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Writer: Ainz
Date Thu Oct 9 23:38:15 2025
Writer: Ainz
Date Thu Oct 9 23:38:56 2025
Writer: Ainz
Date Thu Oct 9 23:42:41 2025
Writer: Blinx
Date Fri Oct 10 15:25:47 2025
To All ( Ryzzynth Piknim Black_Robes IMM RP )
Subject {uBlinx at the Feather
The temple was no colder or warmer than before.
No changes her, no sound, just the smell of stone that had stopped caring
about the living. Blinx hovered in, his wings making no more noise than
falling dust. The last time he'd been here, he'd left an angel's feather on
the altara white thing that hadn't belonged in a place like this.
Now it was still here, prestine and unchanged. It pulsated still with a
stubborn and divine sense.
He fluttered the altar on trembling wings. It took him awhile, hunger had
him slow. When he reached the top, he landed. Then sat cross-legged beside
the feather, as if visiting a grave.
{u"You're still here," he said softly. {u"I wondered if she would take you."
He looked up at the high arch of the ceiling. No moonlight reached here, it
was the kind of dark that stayed.
{u"Mother Night," he whispered, {u"I bring nothing this time. Only myself. I
am not worthy to recieve you."
He touched the feather. It felt revolting, and soiled. The divinity of it
juxtaposed against his host's cold, undead hands was completely
antithetical.
{u"If you want it, it's yours. If you want me, I am already yours."
He bowed low, forehead against the cold stone. He just nodded once, as if
answered. Then he slipped down from the altar, gaunt and empty, and left
the temple the way he'd come quiet, and hovering, bobbing through the air in
his typical pattern of strained flight.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Fri Oct 10 16:59:24 2025
To All Conclave Blinx ( Imm Drakkara Cayenna Xenophon Tritoch )
Subject Threads in the Somniorum - Witchlock
The dark does not sleep.
It stirs in the marrow between silence and dream, in the hollows where old
names remember themselves. When Blinxs somnal missive struck the Weave,
I felt it as one feels the tug of a thread too tightly drawn, soft at first,
then thrumming with weight. His call came not as mere words, but as shape,
soundless and alive. The Loom within me bent to it.
Within the chambers of my own dreaming, the Ebony Tower rose not as stone
but as spine, ancient, flexing, whispering. The Cauldron pooled at its root,
a black mirror without reflection. Above, a single silver filament traced
the arc of a loom that has no end. The Eye flickered. It does not blink.
I answered without voice.
Shadow moved like ink spilled across vellum, sketching the figure of a
gate, not open, not barred. A threshold. Upon its arch was carved the sigil
of the Dreadneedle, a mark that grants neither blind welcome nor denial.
To step through it is to agree that one does not own what is seen within.
"Blinx," I whispered into the Weave, though no sound passed my lips.
"The Cauldron remembers. The Loom does not weave for one hand alone.
Come then, as peer, as witness. Walk careful, for this dreaming is not
empty, it listens."
Beneath the Tower, the Threads stirred, knotting and unknotting in answer.
Drakkara's silence pressed close, not forbidding, but waiting.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sat Oct 11 11:40:40 2025
To All Black_Robes Symantha Naamitsa ( Imm Drakkara Tritoch Cayenna Xenophon )
Subject 100 days of Prayer (I)
'Dark Mother, hear me beneath the shadowed moon.
I offer this prayer in reverence, not as one who commands,
but as one who serves Your will.
{uGuide Blinx as he walks from doubt into Your embrace.
Let the echo of Your voice shape his soul and bind his purpose
to the Tower that bears Your name. May his dreams be Yours,
and his shadow another thread in Your endless weave.
Strengthen my hand that I may guide Your Magi with clarity,
that their works be sharp as obsidian and true as night.
Bless the Tower with Your favor, that it stands ever unwavering,
a blade in the dark and a beacon to the faithful.
And to the Witchlock, grant us sight where others fear to look.
Let Your secrets unfurl in whispered threads, that we may pull them
closer to You.
Mother of Shadows, keep us in Your darkness. In Your name I pray.'
Writer: Fardoc
Date Sat Oct 11 19:54:05 2025
To All Thaxanos Althainia Knighthood ( Nadrik Imm Religion Storyline RP )
Subject Watchtowers Over the Sinkhole (Part I)
The sun was setting over the horizon, mountain peaks to the north, as
Fardoc paced towards the sinkhole worksite. The Crusade's meeting had passed
just a few days before, and the final plans for the bridge were set. All
that remained to be done is the work itself, as well as ensuring that it
would go uninterrupted from both threats on the ground and threats in the
air.
It was agreed that the Crusade would use the excess lumber Gareth had
delivered from Haon Dor to construct a series of watchtowers, some in the
north that were built and manned by dwarves of Thaxanos, and some in the
south that were built and manned by the Knights. To keep tensions from
flaring between Wargar and Gareth, it was very important that the Knights
not venture into dwarven territory.
Fardoc looked north past the sinkhole and stroked his beard, frowning
slightly. There were several places in the steep foothills that would serve
as locations for two watchtowers. The northern end of the bridge was
planned directly south from the base of the mountain, and the foothills on
either side of it would serve nicely to maintain eyes on the area, the steep
ground providing a good sightline All around.
Calling over one of the twins, Fardoc extended a hand gesturing to each
location. 'Oi, lad. Could ye send someone over there with some stakes? Ah
need a lad te mark out two locations te raise a couple watchtowers so we
dont git waylaid again when full construction starts up.'
The twin harrumphed slightly, not overly enthused about being asked to take
on yet more work, but dutifully called over a younger worker, relaying the
Cardinals instructions. Fardoc watched as the younger dwarf bounded off to
get an armful of stakes, and saw the twin look back over to him and nod
once.
'Et will bae done, Cardinal. Dont ye worry. Ah couple of watchtowers is ah
lot less involved than the bridge, and we cin throw those up in a matter of
a day or two.'
Writer: Fardoc
Date Sat Oct 11 20:18:25 2025
To All Thaxanos Althainia Knighthood ( Nadrik Imm Religion Storyline RP )
Subject Watchtowers Over the Sinkhole (Part II)
The sounds of hammers and lumber clanking together filled the air as the
Cardinal walked south from Wargar's hall the next day. He smiled to himself
as he listened to the sound of the labor taking place. Once plans were set,
no other race in the realm could possibly match dwarven industriousness.
Cresting the foothills, the dwarf could see the beginnings of the tower
bases taking shape, slowly rising up over the grass. Dwarves fitted logs
together, hammering them into place, each pound of the mallet echoing
through the morning air.
Watching the speed at which they worked, the Cardinal was sure that the
twins estimate of the time it would take to construct the two towers was
more or less accurate, and it was up to him now to come up with the troops
it would take to man them.
The Churchs forces, His Most Holy Order of Divine Retribution, had taken a
hit on the last chromatic attack. The slaughter during the night was the
impetus for the Archangel calling forth the pillar to drive them back and
the destruction of the monolith, and a third of a regiment had been killed
outright, and just as many had been wounded, in the fire the chromatics had
brought to bear. The Cardinal knew that, with four more regiments, he had
plenty of dwarves remaining to man the towers, but he wished the fifth to
pull back and venture back to the tunnels outlying Thaxanos from whence they
came. There, they could rest and recuperate, potentially recruiting and
building back the regiment to full strength and returning again with their
forces replenished.
Returning to his tower, the dwarf trudged up the stairs to his chambers and
pulled out his worn writing desk, penning a missive to the commander of his
forces, the Axebearer Fjalar Halfear.
'Axebearer, ye are summoned et yer earliest convenience te mae War Room. We
have things te discuss. Bring the lieutenants for each regiment of the
Order and tell em te expect new orders for their forces.'
Writer: Fardoc
Date Sat Oct 11 20:24:46 2025
To All Thaxanos Althainia Knighthood ( Nadrik Imm Religion Storyline RP )
Subject Watchtowers Over the Sinkhole (Part III)
Fardoc stood at one side of the large stone table in the War Room of his
tower when a knock sounded on the door. Fjalar Halfear, the commander of
the Order, filed in, followed by five sturdy-looking dwarves in gleaming
chainmail armor. Each bowed low to the Cardinal, then filed to the weapon
racks to unbuckle their arms and place them to the side, returning unarmed
to the stone table.
