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Found 47 results

  1. Nonival

    SCOURGE OF THE WYVERN

    The Encounter Aldonza Castelo takes a tentative sip of the wine, eyes glimmering in delight as the decadent liquid passes her lips. The woman leans back in her chair, swirling the wine as she looks up towards the evening sky, “Ah, yes. The story of my scar.” Her gaze drops back to the inquisitor. “I suppose it all began with a Grand Marshal and the King’s quest.” This was no simple errant quest. The far Southern reaches of Atlas is a cold and unforgiving wasteland of death. It is far too easy for the common man to fall prey to frostbite, starvation, or worse. However, if the King wanted the Southern region of Atlas mapped, then by the Seven Skies Roland Castelo would see it done. Four other brave souls would come to accompany him on this endeavour. The Sergeants Aldonza Cervantes and Vittore Stefano Volaire- both seasoned warriors of the Legion- help form the backbone of the group. Then, of course, there was the recruit. Bringing Jack along was clearly a mistake, but this was merely a mapping expedition and there were other soldiers of experience to call upon if necessary. The final member of the team would be a man by the name of Louis. A scholar of questionable scholarly attributes that was itching for a bit of adventure. Unbeknownst to them just what fate had in store, the five packed their bags and headed off towards the snowy mountains. The sky would soon grow dark as skies often do and crystal-esque snowflakes began to fall softly about the travelers. Five weary travellers came to a halt in a field of white. For you who might never have dared the forbidding Southern reaches, night is not a pleasant time to traverse the land. Three stayed behind to prepare tents and the yearned for embrace of a fire while the Sergeants split off, moving several yards out in separate directions to scout the region they had settled. Sergeant Aldonza was the first to return followed shortly by Sergeant Vittore. Each soldier announced their own discovery of ruins and edifices to the Grand Marshal. Over the crest of a small hill a few mere steps away, the other two followed the Cervantes to her findings. The ruins of a wall connecting two snowy hilltops loomed over them, too refined to be that of the ice wall that keeps the people of Atlas confined to that which they call home. Not to mention that this particular wall had a sizable archway within the center of it, guarded by cracking statues taller than any uruk could hope to stand. These desolate ruins posed no foreseeable threat, so a mark on the map and promises to return to investigate in the sun’s light were made as the group continued on to what the Sergeant Vittore had observed. Trudging over the flurry brushed hills- struggling to maintain their balance with the sporadic trembles of the ground- the trio came in sight of a Keep. Hopeful walls glowing of candlelight stood firm, beckoning to the soldiers. The remaining comrades were quickly summoned from the camp and together they all stood before the closed gates of solace. Their calls for the master of the house- or anyone willing to open its gates- were answered only by their own voices, echoing into the night. The darkness of forsaken hope cast its veil upon the union. Biting cold kissed them with icy lips and the wind seemed to howl only louder. It was nay over for the group, but the thought of returning to their little fire when compared to the comfort of shielding walls and warm food wrought everything in despair. Even the faint trembles of the ground seemed to grow in strength and number. For so they did. The howls of the wind were mere whispers in light of the thundering roar that made even the gargoyles adorning the Keep tremble at its might. A new chill- that which had little to do with the snow and wind- passed over our heroes. Five travellers of forgotten weary plow onwards through the snow, further up the mountainside to a surface of stone. The foundation of some structure lost to time. Moonlight glistens off soldiers’ blades and arrow tips alike as suspense plays its cruel tricks, catching breaths and warping time to a dreamlike halt. Even the gale waits silently, reverently, for the beast to make its debut. Now matter how the wind blows, the mountain does not bow before it- so say some. But this creature of fury and frost makes trembling cowards of the mountains. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sounds of night and rumbling ground applaud the warrior of the Southern reaches. Its icy gaze, peering around a snow-capped mountain peak, strike the group unlike any sword. This creature was surely one of the Seven Skies. Scales formed of the stars themself glisten. And from the wyvern of ice and frost so booms its powerful roar. “To arms! Stand your ground!” The voice of the Grand Marshal battles for dominance over the beast’s. Two arrows whistle through the air, each meeting its mark. Bows hold favor over the sword wielders as the creature pushes up into the sky. For a moment, the language barrier between man and wyvern is undistinguishable. All its rage is encompassed in a powerful breath of ice and wind. Those with shields raise them high before their comrades as more arrows are knocked at the ready by those with a bow to release them. These weapons of war are but toys to the beast. It’s roar replicates that of a merciless laugh as it swoops forward, claws outstretched to ****** up its nearest prey. Soldiers leap into action to no avail. Sergeant Vittore is raised briefly into the night sky for a mere few feet before the creature loses hold on its stubborn victim. Nonetheless, he is momentarily left winded by the cracked stone that greets him. The notion that the layer of ice protecting the wyvern is impenetrable begins to settle in their mind. Their arrows are practically useless against its natural shield. Fear shrouds them for but a moment when the Grand Marshal calls out once more “Down the mountain men and to the North!” Without question, the group hastens down the mountainside. Though they run in fear, do not take this act in cowardice. Soldiers and scholar alike career onwards to an awaiting forest. Snow begrudgingly gives way to forest floor, leaving frosted puddles here and there. Within the woods embrace, the five each take to the cover of a tree and await the approach of their predator. It’s cry announces its presence before the shaking of the ground as it lands ever could. The soldiers whirl around from behind the decent safety of their respective trees all at once. Arrows are knocked into place once more by Sergeant Vittore and Footman Jack as the other two soldiers begin their charge unto the beast. The Sergeant Aldonza fuels her charge with a mighty warcry only to receive a roar in return. The barrier of tongues is meaningless once more as the two foes cry out to one another, each one mightier than the last. Before any real winner can be determined, blades and arrows descend at once upon the beast. The weapon that were once useless strike the beast, its armor of ice melting away in the warmer air of the woods. Blood and sweat taints the air. The moon casts shadows of the battle upon the trees- the sole audience to the scene. Man and beast alike stir up the mud of the earth in their struggle. Blade and arrow upon scales. Claws and icy breath upon shield and armor. With a sickening squelch, the Grand Marshal’s blade is thrust into his foe once more in a substantial blow. The wyvern launches into the sky with a cry of agony, the action ripping the weapon from the officer’s grasp. Sergeant Aldonza is quick enough to leap back as their foe quickly descends, but the same cannot be said for the Castelo soldier. Five yells of varying intensity ring out. Bows are replaced in haste with swords and two sergeants, a recruit, and a scholar move with newfound rage to the aid of their Grand Marshal. Its victim still mangled beneath its claws, the wyvern spreads the once beautiful wings of icy crystals out. The air whistles from the sheer force of the motion as its wings arc forward, dangerously sharp claws upon each like that of a bats reaching to strike at its oncoming enemies. Another powerful blow is delivered, a claw catching the face of Sergeant Aldonza- the wyvern’s nearest opponent. The woman is sent flying back, leaving the remaining three to see a losing battle won. But their wrath holds no meaning to the foe, satisfied with the chaos it has wrought. The magnificent creature takes to the sky. And so the wyvern flies off, tracing its path of flight in a trail of blood. The trees look upon what remains of the group mercilessly. Two soldiers kneel beside their officer, looking unto the lethal damage done as the scholar moves to see to the wounds of the Cervantes. “Help the Grand Marshal,” the woman pushes Louis away, crawling forward towards the others as one hand clutched to the blood that pools from her face. It is evident that time will not be kind unto our five hopeless heros. Roland does no more than groan as the life slips from his weary form. Aldonza clutches the wound dealt to her face, pleading for someone to save him, damnit! Vittore looks over the wounds of his fallen friend and leader with a hopeless stare. Louis digs through what little supplies they still had on them in a desperate attempts to find something of medical value. Jack goes back and forth between Louis and Roland, as unsure as the rest of them as what was left to be done. And all of them slowly feel the weight of the night’s battle and the wretched nightmare they bore witness to bear down upon their shoulders. Aye, the story could end here. You who comes to know of this forlorn tale must surely now weep for our fallen heroes. But do not let yourself despair, for the trees themselves must have whispered of their state to passing wanderers. Three beings emerge from the foliage, surely Aenguls come to lift their sorrows and heal their wounds. And they do. One of the three embodiments of hope steps forth, enacting miracles of medicine unto the wounded soldiers. The three beings leave almost as quickly as they came, leaving no more than whispered words of advice and healing wounds. Those of us the wiser know the trio to nay truly be Aenguls, but for such light to pierce the veil of despair, they may have as well been. Five comrades sit in the woods. A Grand Marshal, two Sergeants, a recruit, and a scholar. Tonight they rest and give thanks for their life’s. But the time may come- the time will come- when five comrades seek out their foe once more. ((A few quick notes! This story is based an actual event that occured within LOTC. A huge thanks to Unwillingly who was the ET member who ran the event and later on also ran the revenge event. Also a huge thanks to Zac Clay who happened to have been streaming LOTC at the time and dropped by to stream a bit of the tail end of this event. And of course, a huge thanks to all those that were participants in the event and got to experience this with me! This forum post has been a long time coming and I’m really glad to be able to have finally finished this so that I might share it with all of you. Please let me know if you would like me to write a part two for this that entails the revenge story.)
  2. TheDragonsRoost

