is trapped in the sea for most of the year, but emerges from its watery depths in the winter months. It looks like a horse with fin-like appendages, translucent skin, and blood-red eyes. It's gaping maw permeates a toxic vapor that causes crops to wilt and livestock and children to fall ill. The Faesullral is so dangerous that, traditionally, its name is hardly ever spoken, whispered only in hushed tones that are quickly followed up by a prayer. If you see the creature, it will pursue you, and the only way to escape it is to cross a running body of freshwater. As a creature of the sea and of sickness, the Faesullral cannot stand freshwater. The sound of ice cracking over water is said to be the sound of the Faesullral neighing. Malnii’lin These little folk protect the homes of those who invite them in and are known to leave tiny gifts for their house-folk, though often Malnii’lin will pick a home without invitation, almost acting as a pest themselves. Often felt but rarely seen, they act much like house cats, warding off pests and unwanted vermin. In return they will often steal small portions of food and perhaps the occasional sock or small piece of cloth. They often adorn their heads with cones made out of cloth in order to keep themselves warm. While they are fearful of adults, they will often take a liking to small children, viewing their innocence as pure and allowing them insight into their tiny world. If one is to ever find that their food rations are running low, jewelry or puzzles pieces missing, or socks and gloves wind up unfound often the Malnii’lin will be blamed. Folktales This is a gathering of various stories and tales depicting the growth and development of various characters within Fin’Hesin. Many of these stories hold a message within them, sometimes cautionary sometimes inspiring, to help guide young ‘Fenn. Much of these stories exist within the basis reality, referencing historic events and locations, though the events that make up the stories themselves seldom have other works or evidence supporting their validity (perhaps a result of the written works being destroyed years ago). Av’iler, the last son of the Fenn’asul Upon a setting dusk there stood a Fennic line renowned for their skills in tinkering and healing. Fenn'asul is what they called themselves, brandishing the name with pride. Tragedy would strike however in the form of a Cataclysm, demolishing the bloodline and leading any remaining members to be hunted. There was a single ounce of hope for the survival of the bloodline in the form of Av’iler, the last son of the Fenn'asul. With him he carried the collective knowledge of his kin and their ancestors. His fate was already sealed however, as he was hunted and killed by enemies of the Snow Elves. It is said that Wyrvun offered Av'iler eternal slumber within Fin'ciwn, but he refused the offer. Rather he insisted that he be sent back to Fin'Hesin as a Diraar'maya, taking the form of a bear reminiscent of his family's crest. To this day Av'iler wanders the tundra, seeking to remind the Fennic people of his ancestors, and the ancestors before them. A whistling sound can be heard echoing through the tundra, said to be the call of Av'iler, the Last Son of the Fenn’asul, calling for all to remember. Fiym’fih Faitil was a young Fennic man who had struggled all his life with his devotion to Wyrvun, failing to believe in his strength. One fateful day Faitil found himself on a hunting expedition with a group of like minded men before tragedy struck. A blizzard rolled in, stranding the party in a nearby cave for shelter. Days went by and the party still found themselves stranded within the cave, struggling to find the necessary rations to survive. Faith was held by all that Wyrvun, Aengul of the Deep Cold, would guide them to safety and relieve the storm, all but Faitil. In the dead of night he slayed his companion and feasted upon their flesh. Wyrvun was furious at the lack of faith and the willingness Faitil had to turn on his fellow man. A curse was placed upon the young ‘Fenn, transforming him into a Fiyem’fih. Fiyem'fih walks the lonely stretches of taiga far in the north, constantly searching for a new hunt. Though it towers at a whopping fifteen feet, Fiyem'fih is often described as being emaciated, suggesting that it is never fully satisfied with its cannibalistic urges. It gives off a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition. Unlike other carnivores, it does not rely on chasing its prey; rather, it mimics human voices to lure people in and draw them away from civilization. Myths Synonymous with historical events, these Myths depict very real events that have happened within Fennic history. There are many ‘Fenn still alive who remember these events, some even were apart of them, still sharing their perspectives to this day. Of all Fennic tales these are the most valid stories, with multiple sources referencing their validity. The Call to our Ancestors Fennic folk are quite familiar with finding themselves fighting an outnumbered battle. While any other would drop their weapons in fright, the ‘Fenn are far too stubborn. In order to even the odds, a Call will be made to their ancestors, asking them to leave their slumber within Fin'ciwn for but a moment to bear witness to the glory their descendent carries. The call takes many forms, a muttering of chants, a song limerick, the banging of one’s shield, or even a simple whistle. It is said that the ‘Fenn can feel the presence of their ancestors’ spirits fill the surrounding area, slinking from the shadows and the rolling forest, perhaps even being glimpsed by a lucky few. These onlookers will never lift a hand to their descendants aid, rather believing that they possess the strength to bring glory to the ‘Fenn by themselves.
  6. Özenler Discord:Click Here! Introduction The Özenler people are a human-folk which travels through the lands of Almaris with a great ambition, the creation of an Empire in which the Özenler are the settlers together with followers of their faith. They derived from the well known Turkin, they are travellers who are closely related to the Nomads, they still stick to several traditions of it, but due to the independence they wanted to create, by the lead of Mehmed Akbas, several people who declared themselves as independant, named themselves Özenler. This culture would mainly exist out of military strategic people, traders and devout Rashidunism followers. Their people are known to be disciplined and trained to pick up weapons whenever they are attacked, as they will do anything for their faith to survive and for their people. The Özenler are known for their hospitality towards anyone who visits them or is interested in their culture, as for converts to their religion, they are open to educate them about it and to make them involved into the religion itself. Their mutual respect is absolutely present among their people, despite their religious differences. When speaking of religious differences, the Özenler want a people where both Rashidunists and Canonists can come together and in the ranks of the Özenler. The military of the culture is very religiously devout, as they fight for their Leader and their God; There are two units in the military rankings; Yeniçeriler (Canonist Converts from the age of five to Rashidunists) and the Bashi-Bazouk, two units which are ultimately feared by the enemy and even by their own people, knowing that they are great warriors and when they engage with the enemy in combat they get into a frenzied state. Before engaging into battle, they would sing Özenler Military Songs and after listening to motivational speeches of the leader The Özenler people are proud of their identity, religion and culture, meaning that they will do anything to defend themselves, as they want their religion to spread around the entire world, they often seem to be quite intolerant towards people who try to convert Rashidunists to Canonism, which is why they take these type of Canonists in prison for their actions as trying to make someone convert is a crime within this culture. Their political system is quite tolerant when compared to others, they are hospitable, friendly and peaceful when the people of the Özenler culture abide by the laws of them, if laws are broken a punishment would be decided by the Lider and his court of people. History: THE BEGINNING | BAŞLANGIÇ Click! Some music to listen to while reading. The Özenler, relative & descendant to the previous known Turkin folk, are people who have been born into battle, who have been in a lot of wars together with the Turkin against the Akritians around seven centuries ago, losing a tremendous amount of people on both sides in this brutal war, causing many families to dissolve and many people were lost. The Turkin, who believed that they had won the war, eventually lost it as soon as a new plague started to fall upon the Turkin, both sides, the Turkin themselves and the Akritians lost severe casualties, which let a large amount of Turkin to run into the wilderness and to travel by themselves, as they formed several groups, under which the Özenler was created. The Özenler themselves were quite skilled people at the time, many who started to find their abilities in smithing weapons, armory and tools. But on the other hand, you had ex- who are using their from child-year fighting abilities to fight existing settlements, which caused the Özenler to occupy a small settlement which was beforehand occupied by Infidels. Murad Akbas told his eldest son, Ismail Akbas, who was seventeen at the time ‘’You see, Ismail, never lose your faith, as what was in your hands once, shall turn back to you in time.’’ The Özenler, who have remained their faith in the religion called Rashidun, have become a small raiding party who did every deed in the name of Allah. As the group of Özenler moved into the settlement for a bit, all out of a sudden, a unit of Akritian warriors found the settlement, and eventually pillaged it, as a lot of skilled Yeniçeriler had died together with the new unit of soldiers called the ‘Basji-Bazuk’, otherwise known as ‘Crazy-Heads’, who are often compared to Berserkers due to their fury and anger in battle, and their haunting war-cries. Due to this loss, the Özenler have travelled, until their presence was not known to the public anymore. Due to this sad loss, the Özenler started to kidnap several children, as they would raise them and eventually train and convert them into Rashidunism as new Yeniçeriler or Basji-Bazuks for their own security. Their language developed and they had a proper way of communciating with eachother, using their native tone as a proud factor of their culture, the language back then was often very passionate and louder then it is right now, sometimes, back in the days, they would just shout at eachother in their native town among others who are not apart of the Özenler culture. [Ismail speaking to his people who he was leading at the time.] The Özenler, after two years under the lead of Murad Akbas and his son; Ismail Akbas, has travelled with his group. Arrived on a land which had different nations together with different cultures, though, the Özenler would have distanced themselves from them as they would not want to be associated with infidels or people who are not a part of their culture. The Özenler made several tent camps, as they needed a place to stay for them and their children. The Özenler had an everlasting ambition, to create a new nation for themselves, to carry the proud identity of a Özenler, and to spread their religion all over the lands they find themselves in. They had quite some radical plans as they would embrace the idea of a totalitarian Rashidunists Empire, which would be the idea for a potential Jihad against the people who did not believe in their deity. This would cause Ismail to create a certain discipline for his existing force of Yeniçeriler and Basji-Bazuks, a discipline which would be as following; “Fight for the almighty Allah, and fight for the existence of your people! The time of a new age shall come! Allahu Akbar!” Ismail had this skill of motivating people to fight as much as they could, as due to his charismatic aura around him, his presence was very much acknowledged by the people who were travelling under his lead. Ismail continued his plans to kidnap more children from both genders to eventually raise them as a true Özenler, as he made sure that both converted to their faith and followed the Özenler culture. This would cause the difference of color in many Özenler’s physical appearance as Özenler folk would start to breed with the people who do not have Özenler characteristics; one could be quite pale with a slight tan, the other could have quite a dark skin tone or one could have black hair and the other ginger and blonde hair. So the identity of a Özenler would be different physically, but mentally, they are absolutely devoted to their leader and culture. However, whether they were different in appearance or not, this made no difference to Ismail, his intention was to create a large military force, but eventually failed due to the rejection of the societies around him. Murad Akbas was eventually diagnosed with a disease at his heart, at the age of 86, as he was joined with his son and his grandson; Mehmed Akbas I; He told Mehmed on his death-bed “One day, you shall have a descendant who shall bring our people to its former glories, he shall be the leader of an Empire, which shall never be brought on its knees, by anyone.” Mehmed Akbas listened to the words of his grandfather, as Ismail lost the will of being a leader, he handed the title to his son, Mehmed, as the father of Ismail told Mehmed a 'prophecy from' his perspective. Mehmed, who was 26 years old, would then be known as the leader of the Özenler, as he came with the ideas of properly rankings within the society of their culture, as you would have the Lider; the Leader, Vizer; The Vizier, Yeniçeriler; the Janissaries and the Basji-Bazuks; the Crazy-Heads. This was all to prepare a political formation in case they were ever requested to join meetings with major political powers, however, this never happened due to them being a small minority of people, so they were put as mercenaries for other nations. Though, this caused many Özenler soldiers to rebel, as they went back into their previous way of living instead of becoming mercenaries for other nations, as they would rather live on their own, then living on their knees for a King or an Emperor who does not care for them. Mehmed, together with his companions, took his leave from the land where they set up their camp, as they kept moving into different nations to gain some converts into their religion. However, Mehmed did what his culture is known for, slaughtering and pillaging minor settlements as he did not seem to care for any infidel as far as emotions were concerned. One of Mehmed's historical quotes are; “Either they conquer me, or I conquer them.” [Mehmed and his companions on a painting] These words were quite big for someone who is a leader of a small group of people, though, considered as wise by the companions of his culture. Mehmed seemed to have a strategic mindset and a skill for the drawing of building-plannings, as he used his imagination of how a future Özenler Empire would look like, and used then existing nations as an example and fully reconstructed it with a pencil and a piece of paper. This would have made Mehmed’s ambitions a major factor in his life, as he continued to look for more people to join his rankings, however, failed due to the people sticking to their Canonist laws and faith. Mehmed had a certain belief however; he wanted to make an Empire with the Özenler as the main people, and then the infidels and their people as a secondary ranking unless they join the military. Mehmed his ideas of recruiting people were not based upon historical bloodlines, but more on what benefit they could bring him, as he would start to learn many languages, to properly communicate to the people who lived in each nation to get more recruits in an efficient way. Mehmed also brought some Vizers, they would apply ideas to Mehmed his plans and his ideas in order to get to an agreement with both sides. Mehmed however, changed his view on religion, as he would not want the Özenler to become the opposing-power, so he would rather wait for a nation, trying to oppose his people and their religion, then being the starter of a war, as the safety of his people was the most important as they can keep the culture growing and have descendants for in the future. THE ÖZENLER WAY OF LIFE | ÖZENLER YAŞAM [Small Introduction] [As previously mentioned, the Özenler people are quite motivated in battle, in this part of history, we shall see how violence had been a huge influence on the family life and their culture’s life. We shall also see what kind of impact this had on the founding family of the Özenler. Have fun reading it!] [ The Ozenler camp displayed on a painting where Mehmed I met his future wife, Klara ] Mehmed I succeeded in getting a wife, after his experiences in war and the recruiting of janissaries. The name of his wife was Klara, a woman who was of Haenseni origin and later on gave birth to Mehmed I his son; Murad The Second. Murad grew up in quite a chilly atmosphere as the time for childish pursuits was not present for him, he was constantly being educated by the Viziers of Mehmed so he would become the future leader of the Özenler. As Murad II was at the age of twelve, he started to learn languages; this is a family trait of the Akbas bloodline as they learn languages so they can communicate to everyone in every way possible. Murad II himself spoke four languages; Marian, Turkce, Blah, and Flexio. Murad had inherited the view of an empire from his grandfather Ismail; an empire which was not just populated by the Özenler, but by different people from different ethnic