The Cardinal began, 'Lads, thank ye All for coming. Et bae an honor te have
ye All gathered together. As ye know, the bridge plans are coming along
nicely, despite the early attack by the chromatics that killed so many of
the fifth legion. The twins, Thane Kraxul and meself All believe we are
about ready te begin formal construction, now that the Knights have
delivered the lumber for the scaffolding. However, et the last meeting of
the Crusade, et wos proposed we construct and man towers on both sides of
the site, dwarven ones te the north, as well as ones built and manned by the
Empire and Knights te the south. Construction is nearly done on our side,
but we have yet te set aside the dwarves commanded te guard our towers. '
Four of the dwarven Lieutenants looked at the Cardinal with a fierce light
in their eyes at the prospect of a challenge, while the fifth, a red-haired
lad with a scar around his eye, lowered his gaze.
'Cardinal, mae name is Erlander Longpike, Lieutenant of the Fifth Legion,
who wos assigned te the defense of the site on the night of the chromatic
attack. Our force wos nearly decimated by those lizards. One third of the
Legion wos killed, one third wounded, and the rest were unscathed, but that
is nay enough te bae much help manning the towers. '
Fardoc nodded somberly. 'Aye, lad. Ah know. Et wos never mae intention te
send ye te the fray so soon. Mae orders are that the first through the
fourth Legions split their lads between the watchtowers, while the remnants
of the fifth retreat back te the tunnels where ye lads came from. Rest,
recuperate, and see if ye cin recruit more kin te round out yer numbers once
more. Lord willing, we will git ye back te full strength soon. '
Erlander bobbed his head gratefully. 'Aye, Cardinal. Ah think that is for
the best. Thank ye. We will return te Thaxanos once more when we have all
recovered and padded out our number agin. '
Fardoc smiled at the longbeard and then shifted his gaze to the rest of the
assembled dwarves. 'Well then, ye All have yer orders. Coordinate with
Commander Halfear and disperse yerself between the towers however he orders
ye. Ah trust his judgement on yer placement. '
Writer: Fardoc
Date Sat Oct 11 20:29:14 2025
To All Thaxanos Althainia Knighthood ( Nadrik Imm Religion Storyline RP )
Subject Watchtowers Over the Sinkhole (Part IV)
Fardoc rose from his sleep on the third day, stretching his arms over his
head and standing in his meditation chamber, yawning loudly. Pulling on his
robes, he made his way to the bottom floor and out the doors of his tower,
blinking at the dawn sun.
The Cardinal shuffled south, towards the worksite where the watchtowers were
being constructed, and was pleasantly surprised to see the tops of the
towers standing tall, seemingly completed. Swarms of armored dwarves
crowded around the base of both towers, with more still visible at the top,
looking out over the horizon. Fardoc smiled at the sight, pleased to see
how quickly the workers had raised the watchtowers. They seemed formidable,
and the dwarves in the Order's Legions were able to serve nicely to man them,
even without the remnants of the Fifth Legion.
He watched from afar for just a while, seeing the dwarves rush to and fro,
preparing the towers and lugging weapons of All sorts up the tower steps. A
few of them even had lashed a team of rams to haul a ballista to each tower,
setting it up at the base of the structure and pointing it towards the sky.
Fardoc strode down to the steep foothills, smiling at the sight of his men
hard at work. He tipped his head to each he saw, patting them on the back
as he passed and headed towards Fjalar, who was overseeing the preparations
with the Lieutenants between the towers.
'Ho, Cardinal. All seemed te bae coming along nicely. We even persuaded the
boys down by the sinkhole worksite te let us set up two of the ballista over
here te give us better line of sight, should we All bae attacked once more.
If the chromatics, or another dark force, come back, this time we will bae
prepared for em.'
Fardoc grinned. 'Excellent news, lad, ah am well pleased with All ye have
done. Hopefully, once the Knights put theirs up, we will have a solid ring
of protection around this place and cin build this bridge unimpeded. With
the full force of the Order out here, ah daresay they will not have as easy
a time on et as they did before. Carry on, lad. Do wot ye must te finish
preparations. Ye seem te have things well in hand without mae input!'
Fjalar and the rest of the Lieutenants placed their fists over their hearts
in a salute to the longbearded Cardinal as he turned on his heel and walked
further south, to see how the Knights were coming along in their own
preparations.
Writer: Tash'a
Date Sun Oct 12 00:39:11 2025
To All Zecnys Abaddon Imshael Thindyss Piknim imm rp xenophon
Subject The Hunger - To Catch Lightning in a Bottle
Pale light flickered over the dead creature, splayed out for inspection.
Beastial; demonic. Of no typical origin to material plane of Algoron. A
usurped bloodless hound from Abaddon - kingdom raised from Fatale's abyssal
realm. Connection not unlikely.
Long nails drifted over the bloodless corpse, its form kept pristine from
the moment of its demise by an apt embalming.
Residual traces of the affliction it was plagued or infected with.
Shade-bound.
She could sense it but it was also visible across the hide in the blackened
but unmoving veins. Had its heart beat while it was alive or had the power
of Shades, of Orinze and the Hunger, kept it in motion?
Residual connection with its place of origin and voidal thread.
The Void. She had witnessed it, reached into it for just some of what she
infused her creations with. The memories of her maker had offered
tantalizing glimpses of its expanse. It was not a place she had dared to
traverse before though she knew of ways, none of which would come without
risk. It had been for reasons like this that the Queens had taken an
interest in her, invited her to their hallowed Bloodlands and Court. To see
what barriers she could cross for them.
Shadows curled up over the bloodless hound's form as her fingers passed and
its body twitched as she teased it with undeath. There were eager shades,
twisting and whispering at her heels. She watched them reach for it, her
delight malicious. Each would be met with denial until she permitted
otherwise.
She withdrew after a time, content to leave the corpse where it lay though
she covered it with a silken cloth lest it have use later.
Power did not come without a cost but she wasn't collecting it for her own
use. Another would take on that risk and potential reward.
A vessel then.
There were a number of options but she already had an idea. It was time to
consult.
Writer: Kraxul
Date Sun Oct 12 09:25:27 2025
To All Fardoc Agapitos Thaxanos Wargar ( Crusade Storyline Religion Nadrik Imm Rp )
Subject Building Bridges (-part sixteen-)
Pyotr was almost halfway into his shift. He and five other Baewar were
patrolling the depths of the sinkhole, mainly just to keep the gremlins in
hiding and away from the scaffolding, now that All the work was far above
them. It was boring work, as the filthy little creatures weren't
particularly bold, nor difficult to defeat. He yawned and leaned up against
a support, and closed his eyes. That's when he heard the thunderous cheers
from above. They must have completed the scaffolding.
(at the surface)
The foreman stood patiently, allowing the cheering and celebrations to
continue for two full minutes before ye bellowed at the men to get back
to work. The Thane would be here soon, and he wasn't going to see a
bunch of fools congratulating themselves on a half-finished bridge.
### TO BE CONTINUED ###
Writer: Kraxul
Date Sun Oct 12 09:26:42 2025
To All Fardoc Agapitos Thaxanos Wargar ( Crusade Storyline Religion Nadrik Imm Rp )
Subject Building Bridges (-part seventeen-)
There was almost a road leading directly to Althainia. The top of the
scaffolding stopped around 2 feet below the lip of the sinkhole. Atop
the scaffolding would be the mithril beam structure that supported the
bridge. The outer edges would be fitted with thick mithril posts that
rose up through holes bored into the white granite slabs to the top of
the parapet walls. Attatched to these posts would be the cables, spun
of fine strands of mithril wire. These cables would each rise at a
crisp sixty degree angle to meet the central column.
Four men were standing at the lip, ready to roll the first beam into
place, waiting on the twins to finish taking their measurements of the
top of the scaffolding. Once they had the all-clear, they began
rolling the heavy beam over smooth logs toward the center. The beam
was fitted into place six feet south of the form for the central
column, and checked. A second beam was rolled onto the deck, now with
two more behind it. They were getting into a rhythm now, and picking
up speed. When Kraxul arrived to inspect the progress, there were
two cross-beams and both stringers in place on the south side, forming
the first box, with a beam being rolled into position on the north side
to begin its first box.
With the first box done on the south, and checked by the twins, they
would be ready to roll the first granite slabs into place. Once placed
and secured, a new scaffold would be begun on top of them, stretching
into the sky for the work that was to be done on the towering central
column.
### TO BE CONTINUED ###
Writer: Kraxul
Date Sun Oct 12 09:43:03 2025
To All Fardoc Agapitos Thaxanos Wargar ( Crusade Storyline Religion Nadrik Imm Rp )
Subject Building Bridges (-part eightteen-)
Kraxul stood at the lip of the western edge of the sinkhole, where he
could see the entire structure. The upper scaffolding was being erected
quicker than the lower, as it was made of planks instead of logs, and
they were much easier to manipulate. A day had passed since it was
begun, and it appeared it would be another day before it was finished.