    The Phoenix Blight

    The sight hurt. Jarsek Myrsta, upon finding his homeland destroyed and full of damaging magic, was not pleased to find his home in such a state. He blamed September for destroying such a beautiful place while he was away and himself for not being here to defend it. Sometimes, it is enough to find hatred in destruction. He was a pure high elf in every sense of the word, but even he had his faults. No one was immune to emotions running rampant and this included Jarsek. His own emotions were not like most high elves, but this would prove to either be his greatest strength or his weakness. Jarsek felt no pain or sorrow once he looked upon Haelun’or, but rather he felt something else. Something that was beginning to add fuel to a bonfire that would last for the rest of his life. Cursed or soulless? No one knew. Not those left to see the day as this was my own challenge to overcome. He hated the fact that his grandson had been an impurity in his own house. The news of his death did greatly satisfy him, but it was not enough. He wanted to rid his grandson from the history books and make it to where he never existed in the first place. This kind of task would require a great cost, but it was one he was willing to pay. Even in death, his impurity rots. In life, I thought he would grow up to be a scholar working in the Eternal Library, his unyielding curiosity granting us more knowledge. No, this was not to be. After seeing his home destroyed, he came across a fellow high elf. One that even he thought seemed a bit suspicious. This high elf had told him that his name was Illiran Drennan, but he had never heard of such a name before. Even on his journeys abroad, he never once heard of such a house. It was at this moment that Jarsek decided to investigate this house through Illiran, but the risk of having this trust broken was too great at the time. No, he would slowly gain this elf’s trust and try to learn more, though this would also take its time. No greater shame exists than having someone in your own house be impure. Yet, this was something that could be inferred as irony. My grandson was impure and my own impurity stem from the blood on my hands. I took no joy or pity when I fought in battle, but felt nothing at all. This was something that no magic in the world could do to me as I was born with the ability to wield my emotions like a two-edged sword. It was what made me a good warrior, but it can also make me a monster. After talking to Illiran, Jarsek left the site of his old home and journeyed back to the Kadarsi, a cold darkness in his gaze as if he had shut himself from his own emotions. He didn’t know fear or loss, but he did know anger, fury, and rage. This could prove to be his downfall as the sight of his homeland did affect him, but not in the normal ways that a blighted land did. No, he was a blighted phoenix...
  3. Cold breezes are made to seem tempests, exacerbated by the winter’s brisk night-air, no cloak nor drape sufficient shield ‘gainst their assault. The lone dwarf wobbles toward a billboard with a parchment fast in hand at dusk’s nadir. The streets of Agnarum and Holm are empty. His steps are unheard and unseen. Quickly and crudely he nails his papers, gone swift as he came. << Was it truly Khorvad who cursed us with greed? Or did he simply cast off Yemekarr’s blessings? And let what hence had resided deep within us, Surface, Like impurities in the crucible? Urguan had his greed. It served him some well, but did to him the worst of things. For greed is no double edged sword; it is an old, rusted hatchet. With its blunted ax we spill kinsblood and rejoice at riches plundered, At grudges settled, At enemies slain. We have forgotten the consequences. And all the while its rusted shaft digs into our palms, But we are blinded to it by the ecstasy of victory. It feels to us as but a sting, and we say: “It was worth it, these riches, and traded for but a scrape!” We feel as if we have cheated the Gods; We rejoice! But we cannot cheat the Gods... For they are the greatest of cheaters. The consequences for cheating the Gods are dire. We have forgotten the story of Khorvad. In due time we feel the fever of greed: those rusty scrapes their poison begin to deal. At first our mouthes run dry, and soon our eyes grow heavy… the water which sustains us becomes ever harder to swallow. And we drink until we can no longer, to dull the pain so that it may go away. But this pain will never go away. We ignore it nonetheless. And only when the blackened tetanus, veined with hate and fueled by spilt kinsblood, sent to spite us by Dungrimm himself, on our arm becomes too painful and apparent to ignore, do we awaken to the truth and scamper for a cure. But, hark! Now is time too late. For no wiccan can construe a cure, and no Alchemist an elixir make, to quell this curse of the Gods, which death sentences by divine hate. So sleep now Sons of Urguan, Sleep for your honor has left you. So sleep now, Sons of Urguan, sleep for your fathers detest you. A kinslayer his hearth defiles with ambition and greed, and will surely suffer in Dor’Vuur. The bystander who this deed sees but ‘stead of stop it, flees, twice cursed shall be for sure. He cannot hope to taste Belka’s sweet nectar, in Khaz’a’Dentrumm. So sleep now, Sons of Urguan, Sleep for your honor has left you. Die now, disowned of the first one, For from the grave your ancestor mocks you. Dwarfkind exists no longer, only bare-cheeked shadows remain. Splintered is the arm that once bore the hammer, which to the world balance did ordain. A kinslayer still is kin, And surely the Gods shall judge him harshly. But are we the Gods? To slay a kinslayer to kinslay is. For blood is not water, and kin always kin remains. So sleep now, lost sons of Urguan. Your deeds your souls forever have stain’d. And die now, ye sons of Urguan. Your courage and honor never you shall see again. >>
  4. TheDragonsRoost

    The Embers of the Cold

    How does it feel? Dreycon asked himself that question as he went home towards Sutica. It wasn’t much of a question, but when he set those crops on fire, something felt off about him. This feeling seemed to persist as the walk back to Sutica continued through the forests and the beautiful landscape. He was a firm believer in fate and the balance of the world, but after the encounter with the sprite and the whole arson, nothing felt familiar. It was almost like he had done something to himself that had yet to be revealed. How does it feel? It lingered in his mind. The only question he was unsure of on how to answer properly. His feelings were complicated at the beginning when he lost his family to elven warriors, making him an orphan. He guessed that it felt good? How does it feel? It didn’t go away. It was maddening to ask himself the same question in his mind over and over again, almost like a broken record. He sought out the forces of September as a way to figure out what was wrong with him and see if they had healers that could heal him, but all he found was a maddening feeling that consumed his mind. How does it feel? He prayed to GOD in the hopes that he’d find redemption, but his prayers were left unanswered. That question still left a mark in his mind that seemed to never go, searing itself into his very core. How does it feel? Dreycon smiled with a dark grin. It felt nice to get it out of its cage. The pent-up rage and fury that had been building over his life finally turned into a bonfire that had plenty of fuel to burn. The flame was a cold one, but his cold embers would wear away his sanity and turn him into a clear psychopath. He felt like some of his constraints had been shaken off of him, the ones that made him weak and insufferable. It would grant him power, but not the magical kind. Power, the type he had his eye on, was physical alone. He didn’t wish to give away control to anything but himself. The dream he had the night before last finally started to make sense. It was a dream of fire that burned cold, but it would consume the world. Dreycon dreamed of a world without nature or descendants, but a world ravaged by the flames of war. How does it feel to finally let me free, Dreycon? To finally let your inner demon burn through your mind and fill your veins with fire and fury?
  5. TheNanMan2000

