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Found 84 results

  1. Origin: The creation of this instrument follows suit, The Amber Cold of 1740 was upon the land of Arcas. Tinkering in his little cave abode, Goilard Costa Olivera the Second, alongside his manservant, created what he would call “The Accordion”. Months prior to this, Goilard had been researching and brainstorming ideas on how to make a new instrument. Being a Bard and a musician, his love for the piano heavily influenced his creation. The idea was to create a sort of portable piano, but also not making it a piano at all. When Goilard drafted up the plans on a strip of leather, he brought it to the trade master of Sutica, Mr. Uialben. Once the plans were explained, Mr. Uialben gave a gracious donation of 100 minas for the creation of this new instrument. Appearance: This portable instrument has two almost circular wooden disks being held together by what looks like the folding part of a fire bellow. Embedded in one disk is a miniature piano. On the other disk is several small buttons laid in a few rows and a hand strap. The size is around that of an orc’s skull and can fit comfortably on the lap or in the hands of a regular-sized male highlander ((It resembles more of a concertina, which still falls under the category of an accordion. Sound: The small instrument gives off a rich, reedy, and organ-like sound unlike any of its time. Its sound can envoke emotions of happiness and glee, making the player seem more charming. Purpose (OOC): I have been on LOTC for a long time now and I have never heard or seen someone with an accordion and I have not found 1 post of anyone actually inventing it. I also thought this would add more character to my Bard if he made/played a new instrument. If someone claims to have had an accordion before this post I do not discredit them, this is just an official unofficial post.
  2. ((Disclaimer)): The Realm of Anthos before Thorin’s Conquest. THE CHRONICLE OF VAERHAVEN Vaerhaven’s Western Tower over Lach MacGowan– one of two entrances into Vaerhaven. Vaerhaven was a ((IG)) city located in the Vale of Azgoth. Built by migrants form Silva Insulae, under the Jarl Ferron Andvare MacGowan, Vaerhaven prospered as a continental center for culture, trade, magic, alchemy, and architecture in Anthos. The tragedy of Vaerhaven is one of intrigue and power– a warning to the wicked. THE DOMAINS OF THORIN During the reign of Paragon Thorin Grandaxe, all prospered. For it was an age of auspices, sent down by Armakak and honored by blood-offering to Dungrimm. This was the Second Grand Kingdom of Urguan, in the thick of the Age of Paragons. It was the era of Thorik, Omithiel, and Yemekarr’s First– Thorin the Conqueor– who forged an age of glories and gold. The entire realm was the Dwarves’ frontier. And the chronicle presented here before you, dear reader, is precisely that– a story from Thorin’s first Anthosian frontier. Paragon-Emperor Thorin Grandaxe, Yemekarr’s Fist. The crown jewel of the Urguanic Empire was the city of Kal’Azgoth. It was a fine city; a city of great treasures and exceptionally fine ale. Great arches, thrice-and-twice the size of the tallest poplars, held up the great vaulted roofs. Cities and fortresses lay etched deep under the main halls of Kal’Azgoth, providing the overcity with food, water, alchemy, engineering, and all manners of sophistication. Culture boomed. Trade bustled– Renatians, Malinorians, and descendants of all stripes flowed through the city in search for fortune. Indeed, the Brathmordakin were smiling, for it was the age of Dwarves. And therefrom the Obsidian Throne did Thorin Grandaxe and his Lords rule the vast territories of the Khazadmar: Kaz’Ardol of the Doomforged, etched into Strongbrow’s Way in the Valley of Azgoth; Kal’Halla, far away in the Wild Isles; the Adunians and Mages’ Guild; and the Emerald Isles– all under the Urguanic Yoke. The Obsidian Throne dictated and folk obeyed. Yemekarr’s Balance was emerging from the chaos of aeons passed. For the ruler of the world would be Thorin– Paragon of Conquest. And the most prosperous of the cities under Dwarven sovereignity was Vaerhaven– the breadbasket of Urguan. VAERHAVEN– FIEF OF FERRON Aye, for Vaerhaven was prosperous indeed. Larger than any overland city (save, perhaps, Renatus) Vaerhaven was mighty and powerful. The city was encircled by formidable cliffs. Both its entrances were mired by lakes. Terraced walls cascaded down into the Valley of Azgoth, isolating the city’s farms from raiders and vagabonds. Three castles stood watch over the city’s bustling expanse. And eagles flew over its high peaks. All found a home in Vaerhaven. Jarl Ferron Andvare McGowan, with Compass and Scroll. Ferron was a reknowked architect who built several cities in his lifetime, most notable Silva Insulae and Vaerhaven. He was a contemporary and reported cousin of Paragon Omithiel Strongbrow the Builder. Jarl Ferron Andvare McGowan, a seldom remembered cave dwarf of high peerage– and previous Jarl of Silva Insula– founded the city upon arriving in Anthos as a continuation of the former. The tale of Silva Insulae, the tree-covered Asulonian isle of magic, alchemy, mystery and beauty, is another story entirely. The vagabonds, pariahs, misfits, and brigands who had previously occupied the Forested Isle became the denizens of Vaerhaven. And Ferron led them well. And Ferron led them justly. And it was because of Ferron that more souls called Vaerhaven home than anywhere else in Anthos. And the city would enjoy that life for many decades. It was Ferron who constructed the entirety of Vaerhaven. It was Ferron who secured the large bounties of the earth and kept the peace. It was Ferron who fought off raiders and maintained the law of the city without resorting to oppression. For Jarl Ferron was fair, and Jarl Ferron was just, and Jarl Ferron was good. And the many criminals who lived in Vaerhaven dared not steal under him. And Grand King Thorin respected him, and did not quarrel with him, for Ferron was a seasoned general as well as an architect. Dwarves like the Lord Ferron Andvere McGowan are a breed seldom seen– for Ferron’s greed was only carried out in justice. Aye! And the people paid no taxes– only their houses did they buy with tender, which was in part paid to Ferron under rite of Armakak. Vaerhaven’s Palace, which was built on a perennially frozen waterfall ((closest image to IG build)). Ferron was a great patron of the arts, alchemies, magics, and other trades of hand and mind. Vaerhaven was exceptionally beautiful. And its early citizens of utmost culture. But all good things must spoil in their own time. And, inevitably, his generosity was like honey for flies. And all sorts of persons did congregate in and under Vaerhaven. And all sorts of evils did they bring with them. But when Ferron lived, in their boots they did tremble– for Ferron’s axe was quick when it came to the wicked. But Ferron grew old– he approached one-hundred seasons without fear. And as he grew frail, and as his bad blood did outweigh his good humor, more wicked persons travelled to the sanctuary of Vaerhaven. And among those wicked newcomers was Vallei, the Fire Witch. Vallei the Coldless, for whom winter was spring and blood but water. No man knew where Vallei came from. But the whispers of history tell her tragedy through the pages. The Fire Witch was a high elf. She had fled Haelun’or. For Vallei was once a consort to Kalenz Uradir– the Khadrin’Hor, most hated of those most hated, thrice cursed Sohaer of the High Elves. Those who saw with their eyes whisper that he had tormented her endlessly because she refused his advances. Those who heard with their ears whisper that he broke her because she challenged his leadership. The beast that arrived at Vaerhaven was but a shadow of a woman once kind and warm– beautiful on the outside, yet a monstrosity of fragmented spirit. Many evils would come at the hands of Vallei. Men and Dwarves alike would waft away in the wind at her hands. For it was known that Vallei was a beautiful woman and desired by many. And even to Ferron were there whispered tales of her beauty, and he did listen and enjoy. And as men and women alike flocked to her kindness– as her flock of followers grew– Vallei came to assume a role in the shadows. A role which, in Ferron’s old age, began to usurp that of the Jarl. This group was called the Fallen, and Vallei called herself their mother. And rarely did things seemed to happen without their approval or knowledge. The Fallen, tormenting a passing merchant. The Fallen were worse than bandits. The Fallen were worse than vagabonds. For the Fallen did not draw blood for coin. The Fallen killed to sate their own twisted desire– the desire stoked by Vallei, the Fire Witch. Vallei began slowly, winning over hearts and minds. Then, the Fire Witch enchanted her followers into proving her loyalty– she challenged the tranquility of Vaerhaven and disturbed the rule of law. For she needed to assert her power. For she needed to satisfy her wicked impulses. And here starts the tragedy of the Vaerhaven Rebellion against the Grand Kingdom of Urguan: at the behest of a witch. As Ferron breathed, the Fallen were beholden to his strict governance. Ferron’s death was a tragedy for all: he was mourned for seven stone weeks. Ferron’s appointed the title of Jarl to Kardel Irongut. His placement came at the expense of Rosso, a Counselor to Ferron and the rightful inheritor of his titles (and, reportedly, a member of the Fallen himself). As Kardel was the former Ogradhad’s Alchemist to Paragon Omithiel Strongbrown the Builder, he was connected to the Urguanic government. Vallei stirred. Ferron was intentional and crafty in his succession choice. He knew that Thorin Grandaxe was conquest-minded: he had seen Paragon Thorin make short work of the Adunians and capture the Emerald Isles with bold maneuvers. And Ferron knew that Thorin despised the Yrrok. Ferron figured that a dwarf would be better able to maintain Vaerhaven’s independence and retain some autochtony under Urguanic oppression. And Thorin was pleased with his choice, for Kardel had served him as well. Ferron trusted that Kardel would not change much and maintain the spirit of Vaerhaven. But Vaerhaven’s tranquility would not be secured for long. Fate had written otherwise. A younger Jarl Kardel Irongut– before his Alchemical accident, which bleached his skin and hair. Kardel took upon himself the name Andvare MacGowan and styled himself kin to his predecessor– a political stunt. He gave speeches and utilized rhetoric. He attempted to convert the inhabitants to the Brathmordakin. But this was to no avail. He was perceived as a foreigner, and Kardel was an alchemist and guildmaster–he had never been a statesman. He lacked the tact to see with foresight the consequences of his election, and underestimated the Fallen and several other criminal groups that called Vaerhaven home. Rather, the new Jarl was all too happy to enjoy the boons of his power under the yoke of Urguan for leasure, an ignored the rot underneath. So it was that Kardel willingly gave tributes and handed license to Thorin and the Lords. And in exchange, he was in their good favor. And Thorin demanded that troops be quartered there. So the Legion of Urguan began patrolling the city– and the Glacial Guard of Vaerhaven was subordinated as a militia. Kardel permitted this– for the dwarf’s true allegiances had always lain with Urguan, despite his long and successful career as an alchemist on Silva Insulae. And underneath the pot continued to simmer. The liberties of the citizens of Vaerhaven were gradually lost for security. And the Fallen were enraged by this newfound order. THE ANARCHY: In the unknowably vast Sewers of Vaerhaven, which linked to the Deeproads of the Dwarves, the Fallen congregated. Vallei demanded her own order. She ordered her followers to spread their blasphemy and kidnap children for recruits. Terror and disorder spread. Throughout