The smooth granite slabs used for the form were being fitted into place
as the scaffolding went up, and there were now three dwarves inside
grouting the seams. While this was going on, the beams were being
rolled into place All along the remaining length of the bridge. The
twins were running back and forth with their clipboards, inspecting the
work, and taking measurements at every point. Once each measurement
was confirmed, the beam was fastened to the wooden scaffolding below,
before being bolted to the adjoining beams.
The Thane reached into his satchel and removed a simple corn-cob pipe,
already packed and lightly smoked. He lit the tobacco and drew deeply,
relishing the mild burning in his lungs as he surveyed the worksite.
This bridge would be done soon, he thought. With the work now occuring
above ground, the entire site was well-illuminated by the lucent pillar
at the south end, and work could continue through the night.
### TO BE CONTINUED ###
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 13:27:47 2025
To All Black_Robes Symantha Naamitsa ( Imm Drakkara Tritoch Cayenna Xenophon )
Subject 100 days of Prayer (II)
'Mother of Shadow, I kneel beneath Your darkened moon once more.
Night is the only truth that does not lie. In its stillness, I find You.
Grant me the sight to discern the paths that others fear to tread.
Let my will not falter as I guide those who walk in Your shadow,
that the Magi of the Ebony Tower may rise like blades in the dark,
cutting clean through doubt and weakness.
In the weave of the Witchlock, where mortal reason frays,
let Your whispers be the thread that binds what must be known.
Through study, through sacrifice, through the silence between breaths,
may I uncover what You have hidden for the faithful to claim.
Watch over Your Tower, Mother. Let its roots deepen, its spires sharpen,
its servants remember that we are Yours, not by chance, but by choice.
{uDrakkara, guide my hand,
steady my voice,
darken my path so I may see.'
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 14:35:46 2025
To All Black_Robes Piknim Kraxul - Nameless ( Drakkara Imm RP Storyline )
Subject The Nameless - A Change of Hand
The seal arrived in silence.
No courier. No breath nor whisper. Only the faint smell of
old ink, iron, and the hush before a blade is drawn. When
the parchment was broken, the mark burned briefly across
its surface:
{u .-''''''''-.
{u /| |\
{u /_|__________|_\
| |__||__| |
{u | | || | |
| |__||__| |
{u | ||||{u |
{u _|___/__\___|_
{u |______________|
The sigil means only one thing:
**The quiet hand becomes the striking one.**
From this night forward, each shadow will turn to its
next task. The pillars of their bridge grow fat on
dwarven timber and knightly pride. They build walls
to keep the dark out. We will remind them their walls
bleed.
- To the **first circle**,
Watch the scaffolds. Their pace quickens. Their nights
grow long under pillar's light. What they raise fast can
fall faster. *Strike where their hands grow tired.*
- To the **second circle**,
The watchtowers rise like teeth. Ballistae watch the
skies. *Corrupt their eyes.* Delay their aim. Seed
discord among their sentries.
- To the **third circle**,
Supply lines carry the breath of their labor. Timber.
Food. Steel. *Choke it. Quietly.* A bridge with no
breath cannot stand.
- To the **fourth**,
Whisper in the cracks. The pit listens. Let the things
beneath remember the scent of blood.
The Tower of Light may gleam, but the **dark remembers**.
This is not a storm, this is the first quiet pull on the
thread.
The Nameless will not march.
We will **unravel**.
{uDrakkara sees. {uDrakkara waits.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 14:50:27 2025
To All Black_Robes Piknim Kraxul - Nameless Illusionist ( Drakkara Imm RP Storyline )
Subject Nameless Directive - Illusionists
{u .-''''''''-.
{u /| |\
{u /_|__________|_\
| |__||__| |
{u | | || | |
| |__||__| |
{u | ||||{u |
{u _|___/__\___|_
{u |______________|
You will be the soft hand that shifts attention.
The bridge site is crowded and noisy, overt spectacle invites
scrutiny. Your craft thrives in the small, unremarked moments,
a lantern that seems dimmer at the hinge of a shift, a shadow
that lengthens for a breath, footsteps that echo where none
were made. Deploy illusions to generate doubt and small
inefficiencies rather than panic.
Primary tasks:
* False landmarks: create brief, localized mirages near the
scaffold lip and on the approach paths so teams misposition
tools or pause to recheck bearings.
* Echo-channels: weave layered aural illusions into passageways
and stairwells so sentries register phantom steps and calls.
Time these to coincide with critical lifts.
* Misplaced light: apply transient reflections and refractions
around lamp cases to create micro-errors in depth perception
- a bolt thought seen, a seam believed checked.
Tactics & constraints:
* Keep durations short (minutes, not hours). Reversible
illusions that leave no trace are essential, we need delay
and uncertainty, not wreckage.
* Prioritize moonless hours and fogged mornings, the less real
light, the more your art holds.
* Coordinate with mentalists and WuJen for fatigue or
atmosphere effects that make illusions more persuasive.
Report once per moon-quarter with sample patterns and timings.
Subtlety is our ally. A single misstep born of a convincing
shadow will ripple further than any flamboyant spectacle.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 14:56:45 2025
To All Black_Robes Piknim Kraxul - Nameless Enchanters & Transmuters ( Drakkara Imm RP Storyline )
Subject Nameless Directive - Enchanters & Transmuters
{u .-''''''''-.
{u /| |\
{u /_|__________|_\
| |__||__| |
{u | | || | |
| |__||__| |
{u | ||||{u |
{u _|___/__\___|_
{u |______________|
You will alter the things they trust, slowly and plausibly.
This is a paired operation. Enchanters supply the patterning
and the misdirection, sigils of wear, enchantments that
mislabel crates, charms that blur inspection. Transmuters
work the grain of material and memory: a rope that frays
sooner, a beam that bends at the wrong time, timber that
splits at a particular stress point.
Your work must appear as ordinary failure, the kind
overlooked in ledger books and blamed on weather or tired
hands. We do not break their bridge. We make them build
it twice.
Primary tasks:
* Time-release sigils: enchant hardware so that a cadence, a
shouted word, or a moon-quarter triggers a slackening clasp
or rasping pulley. Failures must appear natural.
* Micro-transmutation: alter rope fiber-memory to increase
abrasion. Densify grain at key stress points so splintering
begins under strain, not the hammer.
* Miscount enchantments: cast minor glamours to mislabel one
cart for a single journey. Let them lose time finding what
is exactly where it shouldnt be.
Tactics & constraints:
* Avoid permanent corruption. All changes must trace to
mundane causes. Reversible if they look close enough.
* Pair your efforts with Illusionists and Mentalists. A
shadow of doubt amplifies a single weak beam.
* Keep a private ledger of signatures used, so nothing ties
back to you or the Tower if they come searching.
Deliverables:
* After each operation, a short note detailing material,
expected failure mode, and estimated delay.
* Samples of transmuted fibers under seal for later study.
* A matrix linking sigil cadence to observed effects.
This is patient sabotage, the kind that bleeds them dry
in wasted time and repeated work. Let their bridge sag
under the weight of their own certainty.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 15:41:13 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 15:43:32 2025
To All Black_Robes Piknim Kraxul - Nameless Invokers & Wu Jen ( Drakkara Imm RP Storyline )
Subject Nameless Directive - Invokers & Wu Jen
{u .-''''''''-.
{u /| |\
{u /_|__________|_\
| |__||__| |
{u | | || | |
| |__||__| |
{u | ||||{u |
{u _|___/__\___|_
{u |______________|
Invokers and Wu Jen - you shape the field, not the strike. Where their hammers
rise, you make the wind betray them, the ground shift, the torch falter. They
must believe they war with weather, not with us.
Primary tasks:
- Disrupt visibility and sound so that coordination frays under its own weight.
- Manipulate terrain to turn simple labor into labor twice as long.
- Sow environmental unpredictability at scaffold points and choke lanes,
making every task a second guess.
- Ensure natural cover for withdrawals and diversions.
Tactics & constraints:
- Do not scorch the earth. Your work must be mistaken for the sky's whim.
- Time your interference with Illusionists to blur intent and with saboteurs
to increase delay.
- Withdraw swiftly. Storms leave no faces behind.
Deliverables:
- Weather interference logs tied to observed delays or confusion.
- Terrain alteration reports detailing location, effect, and timing.
- Coordinated operation notes for follow-on action.
The storm does not argue its purpose. It simply comes, indifferent and cold,
and men break their backs rebuilding what it quietly stole from them.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 15:45:03 2025
To All Black_Robes Piknim Kraxul - Nameless Mentalists ( Drakkara Imm RP Storyline )
Subject Nameless Directive - Mentalists
{u .-''''''''-.