    Sacrifical Deeds to Krug for Mokûrz Staun

    Suitable Ambience Mokûrz Ztaun, Season of Hate Along the road heading to Belvitz, Murak’Gorkil rode his Demigryph, looking for Imperials to slay, he came across a Kha, named Cat. It was the Mokûrz Staun, Season of Hate, and Kha were a desecration to Krug, and their existence has long plagued the Descendants. Murak then took this Kha to Krugmar and knelt her down before the Shrine to Krug For Murak to honour Krug in this Season, he had to inflict pain and suffering onto ‘Cat’, and so he drew his blade, delivering the first blood-letting Blood pooled from the stab-wound , but Kha was suprising resilient to pain, perhaps even a masochist. But either way, Murak carried on the spilling of blood, Krug himself present as the Shrine stood tall over the sacrifice Blood continued to cover the floor, saturating it with a pool of crimson and feed nutrients to the grass Enough blood spilt for Krug, Murak cast aside his knife and threw her back to the ground, beginning to rain elbows onto the Kha’s face with 460 pounds of Orcish force The smell of blood and the sound of blows landing hard on the sacrifice to Krug, Murak began to feel a sense of bloodlust, a need for more gore to be displayed and hate to be inflicted For a final act of pain, Murak snaps her knee, both an act of hatred and display of prowess. Murak wasn’t just a brainless brute, but also adept at fighting and with an understanding of grappling and submissions The mutilation was over and Krug was surely pleased. His act of hatred was overwhelming, Murak was filled with little malice, but no Orc can with-hold from the bestial nature inflicted apon them by Iblees @Catarrh
  6. Lockezi

    The Battle of Minds.

    (Credit to Silents Call) On the 5th of Sun’s Smile, 1690 in the Wonka Woods roamed a ‘ker in the settlement of Gladewynn, a dark, mysterious aura emanating off of his person, the dreadful feeling lingering onto those nearby for several days, causing nightmares and anxiety to their spirits, although nothing to match what he’d go through on the daily It seems his facial expression is pained, saddened and lost, he’d walk past the groups of people without even looking at them, his blindfold likely blocking a lot of the expression he held, walking down and into a cave, the boots on his feet lightly clanking against the stone floor, spotting a large tunnel with rooms and signs with names, he’d stops as soon as he sees his own room that he shares with his significant other. Instead, a thousand thoughts begin to fill his mind, beginning to walk over to his right, near the wall of the cave, hands moving to the pieces of armor he wore, unravelling the cape over his shoulder then detaching the plates of armor that he wore along his arm and chest, dropping them onto the ground, a loud cling echoing through the cave.as his form moves against the wall, along with pulling his shirt over his head, back slowly sliding down against the rigid, pointed stone, likely scratching and cutting his skin, although he’d pay no mind to it. The ‘ker moves his hand up to his blindfold, instead he’d pull it off of his head, allowing it to fall to his side, purple irises now staring into a black abyss as a plague of thoughts began to fill his corrupted mind. The wave of thoughts would make him question his life, his happiness, the first thought came like a bubble moving to the top of the water, quick and without hesitation he’d think inside of his head “Is it real, Or is it feigned..?” He could only be talking about who he is bound to, the one who he loves, unsure if its actually real, if the feelings are returned instead of simply using him, leading him on, the three minds inside him conflicting, all telling him different things, a constant battle in his head, hurt and confused if his feelings are returned fully, trying to trust his lover, but the things in his head tell him otherwise. The next thought would pop in his head, just as quick. “Do they.. actually care?” This thought would refer to his friends, not seeming to know if they really care about his existence, or if they are just using him for whatever means they have, are they really his friends, are they there for him? His blind gaze moves to his left arm, completely bandaged, although underneath is what most usually would not expect, he’d take several moments to think on that, before stopping. The next thought would come quickly, a quiet breath coming from his person, on the verge of tears as he wonders. “Am I alone?” All thoughts and feelings would cease, the ‘ker almost letting out a whimper of sorts, remembering the two other minds in his body, one filled with evil and the other with curiosity, constantly battling as if they were people, stuck in a maze of minds, although, in this instant, they seemed to be the most noticeable. He’d begin to speak for the first time that day, in a quiet strained whisper to himself. “That's right... I’m never alone.” His hands move to his side to where the blindfold fell, picking it up to wrap back around his face, rising back to his feet to put his shirt back over him, slowly picking up the pieces of armor to slide them back on, securing them in spot, closing his ‘eyes’ to take a moment, inducing a fake feeling of happiness on him for the temporary time, one of the good things about holding one of these extra minds. He’d begin to walk forward, up the stone steps and out of the cave, the outside of him looking fine, the fake feeling of happiness washing over the utter despair that he faces inside him, but today, seemed the worst, but who would notice now?
  7. DISCLAIMER Malin : A Horny Boy An accurate depiction of fratbro Malin explaining the importance of men’s prostate health, circa. -3000000. Origin Story (not a discount Tolkein rip off, we swear). Let’s begin with, well, the beginning. We know a few things from the sad excuse of a wiki-page on Malin. From the original Man and Woman created by the ‘Creator of the Seven Skies’, first was born Malin. It is said he was birthed in the Forests of Aegis. After his mother and father departed the realm to join God within the Seven Skies, emo-teen Malin was left to think bigly. He and his people wandered pre-historic Aegis in peace, pointing at things and making Aegis’ first language. As I hope players in this community already know, Malin wanted to put his **** anywhere he could, Iblees tempting him with the promise of, “... Many children to fill the barren forest halls of the sanctuaries”. Father to all Elves, his ultimate desire was to populate every forested region beneath his rule with his kin. Imagine India’s slums, but with more trees and somehow even more STD’s. One could say this was out of love for his people, though he also could have just been a massive unit. Though not quite as bloodthirsty as Krug or honor bound as Horen, we could make the assumption that Malin largely contributed to the initial defeat of Iblees (alongside Krug’s kamikaze-esque tactics). The wiki states, “During the long battle against the fallen Daemon, Malin fought swiftly with his sword, landing many a blow upon Iblees,”. Within the later days of the war Malin converted to a defensive state, “fearful for the lives of his children”. Iblees, in the eve of his defeat, cursed Malin with sterility. Despite this, as the Ascended claim, Aeriel reverted these curses after smiting Iblees with a max DPS pally-build. She, as I am assuming is the “robed figure” mentioned on the wiki, said to Malin, “May your forests be a sanctuary of peace and your children long lived”. Thus, we come to an end of the origins of the original boytoy and move to his disappearance. Disappearance/Death/I don’t know because lore is less consistent than a middle-schooler’s attitude Now, this is where things become a bit tricky. Malin’s disappearance is never explicitly explained by the lore, whereas Krug is presumed to have died in the battle with Iblees by The Journal of War. Yet again, however, this lore is directly contradicted as Horen (father of Humanity), is described as being killed by Krug after the First War within his own home. Urguan was described as dying and ascending to Khaz’A’Dentrumm – yet what canon are we left with for Malin? Someone please post a source where Malin’s disappearance is explained, justified, or even mentioned (outside of character assumptions). In my own experience trying to dig through the forums for this topic, I couldn’t find a single canonical account for where Malin dipped to, or why he did. Like his kin he was blessed with virtual Immortality – and his love for his children would demand he stay beside them. Yet, here the Elven playerbase sits, not giving a damn because there is no reason to. Except for me. Because I’m a prick. This is where the post frankly falls flat on its face, and where I beg the LT to take into consideration a better explanation, or any explanation at all, for what happened to the Elven King. After all, the Elves are meant to have a love and adoration for an absent father that left without any trace. As pointed out earlier in this section as well, the lore for the Brothers’ disappearance directly contradicts itself and in all honesty should be amended if any sort of character beyond the age of 500 is meant to function. The Legacy With what little information we have, we can discern that language originates from that of his peoples’, as when they migrated around Aegis it is said they began to name “trees, grass and mountains”. He did well to foster the creation of these three words, and I guess everyone owes being able to say anything at all to the Elves – despite their language being almost entirely dead and unused in RP outside of Sporadic’s basic sentences. This isn’t, however, to say that common stems from Elven language – yet we see no examples of Elven influence in the linguistics of modern day RP (outside of the few that use it still). Additionally, the Elves have divided into some of the most individualistic sub-races on the server, each having their own distinct flavor. Yet besides this, little is told of his specific acts as the Father of Elves, nor is their lore-enforced admiration for him backed up by any substantial acts of leadership or glory. In all honesty, the same can be said for all of the Brothers, as our world creation lore is limited and likely always will be. Wrapping Up All in all, what can be seen from this single instance of lore is that it’s rather lacking in comparison to the writing dedicated to Horen, Urguan or Krug. That’s saying quite a bit because even they are not well described in our world lore. Additionally, as I sifted through topics and the wiki, contradictions are more than apparent and likely confusing for new players. LT/WT, please clean this up and make the very basis of our world more consistent. Thanks. To those better versed in the lore, I’d love to hear how I’m wrong. God, I hope I am. To the FM team, in case you’re thinking of shutting this down: edit : tell me find out in rp and i sue
  8. Snowypaw