backgrounds and religions, however, Al-Iman Rashidun must be acknowledged as the major religion and there may no conspiracies be to overthrow the religion. Murad II became six-teen years old and after his experience with the Viziers, Mehmed put him up to the task of leading a unit of Janissaries, leading them into a raid in order to spread Al-Iman Rashidun in Canonist settlements. Murad II succeeded in this mission and captured other boy infants to become Janissaries for a future army, as he took the women of the settlement to raise them up so they could attend recruiting at a later age. Mehmed was proud of the things Murad did, as he saw a great leader in him. Mehmed however, married two other women, who became a part of his Harem, their names were Dilara and Azra, both gave birth to two sons; who would later be known as Ahmed and Altan, the younger half brothers of Murad who would be put in the position of Vizer and Generals of the Janissary army when Mehmed comes to power as a Lider. Murad II had an obsession with his religion, as he became as devout as his forefathers were, he wanted to present the idea of jihad to his father, Mehmed. Mehmed declined this idea, as it is much better to wait for forces to gather up rather than fighting with the disadvantage of a small army. The Jihad Ideology still was a major part of the culture and their ways of acting towards infidels, though, accepting their religion and their culture as long as they adapt to the laws. Murad II became twenty years old, he was put to the task to educate his younger brothers in fighting, leadership, and discipline. This task was quite a tough one for Murad II as his brothers would seem quite unruly as Murad II was when he was younger. His brothers would start with the education of language, leadership, and discipline, as they were taught to command others at an early age, this played a major role in their attitude against other children who they played within the square of the camp, as rumors were told that Altan threw another child into the campfire because he disobeyed his orders. Altan and Ahmed were at this point teenagers, reaching the age of fifteen and Murad II became thirty-one, as his younger brothers came with whenever there was spoken of a raid or a war, to witness it with their own eyes and to learn from it. Altan saw a great vision in these experiences, as he became amused by the fact that the blood that is spilled is not up to the one raiding, but to the one trying to defend it. At this point and time as Altan and Ahmed were still in puberty, they started to have strange ideas on warfare and the infidels. As their view was; “You must exterminate the infidels in order to achieve an empire.” This obviously contradicts the ideology of their forefathers, though.. This thought does not go unpaid. [ Mehmed and his brothers (Right) and his trusted Vizier (Left) ] When Murad II and his brothers were sent on another raid by their father Mehmed, they started to do it with quite some ruthless tactics. They would pour oil in the food-storages of the enemy and started to burn their storage down. This would obviously leave the settlement that they raided with a minority of food and would eventually starve them. Doing what they are known for; they started to march with their men onto the hill which would be in front of the major settlement that they raided, their musical-Warband playing ‘Ceddin Deden’ as a motivational song for the Janissaries and the Basji-Bazuks. As they created a wall of noise, letting out fearing war-cries when Murad II rid his horse in front of them, raising his hand in front of the line of men to obtain silence so they could listen to his speech before engaging in battle. Murad shouted: “The time of the infidels.. Has passed. A new Empire shall rise, an Empire which will defeat anyone who dares to oppose them!” The army let out war cries while raising their blades out of excitement and motivation, as Murad continued to raise his hand up, waiting for them to be silent. As they silenced themselves he would continue his speech, shouting once again: “A new age is coming! We fight for our ancestors, our blood, our culture!” He then struck his fist into the air, shouting “Allahu Akbar!” As the others joined him in yelling the same. The army once again raised their swords into the air, running to the gates with a massive ram that was built to crush the gates of the settlement. They started to ram the gates, using the power of all men gathered which would be a total of fifteen-hundred men, as Murad still stood at the hill together with his brothers, watching them wrecking the gates. They managed to wreck the gates, as they entered, they would start to barge into the enemy, using their full force and their horrific war-cries to create chaos within the settlement itself, making sure that they were feared by the inhabitants of the village and that they would know that their God is nothing more but a simple myth. As Murad and his brothers watched the battle against the armed forces of the settlement they raided, they started to ride with their horses through the gates, swinging their sharp-edged blades to the throat of the enemy soldiers. Though, as the brothers of Murad were quite stubborn and rode into the spearmen, both died. This caused Murad to become angry on the battlefield as he blew into his horn, calling the Basji-Bazuks to enter the battle, as they would show up on top of the hill with a total of hundred-fifty men, who were covered in war-painting which would contain the colors of the Özenler flag, these men would carry skulls of a bear on top of their heads and were heavily armored. As they ran into the battle with a brute force, forcing the Janissaries forward to create a severe amount of pressure onto the enemy, the Basji-Bazuks unsheathed their axes, half of the men bowed onto the ground and the other half jumped onto their backs to jump over the Janissaries to eventually slam their axes into the heads of the enemy. As this battle continued, the enemy forces remained as a small force, running to the back of the settlement to find the backdoor; but, this door was locked, and so the Janissaries and the Basji Bazuks ran after the enemy soldiers who were running and captured them, making slaves of them and capturing the children and the women to become apart of the Özenler society. Out of these women, Murad found a wife, her name was Anastasia, she was captured as a Ruska Slave, though, Murad fell in love with her as he took her back to the camp to eventually convert her to Al-Iman Rashidun. Murad eventually got her to convert into their faith, though, Murad wanted to get to know her to better rather than just picking her out to marry her, so he often spoke to her and took her out to travels. Like all of a sudden, Anastasia carried the child of Murad, the future heir of the Özenler culture, they named the child ‘Mehmed II’, after the son of Murad I. As Murad heard the news of his lover, he received a letter, stating that his father was diagnosed with a deadly disease, causing Mehmed I to die due to suffocation by choking onto his own blood in his throat. Murad was saddened, though blessed with the birth of his newborn, as Murad accepted the title of Lider for his people. Murad and his wife rode as fast as they could, back to their home camp to claim the title for leadership before any of the Vizers did so. Fortunately, Murad arrived just in time to claim the title. Murad was of course known for his plans to conquer major towns and to get recruits out of them to join his forces and to convert them into Al-Iman Rashidun. Murad his plans went up to his head as he planned to attack the capital of each major nation, as he demanded of his Viziers to capture every boy above the age of sixteen to join his forces in the army so this would come true. However, this was a failed attempt, Murad his forces were still injured, and Murad gave them three months time to heal before executing this mission. Three months later, Murad traveled across different lands with his bodyguards, overseeing the different lands which were in his eyes his own. As they started to raid Canonist monasteries, kidnapping the children and women who lived in them so they could be raised with the manners of the opposite culture and adopting their religion. Of course, they were taught to speak their language and to adapt to their behavior. Murad adopted one of these Canonist children, her name was Karina, he also took the mother of Karina as his concubine in the Harem. As the mother of Karina had all rights to raise her, though, she had to make sure that she gets taught about their religion. Karina would essentially become the older sister to the newborn Mehmed II, and the first female advisor to him whenever he gets to lead the Özenler. Murad spent time with his family, as he spent most of his time with his wife and the child that was growing inside her womb. Murad is described as a “Stubborn and bloodthirsty, but kind man” within the stories of the Özenler. Murad would essentially become the most feared man the Özenler has ever known. Six months after the death of his father and the raids on different Canonist monasteries, his son, Mehmed II was born. All of the Özenler people were in joy as a new heir was born to lead them. Murad of course wanted to have his son raised in the best way possible, so what he did; he has done what his father did to him, sending him to one of his most trusted viziers to be trained as a true leader, learning the values of discipline, leadership, and humility. Mehmed entered the stage of puberty, as he became quite cocky against the Vizier who raised him, the Vizier his name was Candarli Halil, a man who was trusted with the task to raise Mehmed by his father Murad II, Mehmed wanted to become the first young leader of his people, Candarli Halil refused this after talking to the father of Mehmed, the current leader, Candarli Halil convinced Murad II to lead until his death, and so he did, so Mehmed could take charge when he is older and much more emotionally developed. Mehmed had quite a lot of Özenler characteristics and traits, except for his hair, as his hair was of a mixed color which would be of dark-ginger hair. This somehow caused a rumor within their camp as they could not believe that someone who does not look like them will ever get the chance to rule over them. So, what Murad did, he sent out spies into the camp, who would engage in their conversations and if there was anything negative said about the Akbas bloodline they would be beheaded. Language: Türkçe Ansiklopedik Sözlük | Turkish Dictionary Ben - I, myself, I am Sen - You Merhaba - Hello İyi - Good Kötü - Bad Wallah - I swear to Allah Evet - Yes Hayır - No Nasılsın - How are you? Günaydın - Good Morning Tünaydın - Good Night İyi akşamlar - Good Afternoon Adınız ne? - What is your name? Nerelisin? - Where are you from? Konuş - Speak Sen Türkçe konuşmayı biliyor musun? - Do You speak Turkish? Cin - Elf Ork - Orc Insanoğlu - Human Kilise hukukçusu - Canonist Allah - God Peygamber - Prophet Kitab Al-Salam - Book of Peace Savaş - War Nefer - Soldier Bayan - Miss, Madame, Lady Beyefendi - Lord, Mister, Sir Siktir - F***, Damn it, Damn Öldürmek - Kill Mart - March, Walk Oreniyen Imparatorluk - Oren Empire Krugmar Savaş Ulusu - War Nation Of Krugmar Haense Ruslar - Haensetians Common Traits: They are of Özenler (Turkish) descent, previously known as 'Turkin', are often recognized by their ancient Turkish dress code. Their accents are always recognizable, same for their own language as it often gets entitled as a 'loud language', meaning that a lot of emotion and passion is put into it. For the males, they are recognized by their Arabic-Turkic clothing, which would usually be a turban together with Yeniçeriler armor. The males of the Özenler always have facial hair, this is to show their masculinity and to have a sort of fearsome expression whenever they are armored and facing the enemy. For the women, they would wear the typically Özenler dresses and gold jewelry given to them by the Lider as a reward for their efforts into taking care of the children of the Özenler, respect for women is very much present within the family-world of the Özenler, as when you do not respect your mother, wife or sister or any woman who is not related to you, a crime is committed in both the eyes of Allah and the Lider, which is why by Özenler men, respect to women is shown in public quite often. For the elders, they are recognized by their old-fashioned clothing and their grey hair, however, their skin would remain somewhat clean so there would be quite little wrinkles found onto their skin. Society: The culture has a Lider, though, this Lider would not rule over a settlement, but over a majority of people who are of Özenler descent, the Lider is not elected, but it goes through a certain bloodline. This bloodline is called the Akbas bloodline, if someone was not related to this bloodline, he or she would not have the chance to rule over their people. Someone in the status of a Lider is allowed to have concubines, though, this is not an obligation. Any blood-relative to the Lider has the same opportunity when the oldest heir dies due to old age or in battle. The Lider must be respected with his words and if you have anything to say about his line of work, people are always welcome to debate with him about various subject. As a Lider, the man must be determined to hear the words and the voices of the people so he can bring change into the society of his culture to make it safe for everyone. Lider of course needs people to rule over areas where other of his people live, so he has a council in each place to make sure that they abide by laws of the Özenler people. Because the Özenler are dominantly Rashidunism followers, they have a religious advisor, who guides the Lider for laws, military strategy, anything that could be a harm to him or his culture and religion. The normal Özenler would have to choose whether they would participate in combat or not, as for the women, they are respected by their husbands and fellow Özenler. A Özenler male is obligated to join the ranks in the military in order to protect their fellow Özenler, because if they do not do so, a law is broken and there can be no excuse for them as they refused to protect their own people. Breaking this law would of course immediately lead to an execution. If there is no respect shown towards your fellow Özenler, you would get a punishment given by the Lider himself, as it is important for their people to survive and live in peace to eventually become an acknowledged part of the population. For the children, they must get to know weapons at an early, boys get to learn how to use; a crossbow, bow, sword and an axe at the age of ten, and girls get to learn how to use; a sword, crossbow, shortswords. This military training is make sure that the descendants of the modern-day Özenler can live on in peace without being attacked by enemies. Behaviour: They are very passionate people, they share great pride in their culture as when there's being spoken badly about their religion, some remain peaceful but some can get into fights. Their behavior towards their fellow Özenler however is friendly and peaceful, as they each other as a brother and sister spiritually. However, if anyone dares to make an attempt to exterminate this minority of people, they would occasionally pick up weapons and fight the enemy, despite being from another gender, even the females are disciplined to participate, but, out of free-will. Children would often be quite chaotic in Özenler households, knowing that if they are boys they get trained to fight when they become the age of ten, and for females, they get to learn how to use a crossbow at quite an early age. Whenever they have guests, they immediately offer food whether he or she asked for it or not, this is to show off the most respectable form of hospitality. The men are quite serious but can share a sense of humor when it comes to partying or in conversations with friends, they are quite much showing off the boring side of the Özenler men. The Türkler people have quite a temper, when they are angry or feel watched they usually first punch rather then thinking about what the person actually meant, in which case the Türkler are sometimes violent towards people depending on which mood they are in. Festivities: They celebrate; Ramadan; a religious festivity as they fast in order to feel the pain a starving and poor human being, this is to show compassion towards their fellow human beings and to oblige to the teachings of the Prophet, during this festivity, they are only allowed to eat before sunrise and after sunset, this is to keep yourself healthy instead of literally feeling the pain of a poor human being. Sugar-Festival; marks the end of a month of fasting from dawn to sunset, as well as spiritual reflection and prayer. The day starts with prayers and a big meal is usually the main event, but there's lots of other ways people celebrate too. Özenler-Day; a party where the military marches to show off their strength and their power, this is often celebrated with a massive party in the middle of the desert where Hookahs, female dancers, and big meals are present, at the end of this day, the Türkler people pray for the prosperity in their life and for a good health for their own people. Clothing: Men would wear the traditional clothing of the Özenler people, a fashion which is native to their people, this would often include silk, some furs, leather shoes and jewelry; sometimes they wear capes which include a very large piece of bear-fur but this would only be worn in cold Winters when they are travelling through the lands. The men would of course wear beards and sometimes armor of their military units due to their obligation of joining the military, but sometimes this armor is worn to protect themselves against major opposing