the city, legionnaires were murdered by torchlight. Their bodies left to freeze, only to be found thawing under sunlight. Stories of black magic and extortion ran rampant. Jarl Kardel and his council were ordered to remedy this at once. The Jarl was reluctant to prosecute his own residents, for the social order in Vaerhaven was more fragile that it appeared. After all, there was no proof that the Fallen were implicated in any of these incidents. Furthermore, the Fallen were a good source of income for Vaerhaven. Jarl Kardel made a few symbolic attempts at “quelling” the Fallen. His power over Vaerhaven would suffer as a result. For Vallei had increasingly begun demanding tribute. Hauberks of Chainmail. Provisions. Armaments– enough to support an army. And Kardel supplied these happily– he had little choice, for armed Fallen had visited him many a time in his palace. And so the corruption spread deeper. And, as do all roots, this corrupt plant would bear fruit. Vallei’s legend is epitomized by one incident. For as she was walking the labyrinthine streets of the frozen city, she was recognized for a bounty by a newly quartered, and rather unlucky, cohort of Legionnaires. Evoking unholy energies from the Void, the Fire Witch cooked the soldiers in their armor. It was only after the Fire Witch turned that entire troop to ash that Kardel ventured into the sewers to meet Vallei and put a stop to her madness. The Fire Witch turning a cohort Dwarven Legionnaires to Ash with the help of her Fallen. Those who heard with their ears wrote that Kardel was seduced by the Fire Witch, and became one of her Fallen. But those who saw with their eyes confirmed a sadder tragedy for the son of Heron. Jarl Kardel Heronsson– like his father, who was corrupted before him by the temptation of the mystical arts– was enchanted by the Fire Witch’s power. He coveted it. And Vallei played her role well. Vallei offered Jarl Kardel magic in exchange for political protection. She promised him arcane powers unimaginable and bizzare. And Kardel obliged, for he was stricken by greed for knowledge. The Jarl would become a mighty sorcerer in his own time, but never as powerful as Vallei, the Fire Witch. Concurrently, Duregar Thunderfist– a rebel Irongut who was a Maer of Blackreach and the Underholds–began his rebellion from underneath Thorin’s feet. In the Aquifer of Kal’Azgoth, a band of Ironguts who detested the idea of a Mountain Dwarf on the Obsidian Throne rebelled. Among them were powerful mages, and their control of the Undercity under the capital of Kal’Azgoth gave many holds under Urguanic yoke hope for salvation. The Thunderfist Rebellion organized swiftly. And many heeded their call for uprising against Thorin Grandaxe. It was at this time that the Adunians, completely subjugated after their defeat at the hand of Thorin, swore off Urguanic hegemony. Lachlan Mor Elendil, a coward and famed mace-catcher, joined the resistance against Urguan. The Adunians were, historically, a spineless people. Nevertheless, their rebellion swelled the instability already straining Urguan. The Thunderfist Rebellion threatened to delay Thorin’s plans for continental conquest. Duregar Thunderfist– A Former Legion Commander who began the Vaerhaven Rebellion because of his refusing to kneel to a Mountain Dwarf king. Vaerhaven caught wind of the emerging rebellion. With the urging of Vallei, Kardel abandoned his fealty to Thorin and closed the gates of Vaerhaven. The Legionnaires stationed in the city were attacked and executed. Those who did not turn perished in fire. Vaerhaven and the Fallen allied with the Thunderfist clan and the Adunians. Bandits and rogues gathered in Vaerhaven and prepared to stand against the Dwarven legions. But Thorin was cautious– he waited. Vaerhaven had ample food on multiple walled terraces. The city was too well stocked. Its defenses were impregnable. But Thorin Grandaxe was too crafty. He felt by intuition that this rebellion would not last. And so he waited again. A few skirmishes ensued between the Rebel Forces and the Legion of Urguan. Each time, the Rebels were crushed decisively and with no mercy. Attacks on the city failed due to its geographic advantage. And as time passed, the sutures began to fringe on the inside. Despite the best efforts of General Dizzy Thunderfist, the only sally the Vaerhaven Rebels attempted– the Skirmish of the Great Arch– failed miserably and cost the rebels many lives. The rebellion began to unfurl as quickly as it began. The Legions of Thorin, mercilessly triumphant over the Vaerhaven rebels and tasting the first blood of their conquest. At their forefront: Commanders Olaf Ireheart and Igor Ireheart (red beards). The Fallen were the weakest link in the Rebellion, for Vallei was driving herself into increasing insanity. The Fire Witch was fond of alchemical brews and fumes, of which there were plenty in Vaerhaven, and lost control over her “children.” The Fallen began ravaging the town’s citizens on the inside. Skirmishes broke out between the Rebel militia and the vagabonds. And this weakened the Rebellion at its heart. But what truly broke the rebellion was the defection of the Adunians. THE ADUNIAN DEFECTION: Aye, for Paragon Thorin was crafty! Thorin knew his enemies all too well. Thorin Grandaxe was familiar the character of the Adunians. He had fought them before and defeated them without raising his sword. The Adunians were a spineless people, lacking courage and overly self-interested. They were famed for catching the maces of their enemies and running away in the thick of battle. Thorin did not want to risk his manpower on capturing Vaerhaven– for he had bigger plans. Instead of employing brute force, Thorin employed his strategic mind. He broke the alliance up from the inside– he needed his manpower for later, for larger realms. For the true apple of his eye lay to the north. After allowing the rebellion to continue for a few months, simultaneous with Paragon Thorin planning his Great Conquest, Urguan laid siege to the hold of the Adunians. Mangonels and Onagers rained fire and stone onto the city of the half-elves. And there were no Adunians there to defend it. And so, the Adunians quickly surrendered and left Vaerhaven. They could not bear the idea of their treasure-lined halls crumbling into the sea. Thorin’s plan had worked seamlessly. Adunia under siege by Thorin’s Legions. To pour further salt into the wound, Thorin offered pardons to any rebel dwarves who defected. Morale was low in Vaerhaven. As the Adunians comprised half of all Rebel forces– all now gone– Vaerhaven capitulated next. Jarl Kardel had secured his magic and sold out Vallei to the Dwarves. Kardel bent the knee before Thorin. Those who saw with their eyes write that Kardel kissed Thorin’s boot and took a severed hand to avoid having his beard shaved. The Thunderfists were left with no base and no manpower, and went extinct as a clan– either banished, welcomed back as Ironguts, or killed in futile battles against their kin. With trouble at home quelled, Paragon Thorin Grandaxe– the Fist of Yemekarr– would go on to achieve his legendary conquest of Anthos; Thorin is the only mortal King ever to have conquered an entire realm, and the only Paragon to hold patronage from Yemekarr. Duregar Thunderfist was banished to the depths of Blackreach for the rest of his life– allowed to visit the surface only once: his descendants would grow sick and die of diseases, forever condemned to live under the feet of Urguanic Dwarves. Kardel Irongut would found the Third (and last) Grand Kingdom of Urguan in Vailor, establish the Consulary Republic of Holm, and die a famed alchemist and sorcerer– but he would be claimed by Dungrimm dishonorably, by old age: not in battle. And Vallei, the Fire Witch, would lose her mind and her following. The Fire Witch went insane after entering a Voidal Node and being possessed by a Voidal horror. She was subsequently captured by mercenaries and held for ransom. Kalenz Uradir would pay her bounty, bring her back to Haelun’or to burn her and her remaining Fallen at the stake. Vallei burning at the Stake in Haelun’or, her followers having pursued her to the fire. And thus Vaerhaven’s glory was never again regained, and the city was buried under ice when Ondnarch returned. It was Ondnarch that would kill Paragon Thorin Grandaxe, for no mortal creature could have killed such a monumental Khazad. And still, to this day, the Rebellion of Vaerhaven remains a tale of wonder and intrigue– an epitome of the war, corruption, betrayals, and power-games which characterized the realm of Anthos and defined the mighty empires of that time. For ruinous annihilation comes quickly those doomed things which are wicked– and they end not spectacularly, but pathetically. Vaerhaven’s ruined Western Tower over Lach MacGowan after Ondnarch’s frozen scourge of the Vale of Azgoth. When the Dwarven capital moved to Kal’Ithrun, after the Battle of the Crossroads and during the Trench wars, Vaerhaven was cut off from major trade routes. Its population slowly emigrated. The Dreadknights remained until Ondnarch– the corrupted Daemon form of Wyrvun– laid claim to the city from the south as Setherien gained territory from the north. Tl;dr:
  3. ]=+ The Clan +=[ Emberhorn “How fair the mount at Hollowbold, And bright the embers’ forge of old, [...] Alas their halls the darkness swept, And there, forevermore, it slept.” -The Song of Tumunzahar The Aspects and Mannerisms += of the Emberhorns =+ The Emberhorns are fair of skin, with bright eyes the colour of emeralds which shine beneath bushy brows. Their hair is auburn, and rarely worn long enough to braid- though oft-times the older Dwarves among them will decorate their beards with braids and clasps. The Clan-members are slightly less broad and stocky than most Dwarves, but are still possessed of barrel-like torsos and powerful arms well-suited to the hardy professions. Their ears are slightly leaf-shaped- a peculiarity which some believe results from a far Elven ancestor. Mention this to a member of the Clan, however, and you may swift find yourself a few teeth lighter. While some are grim, prideful, and solemn, they are seldom evil-hearted, and cruelty does not come naturally to them except in the rarest of cases. They are possessed of a fortune to rival those of the richest clans and individuals upon the Isles, and as such the Emberhorns are somewhat more inclined to display Urguan’s Curse than others. Even still, the Clan will often be willing to help those in need, and charity is common and encouraged. There is only one line of the Clan at present, that of Hodfair, though it is believed that there may be others which have not yet returned to the Kingdom of Dwarves. Dwed of this blood bear all of the earmarks of Mountain Dwarves, but are not purely such- as stated above, it is quite likely that the Clan had an Elf in its ancestry, and even more-so that the Clan interbred extensively with Forest Dwarves. Their affinity towards their slightly leaner build and willingness to welcome their forest-dwelling kin into their clan is testament to this. They dress in tones of green, brown, and other natural colours, preferring to stay away from brighter shades and considering them needlessly garish. They often ornament themselves with gold to some degree, with many wearing engraved golden clasps and jewelry in their beards. This also translates to their armour, which is traditionally enameled green and gold like so: +=+=+=+=[=]=+=+=+=+ The Stones of += Tumun’zahar =+ Much of what is known today of the history of Clan Emberhorn finds its origins in the revered Tumun’zahar Stones, which were partially deciphered soon after the family's re-emergence in Axios. A series of seven stone-carved tablets, they appear to have been created around the year 800 by a skilled mason who used the moniker ‘the Keeper’. Of these stones, the first three detail the genesis of the Clan, and the last four various tales and stories of their exploits. Together