{u /| |\
{u /_|__________|_\
| |__||__| |
{u | | || | |
| |__||__| |
{u | ||||{u |
{u _|___/__\___|_
{u |______________|
Mentalists - you do not strike, you erode. While others break timber, you break
certainty. You are the hand that makes confidence stutter and turn on itself.
Primary tasks:
- Seed fatigue and doubt among foremen and sentries so that they question
their own vigilance.
- Blur key instructions or timings, forcing re-checks and repeated work.
- Undermine morale through carefully placed despair in figures of authority.
- Make the memory of certainty a thing they begin to mistrust.
Tactics & constraints:
- Small, persistent disruptions achieve more than heavy-handed strikes.
- Coordinate with Illusionists and Enchanters so mental erosion pairs cleanly
with physical signs of failure.
- Keep logs of influence and targets to avoid overlapping effects.
Deliverables:
- Influence records identifying targeted individuals and observed behavioral
shifts.
- Timetables of induced delays and follow-on effects.
- Any emergent patterns of weakness that can be leveraged by other Nameless
agents.
It takes no sword to break a man who has already begun to doubt. The mind is
a bridge of its own. Take one stone, and the rest remembers how to fall.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 15:46:34 2025
To All Black_Robes Piknim Kraxul - Nameless Necromancers ( Drakkara Imm RP Storyline )
Subject Nameless Directive - Necromancers
{u .-''''''''-.
{u /| |\
{u /_|__________|_\
| |__||__| |
{u | | || | |
| |__||__| |
{u | ||||{u |
{u _|___/__\___|_
{u |______________|
Necromancers - your presence is not the battle cry but the quiet omen. You are
the suggestion of rot, the shape glimpsed too long in the dark, the hand that
makes men falter without ever striking them.
Primary tasks:
- Place quiet terrors in their work sites - signs of death mistaken for omen
rather than enemy.
- Undermine health and vigor through subtle blight, letting sickness work
slower and more convincingly than any spell.
- Use scouts and quiet watchers to map soft points without drawing alarm.
- Make the dead linger just long enough to become stories.
Tactics & constraints:
- Keep your works beneath notice. Clerics cannot fight a rumor.
- Coordinate with saboteurs and Battlemages to conceal your passing as
misfortune.
- A single whisper of pestilence can stall more than a volley of bolts.
Deliverables:
- Report of skeletal and spectral reconnaissance patterns.
- Catalogued incidents of dread or sickness with observed operational effects.
- Burial and concealment records to maintain plausible deniability.
They will not fear your hand. They will fear the cold in their bones and the
silence between their breaths. Let them whisper of ghosts. Ghosts are harder
to fight than armies.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 15:47:49 2025
To All Black_Robes Piknim Kraxul - Nameless Battlemages ( Drakkara Imm RP Storyline )
Subject Nameless Directive - Battlemages
{u .-''''''''-.
{u /| |\
{u /_|__________|_\
| |__||__| |
{u | | || | |
| |__||__| |
{u | ||||{u |
{u _|___/__\___|_
{u |______________|
Battlemages - you are the shield and the closing hand. While others unravel,
you are the strike that ensures our threads are never caught. When the Nameless
is glimpsed, it is you who make the sight fleeting.
Primary tasks:
- Shield agents and retreat paths with decisive, brief engagements.
- Draw pursuit away from saboteurs and shadow-weavers without revealing the
Tower's intent.
- Act as the final wall between discovery and disappearance.
- Hold firm only as long as extraction demands, no longer.
Tactics & constraints:
- You are the shield, not the hammer. Avoid escalation unless no other path
remains.
- Coordinate timing with retreating agents, especially Illusionists and
Witchlock elements.
- Keep your face unremembered, your strike untraceable.
Deliverables:
- Action reports documenting engagement duration and cover effectiveness.
- Extraction route data to refine operational withdrawal patterns.
- Battle trace assessments ensuring no link leads back to the Tower.
The blade in the dark is useful, but the shield in the storm decides who
lives to strike again. We are the silence after the shout, the wall that lets
the shadow fade.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 12 15:59:06 2025
To All Black_Robes Piknim Kraxul ( Drakkara Imm RP Storyline )
Subject The Nameless Ledger - Bridge Directive
{u .-''''''''-.
{u /| |\
{u /_|__________|_\
| |__||__| |
{u | | || | |
| |__||__| |
{u | ||||{u |
{u _|___/__\___|_
{u |______________|
The Nameless move under no banner and march with no fanfare. Their work begins
not with the lifting of blades but with the quiet receiving of orders. In the
shadow of the bridge where hammers ring and torches glow our hands are already
at work. Directives have been whispered into the right ears and sealed orders
have found their way into hidden folds.
These are not the loud decrees of armies. These are secret instructions
delivered in narrow hallways and empty chambers carved beneath the noise of day.
Each Nameless cell carries a small piece of a larger pattern. None see the
whole but All will act. Together their work will bend the bridge not with a
single strike but with a thousand unseen hands.
I spoke plainly to them. The work must be patient and subtle. A bridge that
collapses slowly teaches its builders to doubt. That doubt is worth more than
any siege. Every misplaced beam every quiet whisper every shadow that makes a
guard turn twice is a thread in the weave.
They will move by night and by stormlight hidden in the noise of their enemy's
certainty. Not All will be remembered. That is by design. Our names are inkless
and our marks vanish with rain.
The victory we seek falls between hammer and crack. Let our orders be small
and exact. Let their repairs multiply until their certainty is spent.
Operation Name: Bridge Unraveling
Status: Active
Method: Distributed sabotage and psychological erosion
Objective: Destabilize enemy bridge construction without overt engagement
Disciplines Involved:
- Witchlock: Psychological and sensory disruption
- Illusionists: Environmental misdirection
- Enchanters & Transmuters: Material degradation
- Invokers & Wu Jen: Environmental manipulation
- Mentalists: Targeted morale erosion
- Necromancers: Rumor omen and fear
- Battlemages: Cover and extraction security
Tactical Notes:
- All actions must appear as environmental material or human failure
- Interdisciplinary timing is critical. Minor effects precisely applied
will erode structure and morale faster than a single decisive blow
- No Tower signature is to be left on-site
Reporting Requirements:
- Each circle reports timing method and estimated impact after each phase
- No public posting. Ledger entry only
- Deviations to be recorded and approved by overseeing agent
Expected Outcome:
- Bridge weakened structurally and psychologically prior to open conflict
- Enemy forces disorganized and forced to divert resources
- The Nameless remains unseen
Recorded by: Thindyss, Ebony Wizard
Verification: Nameless Seal
Writer: Lepidus
Date Mon Oct 13 17:02:48 2025
Writer: Lepidus
Date Mon Oct 13 17:04:13 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Mon Oct 13 23:48:36 2025
To All Black_Robes ( Drakkara Imm RP Tritoch Cayenna Xenophon )
Subject 100 days of Prayer (III)
Mother of Darkness, Weaver of Threads,
{uI set my will before Yours. The moon climbs, the light bends, and All that
lingers in certainty is consumed by Your quiet design. I offer not mercy
but clarity, not hope but the precision of Your purpose.
Where others beg for favor, I ask for edges to be honed. Where they seek
comfort, I seek the cold weight of understanding. Let those who wander in
doubt be cut by the blade of Your silence. Let their blood write the
lessons they refused to learn.
Through night, through weave, through the soft hum beneath the world,
I swear my hand shall not falter. My breath will be a whisper in the dark
places. My will, a mirror to Yours.
Writer: Imshael
Date Tue Oct 14 08:51:42 2025
To All Zecnys Abaddon Tash'a Thindyss Piknim Imm Rp Xenophon
Subject The Hunger - Grave Findings
Shades. An annoyingly unspecific term.
Shadowy-like humanoids. Lack of defining details made gleaning new insights
from the past problematic.
Creatures that were unharmed by physical and magical means. But ore from
meteorites proved useful. Interesting.
Vaethas. Infested or 'tainted' by the shades. Purportedly he could compel
them, but it did him little good. Mercy-killed by Piknim and Bahamut.
Remains unrecoverable.
A clown like so many, hounding after glory and importance.
Details were frustratingly difficult to unearth as the elf's shadow slipped
through library after library and he paid visit to scholar after scholar.
Words were sometimes left unwritten between lines of text, but the vault of
the mind kept secrets and details either too significant or incomplete for
historical archives.
What the Vizier needed to inform her work were the unwritten findings.
Speculation, research unsubstantiated on how the Shades moved, how their
assaults were contained, why they could not invade Algoron at will, and how
they infested once-living things.