cultures. Female clothing would of course contain a lot of silk and golden or silver jewelry, sometimes they would wear headbands around their foreheads which would also have golden accessories attached to it. Some wear Henna tattoos with the Evil Eye on it, which is to keep the evil away from yourself and from those you love, this eye would also sometimes be attached to jewelry as a talisman, as it somehow had mystical powers for some who believe in this object. Architecture: The architecture of the Özenler always had a dome ontop of their major buildings, to present the status of the person who lived in it, the normal Özenler would live in a house made out of bricks, the inside would always have a large Turkish carpet, together with some fancy pillars inside, however, now the main settlements of the Türkler are simple tents or they sleep for the night in the cities of major nations. Though, a normal Türkler tent would contain a Turkish carpet together with a hookah, a prayer-mat and a painting of the Sultan himself as a sign that he is listening to you no matter what the situation is. This way of living would often be compared to the way modern-day nomads live as they do not live in a nation or travel with caravans, however, the tents of the Özenler could be carried by using a horse and eventually placing the objects which were inside the tent onto a cart attached to the horse. The Özenler are still fighting to obtain a settlement to live in and to properly live and devout their life to Allah and their Leader Religion: [Özenler praying inside a Masjid] They follow the religion of Rashidunism (Al-Iman Rashidun), where the deity is Allah, they tend to follow the teachings of not eating pork, mutual respect towards your fellow human being unless you are under attack, no alcoholics, fasting for a month (though you get the chance to eat before sunrise in the early morning and after the sun goes down in the evening. They must pray five times a day and attend a mass-prayer on friday, this is to keep everyone connected to Allah. These prayers must be done in either the morning, afternoon or evening, if not, this is considered as Haram in the religion. To spread their religion, they would often go out into the wilderness to discover Canonist camps and raid them, as to the Özenler people, the religion of themselves is the only one true religion, in which case they would sometimes organize a 'Jihad' towards people who believed in different Gods and oppose the religion of the Özenler. Military: [The military on a painting] The military exists out of the Yeniçeriler, these warriors are Canonist converts who have adopted the religion of Rashidunism and have been strictly disciplined by the military commanders. These warriors would wear an outfit which would suit the flag of the Türkler , they would either wear beards or mustaches. The second unit of the military are the Bashi-Bazuk (crazy-head in Turkish), they are known for fighting in their fearsome frenzied state and the noises they make in battle which would often be called 'animalistic', to motivate these type of soldiers, they often listen to Ceddin Deden, a motivational song written by the Yeniçeriler to energize the army and their men. Within the military, the soldiers would be trained to come to quick solutions in time of trouble during battles, which is why some are being sent at the enemy to fight until their deaths while the others will flee to find a better position to eventually either shoot them with arrows of crossbows or to spike them on spears when they are as well running back into the battle. War-Cries were often involved to create adrenaline and to make the military stronger in battle, the war-cries would either go through military songs or just shouting something gibberish, their way of fighting due to the war-cries would become quite the way of fighting like a wildman, as when they are fully energized they would just make more and more animalistic noises in order to pretend to be Demons towards their enemies, to create another form of fear but with a religious aspect to it. The military would undergo quite some rough trainings, as they are also being trained to find necessary minerals for their survival when they are out of water, food or other necessities, as their way of fighting is not just based on how much damage you can do on another being, but on how you can find the economical weaknesses of the enemies themselves; which is why they sometimes burn the grain fields of the enemy or sometimes burn entire shops down which delivers food to the people of the enemy they are facing. Spies are also a thing within the military command, they infiltrate into different towns to obtain information about different factions and other settlements so they can inform the Sultan and his council of the plans which involve the Özenler people and their culture. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ If you want to join, click the URL next to 'Discord:' and you will be invited to the Türkler Discord Server where updates and announcements shall come, for any other questions DM me on discord: romzers#7777
  7. Look to the shadows, what do you see? You look to the shadows, you see nothing perhaps or your mind is just playing it’s own little mental game, making you think that there is nothing. Maybe if you look deeper, focus on the dark shadows, just maybe you will see that you are always being watched. The shadows are always lurking, they never seem to go away, even in the middle of the day. They are something you want to hide from but you can never seem to escape them. Allow the shadows to creep closer, allow them to grow around you, then one may get the chance to hear them speak. At first, all you hear is the unheard whisper, confusing at times, since you can’t truly understand what they are saying. As time moves on, the voices; they grow louder, you can understand what they are trying to tell you. You find yourself having full conversations with them as you unseeingly fall deeper and deeper into mental instability, falling deeper into insanity. When one allows the shadows to almost befriend the unorthodox creature of the sorts, they start to see the world differently, they start to have the lines of right and wrong start to blur together, making it harder to decide. When one finds it hard to decide the rights and wrongs, that is the daily challenge that they need to face head on, taking time to truly think about the actions they wish to commit. ~Signed A.P~
  8. An eye for eye, a phrase we have all heard before Many of thy descendants have their two eyes, but there are many of us who only have one. Whether it was someone taking an eye out in a fit of anger, fighting along brothers and sisters on the battlefields, or just pure stupidity, wrong place; wrong time. Some even go to far lengths to say that it’s a family curse of sorts, each generation of one's family seeming to be missing the extra orb, leaving one side blinded; blinded to see oncoming attacks, or even missing just the finer details within their daily lives. The one eye fool, is the one who doesn’t see their missing eye as a downgrade or the time to slow down. They take this disadvantage, push themselves to become a stronger person, be on the winning side of a battle with someone who has their two orbs. Some would see this as a foolish move, foolish that one with a disadvantage should remain the weaker, remain on the bottom of the pit, remain on the outskirts of a battle, to stay where they belong. ~Signed~ A.P
  9. 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
  10. 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
  11. 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
  12. This is a series of entries in a journal that are written by a historian about Sirame Khel. They will be entered into the grand library of Dragur upon the event of Tide Falkmoor’s death or that of the order. (OOC: so you can't use this information until Tide Falkmoor has died) On the 15th of the deep cold, 1780, Sirame Khel was founded. There was no fanfare or celebration. This order would forever hide in the shadows, protecting itself from prying eyes. At the time there were only three dark elves whose only connection was their hope for the future and their belief in the honor of the Ashen Folk. Their names were Tide Falkmoor, Salaron Chaeydark, and Selmas Chaeydark. They pledged to change the world and the fate of their race. Salaron Chaeydark was a brazen, tall, and haughty ‘Ker. He believed that the dark elves should be proud and thought that an open assault upon the order of the realm would soon be necessary. He wore dark leather and carried with him a short sword. He spoke with great conviction of the plans of the order and was determined to see it as far as he could. Little did he know that his part in the story would end sooner then any would think. Selmas Chaeydark, the sister of Salaron Chaeydark, was a quiet, younger ‘Ker. She had a full and loving heart and wished to help the growth of Sirame Khel because her brother was invested and she believed in helping those poor and powerless. She would speak slowly as she then could not speak common as well as most but still understood more about the future of Sirame Khel then any other. Tide Falkmoor was a sly, quiet ‘Ker. He, unlike Salaron, believed that the authority of Sirame Khel and of the Ashen Folk could only be grown through slow and gradual growth. He was a poet, a singer, and an expert swordself. For Tide, the world changed through words and not actions. He considered fighting to be beneath him and through his methods, the power and influence of Sirame Khel would grow exponentially. His speech was always considered and careful. Yet beneath this veneer of genteel, cultured, intellectualism hid a vibrant, dangerous elf who, when faced with a challenge, would forge forward no matter what obstacles stood in his way. While not evil, Tide Falkmoor would never shrink from any method so long as he got what he wanted. This small group of dark elves immediately began building a network of elves and spies. At first success seemed inevitable. Elves flocked to join. Sirame Khel even made a deal with the leader of Ker’okarn to gain land in the city of Krugmar. There they began to build the tower of Sirame Khel. This would be the place where the members would meet met for many years. However, tragedy struck sooner than any would have expected. Salaron Chaeydark was slain during a moonless night by a faceless guard. This death destroyed Selmas Chaeydark. She had lost her father only a few years earlier. Now she was without family and for the Ashen Folk, family is everything. This also meant that the order of Sirame Khel had lost someone who was important to the cause. Tide Falkmoor was determined to continue the order in memory of his friend. He was now the sole leader of Sirame Khel and as a result, the methods of the order would from then on would follow only his philosophy of quiet subterfuge and would avoid antagonizing any group, race, or nation. However, Salaron would always remain at the heart of the order, leading it in his name. His excitable spirit would guide the order towards higher heights and would never be forgotten by those who followed the order. The Tide A poem written by Tide Falkmoor at this time. Roaring waves, Pouring over deep red stones. Slow water, Flowing into sharp wide cracks. For years, the tide has risen, Yet now waves lap on shores. Sparkling drops, Flying orange in bright rosy light. Streaming rays, Turns oceans to gold, Rocks to pillars, And fish to angels. When water hits a wall, Mountains move. Entry one of “The History of Sirame Khel and its Rise to Power” by Selion Drogon.
  13. [!] A leather-bound tome sits upon the pedestal within Dwed-Corp’s shop, open for all to read. Khaz’ad Khotha: A Monograph on The Fortress of Chains and its Denizens. [!] Khaz’ad Khotha at its peak, A Fortress of ice and iron. Born of the early expeditions into Amaris’ frozen-wastes to its north, Khaz’ad Khotha was the home of four intrepid pioneers, only to be lost in the dunes of time, what happened to the grand stronghold of dwarven might in the time after its creation? Only the gods know for sure… Forged from the icy wastes by Aghuid Ireheart, Urist Ireheart, Morul Irongrinder, and Svuli Metalfist, Khaz’ad Khotha was a sight to behold, located in a cavern of Permafrost and held up by massive chains of wrought iron, Khaz’ad Khotha was a fortress hanging in mid-air, its denizens having dug housing and storage rooms within the cavern walls when the floating rooms were close to the edges of the crevasse. Things were peaceful for a time, the four Dwedmar carving out the fortress one chain at a time, that is until the beasts of the north took offense to the grandness of the structure. three sabertooth tigers would have attacked the Dwed, their walls being half-built, in a glorious battle, the Irehearts bringing axe and spear to the beasts, as Morul would cast a blazing spectacle of voidal flame, distracting the beasts as the mighty dwed had them slain where they stood, a nice stew was later prepared from the beasts, it warming the hearts of the icy fortresses denizens, soon a yeti body would fall into the cavern, its body turned to mush by the fall, a gift from the gods thought the dwed, them carefully hooking the body and and lifting it back to the kitchen, though it seemed to have angered the local human explorers who set up camp near by the mighty fortress, they claimed that they risked tooth and nail to slay said yeti, but the Dwedmar had no time for their shenanigans, it died on their property, thus its theirs to own, simple as that. The Yeti was later cooked into a piping hot pie fit for a king! And with that, the Denizens lived happily for a time, before returning to aid in the evacuation of Arcas. When the four once more set foot on Almaris, they almost instantly went to look for their hold to reclaim, only to find it gone, no traces of it within the vast frozen tundra… over 3 years went by as the four looked and looked, almost every month did they trek to the icy wastes in search of their former home, that is until Urist found it, a cave identical in every single way to Khaz’ad Khotha, yet, it had no buildings, not even a ruin remained, after showing Morul, they both agreed that some sort of magical or divine power erased the fortress from its cave, never to be seen again… Morul later purchased an old abandoned tower on the edges of dwarven land, naming it the small starting site of a fortress named after its icy predecessor, and in its center sits The Obelisk of Anoros, May Khaz’ad Khotha rise once more! Narvak Oz Khaz’ad Khotha! Narvak Oz Urguan! [Written by Morul Irongrinder: Year four of the second age]
  14. ~The Drifter’s Feast of Remembrance~ The morning sun would start to rise upon the city of New Reza, drawing yet another day of Haense life out onto display. The Drifter’s wagon had been pretty quiet as of recent, this being because of refusing to take people out on bounties until he had figured “something”, that he wouldn't speak of, out. Though today had been different, as the Drifter would finally come out of a shell that he had stayed within whilst planning a surprise for those he had been employing to do bounties. Today would be his big Feast of Remembrance. He had planned and planned for this event, going as far as ordering a party planner to help set everything up. As this party was formulated, the surrounding slum dwellers would come to pick up and talk of this feast. After facing complaint after complaint from these peasants, the Drifter decided to invite them too in hopes that they wouldn’t tell anyone of the feast that had been planned. Though as this party had been being set up, the three bards who had been hired would suspiciously be prowling around the Drifters wagon. One of the three would drop one of the eagle like medallions, without knowing of it. The day had finally come for this party to take place. Once the two men, who had come along for this feast unknowingly, had gotten to the wagon, they would start being debriefed by the Drifter as he made up a bounty off of the top of his head. Thorn and Fyodor stood out front of the wagon whilst the Drifter debriefed them, saying that he had found the group’s base of operations that they’d been looking for. As the two had gotten there, a small feast of berries and potatoes had been prepared for them. Though they were met by an odd fellow, by the name of Albert whilst the three bards played a delightful tune for the feast. The men wearily conversed with Albert, with the tense feeling of mystery. Noises of metallic scraping surrounded the feast as it went on, putting the two more on edge whilst they talked to Albert. Suddenly, the bards would abruptly stop their lively tune, and turn it into a more jestful and violent like song. Whilst the slum dwellers and attendees alike, took a fine moment to take in the sudden change in music, they would know that something had to have been wrong. Suddenly, a wolf jumped out at one of the slum dwellers as it would pull him onto the ground and ravagingly bite into his neck. More wolves would appear as Fyodor and Thorn made quick work of them, with the help of the slum dwellers. Though archers would begin to fire at the duo as Thorn would be hit by one before wildly charging at them like a boar, showing them no mercy as he tore them to pieces. As the fight continued to drag along, Joshua Sirsk would appear to aid his fellow hunters in their attempts to protect the slum dwellers. As the reinforcements had arrived, quickly another beast that had taken up a large cage would be unleashed upon the group. With the command issued by Fyodor, the slum dwellers retreated as two of them would be unlucky enough to be slashed through by the bear’s hulking strength in a single motion. After a little bit of trouble, Fyodor and Joshua would successfully take down the