compiled, they form the Song of Tumun’zahar, which is held in regard above all other relics of the family- though it was not always so, and a few of the stones (primarily the first few in the series) bear a great deal of wear and damage due to being at one point used as paving material. A central focus of the epic is the eponymous Citadel Tumunzahar, known also as ‘Hollowbold’ in the Common Language. Said to have been constructed some thousand years ago by Dwarves fleeing an unnamed cataclysm (possibly a dragon,) it nestled among mountain peaks and was possessed of a vast underground system of natural caverns. Precious little is known of this burg save its name and reputation for tremendous beauty, for the Stones which regard its construction are among the most damaged. To further cloud the matter, the stories that are translated have a tendency to conflict in the location, structure, and size of the settlement. This has led some to believe that the “city” is actually several cities, spread out over a long period of time, and that the Song of Tumunzahar is simply a retelling of much older stories. To quote the testament of the late Hodfair I Emberhorn, who spent many years translating the Song: “I shall tell it as it was told to me, many centuries ago, by my father- who heard it from his father, and his father from his father’s father, who had seen the glories of yore with his own eyes and beheld the founding of the great city Hollowbold, known as Tumunzahar in the Old Tongue. Carved into the side of a great and mighty mountain by myriad stonemasons, the citadel stood defiant in the face of all tribulations. By hammer, chisel, axe and shield was built upon that mount the greatest legacy of our Clan, the likes of which shall never again upon this world be seen. Such beauty there was that even the hardest of Dwarven hearts softened to see it. But ask me not to tell of it fully, for even my own father did not know its tales but for scraps and pieces which avail us naught. Perhaps it was as they say, in days of old, or perhaps not- those secrets are lost but for the earliest of the Seven Stones, and all our will must now be bent to translating them.” +=+=+=+=[=]=+=+=+=+ += The Ram =+ While we know very little of the city itself, it is told that the lone mountain of which Hollowbold was carved was surrounded by verdant highlands, upon which was found wildlife diverse and varied. Among these there lived an unusually large and abundant type of mountain-ram, exceptionally woolly and twice as dangerous as the frozen moraines upon which it survived. The rams were possessed of a pelt-wool softer than any other, well-suited for garment, rug, and all manner of weaving- but perhaps more importantly, their swift cloven hooves could traverse the treacherous alpine paths better than any Dwarven pony. Their violent disposition and resistance to any sort of domestication, therefore, presented itself as an obstacle to be overcome. A late passage in the Song of Tumunzahar tells that the dwarves of the colony attempted for many years to tame these so-called ‘Gabhar Rams’ to no avail, until the coming of a particularly lucky individual. The following excerpt from the Song details his victory over the largest animal in the herd, which led to the domestication of the species: "He leapt forth then, this tamer mad, whom in his hand a rope-length had, And with this made to gabhar bind. Lo! Ramhorn fierce, he kicked behind, for hempen bonds behooved him not, And dwed fell sprawling, temper hot. He tore his beard and cried aloud, To make return with spear he vowed. That clamour echoed through the peaks, There was a shattered, grinding shriek, And moraine swift came tumbling down. The dwed did sweat, and he did frown, And tumbled too, as not to fall, For snow, and ice, and boulders all, Came quick to bear upon his heel. He shut his eyes, his death to feel, But instead found himself aloft, As if by bough of tree. He coughed, And, baring frightened eyes, beheld, That by fair goat was he upheld. It bounded twice, s’if borne by wind, And as the falling glacier thinned, It set dwarf down upon the ground, Who reached fair up, removed its bond, And ever since, my sons, to fore, Gabhar and dwed, they fight no more." Whether it be true or fanciful, this passage records the beginning of a fruitful friendship which has lasted many generations, and in many ways defined the legacy of the Clan. The ram and its horns are often used in imagery, and the family employs them in everything from warfare, to caravans of goods, to shearing their wool for weaving. Members of the Clan who have proven themselves in war or other service to the family are said to have ‘earned their horns’, and receive the right to wear upon their helms the great spiraling antlers of the rams- a fearsome sight. Artificery, however, is not the only thing in which the rams have contributed to Clan’s culture, for they are also the inspiration of the Clan’s modern name- though it is never once mentioned outright and was never used to refer to the progenitors of the family. The passage is such, and recounts a battle against goblins late in the Song: And in that fateful charge of auld The dwedish clan, those brothers bold Dealt death unto the eldritch dark, Threw down their enemy, and hark! From that brash clamour embers flew, ‘Pon clashing horns, and bloody dew, which fell like rain upon the ground. And filled was glen with death’s grim sound. From which was gathered the name ‘Emberhorn’, and henceforth such was used to refer to the family in present times. The ram’s horns are also on the Clan’s banner, writ in gold upon a field of verdure. (to join contact D3F4LT#4284 or meet Nagorain Ekaraadorul)
  4. The Folk Romanovich “Godani jest wielk” The village of Muscovy and its Ruskan population at it’s peak -Circa 1723 ____________________________________________________________ The story of the folk Romanovich is a nomadic tale, riddled with violence. It begins with a poor Ruskan couple, Sergei and Mila. Sergei was a hardworking farmer toiling away daily in the Curonian fields whilst Mila looked after their home. Sergei fought in the Curonian levies whenever the able bodied men were called upon, there was no feeling that could match the rush he felt during the heat of battle. A love he passed onto his children. In 1697, Mila gave birth to the couple’s first children, twin boys named Dragoslav and Milos. Mila gave birth to a third son, Konstantin in 1700, and their final son, Yugio, in 1704. Sergei took Dragoslav and Milos to work in the fields as soon as they were able, trying his best to instill a strong work ethic into his boys just as his father had done him. Sharing stories of battlefield memories fondly with his boys throughout their arduous days. In 1707, the city of Avalain was raided by a roaming group of bandits. They had plagued Curonia’s countryside for many months and the local captain decided it was time to put a stop to their reaving, calling upon any willing able bodied men to assist the local guards. Sergei dropped his hoe and traded it for his axe and shield in an instant, joining the party of warriors. Sergei fought valiantly and played a crucial role in defeating and finally driving the bandits from Curonian lands, but suffered a fatal wound towards the end of the skirmish. He passed soon after arrival at the clinic in Avalain, his wounds proving to grievous. The loss rattled Mila, slowly driving her to madness. Dragoslav and his twin brother Milos did all they could at their young age to care for their younger brothers and deteriorating mother. The loss of her love Sergei proved to be too much for Mila to handle, she took her own life late one evening in the year 1714. Leaving her children to fend for themselves. The Romanovich brothers packing their few belongings, preparing to leave behind their Curonian overlords and build a legacy of their own -Circa 1714 ____________________________________________________________ Seeing no reason to continue their fruitless, limiting service to Curonia and yearning for adventure, Dragoslav and Milos decided to pack what little they had left and lead their family in search of a home they could truly make their own. The four brothers and Dragoslav’s newly wedded wife, Nina, left Avalain early in the year 1714. Their travels brought them to every corner of the lands of Arcas, picking up other Ruskan men and women living under the reign of people foreign to themselves, amassing a considerable following. After many months of wandering, carousing, and raiding the brothers finally found a spot they thought suitable. They began building as soon as they arrived on an island in a small cluster of islands near Arcas’ Southern borders, they called this cluster ‘The Ruskan Isles.’ Muscovy was founded, the year was 1715. Progress on the brothers’ village was rapid, drawing in many other Ruskan and Raev people looking to live free lives. Dragoslav had twins of his own with his wife Nina in 1716, naming them Nikoslav and Viktoryia. Young Konstantin fell in love and married a girl named Genevieve in the same year. Circumstances constantly improving for Muscovy and her people, who looked to the Romanovich brothers for leadership and guidance, idolizing the young men. Growing tired of raiding and looting the poor settlements around them, the brothers gather all their warriors and founded a company, Komanyia Muscovia, in 1717 and offered their services to the highest bidder. Signing a contract with the Marnantine emperor, Joseph, the warriors of Muscovy left behind their wives and children to enter The War of Two Emperors. Muscovian Cavalrymen leading a Marnantine charge in a skirmish against Renatian forces outside the walls of Leuven -Circa 1718 ____________________________________________________________ The brothers and their comrades forged a valiant reputation for themselves and amassed as much wealth as they could during the war, staying with the Marnantine forces until the end in 1721. Returning to their home to celebrate their successes with their friends and family. The mundane nature of daily village life soon got to the warriors of the Kompanyia, suffering from an insatiable bloodlust after experiencing the pure rush of battle. They turned to raiding as a solution to this thirst, devastating most of the settlements surrounding their own and completely wiping out a breed of elf that called themselves ‘Sun Elves’ held up in a town known as Mir’asul. The Romanovich brothers and their comrades believed themselves invincible. Late one night in 1727, Dragoslav woke to the strong stench on entrails and a thick cloud of smoke outside his home. Joining the defense of their beloved village, the Romanovich brothers and their remaining comrades finally drove the band of refugees from settlements sacked by the Muscovians back. Alas, the damage had been done. Many had died, including the Romanovich brother Konstantin, and much of their village and fields had burned. The strong and hardheaded population of Rus and Raev stayed in their village for as long as they could, but nothing was ever the same. With heavy hearts they abandoned their homes in 1739 and followed the Romanovich brothers back to the one place they knew they would be able to recover, Curonia. The Rus and Raev followers of the Romanovich feasting and celebrating their ever strengthening circumstances around a cluster of their farmsteads -Circa 1742 ____________________________________________________________ Avalain was good to the Romanovich and their followers. Their wounds healed, their spirits lifted, and many soon forged prominent names for themselves with Curonia. Dragoslav was appointed First Minister of Curonia by her majesty, Ester I Devereux, which he quickly followed with the appointment of Yugio and Sergei, Konstantin’s young and competent son, to the Cyrillian Cabinet. The brothers took ownership of the Bear Cub Pub in Avalain with their business partner, Charles, and discovered a new talent, the production of Vodka. They drank, laughed, and led in Curonia for five fruitful years, but the desire for freedom never left their hearts. Suddenly, in 1744, the Romanovich and their followers from Muscovy left Curonia to begin the search for a new home. Coming across a fertile valley placed by Godan between a forest in the East of Arcas and the Orcish Plains, they claimed the swath of land as their own and began building their lives in their new home. Rominsk is founded, the year is 1745. Rominsk amidst the vast Muscovian March -Circa 1745