Names of those connected to the Shades provided a point from which to trace
time backwards. And one surname piqued his interest: Trucido.
An interesting connection: the Shades brought about by a goddess slain by
Fatale, a family sired by Count once held in esteem, and the domain of the
Queens.
From the recesses of shadow, he watched the comings-and-goings near what was
presumed to be the oldest home owned by the Trucidos in Abaddon. It was
quiet, but a few lights still burned in the windows and guards on the
grounds appeared to do their duty to some extent.
He toyed with the resonance of the pact between them, allowing impressions
to flow through the bond. It was not long until she crept gracefully from
the dark to join him, her black eyes hungry with interest.
Hours later, they slipped away from the estate by the same means they
arrived. The guards were left to their vigilance, the home and it's
occupants just as they were. Almost.
Grave earth clung to the small weighty box, the unusual metals dulled by its
time beneath ground.
A favor for a favor, darling.
Writer: Lilly
Date Tue Oct 14 16:24:57 2025
Writer: Lilly
Date Tue Oct 14 16:38:59 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Wed Oct 15 01:13:15 2025
To All Black_Robes ( Drakkara Imm RP Tritoch Cayenna Xenophon )
Subject 100 days of Prayer (IV)
Mother of Darkness, Weaver of Threads,
On this day I do not ask. I listen.
{uYour silence is heavier than words, sharper than any blade, and more
certain than light. In the stillness You leave behind, I hear the shape
of Your will. I feel the pull of threads unseen, binding purpose to
design. What others mistake for absence is simply Your hand moving
where their eyes cannot follow.
I offer my sight to the dark between, that I may see what others will
not. I offer my voice to the hush, that I may speak only when You wish.
I offer my strength to the unseen war, the quiet shaping, the patient
cutting.
Let those who stand in the open believe themselves unchallenged.
Let them not see the blade until it rests against their throat.
In darkness, I serve. I do not wait for Your command. I become it.
Writer: Melchaleve
Date Wed Oct 15 09:17:47 2025
Writer: Ezrianne
Date Wed Oct 15 09:41:50 2025
To All Telthian Symantha Shadow ( Drakkara Immortal RP )
Subject History's Loss of a 30-Ton Legend
Ezrianne sat hunched over the long table in the Strom Keep library,
surrounded by towers of tomes that had proven entirely, infuriatingly
useless. The air smelled of old parchment and binding glue, tinged with the
faint metallic ozone that always lingered when magic was used to seal
archives from decay and the wroth of passing time. Her quill tapped
restlessly against an inkwell, a staccato of irritation.
"Jormungander," she muttered under her breath, as though invoking the name
again might conjure something, anything, beyond the threadbare scraps she'd
already found. "The Storm, they called you. You would think someone would
have written something more than a bloody name and a footnote. "
But no. Nothing.
She'd combed through The Lineage of the First Brood, Chronicles of the
Veiled Flame, On the Nature of Draconic Ascendance -- even the Treatises of
the Deep Coil, which she'd sworn never to touch again after its last
chapter, warded with protection magic, had tried, physcially, to bite
her. Each held vague references; mentions of "Jormungander, the Blue" as
though the writer assumed everyone already knew who that was. Every book
and appendix turned up the same: a nod here, a poetic allusion there, but
not one full account, not even a consistent description. No estimated
hatching era, no snippets of deeds or allies, no sphere of influence, no
recorded death. Nothing that told her who he was.
Ezri HAD found a promising war chronical so riddled with mildew that she'd
sneezed herself halfway to delirium trying to read it, but her hopes were
dashed on that front, as well, by the time she'd turned the last page.
Ezri leaned back and rubbed her temples. "Lost to time, my scaled ass, "
she muttered.
Failing to catch any leads on her own, she'd already sent requests to half a
dozen archives; the Black Robes, Verminasia, even asking Gareth's Keep if
they had any recorded knowledge to impart. Each one came back similarly:
"Regrettably, no extant record."
"The name is known, but context eludes us."
"Try the Dragonvale, perhaps there's something older."
Of course, she had tried the Dragonvale. And what had that gotten her?
Three conflicting stories that had mention of his existence, but no solid
information on who he was as a beast of might and fury.
Crelius Atennim -- Jormungander's former, trusted Warder -- wanted to extort
her in exchange for what he knew (which was, she mused, likely the whole
picture that would end her search and let her get down to her writing,
already) so she had swiftly cut that conversation off at the trail head,
dismissing him as crazier than a bag of sugar-addled Kender.
Her quill snapped between her fingers at the memory. She hissed, tossing it
aside. "You want to be forgotten? Too bad. I am going to find you if I
have to tear apart every archive from here to the Void. '
She shoved back from the desk, the chair screeching over stone, and
stretched sore muscles in her shoulders and neck. Her reflection in the
window looked back at her - tired eyes, ink on her knuckles, jaw set tight.
She'd written half a dozen letters to anyone she could think of, already,
and every one of them felt like shouting into a cave. Her temples throbbed.
Her jaw ached. The candle beside her was burned down to a stub.
Then, tenaciously, she sat down again, tugged a fresh sheet from her stack,
and forced herself to breathe before she dove back into the search.
Writer: Herbert
Date Wed Oct 15 09:45:59 2025
Writer: Merira
Date Wed Oct 15 16:25:36 2025
To All ( Thaxanos Wargar Althainia Kraxul Grumf Imm RP )
Subject "The Spinning of Mithril" (Part 2)
The forge roared like a living thing. Heat shimmered off the stone
walls, molten light flickering across anvils and half-finished works. The
air was thick with the scent of hot metal, oil, and char.
Merira stood beside Kraxul KegBreaker, her dark robes rolled to the elbow,
runes gleaming faintly beneath the soot on her skin. The Spindleheart had
been rebuilt, smaller, humbler, and now anchored to the forge floor by
chains of black iron. Its core pulsed steadily, bound not by blood this
time, but by rhythm, Kraxuls hammer strikes syncing with the steady thrum of
the rune engine.
"Keep her steady, " he grunted, eyes fixed on the glowing ingot resting in
the crucible.
"I am steady, " Merira replied, though her voice wavered just enough to
betray the tension. With careful precision, she traced sigils in the air,
each one weaving light into the mithril as it melted and rose, a silver
serpent suspended by will alone.
Kraxuls hammer fell. Clang.
The sound rang through the forge like a heartbeat. The molten mithril
trembled but held shape.
Another strike. Clang. Runes flared brighter, aligning to the rhythm.
Merira began to chant, not the delicate whispers of pure spellwork, but
deep, resonant tones that matched the hammers tempo. Her voice and Kraxuls
craft merged, magic and metal, word and weight. The Spindleheart responded,
its runes burning with synchronized fire.
Slowly, impossibly, the mithril began to spin.
Not in rebellion, but in harmony.
Thin, gleaming strands flowed from the crucible into the constructs
spindles, twisting into a perfect cable. The thread sang, a note so pure it
silenced the forge for a heartbeat.
Merira dared to smile.
Kraxul glanced at her from beneath his heavy brows and gave a low grunt of
approval. "Now thats a sound worth keepin, " he said.
They worked through the night, him striking, her weaving, both drenched in
sweat and determination. When dawn bled through the forge vents, the first
coil of mithril cable lay before them: flawless, supple, and strong enough
to hold a mountain.
Merira reached out and brushed it with reverence. The metal was cool,
thrumming faintly with contained power.
Kraxul leaned on his hammer, exhausted but grinning. "Guess the forge can
learn a bit of your song after all, " he said.
"And the runes can learn your rhythm, " she replied softly.
For the first time, she understood, creation wasnt mastery. It was
partnership.
The forge fire burned low, and for once, Merira didnt see limits, only the
endless pulse of potential between hammer and spell.
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Oct 15 20:03:53 2025
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Oct 15 20:05:26 2025
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Oct 15 20:05:38 2025
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Oct 15 20:05:49 2025
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Oct 15 20:05:55 2025
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Oct 15 20:06:05 2025
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Oct 15 20:06:14 2025
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Oct 15 20:06:22 2025
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Oct 15 20:06:28 2025
Writer: Terri
Date Thu Oct 16 09:50:54 2025
To Knighthood All Aliera Fardoc ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Rp )
Subject Building Another Bridge
Terrilin Shalonost watched from afar, as the bustle of activity around
the sinkhole seemed to never cease. Over the course of a few months, he saw
the beginnings of a grand structure take form, and silently admired the
efforts to reconnect trade routes on the Northern Althanian subcontinent.
The sinkhole was an abomination that should never have been there to begin
with. As the structure was being constructed by those accursed dwarves,
though, he was content to let them deal with the headaches of their project.