    Warriors of the Crown

    Warriors of the Crown First of all, if you read the entire story, kudos to you, my friend! Second of all; yes – I am aware of the messy formatting, and possible mistakes I made with grammar, spelling, etc. throughout the story! * Constructive criticism is deeply appreciated
  9. TheDragonsRoost

    The War for Oblivion

    The bell began to toll loudly across the small town of Dalrak. It was a church bell that rang loudly, however, but it did not ring out in joyous ding-dong as it normally did. It rang out in solemn tones as if someone had just passed away, attracting the townspeople to the church and gathering all to the funeral procession. It was a special kind of funeral where a magician of great renown had passed away, his body now spilling all of its powerful magic into the church. The funeral of this great wizard was one of many that were all lined up to be set throughout the day, though the funeral processors cleared the whole two hours for this wizard out of sheer respect for him. He fought in the war that was being fought all over the world, one of the last great generals of the gods that ruled over this fragile world, and his army was beginning to lose with his passing. No one knew how he died, save for one being who coincidentally attended his funeral. The name of this wizard would have been etched into the history books of the multiverse forever, but there was a sinister plan in motion to kill all who attended this great wizard-general’s funeral. No magic in the multiverse could protect these innocent funeralgoers, save for one. The one magic that this war began over. Oblivion Magic. The magic of Creation and Destruction on a massive scale. In the whole room where the funeral was taking place, there was only two wizards that could do such magic. One of them laid in a coffin, dead, and the other was very much alive. This other wizard had been alive for countless millennia, but he looked so much younger than that. He couldn’t have been much older than nineteen years old, but he had been fighting in the same war as the wizard-general though for much longer. The wizard knew of the sinister plot ahead of time, but how he knew was not easily known to the people inside of the church. They did not know what forces he commanded or just how powerful he truly was, but he and the wizard-general both knew just how dangerously powerful he was. This powerful wizard had told the wizard-general what he was capable of doing as the war raged on. Even saved his life on multiple occasions, this wizard did. But he did not predict that the wizard-general was not a proper vessel for Oblivion Magic. That would prove to be this great general’s downfall as the forces that governed this magical school tore through his soul like a massive tsunami hitting the coast of a very small island. Though this wizard was capable enough to slay any creature he came across, he knew that he could not outright attack them. There were rules he certainly had to follow. Rules that if broken or violated would spell the downfall of many more people than this war had taken. There were explosions outside and they were getting ever-so-closer to the church where the funeral had began. The wizard had retrieved a small pocket watch and opened it, checking the time. He’d mutter something unintelligible as he closed the pocket watch, placing it back inside of his pocket. This was mere moments before the room had exploded into wooden fragments, killing some of the funeralgoers. The war had reached the funeral and this event was known to pass to a certain wizard. He pulled out his wand amidst the smoke cloud of the explosion, igniting it with a small purple glow. The magic used in the explosion, he recognized, was pyromancy. Specifically, it was a fire spell of firebomb, but it was an attack nonetheless. The wizard muttered something in a strange and ancient language and a spell was cast nearly seconds later. The spell had been a teleportation spell for the rest of the survivors, save for the caster himself. He did not flee, but this was when he began to change quite rapidly. To those who were innocent, he made himself look human completely and flawlessly. He loved that form, but he knew that he had to discard it for now. The smoke began to clear and those who instigated the attack were horrified at the sight of the man. To them, they saw what he reconstructed himself to be. They saw his true form, a man who had skin of the astral plane and eyes that glew emerald green. He looked powerful and he was powerful. Powerful enough to destroy the whole multiverse if he so wanted. They saw what the third Lord of Creation looked like and the fear they felt was astronomical. The attackers had no idea that they faced real certain death at the hands of the second most powerful wizard in all of Creation and it had certainly terrified them to the core. Men, women, and children alike in the attacking party didn’t even notice it, but their bodies began to drop to the ground. There was nothing to do when you face the third Lord of Creation in all history and when he starts dropping bodies en masse. Not one of the attackers survived, physically and spiritually. The third Lord of Creation had slaughtered them all and destroyed their souls in the process as he was full of rage that burned through the Oblivion Realm and fanned with the foreknowledge of the attack. He was a time traveler and he knew that this war was going to make noise around the multiverse. He just didn’t know how it would, but he had to figure out how to stop the war from spreading to other worlds. It was his job throughout the war and it was still his job now. For gods shall fall when he is enraged. ((The Shifting Tear event is a continuation of this story, though it does not involve the Lord of Creation. If you wish to help act this out, PM me over discord. Thanks, -TheDragonsRoost))
  10. UnSt0ne

    A story from the Pilgrimage

    The days started to melt together and the walls of the cell, surrounding Raeghor, conjured images of the past to his eyes. “Ah wondur, does un knuw w’en ‘es getten mad eh?” He mumbled to himself. “Es t’es an ignorant bliss or torture o’ teh moind, hurrhurrHURRHURR!” The laugh echoed through the prison halls. “Ah muss remembur...me goul! Teh Core! Ah muss foind eht” As the whispers and ranting grew louder, it attracted an irritated head. “Zhut lat mouff!” The dark dwarf most likely didn’t even hear the foul command barked at him... “Do nub make mi kome in dere agh kut latz tongue!” The angry goblin opened the cell door and entered the tiny room, unsheathing his rusty blade. This was all Raeghor needed...
  11. [OOC: This is a comedic, kinda meta, diary-form story of Egil, The Silver-Tongued - a young, hot-blooded and totally-not-desperate-for-attention 21 years old troubadour(bard). Excuse my odd grammar and mistakes. English is my 3rd language] 13th of The Grand Harvest, 1689 I woke up in a temple, miraculously without a hangover from last night's partying. Instead I felt oddly fresh, like a newborn. I stood up and wandered towards the only exit I could see, looking around curiously, feeling as if things seemed a bit more.. square. As my feet took me closer to the doorway of the Temple, the sweet scent of adventure, of maiden's bosoms yet untouched and ale yet to be tasted filled my nose, urging me on! To make haste, before they are claimed and shackled into boring books and senile old minds. Stepping outside, I was greeted by a few monks who seemed to repeat the same one or two lines of wisdom, probably not paying much attention whom they spoke to. There were a few other non-monks like myself wandering around the temple, each more colourful than than the next, browsing things, chatting up or just awkwardly looking at the ground or the sky. After receiving an odd cristal like ornament from one of the monks, I decided to sit and ponder about my situation, checking and tuning my lute. Until, Goddess herself walked into my view from the temple. Her brown hair flowed in the slight breeze like water flows in a river, the sun gently dancing on each of her hair. Her eyes were like the biggest shiny gems, deep green - like woods one could get lost in for weeks. Her nose was small and cute, her lips plump and rose coloured. The way she carried herself down the stairs with such elegant manner was nothing more, but an act to marvel at. A mini-miracle! She stopped by one of the many bookshelves in the temple and seemed to look right at me. I of course approached the lady with bravado and confidence that one of my caliber should have and bowed to the lady, asking her name. To my surprise she stood still, peering past me into the distance. Like a sculpture too real and perfect to be man made. I tried to get the ladies attention yet again but to no avail. Thinking maybe a piece of music might make the beautiful, yet mysterious sculpture woman come back to life I played a short melody to her, my fingers dancing on the strings like elves in the rowdy tavern songs dance around the fire - elegant and wild at the same time. To my disappointment the lady did not react: deaf, blind and mute, still in the moment as the time around her passed. With a sigh I put away my lute and started to look for the next maiden to woo when I heard a kharajyr growl behind me:" oh is thwat a bawd?".
  12. TheDragonsRoost