  5. Catherine held tight to her sides. She rocked back and forth, eyes glued to her bare toes. Tears were starting to escape her, though they were strangely not accompanied by any sound. She was just sitting there on the wooden floor, cold, lost, face wet. That was her existence at the moment. And she didn’t think too much of it. All she could see was his face. His dark skin, his curly hair, his spectacles. His laugh echoed in her head and she shook out of fear. She could imagine his hands closing in on her; she could still feel his fingers on the back of her head, pulling her closer. That’s when the first sob escaped. This boy...this creature...Catherine couldn’t even bear saying his name. He had violated her and she felt like she was no longer in control of herself. She felt dirty. She felt like she was no longer human, but rather a rag doll. And that’s all she was to him. That boy. She was just a doll. A disposable one, at that. The shaking became more violent. Her face burned and her nails dug deep into the palms of her hands. She was now muttering to herself, trying to stabilize and ground herself from what she knew would become a moment of reliving the past if she didn’t pull herself out of the trance fast enough. Alas, unfortunately for Catherine, it was too late. Once again, she was living two months ago. They were at a pond together, sharing sweet nothings and kisses. But he had more plans in store. Oh, how Catherine had escaped her mind, how she had tried not to exist during those few seconds when he did as he pleased, but she couldn’t help but cry. The water was burning the back of her neck. She gagged. And once again, she was back to reality. The present. Her tears had dried, her shaking had ceased. She was all alone, once again. The End
  6. Elijah and His Hole Elijah was never one for war. In fact, he had a strong distaste for it. Swords and bows and battleaxes and whatnot would send him straight to the nearest compost bin. So, when he heard that there was to be a draft to fight against the enemies drawing nearer and nearer to his humble town, Elijah picked up all his belongings he could fit into a small cloth bag and marched out the door. Elijah was also not a man of directions, nor schedules and plans. For days, he wandered aimlessly, stopping occasionally to sit and eat whilst glaring at a squirrel, as if challenging it to make a slight towards him and his meal. It was when Elijah made it to a clearing that he realized he had found a new place to stay. Quiet. Empty. Peaceful from the edges of the forest to the calming riverbank. And, lucky enough for Elijah, the ground was soft enough to begin digging. So, he started. Minutes upon hours upon days, Elijah ceaselessly dug away at the ground. He had to stop often to get the sweat out of his eyes, but would then continue as if he had never taken a pause. He dug. And he dug. And he dug. On the fourth day of digging, Elijah collapsed. His fingernails were packed with mud. His clothes were completely stained beyond repair. But Elijah just laughed to himself under the stars, the low chirps and murmurs from inside the forest seemingly celebrated with him. Elijah had escaped war. And he had dug himself a new hole to call home. The end.
  7. Gavin_

    The Folk Nazarov

    The Folk Nazarov Chronicled on the 14th of The Amber Cold, 1745 _________________________________________________________________________ ‘Beneath the ground, can moy rest’ _________________________________________________________________________ The Chronicling of the Folk Nazarov begins with Filo, the firstborn son of two labourers, Karolina and Frederik, born in the year 1695. Kaidrik Nazarov, the second son, was born in the year 1726. The family lived on a petite ‘Ruskan Isle’ - The township they inhabited was so named Muscovy and it was there that they toiled. Frederik tended mostly to the construction of the township, starting towards the end of 1715, his mother tending to matters of house and of herbiage. A daughter was born to Frederik and Karolina a year later, they named her Anna. _______________________________________________________________ Karolina toiling away within the Nazarov home _______________________________________________________________ Life, for young Kaidrik, was difficult. His day-to-day consisted mainly of tiresome, manual labor, assisting his father, brother and the other Raevir men. His education consisted in the stories that his mother would tell him at night time and his wisdom came from the grumblings of old men as they toiled during the day. He learned how to fight from his brother and the other ruffians who comprised the township - his was a life of simple proportion. Just two years after the Muscovian people had adorned their thresholds, war ensued - The War of Two Emperor’s. Under the leadership and vision of Dragoslav Romanovich and his brothers, a mercenary group was assembled - The Kompanyia Muscovia - the year, 1717. Filo with little hesitation joined the group and was trained in combat. He soon found himself fighting alongside the armies of the Marnantine Emperor. It was betwixt the ranks of those men and his own, that he would perish. In their entirety, the Nazarov’s were taken by a grief so unspeakable, harboring the ferocity akin to that of a wild animal being caught in a trap - the sudden release, almost deadly. And it was that very same grief which followed the family Nazarov to Availain, alongside their people. _______________________________________________________________ Muscovian settlers mixed in with the Curonian population of Avalain, rather poorly as they are prone to drunken brawls _______________________________________________________________ This was a place of wealth and luxury, of good tidings and clean confines. Life here improved for the Nazarov’s. The widower found a new persuasion, that of tending to the needs of wealthy women. Be it preparing clothing or food, pampering or cleaning, at least she was occupied. Young Kaidrik was not spared - his youth laboriously continued. Under seemingly auspices circumstances, he found himself under the tutelage of a warrior merchant. A master of the fist once learned that compared to the sword, he was naught and so it was, through blood, sweat and tears, that this youth began to flourish, a sword at his hip and a coin purse in hand. Affluency did not follow him as he returned home in the evenings, but his horizons began to expand as each day, he became more of a man - adopting more responsibilities of both house and occupation, and with this growth, came a thirst for more. It was here, in Avalain, that Kaidrik first met love - what a devilish and tricky companion love was. He found it at the age of 16 - another Muscovian who he had not noticed as a boy in the township. Her name was Anastasia. A hard people, the Muscovian’s are. Prideful, hard working, and accustomed to woe. They weren’t the most intelligent, nor were they the most charming, but they were loyal and valued community and tradition over most. It was these exact attributes which led to their departure from Avalain, for it was one of Muscovy who must lead. _______________________________________________________________ The Ruskan and Raev peoples of Muscovy set out from Avalain to find a new home, following the lead of Dragoslav Romanovich and his brothers _______________________________________________________________ Trailing at the rear of a band of Raevir, was now a young man. He belonged to no Royal House nor had he any sense of grandeur about him. His beginnings were humble, his life simple - a labourer of meagre proportions, a jack of all trades, master of none. Yet his future awaits him. Around his arm, he cradled his love, Anastasia as they walked alongside troops of men and women, of differing shapes and ages, and they were in exodus, leaving behind in their muddy tracks, the Kingdom of Curonia, the year 1744. Over a year later, the settlers came to a halt. They had found a land which they believed they could call their own, over which they could preside, and they named it Rominsk. Between a forest and the Orcish plains lay a fertile and verdant valley, this budding idyll, its flora alluring, its fauna abundant, is where the Folk Nazarov now call home - a new dawn rising. _______________________________________________________________ At last staking claim to a swath a land, a new beginning for the Muscovians - Rominsk _______________________________________________________________ OOC: Hey folks! Looking for some family members for a new House! Father (68), Mother (64), Sister (18), Wife (19). If you’re interested, just hit me up with a DM 🙂
  8. Marc of White enters the Under-City of Ruswick, tired from the days toil, and of warring and deceit in general. So it came as some surprise to him that when he ventured around the city streets of Ruswick, that he happened upon the scene of a crime, one committed within the closely guarded walls. The house of Ryia von Savoia, also known to the council and people in the city as “Ruminating Ryia”, had been seemingly busted into. A curiosity pulled at him that beckoned him into the doorway. The lock had been busted clean off, and parts of the doorway had been splintered. Stepping through into the living quarters, Marc surveyed the scene. A painting had been slashed through, signifying that there must have been some sort of fight, and caused him to search further into the warrior’s living quarters. In his mind, he wondered who could have gotten the jump on his compatriot. She had been known to keep her head on a swivel. Eyes scan the living quarters over and over, trying to find some indication that his friend was alive, but so far, the prognosis was not good. Behind the mask, his face lie deadpan, and in his mind, he was trying to work out what might have happened. Over to the side, the bed she had kept her wolf in sat empty, and the items she had kept in her pantry had been shaken and stirred, some jars broken and cracked, further leading him to believe that there had been a struggle that had ensued while he was away. Naturally, he began to gravitate further in, noticing the bedroom, which had some blood peeking through the doorway. One hand outstretched, and pushed the door open enough so he could witness the horror that room withheld. Blood painted the walls with messy streaks, and blood tainted the white sheets that were wrapped tightly upon her mattress. Blood had pooled on the floor by her bedside, and caused his stomach to turn. So much blood. Elven or otherwise, no one could withstand losing that much blood. “Dammit, Ryia.” He cursed her, becoming angry with the situation at hand. It seemed like his world was coming to a collapse, as his friends were being hunted down and killed. More deaths to add to the tally. Over at the other side of the room, he noticed a book. Pulling himself away from the scene, he scooped it up, and opened it to the last page written in it. What he found had confounded him. It didn’t make any sense at the time. Perhaps it didn’t need to. He stuffed the book away in a small pouch on his belt, and sighed. Another friend lost to him, taken by the war that had become synonymous with the Ruswick name. But he still harbored hope that she was out there. Perhaps she wasn’t captured or worse, killed. It was a fleeting hope, but one he felt the need to look into. Taking the book with him, he exited the house and shut the door. There was work that needed to be done.