Then, during the Crusade meeting about the bridge, came a public lamentation
from the Ebony Tower. It was a tirade laced with accusations of secretly
plotting to destroy others' faiths and livelihoods, and of delighting in
such cruelty. The idiotic moaning and blatant hypocrisy, especially after
the constant harassment and sabotage attempts, stirred him to action.
But how to contribute to the project? He saw the monk Tai'Tzu busy himself
with manual labor alongside the dwarves - but for Terri, that was completely
out of the question. He would sooner run through the dwarven foreman with
his sword than take orders from him.
The solution had come in the form of Bishop Aliera. He had approached her
about his concerns, and she suggested assisting the Knighthood instead. The
watchtowers being constructed by them would provide warning and prevent the
needless loss of life by those working on the bridge, and there would also
be opportunity for the young Pages and Squires to know their neighbors in
the Vallenwoods. He would help without fanfare, as this would be aid
rendered on a personal level as one who wished to see the bridge project
come to fruition.
Smiling to himself, he drew his hood over his head, and quietly walked
toward the southern encampment to meet with the Bishop.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Thu Oct 16 10:13:46 2025
To All Black_Robes Symantha Naamitsa Blinx ( Drakkara Imm RP Tritoch Cayenna Xenophon )
Subject 100 days of Prayer (V)
{uDark Mother, I bring before you the name of Blinx.
He has worshiped and given to your son,
and now seeks the wholeness that lies only in your truth.
He walks the threshold where shadow deepens,
and in that place, I pray your darkness claims him fully.
Draw him close, not in comfort, but in clarity.
Let the silence of your night speak louder than any false light.
Cut away what is fractured, and make him whole in your name.
Let his dreams align with your will,
and his steps find the path that leads only to you.
Make me your instrument, not his master.
Guide my hand to steady, not to bind.
Let my voice be a lantern of your shadow,
so that he may find his way into the depths and not falter.
{oBless his conversion with your cold mercy,
and let the darkness receive him as one of its own.
In your Darkness I serve.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Thu Oct 16 10:16:24 2025
To All Black_Robes Symantha Naamitsa ( Drakkara Imm RP Tritoch Cayenna Xenophon )
Subject 100 days of Prayer (VI)
{uDark Mother, your gift is not kindness.
Your gift is clarity.
In the dark, nothing is hidden.
In the dark, truth walks bare.
Strip me of comfort.
Strip me of light.
Leave me only your silence, your cold, your night.
There I will find the strength others fear.
There I will know myself.
There I will serve.
In your Darkness I serve.
Writer: Geirhart
Date Thu Oct 16 10:56:10 2025
To All Knighthood Imm ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Fardoc )
Subject Where stand the Vigilant ( Prologue I )
The smell of the stables wasn't a problem for the old priest, his prior
life had been on a farm for years with his family and a part of it gave him
comfort. Giles was brushing down a horse as usual when the Captain entered.
'Ah, Captain, Abbott, sir! I never know which one to use! ' saluted the
page as he nervously went about his duties.
'Captain is fine within the Keep, Giles. How are the horses today? ' asked
the priest as a red apple came out from one of his many pockets to be given
to one of the horses. He ran his hand down the horse's head from forehead
to nose. It was a brown mare with a patch of white on the nose. It
*neighed* softly as before munching on the gift.
'All fit and ready, sir. Reness is ready for you if you need her. ' smiled
Giles as he added some hay into the other stalls.
Giles finished and picked up a pitchfork as he went on with his chores.
'Sir, if I may ask a question. Lots of the pages and squires love what
you've been doing. But a lot of them wonder.. Um.. Why you aren't out
there with the Archangel leading us? Don't get me wrong, our chats are
helpful to me as I earn my spurs but you could be doing more. '
The old priest rubbed his bald head with calloused wrinkled hands. 'True,
Giles, perhaps I could be a warrior priest riding and leading us to battle
with the Angel above us. However, I have never been a warrior. I'm a
gardener, I enjoy tending to the new leaves that are sprouting. Leading,
fighting, that's for younger men. I feel my place is here amongst those
seeking their way in the keep, making sure that they have someone to help
them with their spurs. ' replied the priest as he sat on a bale of hay.
Giles nodded, 'Perhaps our new General will be that leader then. '
Geirhard smiled, 'I have known him for a long time and provided him guidance
as he came up through the ranks. I also have high hopes for him to lead us.
Many good Generals: Gaudin, Thasgerd, Raimbaut, Ruydiez, have come and gone
in recent years. I hope we can have a stable council to assist with the
Crusades. '
Giles nodded as he worked and Reness whinnied seeking more apples.
Writer: Geirhart
Date Thu Oct 16 11:00:38 2025
To All Knighthood Imm ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Fardoc )
Subject Where stand the Vigilant ( Prologue II )
Voices were raised in anger and frustration within the home of Caecius
Mamoritai. Caecius had been hoping to rally the light together but there
was no unity of vision to be had. Even the Archangel was disappointed with
the lack of progress in movement towards a unified goal. Geirhart listened
quietly. The conversation flowed around the veins of Light with the elves,
the work at the Church of the Stars, and other topics. Very little seemed
to be getting accomplished.
He didn't wish to take the stage from the Countess who was valiantly trying
to keep things together in her home. He was there to advise as a historian
on the current and historical events. He spoke on what the purpose of the
Lights where and why they were in Shalonesti. He spoke about the war with
the Marauders. Yet it seemed few had ideas on unification. Even the Crown
General remained silent as discussions were held. The meeting ended with
little agreement.
Bragin walked with him back to the keep and spoke up a bit, 'Pa, what about
Gaar Volen? That seemed a good place to go! '
Bragin frowned, 'Sometimes the small things are important too. Chaos is a
big thing to take on and we can't right now but maybe we can do this one
thing? '
Geirhart stopped for a moment and nodded. 'In time my boy. First I think
we need to decide what rallies us together. '
Bragin wrapped a arm around his father in aid as they walked back home. In
this in between time, family remained important
___________________________________________________________________________-
___________
And so, the wars raged against Chaos across continents. A single light rose
above the Church of Stars in defense of that holy place but no others came
to his aid. In time the alliance of Elves, Arkanians, Verminasians, and
others would drive back Chaos. However there was no victory for the pollen
of the Chaos vines choked the air, Raije was grievously wounded, and the Red
Moon was damaged spilling it's debris across Arkania. In truth, it was a
stalemate but the Light had not risen to this global challenge and many felt
the shame greatly.
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 12:17:06 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin Rp )
Subject The Northern Front (part nine)
The work at the bridge site had stretched into days, and by the time the
last of the scaffolding was steadied and the final rope tested for weight,
Aliera's shoulders ached with a kind of good, honest fatigue she hadn't felt
in a while. She'd nearly forgotten how grounding labor could be, the scrape
of rough wood beneath her palms, the smell of pitch, the steady rhythm of
hammer and mallet.
The dwarves, for their part, seemed grudgingly appreciative of the knights'
willingness to do more than stand and look impressive. Even if one of them
had muttered something about "tallfolk thinkin' they can build skyways,"
Aliera had caught the faintest of smirks in his beard.
Now, as the last wagon creaked back down the mountain road, she and Sir
Galen rode side by side, the sound of hooves steady and familiar. The sun
hung low, burnishing the sky with molten gold as they wound their way toward
the forests again.
"They will build the towers to the north, " she said, breaking the
comfortable silence. "The dwarves insisted they will handle their own along
the northern edge. Which, given Gares' likely thoughts about this entire
endeavor involving us, is likely safer for All of us. Additionally, our
good foreman here said no Althainian needs to 'mind their mountain for them.
'"
Galen nodded, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. "Aye, I imagine that
went over well. "
"As well as could be expected, " Aliera replied dryly. "We will see to the
southern ones then, our side of the pillar and through the plains. The Lord
Crown is already aware and has already sent word that the Keep contribute
men and supplies once the foundations are marked, scant as our forces might
be at the moment. "
It tugged at her, the numbers of the Keep being as they were, even with the
reawakening of so many.
"The right decision, " Aliera continued, her gaze fixed ahead on the
shadowed horizon. "The pillar's too close to ignore, even for Evil. That
light cuts the night like a blade, and whatever lies beyond... It watches
from just inside, nevermind what watches from the skys above. "
Galen gave a quiet hum of agreement, casting a glance above them and into
the clouds as they rode. "That sound, it's still with me, that gnashing.
Can't rightly say if it was beast or echo. "
"Neither, " she murmured. "It was warning. "
They rode on in silence after that, the rhythmic creak of saddles filling
the pause between them. It wasn't until the scent of pine grew thick in the
air that they spoke again, this time, less about duty and more about the
simple relief of returning to familiar ground.