    The Fall of the Phoenix

    Everything burnt to ash in a matter of seconds. The blade was dripping crimson blood as the black robed figure burned brightly with a fire in his eyes. It was slaughter of many rogue elves that had consorted with the humans and the orcs to engage in a war that was never to pass and the fire consumed the bodies of those that fell. He did not want any evidence of what transpired here to exist so that the evidence would be transported back to Okarn’thilln and exile him and his family from the silver city. He began to wipe his blade of the blood that once pumped through the veins of the elves and humans he slaughtered. Ironically, he wouldn’t even partake in the flesh of those he had considered impure so that he could not be tainted before setting the bodies alight. Once the job was done, the figure sat down and watched the place be consumed by the flames that escalated into a bonfire. He sighed as he felt pleased from this sight and began to mutter softly. “My job here is done.” He softly muttered, sheathing his blade. “May their gods look over them and send them to Iblees himself for their deception and betrayal. Now then, I must make my way to Atlas. I have business there to attend to...” OOC: Due to some things that are best not mentioned, I’m making this edit to say that this story is non-canon and is not endorsed by the LT. This story is only meant to be a entertaining piece, nothing more. Thank you.
  13. EN SENTVORIGEO EDELSTVIK ON THE ANCIENT HISTORY OF THE HIGHLANDER PEOPLE Written and compiled by BROTHER ALEXANDER OF THE FIVE LAKES, WHO, by the Grace of God, records these notes to chronicle the histories and myths of the Highlander People, to bestow upon future men the knowledge of their blood. May these texts be used for righteous intention, and any who pollute this message be cursed to eternal damnation, with their ashes grinded and discarded. ON THIS DATE 7 SE 1689 - Dedicated to Sofiya, my once love and now angel of the Skies, for which I don this habit and wield this quill. PROLOGUE Years -1000 to 0 TIME BEFORE TIME or The Four Brothers and the Curse of Iblees ---------------------------------------------------- GLOSSARY Names, Terms, and Translations
  14. Ragnio

    The Atlasian Naval Guild

    The Atlasian Naval Guild was founded within the realm of Atlas, after the old Sutican City was nearly abandoned by it’s citizens and the leaving of the Trading Princess Lily, allowing those without a place to stay to find a new home to rest and to life at. Unlike most other nations the founders of the Atlasian Naval Guild were known as fairly good sailors and interested scientists, trying to explore the oceans of Atlas and it’s surroundings. While their ideal was it to explore the oceans they also became home to many people around them, steadily growing and expanding their research fleet. Purpose of the Guild While many Guilds are focusing on trading, giving the opportunity to learn a form of magic or just to offer some work the purpose of the Atlasian Naval Guild is different and unique in it’s own. The main purpose of the guild is it to explore the oceans of atlas and to find possible new lands to stay at. While doing so the guild is also trying to do their research of the currents, which are flowing through the oceans of the new realm, finding the fastest one to use for future traveling and sailing. Another big part of the guilds daily work is the research of new organisms, including plants and animals alike. New species can often help understand the current situations in certain regions and can also be used as materials for all kind of stuff, examples being medicine, smithing materials and far more. This is afterward leading to experiments to test possible new tools and to conclude further research on the different topics. Safety Safety is a rather important aspect for each member in the Atlasian Naval Guild, especially due to their dangerous missions. As such everyone is warned that the Guild isn’t having peaceful missions at all, but also rather dangerous ones. Due to those circumstances every member of the crew should be able to fight and be steady on a rough sea. Living Space/Base MS Vaile - The MS Vaile is a strong, nimble and fast Gallion Grade Vessel, housing around twenty crew members. The Vessel is build under the Captain and co Captain Vahryu Daluon, and Julia Abernathy. The MS Vaile can travel at the speed of 27 knots, able to withstand the Weather of the cold Arctic and hot summer winds of the equator. The mast would be made of a strong oak with Iron fittings and the sails would be made of a thin material dyed with grays and greens, the crews quarters holds around twenty eight bunks and the captains quarters holds two bunks, excluding the medical bay and area for livestock. Jobs/Tasks While many different roles are existing each member of the group is trying to help each other by handling main tasks, such as cooking or just cleaning the ship. As such most tasks are the following ones: Cook - Preparing dinner/food for the crew, while keeping a close eye on rations and drinkable water. The cook should be able to handle a knife even in the roughest of seas...and hopefully not lose a finger or too! Cartographer - Creating maps for the guild is an important job, since the guild is always trying to find and explore new lands. However, without creating a map of the new landmass and the surrounding waters such explorations are rather useless, since no one else may be able to find the land again. As such the cartographer needs to create fairly good maps, allowing the crew to find the islands once again. Secretary - The secretary is in charge of the general documentary of the expeditions and tasks fulfilled by the crew. Recording every single day on the sea is of importance, mostly to keep a fine grip on time, date and other important factors. As such the secretary should be able to write and have a talent for organizing. Steerman - Steering the ship with confidence and experience as the steerman guides the crew through the waves to their predetermined destination! A good eye is needed to see through the currents and shallow waters, sailing the ship to new lands to explore. As such the steerman should have some experiences in sailing and how currents are normally acting. Sailor - The sailors of the ship are helping wherever they can, either by hissing the sails or by cleaning the deck. Normally this job isn’t requiring a lot of talent to do, yet, it is one of the more important jobs, since everything is depending on the sailors. Medic - Healing the wounded and sick is the work of the medic, often saving many lives in dangerous situations. As such the medic should have a great knowledge in medicine and should be able to operate in a rather small medical area. Goals The Atlasian Naval Guild has several important goals to achieve, mostly focusing around explorations and experimentation on different naval-related topics. As such the most common goals for the guild are: Finding new land Finding new plants and animals Completing research on different topics, mostly the synergy of different species Preserving the ocean life Discovering ancient sea structures Finding treasures Application MC-Name: Character Name: Age: Race: Hometown: Possible Goals to achieve: Wanted Role/Job: Discord: Member List Captain Vahryu Daluon (@Ragnio) Julia Abernathy(@Space_Gene) Steerman Gilondir Oronar Frostbeard (@SanderGamerNL) Cartographer Jakhatir Kegbrew Grandaxe (@iAssey) Son'ya Sparrow (@MoonsWolf_) Secretary Quillian Caerme’onn (@Torkoal_Tom) Sonya(@EagleEyeKK) Medic Balin Anvilaxe Grandaxe (@TheDarkAngel2308) Makisu Aiichi (@LilBlueMaki) Cook Hekkaes ‘Anvilaxe’ Goldhand (@JokerLow) Sailor Kraggomi Anvilaxe (@Leomits) Eledar Haler'thilln (@Aythinae) Ben Ethil (@HurferDurfe1) Bolon Stormtaker (@DarkElfs) Abdul Mubdee (@Booklight12) Ravondir Torena (@Ravondir) Cassian (@Svaknir) Mith (@TeaSpoon) Ned Anker (@MrForesteroni) Amias Carter Jonesaeus (@Jerome Jonesaeus) Robin David (@SkullMasterRO) Luthais (@IceWalker0) Allied Forces Vizmak Brigade
  15. sophiaa