  9. 15th of the Amber Cold, 1741 Al-Faiz. In the tongue of the Qalasheen, it means ‘the Victor’. On this day it proved prophetic. In the late hours of the day, what is called in foreign lands ‘the Amber Cold’ meant little more than a mercifully cool breeze of the ocean nearby, the village of al-Faiz was looking forward to the setting of the burning Korvassan sun. But in the young, bustling village the peaceful rest of night was not to come. “Tribute! We demand tribute!” rang out the arrogant voice, its accent strange to the Qalasheen farmers and peasants. Into the main square strode the town elders, brows furrowed against the low sun, tired and curious men and women who had once been drawn towards what they thought were visitors now became quiet, and scowled at these prideful intruders in their lives. Two masked men looked on as the Qalasheen, one by one, approached to stand in every side street and doorway to gaze at them silently, curved swords gleaming in the afternoon heat. Mothers huddled their children close, leading them inside the musjid where the doors were locked - and those mothers who whispered softly to their children to stay safe and within grimly took up bow and sword, joining their husbands and brothers. There would be no tribute tonight but the blood of the infidel to Allah. Qalasheen and visitors to the town alike, Orc, Elf, man and woman, without a word prepared to defend their town. The assembled warriors, guardsmen, militia and allies alike paused, weapons drawn, as one man - late to hear of the approaching battle - stumbled out of the inn, having forgotten to put on most of his armour, looking around and loudly demanding to know where the Jihad was to be had. At that point one of the demanders of tribute threw a rock - or maybe a Qalasheen boy threw a falafeel. What can be said for sure is that at once a great cry to God range out, shattering the calm of the desert - ALLAHU AKBAR, cried the town as one, and then all hells broke loose - yelling, bloodshed, steel clashing against shield, arrows splintered against plate and sheering through maille… Backed up against the gates of their holy musjid, build to the glory of Allah, the defenders battled down the steps and repulsed the raid party again and again through the gate, falling back to let them come inside, only to be swiftly overwhelmed again. Raiders scrambled over walls, sent arrows flying through the city, but could barely set foot within without warriors ambushing them from buildings and towers. Archers dueled with raiders circling the walls, crouching in the shadow of musjid’s gleaming dome, arrows whistling past close enough to ruffle their headscarfs, shattering against the unyielding stone... And it was not only the Qalasheen’s ferocity that the invaders found - the humble but warm, peaceful town and its people had attracted friends and visitors, and they too picked up arms to fight - elven steel and orcish crossbow would strike out alongside the blades and knives of the Farfolk. As sweat glistened in the light of the rising moon, pouring along dust-coated skin and bloodied fingers, the defenders stood panting for breath before the town gates, its crumbling, half-ruined sandstone and wood patchwork walls barely rising above the tops of Qalasheen tents. The last of the raiders lay bleeding in the sand… A man strode forward, slowly pushing a corpse over with his boot, and frowned. Reivers. Al-Faiz had turned aside thirty Reivers, as the ocean waves crash against rock. As those injured were treated with desert herbs and the Elfess doctor who had come to the town to treat a sick hunter, the stars above were bright, and the air cool. In the city streets, a veiled woman’s hand shook within her gloves as she pressed against the patch of blood spreading across her husband’s side. Despite the heat of the armour she wore, her blood ran cold - between her fingers was the long shaft of an arrow, its head buried inches into his flesh. She cradled his head in her lap, promising him everything would be okay as she slowly slipped off his helmet and ran her fingers through his dark, messy hair, looking down into his tired eyes. As she murmured a soft prayer, she felt a hand press against the wound next to hers, and looked down into the face of her young daughter. “Don’t worry Mama! Baba is strong, right?” As tears ran down her face, the woman nodded. Healers soon arrived to care for her husbands wounds, assuring her it was a flesh wound. As she lifted water to his lips and cared for him as he recovered, she gave thanks for his survival. Alhamdulillah, there would be no fatalities from the raid. The worst wounds came from arrows, a weapon that was mostly used to cripple rather than kill. Al-Faiz has stood against its first test against the cruelties and arrogance of the world. Its people stood to defend their families and faith, aided by friends new and old - and now peace had returned to them. While many celebrated, and friends parted back to their homes, there were many who looked up to the light of the moon and stars above and thanked Allah for His deliverance on the field of battle that night. Others prayed for the strength to endure what was to come... GLORY TO ALLAH ALONE
  10. The soft wind breezed through her hair as she looked at the divine fields. Soon, her Mama called for both her and brother. They came sprinting from the fields, excited for whatever Mama has cooked up today for supper. The two children raced towards the supper table, jumping into their seats for Mama’s food. She cooked honey apple pork today, an old family recipe. Then, Papa came home. He gave Mama a quick peck on the cheek before sitting down to eat, he was dirty and smelled like manure and dirt, after all, he was working in the fields all day. Mama gave him some of the honey apple pork, his stomach growled, and he dug right in. After Mama, Papa, and the two kids were done eating, they headed off into their small rooms, settling down for the night, as tomorrow is a new day of work. Written by Augusta Johanna Borsa
  11. *A man arrives upon horseback, he presents a single parchment for a Curonian guard to retrieve for the King himself.*
  12. “Hold here ye’ old friend! ‘Ave heard much of the formidable you, and the loyal members of yer’ group!” A somber light would press through the grove, it almost seemed as if the sun itself was lost in the forest, and so it was more astonishing to see the old ranger appearing out of nowhere ... Breathtaking. The old ranger would approach you calmly, his armor shone green as if covered in moss and his weapons held low signaling peace... “I heard ye’ take care of any bounty, and venture out far away to claim a good hunt, as a ranger I appreciate this, ...” “Ere ya’ have it... tis’ be the last and final bounty, …’’ With a lot of respect, the ranger looked at the remaining scroll before handing it over to the bravest of hunters...“I’m no hunter myself, I’m a ranger and as it is our duty that we protect the balance of the forest and all descendants that venture into the forests may request a rangers help... but for this I need yer’ help” “5000 Mina if ye’ deliver me its corpse” When you turned away from the forest, the atmosphere seemed to change behind you, the old hunter couldn’t tell you more about the creature but least its appearance in a crude drawing, still you could somehow imagine the creature how it lurked through the night. The hunting instinct would’ve caught up the everyone by now knowing the large sum that was up for claiming this scroll ... or was it the curiosity that led you into the depths of the woods? Nevertheless an adventure would wait, and with these bounties at hand even thoughts of glory and praise come to mind! ((All group sizes are variable, message me on discord for further info)) D4NNA#6850 Event Location: [[590X 68Y -1130Z]]
  13. The Big Dogs are Back “A slaughter of fools…” comments Ralf Brawm to his father Geordie as he witnesses the carnage. The roads were devoid of life; the fear of death overpowering the Orenians’ duty to protect their land. The men of Ruswick were to blame for this, as they had been slaughtering the Orenian thralls in an operation, dubbed “Eland”, keeping the roads safe for their citizens. Hadrian Labdacus, the young son of Austin Labdacus, had noticed much activity within the capital of Helena, and had taken notice of the large amount of soldiers gathering. Under his father’s absence, he had began a ruthless campaign into the Imperial Heartlands. He quickly notified the men of Ruswick, and so the houses convened: Brawm, Labdacus, and Ruk. As the men gathered at the end of the bridge leading into Helena, a lone Ruk approached the rabid Orenians and began taunting them, japing of wingless dragons writhing in the dirt beneath his boots. For the great Ruk man knew that the underdeveloped Orenians would grow angry from the relentless insults and charge out to meet the Rusmen in combat. As expected, the Orenians sallied out in rage and surrounded the young Ruk. Geordie and Bron called upon their men and charged the serfs who had been harassing the young Ruk man under the guise of an empire. The great Rusmen under the command of Geordie Brawm and his son Ralf, confronting the Orenian dogs The men of Ruswick were outnumbered over two to one. They clashed arms in a stalemate on the bridge of Helena, taking potshots at each other. Amidst the fierce engagement, the wingless Emperor was knocked into the surrounding water by a squire of House Labdacus, drowning in the moat meant to protect his city. The squire buried his sword into a soldier’s neck, after he cut another’s hand off and split a third’s skull open. Geordie roared his orders across the bridge and roads, his colossal build standing out in the crowds of Rusmen. During a tactical retreat, Bron and Hadrian Labdacus were cut off from Geordie’s retinue as a result of an Orenian flank. In their escape, they led several foolish Orenians toward the moat, and they suffered the same fate as their Emperor: being brutally cut down in the murky waters of the unkempt Orenian moat. With some room to breathe, Geordie’s forces managed to push the Orenian thralls back towards their capital, claiming several lives in the process. The boy Emperor drowned in his moat. With time to spare, Bron and Hadrian made their way back. In a previous skirmish with Oren, Geordie and Bron had marked down the location of a bridge to be used as a choke point to funnel the crowds of Orenians. This was the time to use it, they decided. Seeing the Orenians getting anxious and overzealous, the men of Ruswick led them towards the bridge, slowly allowing them to gain ground. To any other foe this might seem quite obvious, but as mentioned before, the brain of the average Orenian thrall is not fully developed - around the 10th percentile of all Descendants, including Orcs and Ologs. Once at the bridge, the Rusmen set up a strong line of defence across the bridge and the Orenians charged it in futility, over and over, only to be swiftly pushed back and defeated - first by Geordie’s ferocious charge who, with his steel, cruelly cut down numerous Orenians, followed by volleys of arrows by Bron and his men. Soon to be followed by a swift slaughter by the Ruswick reserves, Bron charged in, finishing off many wounded Orenian dogs. Carnage ensued, and the weak Orenian retinue, their Emperor and all, was quickly dissolved by the company of Rhusmen. A hundred or so corpses sat on the Red King’s Road, decomposing. A lone Orenian survived the slaughter, allowed to leave by the Rusmen to spread tales of their bravery and to recruit others in their fight against the Orenian “men”. Bron Labdacus, the Red King, post-victory.