They stopped at the Keep, relaying orders, reporting the return as well as
drafting a few more Knights to go with them. Aliera took a moment to send
off a missive, insisting the boy see it delivered personally and with all
haste before mounting up again and heading back to Haon-Dor.
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 12:24:27 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin RP )
Subject The Northern Front (part ten)
The lumberjacks greeted the returning knights like old comrades, though
the respect in their eyes was shaded with pride. One broad-shouldered man,
the foreman Aliera had met before, raised his hand in salute.
"Colonel Amarandus, " he said, his voice like gravel. "Wasn't sure we'd see
you back so soon, though I suppose them dwarves do run a tight schedule. "
"That they do, " Aliera replied, dismounting with practiced ease. "And I'd
rather not test their patience further. We're to haul another round of
timber back north once this load's ready. "
The foreman gave a low whistle. "You've got no small faith in our pace
then. "
"I've seen your work, " Aliera said, with a faint tilt of her brow. "And
I'm not one to gamble on slow hands. "
That drew a short laugh from the man, who scratched at his beard and
motioned toward the neatly stacked piles already prepared. "We've got most
of what you'll need, split, smoothed, and stacked. Took the liberty of
refining half into planks, seeing as your towers'll need 'em more than
beams. "
Sir Galen leaned an elbow on the wagon rail. "You think ahead better than
most commanders I've known. "
The foreman snorted. "You've not known enough commanders then. "
The banter flowed easily after that, steady and good-natured. Aliera
listened, adding her own remarks now and then, it was the kind of
conversation born between people who understood work: hard, necessary, and
done with pride.
Before long, a few barrels marked with the sign of The Last Call were rolled
off the wagons, to the whoops and cheers of the men who recognized them.
"Didn't think we'd see these again so soon, " one lumberjack said, grinning
ear to ear.
"Consider it a payment for haste, " Aliera replied. "And gratitude for what
you have already done. "
"Aye, " the foreman said, clapping a nearby barrel. "We'll toast to you
Knights then, though maybe not till you're gone. Wouldn't want to make
fools of ourselves in front of holy folk. "
"You'd be surprised what counts as 'holy' these days, " Galen muttered, just
loud enough for Aliera to hear. She hid her smile behind a gloved hand.
Not far from where the commanders spoke, another kind of conversation played
out. Louder, more awkward, and filled with a different energy altogether.
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 12:30:16 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin RP )
Subject The Northern Front (part eleven)
Daren, Fenna and Liv stood near the horses, watching as two younger
lumberhands loaded fresh timber into the wagons. One of the boys, barely
out of his teens, by the look of him, glanced up and caught Liv's eye before
nearly dropping his end of the log. "Careful, Ral, " his friend muttered,
though the teasing grin ruined any pretense of scolding. "Wouldn't do to
crush your own foot showing off. "
"Wasn't showing off, " Ral said quickly, though his ears flushed red.
"Just... Surprised to see a knight wear a braid finer than my sister's. "
Liv raised a brow, her tone even. "And surprised to see a lumberjack with
all his fingers, I suppose? "
That drew laughter from Fadyk, as he walked up to join his fellow Pages,
having joined the party the last time they stopped at the Keep. "Be nice,
Liv. They're not used to knight-girls. "
"Knight-women, " Liv corrected him, though a faint smile betrayed her
amusement.
Ral blinked. "You don't look much older than us. "
"Taller though, " Daren remarked to Fadyk while giving Liv a cheshire cat
grin.
Liv smirked, leaning her weight on the haft of her spear and looking down at
Ral from her full height. "And better with a blade than either of you'll
ever be with an axe, if you keep holding it like that. "
The boy holding the other end of the log chuckled. "We'll see about that,
milady. Maybe after the work's done, we'll have a contest, see who's faster
at splitting wood. "
Liv smirked. "If that's an invitation, I accept. But don't complain when
your pride's the only thing split. " Casting Fenna a grin, she added "And
Fenna here is even better with weapons than me, should you need to be beaten
by two girls. "
The laughter that followed was easy and warm, and though the teasing
continued, so too did the mutual respect that grew between them. The young
men soon found themselves listening more than talking, and by the time the
sun began to set, the forest was filled with the rhythm of labor and
laughter alike.
By nightfall, the wagons were full again, the smell of cut pine and fresh
sap sharp in the cool air. As the knights made camp, Aliera watched the
fires flicker through the trees, some near, some distant, All steady.
Tomorrow, they'd begin the slow return north again, timber and purpose in
tow, the weight of duty balanced by camaraderie. For now, though, she
allowed herself the briefest moment of quiet contentment, listening to the
blend of voices, the deep murmur of veterans, the bright laughter of youth,
the crackle of fire, and the whisper of the wind through the trees.
Faith and work, she thought. Two halves of the same calling. And tomorrow,
both would march.
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 12:43:55 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Brinynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin RP )
Subject The Northern Front (part twelve)
The Mamoritai estates had slept for too long.
Even in the humid breeze that swept through the barracks by the orchard,
there was a sense of idleness- training still happened, of course, drills
maintained out of habit and honor, but the edge had dulled. Armor gleamed
from care, not from use. Banners were clean, their colors unfaded, yet
windless and still.
That change the moment the courier arrived.
The young man bore the seal of Gareth's Keep and the crest of the Church of
Nadrik both, an unspoken promise that whatever lay inside the scroll he
carried was no minor update on supplies or idle communication, but something
important. The courier's boots had barely touched the packed earth of the
courtyard when a dozen curious heads turned his way.
"Order for the Commander, " he said, breathless but proud. "From Colonel
Aliera Amarandus, of Gareth's Keep. "
The name rippled through the gathered men of the Blade and Knights and
Squires of the Eques Vero both as well as those of the greater Blade, like a
stone cast into still water.
A broad shouldered man stepped from the gathering crowd and took the scroll
from the courier. It was opened with care, the parchment thick and
official, its ink shimmering faintly in places where gold and silver had
been blended for emphasis. At the bottom, beneath the flowing signature,
there blazed the mark of the Seraph's Blade itself, the raised sword
enveloped in sacred flame. The ink shimmered with faint, living light, as
though divine fire still breathed through its strokes.
The symbol stirred something long dormant among the veterans gathered in the
common hall. Some had not seen that emblem in years except upon their own
cloaks, each clasp bearing the same motif in aged brass or polished silver.
The banners hung at the far end of the hall, threadbare but proud, bore it
too: the sword and flame of the Seraph's Blade, once a beacon across
battlefields and sanctified marches.
Raising his voice, the commander read, the words carried across the
courtyard, steady, resolute, bearing the clipped precision of Aliera's voice
of command, even through ink.
- "By the will of the Church of Nadrik, and at the command of Gareth's Keep,
the Seraph's Blade is hereby recalled to service.
All forces stationed upon the Mamoritai estates are to muster within two
days' time and depart for the mainland aboard the Brightwing, bound for the
port at Althainia.
From there, you will report and proceed to the borderlands north of the city
and lend your strength to the watch towers under construction along the
chasm and up to the lucent pillar.
This is expected to be both a patrol and garrison order, expect extended
deployment."
Aliera Amarandus, Bishop of Nadrik, Colonel of the Crown, Commander of the
Northern Front
A younger soldier, scarcely past twenty, leaned over the table where the
missive was spread. "Colonel Amarandus of Gareth's Keep? " he said
uncertainly. "Who is she? I thought the Blade served under Commander
Thevard still. "
A hush fell over the room at his words.
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 12:56:35 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin RP )
Subject The Northern Front (part thirteen)
Commander Rowan, his cloak clasp a gleam of burnished gold, looked up
from where he had been tracing the signature with a calloused thumb. His
voice carried the steady tone of command, low but unmistakable. "Colonel
Amarandus, " he said, emphasizing the title. "You'll speak her name with
the respect due her rank and more than that, her faith. "
The younger man blinked, then straightened, uncertain but attentive.
"She was one of the founders of the Blade, " he continued. "A Bishop of
Nadrik before ever she bore the Amarandus name with such weight. She and
Lord Mercerion Mamoritai raised this army when the world was beginning to
fray at the edges again, when words and prayers no longer kept the darkness
at bay. If the Colonel calls us again, it is not lightly. "
The boy shifted, uneasy, glancing over the estate that bore the other name
invoked before offering "I've hear the name, maybe, but... She's from the
mainland, isn't she? I though the Blade was disbanded anyway. "
The veteran gave a low, humorless chuckle, his tone measured and heavy with
memory. "Disbanded and serving under Commander Thevard both hmm? No, boy.