    An Exodus and Trial

    - Grasslands of Northern Atlas - A great trail of mali crossed the plains of northern Atlas. Every mile or so there would be a wagon train of three, being pulled along by a sturdy pair of oxen. On the sides of the caravan of people was an occasional guard, bearing a bronze shield and gilded spear. A clan of ‘ame trailed behind the mass of people murmuring blessings and chants to their ancestors, the Prince of Cervidae, and the The Great Eagle, banging on drums and keeping a rhythmic tone. Ahead of the march of people was their chieftess, Aelin Caerme’onn. She walked with grace as her green shrouded cloak covered her body. Ever so often a faint clink would echo from below her as her staff cracked a rock, and they trailed down the northern road onwards towards the hills of the northern half. The air was uninviting and dreary. The winds battered the Caerme’onn clan, as the clear skies became foggy with grey clouds. Distant roars of thunder were resounding in the distance, as a light shower of rain bore down on the trail of people. What was once solid ground became muck and grime, as it grounded wagon wheels to a halt. A few horses lost their footing and broke their legs as they became trapped within the consuming mud. It was then a mudslide occurred, slamming into the caravan, causing mass panic. People desperately attempted to find higher ground, as they clambered over the top of each other. Unfortunately several of their oxen and other animals were lost in the mudslide, being crushed under the weight of rock and earth. Boxes and crates of various wares and rations were utterly destroyed by the torrent of chaos, shattering heraldic icons and ancestral heirlooms. … In the afternoon of the following day, the same chants of prayer and festivities from the prior days were replaced by cries of mourning and dead silence from others. An air of dread had come over those who carried on. Aelin was troubled, had she lead her people in a vain attempt at a new life? Should they have stayed within the forests and lush greenery of the Dominion? Self-doubt had filled her mind, and the stress of the endeavour bestowed onto her was eating her very senses. It was then her thought was interrupted when a daunting horn blew. They had made their way into the Wonkawoods, dangerous territory for the mali, and disputed territory with their greatest foe, the Uruks. A raiding party of orcs surprised the Caerme’onn’s caravan, starting a bitter fight for survival. The outer guards were quickly overrun by the savagery of the orcs, butchering their sworn enemy from the days of the Loftywoods war. The last of the caravan made ready for a desperate last stand, using their coaches and wagons to form a defensive barrier. Man, woman, and any child able took up arms, their chieftess readying herself with gladius and spear, eyeing the rampaging orcs around them. It all seemed lost. They were all doomed to die. … A distant horn blew from within the trees, grabbing the attention of the orcish warband from their pillaging. It was then a hail of arrows struck and pierced the remaining beasts those of Caerme’onn had not downed themselves, followed by cries and hollers of what sounded like ghosts and banshees. Aelin’s surroundings were not that very clear, as those around her were cautious of what was occurring beyond their makeshift wall. Sounds of battle echoed around them as the canvas on the outer wall of the wagons were painted in a fresh coat of blood. Then there was silence. Had it ended? Aelin thought to herself. It was then she heard a tearing sound from the canvas wall, and with instinct, she stabbed her spear at the struggling figure. There was a surprised yelp as she tore the spearhead back from the wall, a retinue of her clan made ready with a spear wall, all pointing towards where the noise came from. “What a way to treat people.” was what a voice said from the other side. The figure popped their head through the opening, and with a collective sigh of relief, he was mali’ame. His traits rather wild compared to what many were used to. He sported a beard of black with a shaved head, save for a tied back patch of hair atop his skull. Blue markings painted the sides of the ‘ame’s head, similar to the iconography of clan Torena or Ithelanen. “Come on now, we dealt with the baddies, you’re safe.” The man offered an outstretched hand to Aelin, who at first was still distrusting of him. “An Ithelanen?” She asks curiously, a brow raised. The man seemed confused at first, before smiling, “Where are my manners, I am Orist of the clan of Ithelanen. You are within the care of the Avchirran ito Gladewynn.” he’d say, going to offer his hand once more. Aelin’s display of distrust slowly vanished as she listened to Orist’s words, before going to grab his hand, “Well met, Orist.” she nodded before going to lift herself out of the barricade. … The caravan had continued out of the Wonkawoods and now climbed up a mountain pass. The Caerme’onn clan had endured hardships throughout their travels, but now they approached a set of wooden palisades. They had passed several watchtowers along their trek up the pass, each had been manned by a guard adoring the armor of Gladewynn. Aelin had simply felt relief as she was lead by Orist in front of her. They had finally made it, to their new home. It was time to rebuild. Click me to learn more about Caerme'onn! (credit to the super duper awesome @Wolfdwg)
  16. OOC: While I may have left LotC, I still have work to do and thus have overturned my decision to leave LotC. This story is based on semi-canon portions, including what happens when one person uses magic not normally taught or found in LotC and will be a magic I’ll write in the future while I also work on my own project. I hope you enjoy “The Power of the Soul” by TheDragonsRoost. ~(+)==(+)~ Karren had lived many days within the forest where he gave himself the penance. For many days, he lived off of the land and the wildlife that roamed the forest, surviving off of the steak and pork that he collected from the wildlife. He had a lot of chances to leave the forest and be a part of the world once again, but he refused to leave the forest until he had served his penance through. Karren wanted to make sure that no trace of his former self remained and that it wouldn’t ever resurface. He didn’t have the magical power he wanted, but he had learned that some things are better off being done by one’s own hands than using magic. This included the irritating and unreasonable lust for magical power. One thing that his Regeneration had failed to get rid of all those years ago. The sun began to set and Karren, in his ruined clothes, had begun to set a fire near his tent. A small campfire that would become a small beacon to monsters that wished to claim his life. Not that Karren minded, but when he took his penance, he was not aware that monsters roamed the forest at night, willingly stalking their prey before killing them with sharp claws and pointy teeth. Over the years he served his penance, he had a few encounters with such beasts. Karren didn’t have much to his name, but he made do with his surroundings being his weapon. However, this night would turn out to be his last night serving his penance. As he watched the campfire blaze to life, Karren felt his soul warm up as if he could feel the emotions that ran so rampant during his Regeneration. He wasn’t sure why his soul began to warm up in this way, but he’d begin to feel his life slowly ebb away as if his own soul began to burn away his lifeforce, the force that sustains a person’s life. Karren began to feel his body slowly deconstruct itself with an amber glow, which made him scream in pain into the night. This kind of power he felt once before, when he held the Totem of Undying in his hands. It swallowed up his body whole and he became an Ethereal Light for a short time as he felt this strange power flow through him. While he was an Ethereal Light, he felt a strange, yet powerful force drawing him towards Cloud Temple. He knew he wasn’t dead, but this was something that couldn’t be overpowered. Karren followed this strange feeling towards Cloud Temple and once he arrived at Cloud Temple, he felt this power begin to fade and his body beginning to take form once more. He appeared as he did prior to his penance being served, but with some changes. He no longer felt the need for magic and he seemed to grow a bit. He also didn’t see the point in fighting or supporting the September Prince as he felt his mind begin to rewrite itself, almost as if it was reenergized beyond mortal standards. Karren also had begun to go through a massive wardrobe change as well, no longer wearing his green robes and normal clothing, but wearing something entirely different. “Well, this is certainly new...” Karren commented as he’d see his new clothes, completely unsure of what to make of them. Either way, he walked down the steps of Cloud Temple with the new wardrobe change and begin his adventures anew... ~(+)==(+)~ OOC: As I said before, this magic will be a Magic Lore Submission (presumably Deity or Dark Magic, though I’m leaning towards a different style of magic) and I’m thinking that Karren might like his new wardrobe. Anyways, I’ll be coming back to LotC within the next few months and I thought I’d get this started. Will be getting the skin for this made soon! Anyways, see you all in Atlas! -TheDragonsRoost
  17. wolfbluewalker

    The Law In The Empire Of Man

    Answer this poll telling the truth of what you would do without lying! Would you roleplay correct? Or would you cheat? You have committed crimes against Atlas and her people, what say you in your defense?
  18. Lockezi

    The Sleetfells Darkens.