  14. The Ironguts The Ironguts are the longest living clan amongst the Dwedmar, being true Cave Dwarves at heart. Since the reign of Urguan, many Ironguts have held influential and vital roles, including Kings, Lords, and some even among the Order of Ascended. With these positions, the Ironguts have helped shape the world we see now. Through the forging of great weapons,the spelunking of cavernous ruins, and delving deep into the arcane, the Ironguts have been highly regarded among the Dwedmar. Ancient History of the Clan Modern History of the Clan Clan Government and Laws > The majority of decisions are made by the Clan Father, who solely holds the responsibility to lead the Clan. The Clan Father, chosen by a majority vote by the Elders of the clan, should represent the beliefs of the Clan. It is very rare, if ever, that a Clan Father is removed by the Elders. His word is the final say in matters > Elders of the Clan are elected by the Clan members themselves by popular vote. Elders are responsible for leading the clan members in place of the Clan Father is he cannot be there. > Elders are to reflect the Clan tenets directly onto the Clan members and beardlings. They also handle the initiation and teaching of magic to beardlings in the Clan. Clan Culture Forging of Weapons A tradition where those with the skills to use the Forge will often forge personal weapons. These weapons are a symbol of the Clansman's style of fighting and often have a symbol of the creator upon them somewhere, identifying them as that specific person. Many famous weapons are under possession of the clan, for example the famed blade of Dwain I Irongut, Mourgil, which is now in the hands of Balek Irongut. Beard Braiding Just having a simple beard is not enough for the Ironguts. The Clansmen can often be seen with braids in their beards. These can be as simple as forking the beard in two or as complex as weaving it into an intricate braid, some even weaving in gems, or adding rings of metal. The clan members grow their beards long and are careful not to burn them in the forge or get torn in battle. Magic Ironguts are known users of magic,and the only Dwarven Clan capable of learning Void Magic. Any member of the clan has the right to learn magic, so long as the member can follow the Clan rules. Those inclined to learn should first speak with an Elder in order to begin training. All apprentices are expected to be patient during the process of learning, as it is not a simple one. Magic is considered a sacred tradition within the Ironguts. Clan Crest The Ironguts often adorn a crest composed of a mug of ale and a sword to show that it was sent from an Irongut. We take pride in being Ironguts and won’t hesitate if we get a chance to show it! Clan Banners The Ironguts have always used their banners to mark their homes and Clan halls in the past. The banner is composed of our Clan crest and our Clan colors, silver and blue Clan Diplomacy Clan Ireheart: Friendly Clan Grandaxe: Friendly Clan Doomforge: Neutral Clan Frostbeard: Hostile Clan Irongrinder: Neutral Clan Goldhand: Neutral Clan Treebeard: Neutral Clan Starbreaker: Neutral Clan Silvervein: Friendly Clan Hammerforged: Neutral Records of the Ironguts ((Family Tree: https://www.familyecho.com/?p=JBMRI&c=3rihhyqbxa&f=118731965149584681)) Clan Father: Dimlin Irongut (Beamon4) Clan Elders: Bolgnir Irongut(Tide1) Dwain II Irongut (Hiebe) Balek Irongut(Hobolympic) Clan Members: Tharggus Irongut (Tharggus) Balek Irongut (Hobolympic) Yeulf Irongut (IronGroot) Dorin Irongut (DarthArkous) Bolgnir Irongut (Tidemanno) Alfy Irongut(littleyoshy) Sharr Irongut (lordbobby123) Grandour Irongut(SaltyStormJakob) Ulhor Irongut(BlackDwarvenFire) Yor Irongut(punni_boi) Robin Irongut(Pilantos311) Beardlings: Hall of the Deceased: Deceased: Thordon Irongut ((Jordan1921)) Thrym Sliverfist ((NoobCrafert14)) Nurrak Irongut ((Destroyer_Bravo)) Kara Irongut ((skippyoak)) Gamil Irongut ((Unknown)) Belin Irongut ((Skinner541)) Isabelle Irongut ((Unknown)) Whurgar Irongut ((Owl_7)) Theor Irongut ((Blob9000)) Balin Irongut ((darkjames)) Thak Irongut ((GavinTheViking)) Ore'zy Irongut ((lawlmansayshi)) Fariken Irongut((30326)) Rehki Irongut ((bov61)) Smalltoe Irongut ((Musboris)) Nozagen Irongut ((Bov61)) Lilum Irongut ((KarmaDelta)) Chase Irongut((Dtrik)) Goroth Irongut((30326)) Dun Irongut ((blackhawk77g)) Skippy Irongut (skippy369) Honored Dead: Hiebe Irongut ((Hiebe)) Belin Irongut ((Skinner541)) Darius Irongut ((Blackhawk77g)) Phelrin Irongut ((ChAnKoEr)) Susan Irongut ((ABoyNamedSue)) Algrim Irongut ((Isemburt)) Draco Irongut ((RP)) Dwain Irongut ((RP)) Grungron Irongut(James27049) Missing (Previous list purged): Beardling Yurvo (MonkeyFaceGamer) Thorgrim Irongut (irDusk) Kilgrim Irongut (Kilgrim_) Gauldrim Irongut ((Redbench)) Banished: Mili Irongut ((Leland22)) Grimloth Irongut ((jakesimonson)) Tortek Silverfist ((Axmaynard)) Bofauk Irongut ((lawlmansayshi)) Duregar Irongut ((ww2buff99) Sili Irongut ((Leland22)) Aengoth Irongut ((Aengoth)) Uldar Irongut ((Tirenas)) Clan Tenets In-character 1. Respect your elders. Respect those who are older than you. You represent our clan and your actions, good or bad, affect us all. 2. Loyalty to your clan above all else. 3. Help your clansmen when you can. Don't abandon each other in fights, however hard it might be. Out-of-character 1. Your Irongut character should be your main character. 2. If you're an Irongut and you betray the clan, your character, if killed by an Irongut, is perma-dead. 3. Separate RP from OOC, we’re all friends here. Proving of the Lineage (Application) (Copy the below and paste to use) [ MC Name: ] What is your name? Where do you live? What are your primary skills? Short biography (5+ sentences): How are you related to the Irongut Clan? (See family tree, don't create your own father or mother unless you PM the Clan Father): Do you swear loyalty to the Irongut Clan?: OOC Do you agree to follow all the rules of the Irongut Clan? Discord ID? (optional, you can also send it through PM if required)
  15. I'm new to roleplay and am looking for a little help in creating my character for the application. I'm a little lost on where to find information and where to start with my character, I have no idea what I want her back story to be- where she's from and all that. I know her name is Muya and she's a wood elf. I tried going through the lore but it's a little difficult knowing what cities are being used currently and what lore to include in my backstory as it's hard to know when everything happened and what year the role play is currently in. I'd appreciate any and all kind of help so please, either reply to me here or my Discord is Kytux1103 #3061 Thank you in advance.
  16. D4NNA

    Arcadian Tides

    Naval Storyline Become a confidant of the sea and sail across the Arcadian Ocean with your ship and a faithful crew, life overseas is not easy and requires preparation, navigation and equipment ... not to forget the food on deck is required in large supply, and that's where the delicacies such as sea-fruit are found. Sailors whisper of a taste that comes from the depths of the seas … Explore the depths of the Sea Ruin and discover a world of water and the home of an ancient civilization ... The ocean itself has preserved this place and protected it from the torrents of time, much of the ruin could have survived ... It does not only awaken the treasure hunter instincts but also those of every fisherman, the first who dared to dive beneath the surface... Go under and face the forces of nature ... Descendants have always been made to live on land, but curiosity is like a blade piercing the sea, reaching deeper and diving recklessly. Conquering the deep is a trophy to each and every category, be it by arcane arts, research or even through sheer mind and will! A genius mind will reward their fellowship with the treasure of the deep, and a title to hone their tinkering skill Reveal what lies beneath the depths and ... In a place without light, life is a lantern ... Time is torn, swept between the tides changed the people T̷h̷e̷ ̴H̵y̷d̶r̴a̷ ̴r̶e̶b̸o̶r̴n̵,̶ ̸d̵e̶s̷c̶e̵n̷d̸a̴n̶t̵s̸ ̴c̴r̴e̶a̴t̸i̷n̴g̷ ̴a̵ ̷n̷i̴g̶h̶t̶m̸a̴r̵e̶ ̷o̷f̸ ̸t̶h̷e̴i̶r̴ ̵o̷w̸n̸ ̸…̴ ̴I̴n̷ ̷t̷h̵e̶ ̸p̸a̷s̸t̷,̶ ̶t̷h̶e̸y̴ ̶l̵i̷v̴e̸d̸ ̶i̷n̴ ̶h̷a̵r̶m̷o̴n̶y̸,̴ ̷p̵e̷a̵c̴e̴ ̴a̵n̷d̵ ̵f̶r̷i̷e̷n̸d̷s̶h̸i̷p̶ ̸w̸e̵r̶e̵ ̶o̴f̴f̵e̶r̵e̴d̵ ̵t̵o̴ ̷a̴l̶l̵ ̷w̸h̵o̷ ̵w̶e̴l̸c̷o̸m̸e̷d̷ ̴i̴t̷.̵.̷.̴ ̸b̷u̵t̷ ̴a̵n̵ ̸a̶g̷g̷r̴e̷s̸s̶i̴v̷e̸ ̷f̵o̸r̵c̸e̷ ̸s̷w̵a̸l̶l̶o̴w̸e̵d̵ ̴t̸h̴i̶s̶ ̴a̷g̴e̸ ̶o̴f̴ ̵f̷r̴e̴e̴d̵o̷m̵ ̵…̷s̵e̴a̸l̷e̷d̸ ̶b̸y̴ ̶a̵ ̵g̷u̶a̵r̵d̶i̵a̴n̷ ̵o̴f̷ ̶i̸m̸m̷e̸n̶s̸e̸ ̶p̵o̸w̴e̵r̸.̷.̴.̶ ̶ The great unknown... Discover new life and beings who were born in the deep, pelagic flora and amphibious ocean dwellers alike. The aquatic creatures seem to exist in a miraculous cycle and are in harmony with nature and the Descendants. In the tropical area near the Wildlands many creatures live in different ways and in different planes. Even for those who are not interested in science, the ruin is a beacon of life to ocean dwellers. ...Ultimately, every descendant can just discover for themselves what is behind the horizon for them ... Already have wet feet? Spoiler! Final Boss of the Storyline! If you’re interested feel free to leave a nice RP post! Thanks!