bear whilst crushing it’s spine. Once the bear had fallen, the surrounding men started a retreat whilst the bards pulled Carrions from their pouches and tossed them out at the slum dwellers who had fled combat with the bear. No mercy was shown toward these opposers as Thorn was able to run down one of the bards before pouring alcohol on him, and setting him ablaze. After this long fight against starved wildlife, the trio of men quickly left the area after sorting everything out with Albert. Fyodor would return to the Drifter’s lively wagon on his lonesome, as he turned in the bounty to call it a day. To Fyodor’s surprise, the Drifter had set up the party. Though he hadn’t known anything about the ambush. The Drifter slid a slack of gold, as well as a medallion over to Fyodor as he gave the man a small smirk. The Drifter would go into a small coughing fit as he exited their conversation by entering his wagon. ~Note To The Community~ Looking here at this screen as I write this, I knew it would only be right to have an OOC note to this beautiful community that has brought me here. Enjoy!! I’d just like to take a moment to say thank you a thousand times over from the bottom of my heart! Looking back at these past 2 months, I see a journey that I have partaken. Though it isn’t one that I’m on alone as I, the Drifter, have a community that appreciates the events I run. From my experiences of running homebrew after homebrew and constantly having players go inactive, I see this as a rarity. This growing community of bounty hunters has helped me strive to keep pushing events out. I remember back when I held the first ever “bounty” from the Drifter’s wagon. It was somewhat of an experiment, that turned into chaos rather quickly. Though we made it through the event, fullsteam ahead! Though, I do know that it would’ve gone different if not for you all being there to support me through the troubles I had beginning. Anyone who has been to even a single bounty event, thank you so much, as you helped me build up my emotes. I truly couldn’t have gotten to where I am without this great community of LOTC players that surrounds me. Though it has only been 2 months, look where we are! We have reached the big 50TH EVENT milestone through our hard work, and efforts to keep this wagon stable. If we can do that in only 2 months, I know that we will reach 100 in no time. But first, let's take a step back for a moment to enjoy the 50th. It’s not everyday that you run your 50th event you know ;). Throughout my time at the event running as the Drifter, you’ve all been here throughout my journey that you have joined me on. We’ve had great moments, some bad, and some that have left us with good laughs. Bumps in the road are sure to be encountered by those who fare it. I look forward to continuing on this ride with you guys. I hope that I have left a trail of great memories behind as that is really the whole reason that I have been running these events. It could seem silly to ask this of you, but if you could. Please leave any lingering feedback, or feel free to share a memory that you’ve had in a bounty (if you’ve had any). (Ik that up there ^^ was super cheesy, I don’t care tho ) Big OOC Thank you To: Mio_ : Thanks a bunch for those minas that you gave me! I could not have gotten this far without them, otherwise these events would have made me bankrupt! GoodGuyMatt: Thanks for the RP items you gave me early on when I was just getting started! They’ve helped a bunch! StillAMiniGuy: Thanks for being there to help me out with setting this all up man, couldn’t have done any of this without you! Firespirit44: Thanks a bunch for going over emotes with me, and taking the time to help me out with improving! It means a lot! HRA/BSK/Haense’s community: I’m so glad to be a part of this great community, it feels like a family, and I feel overjoyed to have brought these experiences to you all! I couldn’t have done any of this without your support, fam! The entire community: I’d feel bad if I didn’t include this. Don’t worry if you weren’t on here since there were far too many names to go through, and the forum post would’ve gone on for a very long time if I took the time to list everyone who has left a meaningful impact or had helped me along the way. Just know that I am extremely grateful to you all, and am super happy that you take time out of your daily lives to spend time in my events! Cya around the wagon sometime- Limo_man / The Drifter If you are interested in joining the fun of doing these bounties, have the Discord link! Feel free to join if you wanna, it's open to everyone! ~sigh~, I still can’t figure out how to format even after these 2 months.... lol
  15. As the early sun rose upon the Reza gates, the slight sounds of wheels rolling shakily across the dirt road accompanied by the sounds of horses calmly clicking and clacking around the sleeping city would be heard as the Haense people woke from their homes expecting another regular day of Haense life. As they left their homes, they were met by an unexpected sight as they left the city gates. to the side of the city stables, would stand a mysterious looking man in robes. As he sat next to his wagon, he would smoke a pipe as he watched the passing townsfolk. As they passed, no one could really distinguish the man’s features because his face was covered by cloth. As the unknown wanderer would sit, it would almost seem that he was waiting for someone or something to meet with him. As the people of Haense would finish their cautious glances and worried looks toward the drifter, the people would notice a wagon assumed to have supplies within it. after hours of sitting and waiting, Amelot would walk up to the suspicious fellow. Though as he approached he’d let out a puff of smoke, setting the fine wooden pipe down on a little stand. His head would slowly look toward the Haenseti soldier as he would ask in an offsetting, dark raspy, voice the drifter would ask a question to the man clad in armor. ”Say...sellsword. Ya ever hunt a monster before?” the man would lean back against the wagon as he spoke, somewhat calmly though in a dark ominous tone. Amelot would jump a bit at the question, replying in a confident happy voice ”Well, I’ve never hunted them though I have fought them before!” Amelot swung his arm up as he tilted his gaze for a moment to examine the heads and skulls paraded out on the drifter’s set up barrels. As Amelot looked at the skulls in amazment, the drifter would let out a little forced chuckle as he’d pull out and hold a golden wolf medallion the size of a coin up toward the soldier. “Then I think you’d be cut out for a certain line of work sellsword...” the man would speak in an off setting voice still as he continued, flipping the medallion onto the table “see, I plan to set up a bounty dealing here. If ya do Enough bounties, this bounty hunter’s medallion will be yours lad...” Amelot watched as the coin landed, smiling a bit underneath his helmet as he responded in his same happy tone and posture “ That sounds like a bit of fun sir, I suppose I’ll have at it.” At hearing this, the drifter would pause for a moment, taking a long hit of his pipe as he looked at the happy man. After a moment, the tense quietness would be broken by a few simple words as he let out some smoke, Standing up and crossing his arms toward Amelot. “Then I welcome ya into the season of the great hunt young sellsword...” And so, the drifter’s career as a bounty dealer had begun with his first season of bounty hunting. With his only hope being that Haense would adopt this culture into their own so he may become a wolf in the hunt. Welcome to the season of the great hunt. may you become a master hunter. Rp location: Haense, Reza gates next to the city stables.
  16. ~Prologue~ One cold day, the drifter sent out a group of Sellswords to check out a small cave, and none seemingly returned. As the days went on, Bounties would be handed from one hunter to another. Months later, the Drifter wouldn’t know of what had happened to his hunters as none of the parties who got involved in his bounties to search for the missing hunters would find them. As the year would conclude, the Drifter finally decided to stop sending hunters aimlessly out into recon after recon the wick wood to search for what could be deemed as a myth or tale. What really had happened that day in the cave would spark a dark ominous threat, leading people into its grasp of death. This story went a bit as follows... the four brave hunters ventured into the unknown dark cave expecting good pay from a run in the mill bounty, as it was for some reason a tier 3 bounty. The group would find that inside of the cave lied simple traps and other mechanisms to be all over the cave. About an hour would pass as the four struggled to get through trap after trap placed by someone who obviously didn’t like visitors. reaching the lower cave, the four would come across the recover mission that they were tasked with. retrieving one of the Drifter’s supply crates that was stocked with food and stolen by the unknown. Concluding someone probably just left it here to either grab later or leave to rot the group started their walk back up out of the cave as they would be met by a towering figure, that stood 4 meters tall, upon reaching the front of the entrance/exit. The hunters would prepare themselves as they knew they were about to die. After a few moments of the hunters drawing short swords, bows, and mace, the cyclops had already thought up a rather simple plan. Whilst the four brave hunters stood to fight the cyclops, the egotistical giant would pridefully spout out ”Rigut is prop’et...great sav’or to hum’e race” while speaking these words, the 4 Sellswords would look to eachother rather confused as one of them would ask cautiously, still gripping their weapon ”Porphet to our race?” . Rigut would give them a small nod before speaking in a sly Cavemanish tone ”Rigut wont sav’ humee’s unless humee’s help me”. The hunters would watch the prideful one eyed man spout this off, not believing him for a moment. ”Give Rigut meat, and Rigut might help humee’s” the Cyclops went on as the hunters still were quiet unbelieving of the giant as they gripped their weapons not wanting to help this obvious liar. Seeing that the humans still resisted his offers, the cyclops would simply walk out of the way from the cave’s entrance. Though as the hunters left the cave, they would meet the same grizzly fate as just about anyone else who ventured out into that cave and didn’t join this Cyclop’s cult. They would all be struck down , later being used as the Cyclop’s breakfast, lunch, dinner. With this tale ending you might be asking, just how did the Drifter know where to send Sellswords on this first bounty? Well, its quite simple really. The Drifter had heard reports of local people in the Wick wood going missing, and so he sent out one of his Sellswords all on his lonesome to search and find out what has been taking people. After a few months passed, the Drifter grew restless, awaiting for the man’s return he would go out to search himself. Unfortunately the man couldn’t find really anything as he searched through the woods, eventually reaching the bandit camp finding corpses to be missing from the camp, shown by the trails of blood exiting it. Upon finding this, the Drifter would then have a bounty prepared and ready for the next group of Sellswords that came along to his wagon. ~The Two Bird’s Camp~ As the day went by, and Haense Duma would end, Haense soldiers would flock to the Drifter’s wagon expecting a hard bounty based off of what they had been hearing for the past few days. Approaching the wagon, the group of 6 would stand by the Drifter’s wagon awaiting his debriefing. The Drifter would wait until he had took a long puff from his pipe before speaking in his low raspy tone, though anyone could tell whatever was wrong was clearly troubling the man as all of his movements seemed tense and forced. ”Right, I guess this should be enough of you lot.”. The Drifter spoke, leaning back into his wagon before he continued onto the debriefing, ”There have been recent local reports of people going missing near the Wick wood. I sent out one of my sellswords about a month back and he has either failed and is to ashamed to bring himself back here, or he was likely dead because of whatever he found. I sent him out to go near that bandit camp your men sieged a while back. Since he never returned, I decided to go do it myself. Though as I looked around the camp, I only found trails of blood exiting the back of it. I want you lot to go search the area and find some conclusion of what happened to my man.”. And so, the Sellswords were off on their bounty. They found themselves in the camp that had previously been sieged , now becoming a corpse dump it would seem as the group of HRA would see a few men covered in one eyed masks dragging carcass’s of half eaten, rotted humans/animals into the camp and leaving them around the area. Trying to be silent, the HRA hid to the sides of the gates as Ruben Var Ruthern would practice his acting skills and start screaming in pain ”AAARGH, AHH NO NOT MY.” . Ruben left off as the three body dumpers would send out a single one to go over to him. As the man reached him, he drew his knife readying it behind his back as Ruben stood in front of him, towering over the man in his plate as the cultist would ask ”Whats wrong friend?” the cultist asked, prepping his dagger behind his back assuming Ruben was hurt. Tough before the situation escalated any further, Astoro would slit the man’s throat trying to be stealthy as the other two noticed. They would run screaming ”ALERT ALERT, RUN!!” . The HRA would chase down 2 more men killing one of them as they question another that had rolled violently down a hill. From what they could draw from the questioning is that the men of this cult would most likely rather die then reveal their burnt skinned faces to anyone else, and that there was a nearby camp just down the pathway to the left. Going down that road the HRA would start to smell the putrid, stench of rotting corpses that the camp gave off. As the group would start going toward the camp, a few men would be visible behind the small wooden defenses they had though they were very unmoving. as Astoro ordered a few seperate groups to loop around the camp, they would find themselves being ambushed by a giant outnumbering force of the cultists as they were all separated. Astoro and archer would hear their comrades engaging in a fight as they started into the camp and discovering that the men behind the defenses were indeed a trap. though without any second to respond, Astoro and Archer would find themselves ambushed from behind. As the long hard fight went gruesomely on, the HRA would gain the upper hand as they slowly but surely scraped along killing the cultists throughout the fight. As the battle had finished, or so they had thought, the group would then be attacked by a hedge knight as he challenging anyone who wished to step up and fight. His opponent, Astoro, would hold his own against the knight. Though the duel would not end how one might think. It would be rudely interrupted by Archer as he stabbed into the back of the man’s neck. The long hard fight now being over, it would be followed by a big sigh of relief being there no injuries as the HRA went along to search bodies and the camp. They would that every one of the dead cultists held a bottled eye as some sort of ID? They would also find a map locating what seemed to locate 4 other cultist camps. The 6 made started their long walk back to the drifter, once returning would offer the drifter the map and one of the cultist’s bottled eyes. The Drifter would seemingly except this as enough for their payment as his stress and curiosity only grew. The Cultist Camps -In depth- The first one the two bird's camp. Its called this because the cultists that had lured people into the camp would hide in the tree's as the unsuspecting men would wander in as they thought they saw cultists standing behind defenses as when they wandered into the camp, they would find the bodies to be dead as the cultists would come out from the surrounding forests, and kill those who wandered in. The second one is known as the Boiling Pot because the cultists themselves had taken up eaten humans and animals as so did the cyclops. the made a camp for the cooking of the Humans/animals in the wick wood as they had a giant pot underneath a campfire to boil dead creatures. This camp would be somewhat defensible as it's their main point of food making for the followers. The third known as the house of darkness. this house would be placed as a decoy cave to the cyclop's home. upon entering the cave, it would be seen that it is littered by traps of all kinds. It would also hold cages holding bears, wolves, and boars (not greymanes just regular ones). there would be beast handlers that set off cages as well as a few people guarding them. The fourth would be known as the cannibals commons camp. this camp is one based by the Cyclop's cave as it holds a lot of the followers. It would be seen as there main home if they were not staying in the cave with the Cyclops. The fifth camp is known as the burner. known as the area where the skinning and burning of faces happens. It is heavily guarded by some hedge knights and a few others as this camp houses all of their medical cultists. The main Base of Operations is known as the One Eyed Kingdom. the most fortified. known as the Cyclop's main home, there would be walls set up outside of the cave as the inside would be disorienting to those not wearing masks because the moss would cause disorientation -2 to all rolls to anyone inside EXCEPT for the Cyclops. the cave would most likely have traps in it as he was known as a more intelligent Cyclops. a trickster. let me know what you think, its my first time making a forum post for eventlines.