    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)
  19. OOC: This is a canon story to Karren Mrysta, my main elf character, and his personal journey through the world of Atlas. “Delving into the Dark” is meant to be the end of his second chapter and this marks him being shelved for an undetermined amount of time. Chapter Three will begin once I decide to unshelf the character. The premise of this story is to tell Karren’s transitioning into madness for magical power that has begun to take over his mind, consuming him to the point where not even the deity Zarelek would grant him the powers of Oblivion. Karren’s inability to accept who he is and forceful change has begun to make him go mad with lust for power, wanting powerful magics in order to stop the September Prince and yet has made him an outcast. Find out more in “Delving into the Dark” by TheDragonsRoost. ~(+)==(+)~ Karren Myrsta felt like everything was crashing down around him. The feelings he thought he was rid of during the Regeneration have come back in full force, tearing him up in his mind to the point that he began to suffer drastic physical changes. He no longer had beautiful wavy silver hair, instead had ragged and unclean silver hair that seemed to carry a great amount of stress. His eyes no longer had their vibrant emerald green color, but yet were prematurely growing dimmer. His clothes became dirty and unclean, making him look like a rugged homeless person than a proper high elf. In the short and brass terms, he looked like ****. In the growing dimness of his own campfire within the southern portion of the continent of Atlas, he started to reflect upon his choices that he had made that led him to what he was in the present time. Karren reflected upon his choices in the Mother Grove, Dominion of Malin, Haelun’or, and many other places to where he felt he had wronged himself and many others in his pursuit of power. He sighed as he stared into his campfire, which grew dimmer every minute that passed. “It seems that I have done a great many things. Too many things.” He said to himself, leaning over to his bag and pulling out a bundle of papers with a bunch of diagrams and mathematical equations. It seemed to be his research. “All for this. The most useless thing I’ve spent years to complete and I am no further than where I was at four years ago.” Karren looked over his research as he’d undo the twine that bound the papers together, slowly and carefully. He sighed as he poured over the papers and said simply “I wish I never started this. This has caused me too much heartache and has made me something that I could never be. Arelion was right. I’m not worth being taught magic.” He did not need more convincing than what he felt. He soon tossed the papers into the fire and watched as the fire grew a tad brighter as it happily consumed the research that Karren had given it. Karren, however, did not feel any better for tossing the papers into the dimming fire. He just stared into the fire as it produced more heat from consuming the papers, warming himself up from the growing coldness of the night. It would also be Karren’s last campfire for a long time as Karren decided to go into his tent and get some sleep. What Karren did not realize was that this led to him live in that same forest for a long time, hunting and feeding off the natural wildlife for years to come as a sort of self-induced penance for his “crimes” of lusting for power. ~(+)==(+)~ Zarelek watched through his Ethyrian Star of what Karren had done and he was outright annoyed. He had wasted that time on that boy just for him to burn his research to ashes, rendering him unable to learn his magic. Within the Realm of Oblivion, Zarelek nearly made his castle rumble with his anger and annoyance towards the high elf, but he caught himself and restrained his anger and annoyance. “That boy is smarter than I thought, destroying his research.” Zarelek said to himself, his voice echoing throughout the throne room. “But still quite idiotic. This decision has made me decide to best put my efforts elsewhere. Someone that has the same aura, but not wanting power or at least lusting for it like this foolish mortal elf.” Zarelek sighed as he used his powers to curse the high elf to stay within the forest for a time that he would let him free, punishing him for his lust for power and proving to be unworthy to wield the powers of Oblivion. He did not feel the slightest bit of guilt for keeping the boy locked up within the forest, but he was not truly angry with the boy. Once he casted the spell, he introduced a few clauses into the spell that bound him to the forest, and all of them were pretty simple. He only needed to repent from his ways of lusting for power, serve his penance for proving to be unworthy, and spend his whole penance in isolation from civilization. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for the boy to serve out his time within isolation, but then again, even he was not all-powerful or all-knowing. He leaned back into his throne, sighing a bit and saying to himself “Now, who in Atlas shall I distribute my efforts towards? The warring humans? The peaceful halflings of Dunshire, perhaps? No,” he’d say to himself, looking at his Ehtyrian Star once more. He had an idea brewing in his mind for a particular person he saw once. While observing the world of Atlas, he came across a particular mali’ker. He didn’t have the prismatic aura he was looking for, but he had this bright vibrant emerald green aura, almost the same as his own. He didn’t understand much about this mali’ker, but from he knew, this dark elf (mali’ker) was a bastard son of one of the tribes in the Warhawkes. His knowledge of the Warhawkes did not extend thousands of years, but he knew that they emerged within the last few hundred years. He stroked his chin while he thought of what this mali’ker was able to do. During one of his sessions, he spotted this mali’ker while he was talking to his young high elf boy, who seemed to be around thirteen solar rotations old (13 years old) and how he attempted to defend the child from the dark mage that altered the boy’s soul, granting him the power to set things aflame. Zarelek was aware of the spell used on the poor boy and he knew that it would last quite some time, but would forever alter the boy’s soul. This didn’t hinder the boy from learning much magic, but he wouldn’t be able to learn druidic powers even if he wanted to due to the soul being altered. Zarelek clapped his hands one time and rubbed them together, saying with a small amount of glee “This mali’ker is whom I shall oversee. Perhaps even attempt to teach him the magic of Oblivion, but however, I must keep my influence small lest I wish to have the boy notice that he has my attention. This means I cannot make the same mistakes I made with that high elf with this mali’ker boy. Let us see how this boy handles his daily life and its challenges...” This began Zarelek’s own round of testing the boy. Seeing if he will prove adequate enough to be taught the magic of Oblivion. ~(+)==(+)~ OOC: (For the LT) Even if Zarelek isn’t accepted yet, I feel like he is a good character to have in my stories and thus shouldn’t be considered canon to the deity’s story until being accepted. Also, this means that for the time being, Oblivion Magic (and the relevant instant t5) will go to my dark elf character if the magic of Oblivion ends up being accepted alongside with the deity. This isn’t meant to be one of those “oh your just making special magic for your characters to make yourself more powerful” situations, but merely a narrative of Karren’s and Zarelek’s story. (For everyone else) I hope you enjoyed “Delving into the Dark” as there will be more stories to come in the Creative Writing section.
  20. TheDragonsRoost

    Forging the Past

    Everything burns. Marcus had that dream again. The dream of fire. Everything changes. Marcus Reyn, the eldest son and the last living son of the clan Reyn, had seen his parents and younger siblings burn in a village towards the southern portion of the continent, towards the ice plains. Only he survived the devastating fire, but he did not leave the village unscathed. He heard his parents screaming in pain as well as his younger siblings, forever scarring the poor boy’s mind from their screams that echoed into his deepest nightmares. Everything is forged in fire. Marcus got up and off his bed, which was nothing more that dyed rugs that he laid down upon the ground. The night turned into a bright sunny day north of the city of Haense where Marcus made camp. It wasn’t a bad day to wake up to, especially since he did not sleep that well last night. It was also a pretty bad day for Marcus’ emotional state as the nightmare only really helped to depress Marcus even more, which he was already depressed to begin with. He doesn’t know how or why, but that fire was something else entirely. Over the last few years, Marcus had grown into a fine young man that presented himself as a kindhearted traveler, despite his Highlander origins and his crippling depression that he tried so desperately to hide from those he’d meet. However, when he fell asleep, that depression would take shape as a nightmare of that night when the fire killed his parents and younger siblings, orphaning him to the wide world at the young age of six. Though he knew how to wield a blade, read, write, and other such things, his depression made things complicated. He’d be vulnerable to acts of heroism and fits of rage while also being left unable to tolerate those who speak falsehoods against his beliefs. Everything begins with a simple wish. Marcus simply opened his hazel colored eyes and stared towards the skies, breathing in and out and ready to begin his day....
  21. Melkor__

