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  1. 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.
  2. Our Master Faiz Kharadeen In the marketplace of the Fakhr Tribe, one can hear the preaching of a man. He is a familiar face in the community. He is none other than the Rashidun mystic Hassan ibn Khalid. He is seen leaning on his walking stick while giving a sermon to the public. His hands gesture suggested such intense fervor in his preaching. Hassan asked "Ya mumineen, Ya mumineen Who is Faiz Kharadeen?" One of the men there would say "He is the uniter and the first Caliph of the Ummah" Hassan would answe
  3. Özenler Discord: Click Here To View Culture Updates! 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 Öze
  4. The Ascetic Mystic of Iman Al-Rashidun [Play this for the Feel] Outside in the streets of the Fakhr tribe, a man known as Hassan ibn Khalid is seen preaching to the people about Iman Al-Rashidun. The passion in his voice could be heard echoing across the area. Devotional songs could be heard. Several people stopped and watched the man. One could hear him reciting a poem melodiously with a duff. Ya Bani Ibahm, Ya Bani Ibahm (Oh Ibahm's clan, Oh Ibahm's clan) Do not be attached to the seeds of this Earth Ya Bani Ibahm, Ya Bani
  5. 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 Hr
  6. 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, an
  7. 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 e
  8. 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
  9. [!] 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 Irehe
  10. ~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 Remembranc
  11. 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 di
  12. ~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 ha
  13. 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 se
  14. 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 va
  15. 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. Tid
  16. 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
  17. [!] You see a flyer that has been plastered across Arcas, it looks brand new. It is signed in a very curly writing. It’s in both Blah, Elven, Adunian, and English! Blah: DA NUBDED hab started fighting all ober Arcas, and it's time for ub to see we must leave! Arcas hab becub an barren wabland, ib you care about your bruddah, you will want to leave Arcas! But of course, all the Twigizes , Quickzpawn, Gazat, Bruddah, and Zquealz will need new lin. Wheb the time comes, you might want to join Ayandria. Wheb we move (which is inevitable) I will start a new goi!
  18. 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
  19. A short piece of authorship has been spread to many libraries and bookstores, a sort of open letter to the people of Arcas and its scholars... “I beg you forgive an old woman her ramblings... and hope these words find you well. بِسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ I do not know where my father is buried. Yet I know my mother is buried in Atlas. I was born there too, but all my life has been here, in Arcas. I have found love in Arcas, raised my family here. It was here I was married, gave birth, shed blood for comrades, and helped build a nation f
  20. 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 form
  21. 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
  22. 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 fo
  23. *A posting is hammered to doors and noticeboards throughout the city.* The nature of being a Mali’aheral to exist in an ever flowing, ever contrasting stream of old and new. Old traditions upheld by new people. Old people forcing new changes. Guardians of the old standing against new progress, and guardians of progress rallying against the old. There is progress, and there is health. There is forward change, and there is the traditional heart of the nation. This is tradition and silver. The lifeblood that makes up the Mali’aheral. When tradition,
  24. 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 somebo
  25. The Flying Orrir [[This is a transformative work of “Enchanter” from “Dragon Age: Inquisition”]] As Siol sits in his room, the elf takes up his handcrafted lute. His eyes close and a soft melody starts playing. The soft melody progresses during the next hours as the bard comes up with the instrumentals for his new song. Picking up a scrape paper, Siol makes to write on it, putting down the words of his next ballad. As his mind is converted into words, the elf makes to get up once more, leaning on his cane as he remains still unrecovered from his injuries
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