  17. The men of Haense trudged through the muddy streets of Reza in search of a bounty. They would find themselves sitting a front the Drifters cold, unwelcoming wagon. Of course as aspiring bounty hunters the Drifter wouldn’t decline them a bounty when they asked for one. Though what happened in the bounty was a horror that would leave a young Scyfling by the name of Throm in the seven skies, and the Drifter would seemingly pass it off as a regular occurrence. The job that the HRA men were tasked with was not one that was simple. They were sent on a recovery mission of one of the Drifter’s MIA sellswords. As they fought, the fight would be going well as out of no where Throm would stealthily kill on of the bandits, as another warrior stood aside the deceased corpse that Throm had just impaled. Though the Scyfling had fought his opponent valiantly, death would over take the young lad. His last sight’s being the man who had dealt him death, his final weak mutters being “I’m sorry father”. One could say he died ever so nicely on the field of battle. Surrounded by the ones he called friends, and those who say that would be correct. Though if you thought he had died in vain you would be wrong. His opponent would be brought down onto his corpse by the swing of two allies, Astoro Jovanovsk, and Leonid Amador. Upon the completion of the mission, the group would find the man they had been sent out to look for scarred by burns, cuts, bruises, etc. as his frail slender frame limped out of the cage shouting for food and water. The men brought him back to the drifter as they also took Throm’s corpse along with them. At sight of the young one’s body, the drifter seemed sad as his tone became quite melancholic. After their job would be settled, the Drifter would hand Astoro Jovanovsk a Medallion of the great hunt as he spoke to him in more of a sad stature, his voice sounding troubled as he spoke ”Place this with the young sellsword as a small tribute to the lad.” The Drifter would say as he slowly walked back to the cold grip of his wagon muttering ”That’s part of the job, though its a shame seeing everyone go before me...” Right before heading into his wagon he called home, calling it a night.
  18. 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
  19. 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
  20. 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
  21. This takes place in Amber Cold, 1780. [!] The wind whips a cold breeze through the streets of New Reza, the winter month is not forgiving. In the month of Amber Cold, a small woman hurries from a shop back home. Walking as fast as she could to relief herself from the freezing cold inside her warm house. Althea held onto her stomach, being 9 months pregnant did not help her movements. Thankfully she got back inside her home, quickly closing the door as soon as both feet were inside. Shivering slightly, she places 5 logs into the small stove stoking a flame to life. “Demetre no one has entered the house right?” She asked the dog that mauled on a bone, cringing at a small snap. The dog looked up giving a bark at her turning back to the chewed bone. Althea sighed, “I wish Darien would come back, I don’t know when the little one will pop out.” Rubbing her stomach slowly, she pulled out a small pot to cook some stew in. Bustling around the small kitchen she worked, cutting up potatoes and carrots, de-boning a rabbit before cooking it above the slowing fire. As she finished stiring the stew, a knock came at the door. Silently, she hoped it was her husband returning from his trip. When Althea opened the door there stood her friend, Elizabeth, in her casual outfit. “Hello Lizzy, care to come in?” Althea asked, being polite and letting the girl walk into the home before closing the door behind her. The hour soon passed, both bowls lay empty. “I hope I find Darien before the baby arrives.” Althea spoke, resting her hands on top of her stomach. Lizzy comforted Althea, talking for another few hours lifting the worries of her shoulders temporally.
  22. Althea leaves the tavern after a day of work, walking through New Reza’s square and unto her street. Upon reaching her door she can hear her cat’s soft meowing from inside. “Hello Bob, how are you doing? Do you miss Demetre as much as I do?” She asked the small cat that rubbed against her legs, another meow came out. Althea nodded her head, pretending that her cat was talking back to her, “I’ll go see if he wants to come back home. At this point he should have gone through most of the bones in the tomb.” Walking upstairs to her small bedroom she reached into her dresser and grabbed a less formal dress. “This should do it for where I am going.” Quickly she changed her clothes and took off her jewelry. Looking over at Bob who had plopped himself onto her bed, “I’ll be out for a while, but when I come back I promise Demetre will be with us.” And so she departed from her home, out into the plains where a small creek laid. “Demetre! Oh come out please!” She called, though she believed he voice didn’t reach the dog a hearty bark came back to her. Following the sound into a tomb hidden in the side of the hill, there he laid smiling with happy eyes. “Demetre there you are honey,” She would call out to the dog, “Come on now let’s go home I have a nice steak that you can eat.” And with the promise of food the dog got up bounding happily besides his master. Althea returned back to her house, letting the dog run inside and sniff the few new smells that laid in the air. Demetre ran up the stairs while Althea made dinner for herself and her pets, soft purring an the sound of a tail hitting the floor echoed through out the home.
  23. 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
  24. https://youtu.be/ZFr7AyT17sI “Come away, O human child!; For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.” The Stolen Child, W.B. Yeats 1744 Arianne Renée awoke from her light slumber as her head fell from her hand, having lost her “balance” as her carriage passed over a moderately sized stone in the road. She squinted her eyes as she brushed aside the small curtain to her window, being met with the sight of a sprawling meadow freckled with some wildflowers and framed by a brush. Upon further inspection, it looked to be a clearing of a forest rather than a meadow since birch and oak trees past the young princess’ carriage window. Although it was a simple sight for her to bear, Arianne couldn’t help but smile as the thought of getting ever more close to Kaedrin came to her. Naught a week ago, the sights that decorated the roadside were rocky fields of frost-covered heather and forests of pine; the sights of Hanseti-Ruska that Arianne had grown more accustomed to during her years spent within the kingdom in order to become more acquainted with her betrothed, Andrik IV, and her future people. Although she had found the land to be rather enchanting, young Ari had grown awfully homesick over the years and became wracked with worry for her father’s declining health--which is what has brought Arianne to where she is today; on the road to Ves from Reza. It had been a little over five years since she had last been home. The thought of her seeing her brothers and father in just another week practically made Arianne giddy. She had grown a lot since the age of ten, and was excited to show her father what she had learned in her sword lessons, if his health even allowed him to leave his bed. Even then, Ari would be eager to show her father her specially made sword gifted to her by Andrik. “Krusaevorev - To Protect and Serve,” Arianne’s betrothed had said with a smile the night he presented the blade to her. Ari rested a hand over the sword’s sheath as it sat beside her within her carriage. The ruby within its hilt glistened faintly, drinking up whatever rays of sunlight would pierce through the thin curtains. A contentful sigh escaped the princess, she leaned her head back to idly watch the trees continue to pass her window. She was on the verge of dozing off before a thunderous crackle and rumbling pierced the air, being accompanied by the anxious whinnying of the hackneys and coursers, and the muffled commands issued by the knights of her escort. The coach came to a halt. Confused, Arianne creaked open the door to figure out what had happened to cause their delay. Upon peeking her head out, she could see that a tree fell onto the road just a few yards ahead. “Jus’ a minor incident, Your Highness,” said the coachman, nodding assuringly toward Arianne as two guardsmen past him were warily nearing the brush, their hands on the pommels of their blades. “I don’ think it somethin’ serious - this, ‘ere’s, an old forest, trees likely fall all the--...” He never quite finished his sentence, since his words were cut off by a sickening crunch; the product of a throwing axe hitting its unfortunate target -- that being one of the levymen who were nearing the thicket lining the road. “Raiders!” shouted one of the knights of the escort, his sword hissed out from its scabbard as he reared his horse. Chaos followed his words and all the rest was a blur for Ari, because the next thing she knew was that she was back in her carriage, hearing the muffled shouts of men, the clangour of swords, the cries of horses, and the roaring of her coach’s wheels as it began to race off. Arianne’s heart pounded in her ears, she was jostled around within her enclosed carriage as it was run off the road. “Hang on, Princess!” called the coachmen’s voice from outside. “Stay down, it’s the Morsgradian Basta--..” Again, he was unable to finish his sentence as he was interrupted by a familiar crunch. The last sound the poor coachmen ever made to Ari was a weak gurgle, in which the princess brought a hand to her mouth in horror. Following that, a loud snap was heard from beneath Ari as a wheel shattered, which threw the carriage off its balance. Before Arianne could brace herself, she was being tossed and thrown around the inside of the coach. Her vision went dark. A few moments passed before Arianne stirred, groaning quietly as she came back to her senses. The carriage had, with no doubt in the world, rolled over several times. The glass from the small windows had shattered and cut up her left arm a bit, which caused a trickle of blood to run down her fingers. Her head throbbed, as did the minor cuts on her arm and, when she went to rise, her knee ached. Outside the carriage, the sounds of death gradually ceased and unfamiliar voices were heard a distance away. Arianne’s escort had been slaughtered. The leather roof of the coach had been torn up during the crash, Ari had noticed. She grabbed her longsword and began her climb out with some of the glass cracking more beneath her weight. Before she could straighten herself, a figure appeared before her with blood splattered along his tattered garb. “Looks like another one for the ransom, Svaen!” the man said with a coarse chuckle, eyeing Arianne. “A little kitty, with a long claw,” he added, noting the sheathed sword in her hand. “Careful she don’t scratch you, Eyvald!” teased another man, closer to the road. He was in the process of freeing his axe from the abdomen of one of Ari’s guardsmen, who remained deathly still in the soil blackened with his own blood. The man named Eyvald released another harsh laugh, he went to step closer to Arianne when... She drew her sword, tossing the scabbard away from her. “You will not approach me, you barbarous filth!” hissed the princess, donning her stance. A few more chuckles were heard near the road as the other surviving Morsgradians listened in. Eyvald seemed to be only amused as he watched Ari, not threatened in the slightest--especially after having successfully ambushed her escort. “Come on, girl. You know you can’t take us all on,” he said, gesturing to the six others who were gradually making their way from the roadside. “You’d be wise to surrender now, then perhaps we’ll give you a swift death when no one pays for your ransom.” Arianne only adjusted her grip on her sword, saying nothing. To be frank, she didn’t know what to do. Her heart continued to pound in her ears, she couldn’t feel the sting from her cuts anymore. Eyvald eyed her for a moment further, taking another step in her direction. He looked at her expectantly, though in a dismissive fashion--as if he were growing tired of this “joke” of a young woman of gentle birth wielding a blade. Behind Ari, she heard the snickering of two other Morsgradians muttering to each other. She shifted the weight on her feet. Fear coursed through her body, rendering her speechless as Eyvald stood before her now, reaching a hand to take her arm. Would this be how her life ends? “No!” Ari suddenly blurted out, closing her eyes as she jerked herself away. She jabbed her blade forward, knicking something, as she twirled on her feet before shuffling back. A curse came from Eyvald’s voice as she opened her eyes again, realizing they had traded places. The man pressed his hand to his side, where his shirt had been torn and where blood oozed between his fingers. It was a shallow cut, though it was still a cut nonetheless. Arianne was shocked, as were the rest of the Morsgrad raiders; their snide whispers and chuckles were gone now. “You little bastard!” growled Eyvald, his expression darkening. “She nearly impaled me!” He stormed toward Arianne, who was now frozen with her fear. He slipped his dirk free from his belt, reaching his other hand out to grip the terrified princess by her arm. She dropped her sword as the pommel of the dagger smashed against the back of her head. Arianne’s knees gave out before her vision darkened. She fell unconscious. --- Arianne stood in a garden. The gentle warble of birds surrounded her, occasionally accompanied by the sighs of leaves from various plants surrounding her when a breeze found its way into the Varoche Palace’s courtyard. In front of her, sitting in the grass, was a girl of four years wearing a lemon pink dress; her little sister. She was hunched over something by a peony bush. “What have you found, Margaret?” Arianne queried, kneeling beside her sister in the grass. Margaret was weeping, clutching an injured sparrow close to her. Its wing was broken, and it looked horribly dazed. “It flew into the wall,” the little princess muttered tearfully. “Is it going to die, Ari?” she then reluctantly asked, bringing her doleful eyes up to look to her older sister for comfort. “No… No, Margaret, it won’t,” Arianne replied, wrapping an arm around her sister’s shoulder to comfort her. “We can try our best to nurse it back to health, yeah? Come, let us take it inside.” She helped her sister up, going to guide her back into the palace. --- It had been several days since Ari had been taken. Perhaps it had been a week, though she wasn’t certain. Ari wasn’t sure where she was anymore in relation to Haense or Kaedrin either, since a dirty sack was kept over her head for the majority of the time she travelled with the group of Morsgradians; however, she was finally allowed to not wear it yesterday since they have moved onto far more unrecognizable paths. In the evenings, when a camp would be set up, a large man with a beard named Halstein would attempt to interrogate her to learn more about who she was, which she caved in to. He looked to be the largest of the raiding party, though he did not have the most brooding of features. Arianne grew to be less intimidated by him as the nights would pass, for she would hear him singing in a voice of honey during the daytime. He seemed more sympathetic; much unlike Eyvald, who frightened her. She sat in the back of an old, wobbly wagon drawn by a scraggly man with thinning hair, her hands bound together. Two others from her escort had also seemed to have been taken, though they weren’t kept within the wagon with her. Instead, their bound hands were strung to the back of it where they were to walk along the unforgiving roads. Everything, save for their