    A Prologue

    I've been flirting with the idea of doing my own writing thingy for a while but never did. I feel like I started this off really well and I feel like as time went on, the writing got more sloppy, but whatever. That's what running on 3 hours of sleep does to ya. Anyway I hope whoever reading this likes it or finds it interesting at the very least. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The day was young. The sun shined bright over the forest. The grass that day seemed as green as ever and it was complimented by the various patches of vibrant flowers that were scattered about the clearing. There was a light breeze and with that came the calm rustling of the trees above. The wildlife was also quite alive that day. Squirrels and chipmunks scurried about through the grass and a family of rabbits had lived in a patch of bushes towards the edge of the treeline. Deer would often pass through for short times to graze and sometimes the occasional fox would also arrive. The birds above sang in perfect harmony. Robins, sparrows, cardinals and bluejays alike. Far down at the end of the clearing, one could see a gap in the trees that would show a beautiful scene of the Silver City far in the distance with the ocean at its side. Gray stormclouds lingered over the ever so distant horizon. The day was young. The day was beautiful. "Illiran!" A voice called. Illiran turned around when his name was called. He was relatively young Mali'aheral, with long silver hair that was well kept. He had bright yellow eyes with a look of confidence in his eyes. The look that all young men have in their early years. He was in his early two-hundreds, relatively young for a high elf. (though of course nobody that looked at him would be able to tell the difference). "Maln needs you. Come home, brother." "No." Illiran shook his head and turned away at that "I'm not coming home. Not after that." "Illiran!" His brother shouted before he'd be interrupted "No, Haldir. Just leave me be. I'm not coming back." Haldir would step forward, putting his hand firmly on Illiran's shoulder. Illiran would pull away, turning around once more to face his brother. "Don't touch me." "You aren't well, Illiran... you've been angry.. reckless, even. It's frightening. We worry about you. Please come home, brother." "No." He'd pause "Now get away from me." "I can't do that..." Haldir takes a few more steps towards his brother. The tension between them at that would get even stronger between them. Illiran sighs, glancing briefly to the ground and then back up. His brother would begin to take strides towards him and Illiran would immediately begin to rush forward, plowing into his brother. Haldir was brought to the ground as Illiran would begin to pummel him. The two fought for a few moments, Illiran having taken nearly equal damage. Ultimately, Illiran had found himself looking down on Haldir with his hands gripped tightly around his throat. He struggled to make his brother, Illiran, let go. He clawed at his face. And then at the soft grass below him. Illiran's psychotic eyes stared down. Haldir's blood ran cold. He was no more. Haldir was never seen again. The last person having saw him was the very man that took his life. His brother, just before he let the corpse disappear into the ocean. Illiran left for the road that continued on away from the Silver City. After some time, minutes, maybe even hours, another young 'Aheral would cross his path. She was quite small with long white hair, except she had light blue eyes. Many small scars and lacerations would be scattered all over her face and her arms. She'd smile up to him "Hello!" she'd say. "Ah, hello.." Illiran would reply "Are the gates in the city open?" He asked, looking up to him. He wouldn't comment on her scarred appearance. "No, I don't think so." He shakes his head "You seek entry?" "I do." She'd say rather plainly, "Anyway.. I'm Ro'ya." "I'm.." He'd think ".. Melkor.." He'd mutter out, reluctantly, knowing he'd have to travel under a different name so that his family may not find him. "Good to meet you, Melkor!" He smiles once more "Anyway.. I could be going now." The elfess would nod and continue off down the road "Van'ayla!" Illiran nods and also goes his own separate way. The day was coming to an end now. The sun was setting. The clearing in the forest was silent now. No squirrels or chipmunks or rabbits now lingered there. The storm clouds over the sea now drew closer. The night was quiet. The night was cool. It was beautiful.
  22. Beamon4

    -=-Clan Irongut-=-

    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: Not Nice 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: Dor Irongut(BDanecker) Dwain II Irongut (Hiebe) Dwalin Irongut(__Coridal) Clan Members: Tharggus Irongut (Tharggus) Balek Irongut (Hobolympic) Yeulf Irongut (IronGroot) Dorin Irongut (DarthArkous) Bolgnir Irongut (Tidemanno) Hogarth Irongut (Jordan 1921) Beardlings: Du’drek Thunderfist Irongut(Soloraso) Jahkatir Irongut(XloPass) Sulla Irongut(Chaones) 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)) Uldar Irongut ((Tirenas)) 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)) Missing (Previous list purged): Beardling Yurvo (MonkeyFaceGamer) Thorgrim Irongut (irDusk) Kilgrim Irongut (Kilgrim_) Sharr Irongut (lordbobby123) Banished: Mili Irongut ((Leland22)) Grimloth Irongut ((jakesimonson)) Tortek Silverfist ((Axmaynard)) Bofauk Irongut ((lawlmansayshi)) Duregar Irongut ((ww2buff99) Sili Irongut ((Leland22)) Aengoth Irongut ((Aengoth)) Gauldrim Irongut ((Redbench)) 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)
  23. TheDragonsRoost

    [Story] The Peace of the South

    Karren Myrsta had lived a peaceful life within the town of Caras Eldar before he ultimately left the Dominion of Malin and ventured to the most southern regions, avoiding raiders and bandits along the road to a small human colony called Austrasia. He arrived to Austrasia, starving to death, when his friend Nenar came through the gates and gave him pieces of bread for him to feed upon and gain his strength back. He had a charismatic charm to his kind soul as if his soul burned with an intensity that allowed him access to a very special kind of magic that not everyone understands. This kind of magic cannot be taught by anyone or found in a musty old tome full of ancient diagrams and written words of those long past gone, but yet all the people know of it. It allows access to the greatest ideas and allows for innovators of both scientifical and magical origins to create things that no one has ever seen before. To allow for the greatest of heroes to be forged in the coming days of Atlas and even make things come from the parchment to life. From the smallest halfling to the biggest orc, this magic flows through all people of any origin or culture, unbound by the restrictions of magic and burns within the person's soul without being quenched by the darkness of Dark Magic or being amplified by those of Holy origin. This magic allows for new beginnings, creation of eras in both magical and scientific progression, and can even unify a people determined to live together in harmony. He never allowed himself to be down when it mattered. Karren had a special kind of heart that meant he could move the stars themselves in order to save his friends. He felt that power surge within him, even as he tried so hard to obtain magic to only never gain magic. As a young child, Karren was endlessly fascinated by the prospects of innovation and utilizing magical energy to help others than just himself. No matter how hard he tried to gain magic of any kind whether it be Shade, Voidal Evocation, or even Druidism, he never truly wanted that magic for himself. He never craved power just for the sake of power, but he craved power to help others. He didn't wish to cause others harm or let harm befall those he believed or knew were innocent. He wanted to be a role model for the children and to give them that sense of wonder he himself carries. He wanted to push beyond the cultural differences of the magical types and let his own self feel the magic that burned within his soul be his guide to being someone that he knew he could be. Now, he still hopes to achieve that goal. Even though he is now sixty-one years old, Karren still believes in the magic of Hope. [OOC] This is meant to be a creative writing story that is canon to my character's personal story, but not known in-character. Please do not metagame any of this information.
  24. TheDragonsRoost

    [Story] The Depths of Madness

    Sometimes you just don't understand. Sometimes you want to understand something that cannot make sense. This is what happened to Karren Myrsta one night while doing the calculations for the magic he was desperately trying to crack. His soul yearned for the powers of Magic, which seemed to repel all the divine attention from him, keeping their gifts far from Karren and lending him no aid to the unruly calculations. It seemed all hope for Karren doing these calculations would be dashed... ...Had it not been for one very odd dream he had some time ago. ~(+)=(+)~ He slept normally as he did in the small southern city of Austrasia, laying in his own bed within a small tent of his own making. He was exhausted of the day's events and slept hard and then it became odd from the start. He dreamed he was floating in a pit of nothingness, no light or sound. He couldn't see much or less feel. Well, thats would turn out to be a lie once he started to feel something put its eye on him as if it dragged him into this pit of nothingness. "You wish to make a deal?" Karren would hear in his mind. It sounded male, raspy or rough Karren could not discern. The voice seemed to be quite serious. Karren thought about it and before he could speak, he heard the voice in his head again. "So you wish for knowledge to crack your mathematics on your magic. I can offer that knowledge, but this comes with a cost you will pay for in the future." "What cost?" Karren quickly thought. "You shall find out. In time." The voice said and before too long, Karren woke up with a beautiful sight of the sun rising. ~(+)=(+)~ The mysterious voice stirred up a physical form in Atlas. He, of course, would not be visible to the Descendants or to the creatures yet as he longed for the boy to finish his calculations to which he helped seal the deal in his dreamscape. He offered the boy the knowledge he desperately required, but he had no idea that he had signed away something that he'd come to find out in the future which made the man smile a little. His physical form was always something he preferred the most to look like though he had no real physical form to speak of. The future of the research he had plans for, the man thought, would be destroyed once he completed it with the knowledge he provided him. At least thats what he planned for in reality. "He has no idea that he is beginning a whole new era of magic. Of Dark Magic." the man smiled as his vocal chords were fully formed once more, walking away from Cloud Temple with an aura of a chilling coldness that rivaled even that of Death itself....
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