  17. First ‘proper’ ship seen on the expedition. Circa 1715 “The smallest landlubbers, callin’ themselves the halflins received a bounty that would lead them to the shipwreck, as they ventured out from brandybrook’s decks they would quickly find out the shipwreck was no fluke and that another ship had been shattered to pieces there while trying to retrieve the much acclaimed treasure… Was it the aggression of other ocean-travelling folk or just another casualty of the forceful tides that often brought a wet demise to unsuspecting sailors… ? The warning remained, but with the demise of the other ships a lucky group of landlubbers have taken the opportunity to check out what sweet loot these remains had to offer. They were greeted with relics of long past lives and the unwelcoming otherworldly presence of an apparition that had formed from the many lost souls that drowned or died any other horrible death upon the ocean. Seeing that everything eventually sinks down to the ocean floor to ultimately rot away, the shipwreck preserved itself as a warning to all those who are foolish enough to venture out into the unknown seas unprepared. A storm was coming... Luckily the Pirates were giving the landlubbers who received the bounty missive instructions and cared for their safe travel across the seas. Although with the whole population of ocean-dwellers on the line they had no other way but to cooperate with the main-land centric descandants, who were currently in the turmoils of war. Cap’n Octatre’ was send out with a small but dedicated crew to establish contact with the crews that were able to sail out far into the ocean. Far behind the high tides, where rocky formations would carve the floor beneath the surface, a menace would slowly inch closer. It was a sinister creature that would devour everything in its vicinity. As the creature was a very slow organism, the ocean-dwellers & descendants alike wouldn’t know about it at all until its large unsaturated hunger would mess with the whole eco-system. of the uncharted seas Large amounts of flat, marbly bone substance would wash up from the depths of the sea. It was completely dead material, preserved in form, but devoid of life. Once a living organism was turned to dry bones, the salvaged lifeforce would be absorbed by the creature. With the now established contacts to the mainland the pirates hope to salvage the ancient remains of the precursors of the Arkos seas to put an end to this terrible creature, and hopefully free the ancient civilisation trapped beneath a blanket of bones….” *The old man would sign the book, on the last page was a drawing of the shipwrecks at sea. He went to the library of dragur to publish his observation upon sea.*
  18. (A Depiction of Humble Servants of The Creator gathering amoungst themselves peacefully) Circa, 1725, 9th of Sun’s Smile A man sits in his study, Eyes follow trails far too muddy, Lost is his mind, Forgotten when it is time, Let us look to our predecessors we’ve forgot, For we may continue on to one hundred new Empire’s, Or not, “Do not allow your Monarchs, Bureaucratic Patriarchs, and inept Dukes decide your fate, for they shalt leadeth thee into oblivion, and allow Iblee’s chaos to once again ravage our people’s GOOD hearts.” ”Look unto my eyes for I am a man created by Lord GOD, Lo’ I am the servant to whom is all powerful, I tell thee, and I tell thee.” The man hoists up his White Scepter; made of Lord GOD’s own bounty, “There’s work to be done.”
  19. Finri: The Lost Race Of The Ocean. The History: According to the legends scrawled by walls underwater, when the four brothers ruled every corner of the earth, there was one more sibling that the first man and woman could not bare to tell their children; the helpless case of their last child, Newx. He was an elf-like creature with blue skin, four arms, webbed fingers, three eyes, and an eel-like body. His voice was nothing more than high pitched squeals. His behavior was like an animal. But his intelligence was stunning, able to solve puzzles in a matter of seconds. The first man and woman had to sacrifice their child to the sea, for they quickly learned that Newx could not survive on land. Down into the depths did he thrive, his high pitch squeals allowing him to communicate with dolphins and other forms of submerged life. He would be the one to rule not the earth, but it’s vast oceans. It was then did he have four heirs. Gi who governed the Trenches, Mol who protected the Reefs, Bow who guarded the Emptiness, and Wiklo who reigned the Shores. These were the four realms of the ocean, these were the four daughters of Newx, these were the first Finri tribes. Gi—who thrived between earth, water, and darkness—was the inventor of sea lanterns and the discoverer of prismarine. From chunks of these crystals, grains of sand, and blue lava from submerged volcanoes, did she forge the new light source for her sisters. Mol on the other hand, discovered how to herd yummy cod and plant food. The dolphins her father befriended taught her how to hunt. The tropical fish showed her how to farm kelp, sea grass, and coral. And through their knowledge did Mol learn how to tame pufferfish, breeding them to become later on, guardians. Bow traveled alone through invisible currents that were only touched by venturing fish and migrating turtles. Their corpses lend her scute armor and the materials needed to help Gi forge tridents. Wiklo lurked near the shores, learning from the salmon leaving rivers about magic and how to wield it. She taught these arts to her sisters, who used the ability to gain greater technology, like the conduit. Then came the first sailors, who roamed upon the ocean’s surface with their wooden vessels. Their nets stole their food, their ships lingered above their homes, and their crewmembers stole any belongings they could find. Using every magic at their disposal did the sisters attempt to scare the seamen away, but to no avail. They hired mages to block their spells, and the finri did not wish to be discovered; for they cannot breathe air, bringing them to a swift disadvantage. Hence began the worship of Mother Moon, deity of secrets, darkness, and slumber. As the sisters slept, she visited their resting minds, blessing them with her powers on one condition. They must build an altar of peace and promise to never destroy it. The sisters agreed, mastering the power of transforming into shadow and entering dreams based upon the moon cycle. Together they gaslighted the mages on board these well-guarded boats, whispering in their ear while in shadow, giving them nightmares, and using lullabies to make them sleepwalk off the docks. Once their magical defense was down, the sailors left, marking the areas of the sea they should stay away from. A few centuries later--after the sisters died peacefully--a group of finir heard of the high elves and their philosophy. Believing that now is the time to kill the weak and breed the strong, they used each tribe’s pride against them, a tool of mass destruction. The descendants of the sisters--once loyal to each other--rained hell, redding the ocean with blood. An abysmal war for supremacy broke out, and in the final battle, the tribes decided to set the fight at Mother Moon’s temple in attempts to prove their worth to her. Their answer came when her shrine was destroyed in the process, each finir flesh stripped from bone and transformed into shadow. Now their ruins lie, temples crumbled, technologies unused, and kelp-woven scrolls eaten by fish. As Mother Moon awaits her next prophet, the corpses littering the deep’s floor hope to be discovered once more. OOC Explanation: Basically, there was a hidden race that once lived in the sea but went extinct thanks to an abysmal war. This war is currently unknown in the roleplay lore, the only thing that is known is their extinction. This race called the Finir built ocean monuments, discovered prismarine, breed sea animals, and used lost magics. Their curse was their animal like behaviors and their blessing were their extreme intelligence. Purpose: The purpose of this lore is used to explain the reasoning for the existence of ocean monuments, guardians, wrecked ships, and other sea-based items. If this lore is accepted, it could also be used to explain a new form of magic and deity--as seen above--I am planning on sharing. I hope this contributes to the wonderful RPG community we have! Spoilers: https://wikia.lordofthecraft.net/index.php?title=Ancient_History Moon Worship and Magic influenced by moon phases inspired by Avatar: The Last Airbender
  20. Sweet Beat Bread These perfectly made buns of bread are made for commoners and royalty alike. The bread is made out of very smooth flower, sieved to perfection. The flower is so smooth, it rolls off one's fingers without feeling a thing. The yeast inside is so fine that one can see that is has been harvested with much love and care. The honeyed water inside is so special, only one has the knowledge of how to create it. The honeyed water is said to be the best mixture of both honey, ale, and water. Made into a dough with almost godlike hands, grabbing every piece of it as it is done. Sodium chloride as small as one's hair is found within the bread, harvested from the south sea only. Several powders are also used in the baking process, but that knowledge is only for the maker to know. After the dough is finished it goes into a hot and wet chamber where it will be laid to rest. After is done in the chamber, several buns are to be made with such precision and love it is said that the gods made them. Then they will go back into the chamber to rise to twice their size. It is covered in egg yolk and egg white as it goes out of the chamber, such fine sugar is powdered on top that it is to smelt in the mouth. The perfect combination of love, hate, and skill went into making these pieces of bread. The combination of sweet and savory makes most water their mouths if they enter a tavern or ones home. Every bun is so special and precious that it is to be wrapped in paper with care to protect it. Currently, the only one who knows how to make divine pieces of bread is a high elf by the name of Melkor.