clothing, had been stripped from them. Arianne’s sword had been taken, which now looked to be in the possession of Eyvald for she noticed it strapped beside his horse’s saddlebags. He often eyed her rather spitefully, and sometimes she overheard him muttering and cursing about his cut festering to the others in the party, though they just passed it off; It seemed like Eyvald was one for sympathetic attention. The time came where they would set up for camp again, for the sun’s light gradually shifted toward a hue of gold and orange. Arianne was placed by a relatively thin tree, where she would be tied to in order to be kept from running; she had tried to the first night or two and failed in her attempts of escape, having received a few swift punches to her gut as punishment. “How much longer ‘till we reach the camp again?” Arianne overheard a few of the Morsgradians mingling with themselves as they carried firewood back to where they had chosen to settle down for the evening. “Eh..” One, a relatively young lad with dark moppy, and curly hair, shrugged his shoulders as he plopped his twigs down on the dirt. “Two or three days, methinks - if the weather is kind. It’s growing colder, y’know? Might snow.” “So that’s how long I’ve got…” Ari thought to herself, dread beginning to grip at her heart. She didn’t know if she would be ransomed for a handsome amount of mina, or if she would be given a brutal death that would be turned into an example to boost morale for the Morsgradians. Either way, she knew she had to escape soon. But how? Upon glancing around, Arianne noticed that the campsite was relatively empty. A good number of the experienced warriors were absent, having likely gone to the nearby stream to wash up and refresh themselves; leaving the younger lads to keep watch of the camp, horses, and prisoners. An idea came to mind. “I’ve seen snow in the late spring!” argued one of the lads, it seemed their conversation devolved into a debate of sorts. “It’s possible!” If only they would see the summer snows in Haense, Ari thought. Their little squabble would be interrupted. “Hey! Can one of you untie me? I need to go to the bathroom.” Their attention shifted to Arianne now, falling silent - for the most part. They exchanged mutters, some wearing partially amused expressions. “Piss yerself then, wench,” one of the older boys called back with a snicker, nudging another next to him. They shook their heads and went back to collecting firewood for the night; a lot would be required to keep warm. It was getting colder. Arianne awoke that morning to find frost was building up on part of her clothes, and she felt chilled to her core. She wasn’t often kept too close to the campfire and was only provided a thin and wretched-smelling blanket, so the cold easily reached her. With the sun gradually nearing the horizon now, Ari could tell that tonight would be another dreadfully brisk one, so a tinge of hope flickered in her eyes as she noticed one of the wood-gatherers had lingered behind. It was the mop-head. “Will ye be quick about it?” he queried her after glancing over his shoulder to ensure none of the others noticed his absence. The young man stepped closer to Ari. She recognized him as one of the archermen retrieving arrows from the corpses of her escort the day she was taken, his name was Svandred… or something like that. Ari never quite caught it, and didn’t care for it. She nodded to Svandred’s question. “Yeah. Of course.” She held a sort of earnestness in her gaze as she looked up to him. Svandred narrowed his eyes slightly upon her, his lips curling in a mild frown on contemplation before he sent another cautious glance in the direction of his friends - who had disappeared within the brush. He gave a gentle nod to her and knelt down. Arianne could feel her heart beginning to race as the bindings around her hands loosened, though she tried to conceal her dumbfoundedness. “Come on, geddup - ye said ye’d be quick, aye?” She blinked and nodded again, going to rise to her feet. Her wrists were bruised and felt raw, and ached mightily as she moved her hands; however, that didn’t bother her now for her heart continued to race within her chest. It was as if time slowed for her, the world around her grew distant as she stepped near a shrub by the side of the camp - Svandred standing just a foot behind her. Arianne knelt down as she spotted a sizable rock, and took it into her hand. --- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTL_rAfcEC4 The next thing Arianne knew was the crisp air brushing against her face as the thunderous galloping of a dark mare blended with the beating of her heart in her ears. Trees and branches raced by her as she sped through the wood, kicking for her horse to go even faster as distant shouts erupted far behind her. Her cheeks burned from the cold wind nipping at her flesh, which was then whipped and scratched by low-hanging twigs; the woods were thick and difficult to maneuver through. The pit of dread in Ari’s stomach gradually dissipated into nothing the longer she galloped and the quieter the shouts of the Morsgradians became; she was almost free and could return home. Her hands trembled with her adrenaline and rising joy; however, such excitement faltered and shrank back once her mare’s foot snagged on a root and sent the princess flying and the mare tumbling down a ditch ahead of them. Arianne plunged into a shallow stream and landed harshly within it, narrowly escaping the black mare’s body that tumbled alongside her. The poor creature released a loud wail of pain, for its leg had snapped. Arianne was practically in a daze, having smacked her head against the rocky bed of the stream. Her head pulsed as she felt the icy water drip from her face and rush over her hands as she pushed herself up, the taste of blood was in her mouth. The horse thrashed beside her, splashing the water around and making a ruckus loud enough to stir the whole forest; her captors would be upon her soon enough. She had to leave now. A glimmer of red within the shallow waters caught her eye; Krusaevorev. She had to have used Eyvald’s horse for his escape, but there was no more time to think. Arianne swept her blade up and bolted for the thicket across the stream, just as the distant shouts of the Morsgradians began to echo around the area. Her heart pounded within her chest as her feet thumped on the forest floor. The sun was crawling beneath the horizon now and the forest was growing darker, and colder; however, Arianne felt nothing except for the burning of her legs as she continued to power through the brush, twigs occasionally whipping at her arms or face. This was her escape. Arianne didn’t quit her running until late into the night, when the cold really gripped her and when she felt as if she were going to collapse and cough up her lungs, which also burned painfully in her chest. The woods were silent around her and she felt as if she were allowed time to rest, but she knew that she had to continue moving; that she needed to return home. But how could she do that? Arianne was lost; set deep within a land unfamiliar to her with the threat of Eyvald and his group still present. Her name wasn’t safe, neither was her appearance; Ari knew that if she wanted a chance of making it back home, she would have to become a different person. Arianne Helvets would be no more, not for now. Joanne Lovell would then be born. Her hair was shortened, though done in a horrible manner since it was cut by her sword, and her travelling clothes - which were stained with sweat and smeared with mud and dirt - were discarded; a new outfit was obtained, having been stolen from the clotheslines of a farmstead by a creek. All she kept with her was Krusaevorev and her necklace, which was a golden Lorraine Cross. Small jewels were set into it, though it looked as if a few had fallen out or cracked from her unfortunate ventures these past weeks. Still, she kept it close to her heart. 1745 Arianne had been missing for several months now. It took her a great deal of time to figure out her surroundings, as well as to find a way to keep herself from starving. She had taken up work at various shabby inns or businesses; aiding in preparing meagre meals for other weary travellers, scrubbing floors, or even shining shoes to earn coin or a warm meal for herself and a roof to sleep under - be it stables or a mattress stuffed with hay. She eventually discovered that she had somehow wound up in the north eastern territories of Arcas, but she was gradually making her way back west; to where she could return to Kaedrin, and be delivered back to Haense in safety, where she would go forth in marrying Andrik and carry her duties out as Queen. She clung to that hope, it drove her on; to see the faces of her siblings again, to be welcomed back into the city that she would help rule over and protect… The day would come eventually. The Plump Otter was the name of a little inn Arianne currently found herself resting at, it was located on a crossroads and its caretakers were keen on keeping the establishment in good conditions; so business was abundant. Many curious travelers and wanderers looked to make their way through, watering their horses and filling their stomachs with mead and bread before returning to their journeys, where they would take them. Ari was seated at one of their tables and was in the process of stuffing her face, for she hadn’t had much of a meal in the past two days. Nearby, she overheard a conversation. “If the wind’s in favor, I’ll be able to make it in time to the wedding,” a man mumbled to his companion beside him at one of the tables as he drank thirstily from his mug. “Lots to be sold at weddings, especially royal ones. Always got festivals for ‘em.” Arianne slowed her eating, pricking up her ears. A royal wedding? “Not sure on how well you’d do in trying to sell your sweet wines in Haense,” commented the man’s companion as he reclined in his chair. “I hear they fancy that Black ale there.” “Pah, it could still make for a good gift to present to the King and his bride; get in their good favour.” “Pft, what are you expecting from them? A keep for your gracious gift?” The man’s companion snickered and shook his head before he raised his mug to his lips. “Good luck.” Arianne felt confused and almost struggled to process what she had overheard, so she stared blankly at her plate. They really think I’m dead… The buzz of the tavern grew distant and became muffled as thoughts raced through her mind, her lips pressed tightly together. It’s not too late, I’m so close to home. A flicker of hope passed through her eyes before she abruptly rose up from her seat, stepping out from the inn and into the yard. A man and the tavern’s stablehand looked to be prepping his wagon and horses for travel. “..Excuse me, sir,” Ari called to the man, who was in the process of strapping down sacks of grains. He cocked his head toward her, a perpetual grimace lingered on his weathered features as the sun shone on them. “Eh? What is it you want, girl?” he queried, seeming rather hesitant to address her as an actual woman as he eyed her grimy, cut hair and attire, which was an ill-fitted coat and trousers with nordling patterns died into the fabric. She looked more like a highlander boy who was yet to grow out a beard. “Are you headed west?” “Pah, I’m nay a cabman. Piss off.” He spat at the dirt by her before resuming his work. The young stableboy only eyed her curiously, most notably staring at Krusaevorev on her belt. She had wrapped the crossguard and hilt with a cloth, so no one would be tempted to thieve it from her; the ruby drew unnecessary attention. It still remained an odd sight for most, to see this young “boy” with a blade. “No- I need you to take me west - to Kaedrin, at least. It’s urgent,” Arianne replied in earnest, she took a step closer to the wagon to try and meet the man’s gaze again. He paused and looked to her, though more curiously. “What fer?” “To reunite with my family; I am Arianne Helvets, daughter to King Adrian. I was--..” She could not finish her sentence, for the aged man bursted into a fit of rough laughter. “Pfft, quit pestering me, child,” he dismissed her with another rugged laugh. “Go play yer games elsewhere.” “I’m not playing any games! I am Ari-” She was cut off again. “Pah! And I’m the Emperor of Man. Now piss off!” Arianne gritted her teeth, she could feel her anger rising up within her. “Look,” she said to the man on the wagon and withdrew Krusaevorev from its scabbard, the Slayersteel blade reflected the light of the sun; its ruby glimmered as she removed the cloth around it. Upon the crossguard were heraldic bats and crows of Helvets and Barbanov; it was a fine blade. However, for the man, it was almost too fine… He narrowed his eyes at her and stood up straight. “Now how’d a kid like ye get yer hands on a weapon like that?” “It was given to me, by my betrothed.” “Aye? That so?” “Yes. Now can you take me west?” He scratched his chin and eyed Arianne a moment longer, before waiving the stablehand off. “A moment, girl,” the man grunted before hopping off of the wagon. Without another word, he disappeared into the inn. A few lengthy moments passed as Ari waited by the wagon, having tucked her blade away again. She felt her frustration beginning to fade away as the man returned to the yard; however, a handful of others stepped after him. Most were armed. “Aye, that’s her,” the man said and pointed toward her. “The thief trying to pose as the King’s dead daughter.” Arianne’s eyes widened as she looked over the group, her rage boiled up again as she backed away. “It’s not true!” she snapped, though her hand went for the pommel of her blade as she continued to eye the group bitterly; by the looks in their eyes, there was no way they would believe her - nor care enough to investigate. They believed Ari to be dead, and their hands withdrew their own weaponry from their scabbards. “Don’t be foolish, child. The Princess is long dead, gone. Now drop that stolen blade and your hands might be spared,” called one of them, who wore a tabard; the crest was unidentifiable to her, for it looked heavily worn and stained from prolonged use and travel. He was likely some knight or another, who kept to the eastern territories of Oren to fend off any raids for the war; many plagued the farmsteads and hamlets dotting the roads. Arianne gritted her teeth as her eyes darted between them all. There was no chance she could fight here, not after her display with Eyvald. So, she did what she currently knew best to do, and that was to turn and run. Ari darted across the dirt road and vanished within the thicket of trees, which lead to the southern hills of the Fell country. --- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNiOnMMxak0 Dejected, hurt, and sour, Arianne lost herself. Her own name became foreign to her, unwanted; she clung to her new identity of Joanne Lovell, the bastard daughter of some spice merchant who took to travelling northward from the sandswept lands of Korvassa. Joanne’s hair was a warm auburn, Ari’s was a dirty blonde; she had managed to acquire the dye for it upon discovering a modest tailoring shop, led by some half-elf. Her frustrations gripped her as she shoved the echoes of her old life away. Everyone she knew had thought her to be dead, yet hardly mourned her passing in her eyes; instead, they moved forth quickly in replacing her. Had I ever truly been welcomed to Haense in the first place? Her thoughts returned to her time within the walls of New Reza, where she often butted heads with the other young women of the court and struggled with her freedom under the shrewd eye of Queen Milena while she still lived. A rare few had treated her kindly; Primrose, Otto Sigmar, and Andrik... Andrik. Did he not care for her too? She could not linger on such thoughts, and her mind went to home; Kaedrin. Is it even safe to try to go there? Arianne knew of the inner turmoil and struggles her father’s kingdom was going through during his illness; she recalled the letters from her brother Leopold expressing his concerns of safety in the capital, with ambition plaguing the minds of power-hungry Fleeperites. She could easily be removed, if identified by the wrong individual. Weeks passed. Joanne was squatting at the edge of a farmer’s field with her sword resting in the dirt beside her and was trying to dig up potatoes from the soil. The snapping of a twig was heard from some distance behind her and she quickly turned, only to see the blur of a figure dart behind one of the oaks that dotted the fields. “Who goes there?” Jo called with some alarm, gritting her teeth. There was no answer, however. Instead, an arm appeared from the tree, only to toss a stone away from it. There looked to be some attempt at being discreet; however, it was done horribly. Moving in the opposite direction from the stone was a dark elven man, who was prone and crawling along the soil through the brush of the crops. Joanne simply blinked. “I can see you plain as daylight!” she exclaimed, almost dumbfounded at the man’s further attempts at stealth. He was slender and without hair, a jagged scar went across his face and blinded his right eye. His other eye was crimson. Both narrowed at her. “No ye don’t.” “Yes! Yes, I do!” Jo said as she became even more bemused. “Who the Nether are you and what are you doing?” The elf sighed and pushed himself up. He tried his best to brush the dirt from his garb, but it was smeared with the soil; despite his dirtied appearance, he didn’t seem like a typical brigand or loafer looking to cause mischief. He wore leather armor of decent quality, and carried two blades on his person. “All right, ye see me,” he said defeatedly. His accent was a thick Kaedreni one. “I’m Devitus, was trying to see what ye were doin’ out here.” Joanne narrowed her eyes a little, a frown creased upon her lips. “Why?” “There’s gremlins out here, been a bit of an issue fer the farmers. I’m here to try ‘n’ stop their mischief, or to make sure their mischief ain’t some kid like you diggin’ up the crops or drawing away the cattle.” Jo wrinkled her nose. “I’m not just some kid!” “That so?” Devitus queried dubiously, he crossed his arms before himself. “Indeed! I’m, uh-.. A hunter.” A hunter? It was something that randomly sprouted within her mind; she had to say something back to this elf. Devitus simply looked amused. “Yer a hunter, aye? Catch any game in that dirt? And where’s your gear?” A scoff came from Jo. “I’ve got a sword,” she replied rather haughtily, her nose wrinkled. “You see-...” Joanne’s words trailed off as she felt for her blade that she had sat in the soil beside her. It was gone! Jo gasped as she twirled around, hoping to have only misplaced it a few feet off; however, Krusaevorev was nowhere to be spotted. What was spotted, however, was a small shape across the field darting away. It had rather large ears, which bounced with the creature's movements. “GREMLIN!” Devitus bellowed out with excitement. “Come, girl!” He jogged after the creature with Joanne in tow. Together, they saw the big-eared gremlin disappear into a den beneath some stones. Krusaevorev was in its grip, though the longsword was too unwieldy for the tiny creature to properly carry, so it was dragged across the soil. Devitus and Jo weren’t able to get into the den, for it was far too small and cramped. They could get a look within it if they knelt down, however; a great deal of snickering emitted from within as Jo poked her head down. “You little sh*t, give me back my sword!” she barked toward the little beast, who only taunted her with more snickering and an insult in broken up Common. “I’ll tear your ears off, if-- AHCK!” Jo reeled back as it hurled a clump of mud at her. “That ugly fiend has no manners!” She spat out mud. “It’s a gremlin, kid!” Devitus said as she watched Jo wipe her face angrily, he looked utterly amused and humored. “They never have manners, but they’re harmless shites.” He scratched his chin as he eyed the den. “Go fetch me some twigs, we can smoke the little bugger out, aye?” “Why can’t you fetch your own twigs?” “Because I’m watching the shite here to make sure he don’t run off!” Joanne huffed as she stood up, spitting again as she still tasted mud in her mouth. Vexed, she gathered twigs and other kindling for Devitus, who clumped it all near the den’s entrance. He withdrew a match from one of his pockets and leered at the once-smug gremlin, who ceased its taunting; it had nowhere to run. “All right, ye little shite,” the dark elven man said coolly. “I’ll give ye one chance to return that sword to the kid here, then you can leave these fields so I don’t have to skin ye. Because, believe me,” His hand tapped a slightly curved dagger on his hip. “I will, after I make you choke on smoke.” A torrent of broken up insults and threats poured out from the den. Devitus ducked his head just in time to dodge a clump of mud being hurled at him, which almost smacked into Joanne. All became silent, however, once Devitus lit his match. “Last chance.” --- “What’s yer name anyways, kid?” Devitus asked after he finished counting his earned coin a third time. “Joanne, uh- Joanne Lovell. Are you really a monster hunter?” “Aye, I am. Are you?” He already knew the answer. “Ye’ve got the sword for it, slayersteel is a choice metal. It’s strong like steel, but bites like aurum; very expensive.” He looked toward her curiously as they made their way down the road leading away from the farmstead, pocketing his coin now. “How’d you manage to get that blade of yours?” Joanne blinked, though opened her mouth and said whatever came to mind first. “My, uh- My father gave it to me,” she said, then continued. “He… knew of my interests in tales about those Marked Men, and gifted me it. There would be nothing for me to really earn or keep at home, since- eh.. I’m a bastard, so he gave me this and sent me away.” “Pah, he likely wants ye to die. Something to get ye out of his life.” Devitus released a dry laugh and shook his head. “This business ain’t like a fairy tale, kid. Yer better off in selling that sword and finding yerself other work.” “Well-.. Why can’t you help me?” “I don’t got time to teach you how to use that thing.” “You don’t need to teach me!” Jo insisted as she walked alongside him. “I already know how to use it and handle myself. If I prove to be horrible and die… Well, then you can take my sword for yourself!” That looked to be enough to convince him, he piqued an eyebrow as she looked at her. “Hrmph, if ye say so. Deal. Just don’t expect me to hold yer hand.” Devitus and Joanne became a pair that afternoon. Jo managed to eventually prove her worth with a blade as they were hired for smaller jobs, such as fending off brigands or dealing with ratiki infestations on the outskirts of Kaedrin. They proved to be rather efficient together and earned a great deal of coin, which was often spent on their travels looking for more work. Five years would pass. 1750 Over the years of her work with Devitus, Joanne’s skill with the blade had improved immensely and she had worked to train her body to be stronger in order to better wield her longsword. She was no longer some lithe maiden, but a hardened warrior of a woman; her temper and personality still remained fierce, she took enjoyment in this new life for her. Being head-strong and bold worked in her favour, for the world was not kind to the meek and rewarded those who took action. Word of their skill began to spread around the northern bits of the Empire, which led the two to a job commissioned by a mirror merchant. His caravan was ambushed by harpies as they traveled through the mountain passes north of Ves, and he had lost a lot of his investments when one of his supply wagons was overrun. He reached out to Devitus and Joanne to clear the nest that had been made and return whatever mirrors they could for a hefty sum of minas in return. So, the duo set their sights to the north and sought out the harpy nest. Joanne hadn’t quite gone so close to Ves before, and they would need to pass near the capital in order to enter the mountains. She wasn’t sure what to expect, truth be told, but was tense and uneasy; fearful of finding a familiar face, or of just confronting memories of a life now passed. None of that quite came, in truth, for there was a shift in mood as the walls of Ves were spotted along the horizon. The common folk of the inns, fields, and roadways were all speaking of news from the capital; King Adrian Helvets was dead. Taken from his sickness. Joanne was sick to her stomach and felt numb for a long while, her words becoming distant and half-distracted whenever she spoke to Devitus. He had noticed her shift in demeanor, though made no comments. It wasn’t until their encounter with the harpies, when Arianne snapped and let loose. It was her fault that she didn’t return home; her frustrations blinded her and kept her from returning home; she had allowed for her stubbornness to keep her dead. And for that, her father passed away thinking his daughter had died at the hands of roadside bandits. Her emotions took control of her when the harpies swooped down and she grew too bold. A wordless shout of anger melted into a scream of agony as the claws of one of the flying hags bore into her left forearm, tearing into her flesh and muscles to grip her and begin lifting her up from the ground. Her blood poured everywhere. As her vision grew dark and the shouting of Devitus became muffled and distant, a bolt sunk into the chest of the harpy, which caused them both to drop and return to the earth. Darkness came to Arianne. --- https://youtu.be/cKJA-D3ltPM “I want to get my fortune read!” Arianne chirped eagerly, tugging at the skirts of her mother with one hand while the other clung to her father’s pant leg. A bright smile adorned the young girl’s visage as she gazed wide-eyed toward a booth on the festival grounds of Ves, where an elderly man with a milky-white beard sat. He was in the process of examining the palm of a young lad, tracing one of his gnarled fingers over the lines of the boy’s hand and uttering to him about curious prophecies. A crooked sign hung over his head, reading in mystical lettering: Wise Old Wick. Annabelle offered a hesitant look to Adrian, though the king gave an assuring grin as he patted Arianne’s shoulder. “Pah! What harm could a peek at our sparrow-bat’s achievements do? It shall only take a minute, go on ahead Ari.” He gave his daughter a little nudge, though she quickly scurried forward and toward the Wick soothsayer as he finished up with his previous customer. “Me next! Me next, please!” Ari called as she scrambled onto one of the stools that sat before the wooden counter, which had flecks of bread crumbs leftover from the Wick’s lunch. “Read my fortune!” The soothsayer offered a hearty chuckle at the princess’ excitement, he bobbed his head and took hold of the hand she was waving excitedly before herself. “All right, all right, let’s have a look…” he muttered and narrowed his gaze, a look of thought crossing his weathered features. “Oh! Oh, my!” the Wick exclaimed after a moment, he stroked his beard sagely as he pondered further, before wiggling his fingers and waving his hands spiritually before himself. “I see... ! I see…!” he said, before setting his eyes on Arianne again, who held her breath with her excitement. “I see… you going forth to achieve great and wondrous things! A leader, you shall be… of an army! You will be a general, yes… And you shall battle powerful armies of foriegn and nefarious lands! Such is your Destiny!” Arianne gasped, her jaw dropped. Of course, the Wick was merely guessing based on what he had seen and heard about the princess; her fiery spirit was well-known about within the city, and she’d often be seen around the streets of Ves or on the outskirts of the Varoche Palace chasing after stray cats or waving sticks around with her brothers like they were fabled swordsmen living out some grand adventure. He had made a decent guess, for the girl grinned widely and dumped a few coins into his tip jar - alongside a rock that she thought looked pretty neat and kept in her pocket. “Did you hear that?!” Arianne called back to her parents, she twisted around in her stool to face them. “I’m going to make for a great warrior!” Annabelle wore a soft smile as she watched her daughter, her arm looped with Adrian’s as she said, “You could be made into a Dame in time, you know.” “She’ll be more than a Dame!” Adrian replied with a warm chuckle. “She’ll be a Queen; a good one, too, who’ll defend her people and land well. That right, sparrow-bat?” Arianne was beaming, she nodded. --- She awoke within an abbey. Devitus stood across the room she was rested in, peering out of a narrow window that offered a view of the cloister. Warm sunlight poured into the room. A jolt of pain shot through her left arm as she attempted to move it; the wound inflicted by the harpy was tended to, but it still needed to heal. A tired breath left her, which caught the attention of the dark elven man. “You’re awake,” he stated as he turned to her, his arms crossed before his chest as he leaned his weight back against the plain wall behind him. “Aye,” Ari replied with a sigh, turning her gaze up to the ceiling. “I am… What happened?” “Suppose I should be asking ye the same.” Devitus shook his head softly. “I don’t know what came over ye, but ye seemed to think it best to try and pummel that harpy with yer sword and fists ‘stead of keeping with our plan. Damn nearly got taken away by one of those hags, sliced yer arm up real nice.” “Hrm…” She still felt weak, her head being cloudy. “Thank you.” “Ye gonna explain to me what got into ye? Ye were acting strange the whole trip there, ye know.” “Aye, aye… I know.” Arianne closed her eyes as another exhale left her. She knew that she could run no longer, that her past would always come back to bite her in the ankles. Her memories still clung to her like fleas would, and wouldn’t cease their nipping and reminders of their existence. She had to face the truth. And so she did. Arianne revealed everything to Devitus. They talked for a while, until the sun dipped beneath the horizon--then they talked more; the hours of the night grew small; the moon hung high in the dark sky; and the wax of their candles was half-melted away. She explained her frustrations, her pain, and her confusion; however, the more she opened up to Devitus, the more her head began to clear and the less lost she felt. Devitus was greatly confused in the beginning, and almost thought Ari to be messing with him; however, he could see her genuinity and her grief within her grey-blue eyes as she insisted he listened to her. When their lengthy talk ended, he insisted she try to return to her former life; to reconnect with her family and redeem herself rather than continue to wallow in her turmoil and live a life of running and regret. She agreed to this. They would eventually part ways, though Devitus stuck around until Ari’s strength returned to her. The abbey they were given rest at was along the north western territories of Kaedrin, nearing the territories of Haense. Occasional pilgrims would pass through to and from their visits to The Basilica of Fifty Virgins, some began to speak of troubling news from New Reza; the Queen, Maya Valeriya, had been kidnapped by a defected group of Haeseni soldiers that wished to hold her for ransom against King Andrik. Last one of the pilgrims had heard, the King wasn’t interested in negotiations and was in the midst of rallying a rescue party to head north to where their camp was settled. Something didn’t sit right with Arianne as she heard this. Andrik wasn’t a proper fighter, that she could recall; she remembered his struggle with his father’s attention and approval for not favoring swordsmanship. Ari grew worried for his safety, as well as for Maya’s; she knew she must return, to seek out her