  21. The Sleetfells Darkens Sometime during the month of The Deep Cold, the day was cloudy in the Sleetfells, although, infront of a cave just a bit away from the Yatl Wastelands was a ‘ker, the place seemed to be filled with flourishing nature, color flowers along the paths that lead up to the cave, the dark elf seeming to have plenty of supplies out filled with many things, banners, wood, stone. It seemed that he was hoping to get some work done, perhaps hoping to revive the small settlement known as Elmagara’myan. Many of hours later, It would appear that the surface of the cavern was filled with stalls and plenty of red banners above them, although clouds would suddenly roll into the Sleetfells, the sky darkening as a sudden cold fills the area, the sun completely disappearing, the ‘ker looking up at the sky, in an instant it seems that snow would pour down, he’d blink in awe before taking what he can, although wouldn’t be much as he’d rush back into the cave, settling himself as a few more hours would pass, peeking out of the cave only to see mounds of snow, covering all the progress he’s made, everything.. covered with snow, the man thinking in his head “Well.. ****” (OOC info)
  22. Vinir Orothell Physical Information Height ⊸ 6’1 Weight ⊸ 150 Skin Tone ⊸ Pale Gray Eye Color ⊸ Blue Hair Type ⊸ Short silver hair Race ⊸ Dark Elf Gender ⊸ Male Personality Information Strength ⊸ Very agile, has a strong goal to survive. Weakness ⊸ Ashamed of his past choices. Silver-Tongue ⊸ Has a very “persuasive” way of talking when he needs to. Ambitious ⊸ Vinir wants to do what is best for him and his companions, he will do whatever it takes to protect their bonds. Adventurous ⊸ Spends time talking and seeing the ways of others. This includes studying cultures, learning the different languages of the world, and even some information on the different religions. Other Traits Job ⊸ Sellsword Closest Kin ⊸ Nilnir Orothell Story/Biography [1653-1698] Vinir was a young elf that was born into the Orothell family. He was born in Sutica in the year if 1653. When Vinir was a young elf, he would roam the streets and would always spend his younger days making makeshift weapons with his brother, Andeosi. Andeosi and Vinir would spar day after day just to better themselves for anytime that they would have to fight in the future. Vinir always wanted to be the greatest warrior in all of southern Arcas and he did not plan to let anyone stop him. Vinir’s life was going great, he got to spend time with his family, watch the guards march in and out of the city after doing their prosperous work of protecting the people that reside in Sutica. However, one day when Vinir was waiting to see the guards walk by at his usual spot by the bank, he noticed that the sun kept going down and down, and no guards where coming in. Vinir finally got tired of waiting for the guards so he headed to the nearest wall access, and climbed up the wall. Only to see that there was a conflict outside, that started to gather many people that seemed to be all dressed in the same uniforms. As Vinir was watching, he heard a man scream in pain out of the middle of the conflict only to then later, see him fall to the ground motionless. Vinir was young, but he still knew something was wrong. He quickly ran to get help at the nearest guard-post he knew of but found them all empty. Vinir kept wandering the city looking for help, but he was to late. He saw the vicious men from outside start pouring in the city, as almost as to save himself, he ran to the nearest dock and dove into the ocean. [1698-1707] Now, Vinir was not the best swimmer but however, he knew how to keep himself afloat. To the best of his ability he swam one direction, he became very tired and grew exhausted (which he later found out was West) he became very tired and grew exhausted eventually passing out from swimming so long. He lay, floating on his back drifting with the current. The current took him to a desert island that he has never seen, but one that he has only heard of in silly stories. Upon arrival Vinir only knew little of what his older brother told him that involved survival. Vinir ventured deeper into the island and even found a place in which he could harvest the fruit and drink from the water. At the time Vinir was 45, still a young dark elf, was ready to survive whatever the gods would throw at him. Vinir would go on to survive here for 9 years. He would sleep in a cave that held all the resources that he gathered, a bed of leaves to sleep on, and had a spring at the back of it that he had drunk water from since his time there. Now, Vinir did not plan to stay for long, he had a heart for adventure and wanted to cross the ocean and find the next place that he could. So he did just that. Vinir had so much faith that he left all that he had just to swim towards, what he thought was Arcas. [1707-1715] Vinir walked towards the ocean and started swimming, he began heading in a somewhat straight direction. However, this swim took him to a rather, interesting place. Upon arriving he was greeted by a man that towered above him in a dark black armor. “Welcome to the Principality of Vira’ker”. Vinir had happily entered the city upon being greeted, he spent time wandering around and even saw many eviction signs. Upon seeing one recently evicted house, it caught his eye. He then went to the local steward and even slept that night in his new home. Vinir would spend many nights here before seeing the man the greeted him at the gates his first day there. Vinir later became friends with this man and even found out more things about him. The mans name was Daichia, Hortiator of the Div’Cruan, later known as the Vihai’ker. Later on into their friendship Vinir would challenge Daichia to a duel. Being the agile warrior that he is, he was able to move swiftly around the towering man and even defeat him. Vinir would go on to impress many people with his great agility. Daichia saw Vinir’s talent as he was dueling the prince on the beach and he was even placed Vinir into the military, days later even made a Ordinator. [1715-1720] Upon joining the military, Vinir began to travel. He spent many times escorting citizens and royals to their locations. Upon arriving at one location, Vinir saw a rather familiar face, his brother. After being reunited, Vinir and his brother spent a very long time travelling down the road catching up with each others past lives. Vinir even invited Conall to join him at Vira’ker. The two brothers then stay together as much as they could, who knows what the gods have in store for them, but I guarantee, nothing will stop the Orothells. [1720-Present] After leaving the lands of the Mali’ker. Vinir would visit Krugmar to see his friend Noka’Lur from time to time. After that he still continued to go on anger filled sprees of killing people. He did this for some time until one day, he came across a eagle. Upon following it around in the forest, he had arrived at the things nest where it had been living, in a forest near Fenn. Only to discover the broken eggs that lay in it. Perhaps it was just from a prey the eagle had discovered, so Vinir left and would return days later. When he returned though, the eagle had been laying lifeless on the forest floor. Vinir rushed up to it cradling it in his arms, as he sat there with it. While he did this, his bond would grow strong with the eagle, and soon he named it Tathvir.
  23. It all started that night, an Emperial night, a night of loss, death, torture, and hell. That night was her end, that night was the night I started. It had all started that night. The winds were blowing thundering past every house, a march was heard as all the happiness drained. The dogs, were howling, fire. Fire from the hatred of the Emperor, his torches burnt, many fled. The blood was shed. That night was the night mother said her farewells, to me, to sister, to this world. Her sickness had grown, she could no longer walk, so she packed our bags, gave us the locket her mother had given her. She stayed, smiling, yet crying as the people pulled us away. Fire. Blood. Cries. Death. The Emperor had already won. Darkness fell, I fainted. Only to wake up, Urguan being my new setting, the only words coming out my mouth being “S- s- sister?!?!” “Yeh sister beh wi'd 'e Elves Lad, sheh beh safe t'ere.” spoke a man, a small man, he was a dwarf. “Meh name beh Flynn Treebeard, Urguan 'nd 'efrumm Med'ehc. Yeself'ns?” “A-I I'm Adrian DeLaForesteNoir.” he answered, scared, bewildered and lost. That was the first time a dwarf had been across from my eyes, and the first time sister and mother weren't smiling with me. This was the first time my eyes truly became a waterfall of misery and loneliness, a secret place showing himself, I screamed, I cried, the realisation that mother was gone crossed my mind at last. That night, that night was finally over as I fell asleep in the arms of Flynn. That night was over and I knew I'd meet sister again. I had fully turned towards Anbella. Me, a human now called myself a dwarf even without the blood throughout myself. That night had changed my life, whether for the best or the worst, I am still unsure, but that night was my tragedy, and my new joy. That night, I am now thankful for. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Hi! That was part one of my story! The first story I've ever made! I hope I can make the next one! And thanks for reading!!!!!!!!! ❤️ I hope you all enjoyed this! ❤️❤️❤️
  24. Mactroth! Cresonian Ducal Theatre Mactroth - A man and his wife work together to take over a throne that doesn’t belong to them, but what will be their end all fates in this tragic production? Audition to join the cast now! ((Co-ords to Cresonia: x: -1354, y: 60, z: 529)) Lady Jasmin Nasrid, governess of the Ducal Cresonian Theatre, has currently opened auditions, taking place on [[Saturday, 6th June, 5pm EST, 10pm GMT]] Sign up below Roles to audition for: Mactroth (Human) Lady Mactroth (Human) King Duncard (Human) Banqaul (Human) Fishmongerer (Any) Fleana (Human Child) Three Witches (Any race)
  25. [!] From the Frostbeard clan hall, groups of Dwed would file out, spreading and pinning the missive to wherever! [!] TO THE KIN OF KAZ’ULRAH THE HORN CALLS 8th of the Grand Harvest, 1722 My brothers and sisters, true kin of Kaz’Ulrah. It has not even been a century since the fall of Kal’Tarak, and in turn, our beautiful kingdom. Although it may have only been a simple blink in our lifespan since then, its effects on us would last for a lifetime. I know many of you since the fall, joined your brethren in Agnarum & Holm- and rightfully so. There is no shame in standing with your brethren. But I know many more of you refused to stand alongside those that we had once despised, whose blood we spilled on the snow-topped fields of Jornheim. It was we who stormed Fort Kovakirr. And, it was they, Urguan, who fought alongside the Empire of Man during the Last Atlas Coalition, while we fought to the last man. But now, it is nowhere more apparent than now that the dwarves should no longer stand separated. We dwed should not, and will not, toil under the boot of the umri, elgus, nor uruks. For the survival of our existence, we need unity. The ever-wise Clan Elder and son of Hamnil Frostbeard, Argnos Frostbeard, foresaw this, and, alongside Garrond Frostbeard and myself, brought Clan Frostbeard to the Underrealm of Urguan. Our clan, the core of the Kingdom of Kaz’Ulrah, rivals of the Urguanites, would eat and drink alongside our fellow dwed once more. Not all came, however, citing our long and bloodied history. The defense of dwed-kind stands above our grudges. And so, the horn calls, bellowing from the highest mountain peaks, and through the deepest valleys. It calls to the sons of Kaz’Ulrah, to those who survived the tumultuous fall of our Kingdom. The Dwed stand in Urguan! As Ograhad Decrees, Clan Father Vithar Frostbeard, Son of Verthaik II Frostbeard
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