redemption, to keep her oath of Krusaevorev. To Protect and Serve. Such was her Destiny now. --- https://youtu.be/K0etyrdJSC8 Arianne hadn’t realized how much she had truly missed the frigid lands of Haenseti-Ruska until she was greeted with the familiar sights of rocky fields of frost-covered heather and sprawling fir forests, when the cool winds brushed aside her hair, or when the dreary clouds occasionally parted to allow for the sun to shine and cause Lake Milena to glimmer and glisten. Such had happened as Ari neared the front gates of New Reza. She felt anxious, nearly sick to her stomach with worry, though she still made her way through the portcullis and onto the streets. There was a lot of excitement in the air, many people were moving about and shouting. It took a while for Ari to try and figure out what was going on, for the rabble of everyone was rather overwhelming as she tried to maneuver through the crowds. “The clinic, the clinic!” “MAKE WAY, MOVE!” “Step back, keep your distance!” “Where’s the damned doctor? The King needs her!” It was utter chaos. Andrik had returned from his mission to rescue Maya, and it had been successful; however, he had been injured during the conflict and was returned to New Reza for treatment. Arianne was unable to reach him during that time, and found herself a bench to sit at within a nook as she waited for everything to grow calm again. Many hours passed by and the sun’s golden light began to shine red as it drew closer to the western horizon. The streets grew quiet as the cold crept more into the city, many took to their homes to be warmed by their fires; all was still. With a frosty breath seeping out from her, Arianne stood and sought out the clinic. “Halt right there,” said a man donned in the colors of Barbanov, wearing the armor of the Royal Guard. He was standing near the entryway to the clinic alongside another gentleman in the same setup. Both eyed Arianne and her sword curiously. “What business have you here?” “To speak with His Majesty, King Andrik.” It took a little bit of a while for Arianne to finally be welcomed into the hospital, in truth. She was nearly arrested, and she had to keep herself from snapping out of frustration at the guardsmen when they had begun to argue about her being there, as well as the genuinity of her identity; however, before much more could be escalated… A young page peeked his head out from the clinic doors and said that Andrik would see Arianne. It turns out their argument had picked up in volume and caught the attention of many, the King included. Ari was escorted into the building and was shown to a room where a familiar man with dark hair rested. “Godan…” The King muttered in a hoarse voice as his weary eyes settled upon the lost princess. “It’s r-really you, Ari.” He was propped up by pillows, being too weak to sit up on his own. Sweat was formed on his brow and his breaths were ragged. His arm draped over his stomach, hand gently clasping over his freshly bandaged side. He really had been gravely injured, his energy was drained; however, despite his weakened state, something within the King pushed for him to remain conscious, to see Arianne. Perhaps he thought she was a mere dream; a hallucination; but something kept him from wanting to “wake” from this dream. Something in him didn’t want for this ghost of his youth to disappear again, so he remained awake. His stormy blue eyes never left Arianne. She stepped further into the room, and they were left alone… “I don’t know what came over me, Andrik,” Arianne murmured, she was seated in a stool near his bedside. Her arms propped herself up on her knees as she gazed solemnly at the floor. They had already spoken for a decent while by now, the shock of Ari’s return had faded; the time for truth and rectification had come. “I just felt-... I felt like it was better for me to remain dead in everyone’s eyes. I was lost and hurt… And in my pain, I only caused more with my absence.” A quavering breath left her, Ari closed her eyes as she felt the sting of tears gathering. “I’m trying to fix it all now; I’ve stopped running and I’ve come to face my destiny.” “You were lost… But now you are found,” Andrik replied, he had managed to form a faint smile as he gazed toward her. “Have you returned to your siblings in Kaedrin yet?” Ari shook her head as she opened her eyes, glancing toward Andrik. “No… I haven’t quite figured out how to return to them. I only came to New Reza as soon as I had heard word of what happened to Maya and you.” The King dipped his head softly. “Your sister is set to marry my brother. The promise that our father’s set in stone shall be fulfilled, Godan-willing. S-still a couple of things to work out, but it will be done.” He paused a moment as he eyed her. “He misses you; L-Leopold… He inherited your f-father’s tites as Duke of Cathalon. Kaedrin is… collapsing though, I’m afraid. I f-fear it may not survive terribly long after the war…” His hand suddenly reached out toward her, fatigued eyes staring pleadingly toward Arianne. “Please, Ari… S-stay here. C-come back into my Court and serve my regent- and my son, as the Master of Hunt. Please.” Arianne took his hand with hers, she sat in silence as he spoke to her. Her eyes rarely met his, being wracked with grief and guilt; however, at his request for her to stay, she blinked and slowly leveled her gaze with his. “Master of Hunt..” she uttered slowly. “I-it is a humble position, b-but one I think you would enjoy greatly. Your spirit is s-strong, Ari… You’ve always wanted to fight for this Kingdom, to p-purge it of monsters and ward it of other dangers; to protect and serve. Th-there is still time for you to do that… There is still t-time for you to come back and begin your new life.” He placed his other hand atop hers. “Please.” --- That evening, Arianne had become Master of Hunt and swore an oath to King Andrik with Krusaevorev; the sword he had gifted to her years ago, when everything was so different. She had used that blade over a dozen times to protect herself, but now she would wield it with intent to protect The Kingdom of Haenseti-Ruska. Arianne would wish to dedicate the rest of her years to the Kingdom she was promised to at her birth; she would wish to give all of her strength and compassion to the Kingdom she had grown to love; she would wish to give her life to ensure the safety of the King she loved, as well as to protect those close to him. Although they had been separated for many years, Arianne had loved Andrik. She knew he did not feel the same toward her; how could he after she had been “dead” for so long? His heart was for Queen Maya, which Ari accepted; she was beautiful, wise, and benevolent. She was a woman that Arianne respected; she was a Queen that Arianne would wish to protect and serve as well. In the remaining months of Andrik’s life, Arianne kept close to the King and Queen’s side and did their bidding. She gained the courage to seek out her siblings and reconnect with them at last; however, such was not an easy feat for Arianne had lived a life completely separate of theirs and struggled to relate and connect with them. Although the wound of her disappearance had healed, a grotesque scar remained. Only time could make it fade. Still, her love and dedication to her family remained unwavering; Ari refused to make any more mistakes again. When Andrik’s illness grew worse and took his life, Arianne became more reclusive from the rest of the Haeseni Royal Court and took to isolating herself in the northern forests of Haense through lengthy hunting trips that would last weeks, sometimes even a few months. The cold forests became her home; they were her life. She roamed the Kingswood, Graiswald, The Steel Hills, and the Wickwald and found her solace at last in the heart of it all; the heart of Haense. She defended it from poachers, ensured the wolf populations wouldn’t grow too big to threaten farmers, and escorted travelers, pilgrims, and any other weary wanderers through the pathways to ensure their safety. She would take occasional trips back to the capital to check up on the Royal Family and see if they would have any tasks for her, as well as to sell the pels she had managed to acquire through her hunts. Arianne rarely kept any coin for herself, however, and often donated her earnings to The Basilica of Fifty Virgins; she did not think herself deserving of much. Her life was now dedicated to protecting and serving Haense; it made no sense for her to earn minas or other forms of reward for such. All she kept with her was Krusaevorev and her mother’s cross. Many years passed and Arianne continued her service for Haense. Troubling rumors eventually formed and began to float around about a soon-to-come invasion; Scyflings were coming to Haense. Concerned, Arianne looked more into it and realized the threat of war coming to the Kingdom. She decided it was time for her to return to the Royal Court and leave her duties to the forest aside, to protect the Royal Family as she had promised Andrik many years ago. Court was held in New Reza, in which Arianne presented herself and laid Krusaevorev out before her in order to reaffirm her Oath to King Sigismund II. The winds of Destiny called to her, she would not run this time. 1768 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0ySBYbKMnk The war had been raging on for a few months now. The Scyflings had made an attempt to try and siege and take over Valwyck, which led to a grand battle. Arianne had defended the Queen during it, and assisted in defending Fort Buck from a band of Scyflings that had tried to claim it while most of the Haeseni forces were distracted in the north. The battle was gruesome and bloody and Arianne knew that only similar encounters lay in wait for the future. A counter attack was to be made on the Scyflings after the Battle for Vasiland, though this one would take place on the sea; an attempt to destroy the Scyfling fleet would be made. Arianne kept close to Princess Amelya during it, her shield being raised over the Princess the whole time to protect her from arrow fire. It was their ship that began a chase after a rogue Scyfling longboat that slipped past the Haeseni forces. It was making a mad dash through the waves to head south, toward Vasiland. It had to be stopped. Their chase went all the way to the Vanir Hold, where a battle ensued within the keep. Arianne remained close to the Princess’ side throughout it all, her shield and sword at the ready. She was determined to keep Amelya safe and sound; such was her duty, and she would not fail to upkeep that again. Somehow, a fire had managed to start within the attic of the keep and it was beginning to cause parts of the floors to collapse and fill the building with smoke. It was no longer safe to be inside. Arianne was in the process of trying to escort Amelya out when a splintering crack occurred from above, cinders and debris fell into the dining hall before them, alongside the body of a man familiar to them both; Godfric Alimar. Ari had known Godfric when she was young, the two often butted heads and teased one another as kids usually did; however, he had ended up marrying Arianne’s sister after complications arose with Andrik’s brother. She also knew of Amelya’s attachment toward the Alimar. He could not be left behind. Both were horrified to see his unconscious body on the floor, half covered in smouldering planks and soot; however, he emitted a faint groan of pain to show he still lived. He desperately needed medical attention and could not be left there, so Arianne passed her shield to Amelya and sheathed Krusaevorev. She stooped down to lift up the Prince and carried him into the courtyard. There, they discovered that Vasiland had been surrounded by the Scyfling forces, with many Crows still behind the walls. Escape would prove to be dangerous; but it still had to be attempted. This battle was lost; Vasiland would be taken. The Haensemen had to escape with their lives now, and tried to move out from the front portcullis. Arianne kept beside Amelya, instructing her to stay at her flank away from the Scyfling archers as she continued to carry Godfric in her arms. Johnstown was so close to them; if they could make it through the field and under the cover of the trees, they would find safety within the town and medical aid for Godfric. So, in the midst of all of the chaos of the battle, the three made their attempt to reach Johnstown. They had made it halfway through the field when a deep shout was ordered in the Scyfling ranks, ordering a volley of arrows to be fired toward them. As Arianne heard the familiar whistling of arrows in the air, she turned her back to it and stepped before Princess Amelya, yelling for her to duck down. She clutched Godfric close to her front as she remained hunched over the Alimar and Barbanov; shielding the two with her broad body. A sharp gasp of pain left Arianne as she felt the tips of arrows sinking into her back, burying deep within her body, causing her to drop to a knee in the grass. Her body felt rigid and stiff with the arrows protruding out from her, the sharp pain went deep into her chest and kept her from breathing normally. Arianne’s energy and strength were fading, but as she gritted her teeth as she managed to push herself up to her feet again, maintaining her hold on Godfric. Amelya looked horrified and tried to assist Arianne in rising, ushering her across the rest of the field. Fortunately, the archers that had their sights on them became occupied with the other Haeseni forces trying to pour out from Vasiland. They entered Johnstown. Arianne laid Godfric in the grass, her breaths were ragged and unclear; she coughed blood as her vision blurred and could barely stand now. Her energy was spent. The next thing she knew, she had somehow managed to seat herself at the base of an oak nearby Amelya. She and other medics looked to be trying to treat Godfric and any other wounded that had managed to escape Vasiland with their lives. The chaos of everyone grew distant to Arianne as she turned her gaze over the forest and Lake Milena that Johnstown looked over. Her hands, covered in the blood of Godfric’s and her own, gripped her scratched up and worn Cross of Lorraine that her mother had given her when she was just a child. Her thumb brushed over the empty crevasses of it that once held fine gems, now lost from her many rough endeavours. She was dying. Her vision began to darken and her pain melted away, replaced by a cold and numb feeling. Before her now stood King Andrik, smiling warmly with saddened eyes. “Andrik…” Arianne rasped out, resting her head back against the trunk of the tree. “I kept my Oath…” And so, the wind-bitten bat closed her eyes and passed on. Arianne Helvets was dead. Arianne Helvets in the Wickwald [[Art done by me]] [[ Thank you to those you let me play the character and develop them. I wanted to write a story about her life to make up for the time that I had been inactive on her. A lot of my plans for the character never quite worked out or became a possible thing due to various issues and other roadblocks, so I felt disappointed in what I had managed to do with her. I wanted this post to represent something for her, I’ve put a lot of work into it over the past weeks/months.]]
  25. Although it would be incredible; I’d just like to say now that I’m NOT expecting this to be accepted. I just had the idea not too long ago and wanted to share it. Basically a throng of lunatics led by Mr. Beautiful completely take over the city of Helena. The guards are imprisoned; criminals are set free. The gates are shut; no one comes in and no one gets out. The town will be in a state of unqualified pandemonium; everyone is on their own. Trapped in this engirdled mobocracy swayed by a psychopathic begetter who will be sitting in his chair; laughing his ass off until somebody stops him. Discord me if you’d like to hear more.
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