Sleeping, maybe. Forgotten by some, but not by the faithful. The Seraph's
Blade doesn't die, it just waits to be called. " Glancing at the men and
women around them, he turned his gaze back on the boy and asked, "If it is
disbanded, just what are you doing here, hmm lad? "
From near the hearth, another figure spoke, a woman with the crest of the
Eques Vero stitched in pale thread on her mantle. Her tone was measured,
though a faint spark of purpose glimmered in her eyes.
"This order bears both her name and the Church's seal. That means the call
comes as much from faith as from steel. The Seraph's Blade has always stood
for both, sword and scripture, flame and light. If we are to aid Gareth's
Keep, it is not merely as soldiers. We go as guardians of the faithful, to
man their towers and keep their borders. "
The young soldier looked around, suddenly uncertain. "She's really calling
the Blade back? "
Rowen nodded slowly. "Aye, and if the Colonel is calling, there's reason
enough. Nadrik's faithful don't raise armies for ceremony. "
He rolled the parchment back up and handed it to the quartermaster, his
voice rising so that All could hear.
"Seraph's Blade! " he called, the words echoing across the training field.
"You've lain quiet long enough. Our Lady and the Church calls, and we
answer! "
A murmur grew, swelling into shouts as men and women began to move, checking
armor, sharpening blades, unearthing polished helms that had gathered a thin
layer of dust alongside apple blossom pollen.
"Two days! " Rowen barked, stalking the line of barracks. "Two days, and
we sail for Althainia. See your gear in order, your souls in readiness and
your letters written. This isn't a patrol of peace, it's a summons to
vigilance. "
The young soldier from before lingered a moment, watching the sudden bustle.
"Sir, " he said quietly, "why now? After All this time? "
Rowen paused, then looked toward the horizon as if he could see the coast of
Althainia, even from the Isle. "Because the dark's been stirring again, "
he said softly. "And when it does, the Seraph's Blade always answers. " He
turned back, his voice steady and firm once more. "Now get moving, boy.
You've a uniform to fit and faith to live up to. "
The barracks came alive that night. Hammers rang as armor was mended.
Lanterns burned late as scribes and priests worked through the lists of the
faithful. Horses were brushed and saddled, banners unfurled and stitched
with fresh gold thread, and in every motion, there was purpose.
Writer: Tamello
Date Thu Oct 16 13:16:54 2025
Writer: Tamello
Date Thu Oct 16 13:17:00 2025
Writer: Tamello
Date Thu Oct 16 13:17:09 2025
Writer: Kraxul
Date Thu Oct 16 16:59:07 2025
To All Fardoc Agapitos Thaxanos Wargar ( Crusade Storyline Religion Nadrik Imm Rp )
Subject Building Bridges (-part nineteen-)
For the first time in some years, there was a direct path from Thaxanos
to Althainia. The white granite slabs that made up the deck of the
bridge were staked to the mithril girders by means of solid posts of
mithril, attached at the bottom to the girders and running vertically
through holes bored in the granite. The parapets would be built around
these posts, and the cables would then be fastened to them.
The girders rested on thousands of tons of heavy scaffolding of thick
logs. Lighter scaffolding, constructed of milled beams rose skyward in
the center of the bridge, supporting the granite forms into which the
molten mithril would be cast to form the central column, the main
support structure for the bridge.
Four large structures had been erected on the bridge, two directly
north of the column, and two to the south. They spanned the width of
the bridge and rose nearly fifteen feet into the air. They were round,
and constructed of gritty orange clay formed into firebricks. They
each had an outer wall and an inner wall, with a chamber between the
walls for fuel.
The crucibles each had a sort of spigot that emptied into a trough of
the same firebricks. The troughs led to a bucket conveyance contrived
by the ingenius twin engineers to transport the molten mithril up to
the top of the form. The buckets were spaced far enough apart that
only three would be full and moving upward at a time, and evenly
enough that the bucket at the top could be emptied while the bucket at
the bottom was being filled. The buckets themselves were heavy, made
of a double-walled asterite construction with insulation in between,
so the mithril wouldn't cool on its upward journey.
The belt that took these buckets upward was powered by a thick shaft,
turned manually by a team of Dwarves. It had been tested under load,
and the teams had performed three dry-runs using sand, and dumping the
load over the side instead of into the form.
Wagons were arriving once an hour, on average, from Thaxanos, laden
with an unfathomable number of solid mithril bars. The bars were being
stacked directly adjacent to the lucent pillar and given their own
compliment of three guards.
Several tons of coal had been piled up nearby, and eight wheelbarrows
were stationed at the south end of the bridge. This would keep the
furnaces going for the hours long casting of the column.
### TO BE CONTINUED ###
Writer: Kraxul
Date Thu Oct 16 17:15:21 2025
To All Fardoc Agapitos Thaxanos Wargar ( Crusade Storyline Religion Nadrik Imm Rp )
Subject Building Bridges (-part twenty-)
Kraxul's eyes flared with fire as he put the match to the tobacco in a
deeply bent, rusticated briar pipe. He drew the tobacco into his lungs
and exhaled a thick cloud of fragrant smoke. Leaving the pipe dangling
from his mouth, he turned and loaded the furnace up again with mithril
ore. He had made about six hundred bars, but the night was young, and
there was much yet to be done. The sweat dripped from every inch of
him, and he occasionally shook his head like a dog, spraying the brine
from his beard.
After several hours of work, a familiar voice shouted from the doorway,
"Ye ready ta make more music?" Merira stood there with her arms
crossed. Kraxul grunted, saying "Aye, after this batch. Give mae
ano'er ten minutes."
The shortest cables were coiled on wooden reels, under guard in the
twins' workshop. There would be four of each length, and would be
fitted to the central column in a week or two, if All went as planned.
"Bring mae a pitcher of ale ef ye would, lass. One f'yerself too.
Ah should bae ready when ye return."
"Ahm not yer w-"
"No, yer not mae waitress, apprentice, but ahve been at this all
day and we've got work ta do here and ahm askin fer ah favor, damnit."
She stomped out of the room without a word, and Kraxul turned back to
the furnace. It was going to be a long night.
### TO BE CONTINUED ###
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 17:23:36 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin Rp )
Subject The Northern Front (part fourteen)
The sea crossing from Shokono had been calm, as if even the waves
respected the purpose of their passage. The ships bore the banners of the
Seraph's Blade, pale cloth kissed by salt and wind, the sigil of a flaming
sword raised to the heavens glinting in the sun as if alive. Armor gleamed
across the decks, and disciplined order hummed through the ranks like the
tuning of a great instrument.
The soldiers of the Blade moved with purpose, their officers issuing quiet
commands in the clipped tones of habit and precision. Among them, veterans
wore their years like steel, unbothered by the sway of the sea, unfazed by
the long miles ahead. Younger members, some born after the Blade's last
campaign, looked on with a mixture of awe and nerves. They had read of the
Blade in temple histories and war accounts, never expecting to serve beneath
its banner.
When they disembarked at the Althainian port, a few of the locals stopped to
stare. Some bowed to the banners of Nadrik fluttering alongside the Blade's
own. Others whispered, uncertain. But the officers were careful, orders
were clear.
No weapon was drawn. No man nor woman strayed from the ranks. Each step
through the city was measured, respectful, deliberate.
At the head of the column, an officer of the Eques Vero, helm tucked beneath
one arm, paused to speak with a port magistrate. "We are only passing
through, " she said, voice even and courteous. "We seek neither favor nor
quarrel, only good trade and safe road. The Colonel herself has written it
so. "
The magistrate, reassured, nodded. The Eques Vero officer gestured for her
men to stand easy. By dusk, the Blade had passed into New Thalos' lands,
banners lowered slightly in respect to the sovereignty of those territories.
They obeyed local laws to the letter, paying tariffs at every gate, buying
their food and lodging rather than requisitioning it, and always making
clear their purpose was peacekeeping, not conquest. In the evenings, they
camped neatly beyond city walls, torches banked low.
Among the younger ranks, the orders were repeated in every watch:
"We are the arm of the Church and the shield of the good. We are to be seen
as both sword and servant. We bring no threat to those who live peacefully
here, only vigilance. You will leave no ill impression on this land. "
Meanwhile, far north west of them, Aliera and Sir Galen rode ahead of their
own company, the smell of pine and freshly hewn timber thick in the crisp
air. The sound of axes rang behind them as the last of the lumbermen and
knights set their scaffolds upright for the second tower.
Aliera reined her horse in near the rise, pulling a roll of parchment from
her satchel. "This must go to the Emperor, " she said, her tone practical,
if weary. "He'll need to know that the Blade is en route. It will put
minds at ease, and I will seek his permission before they are granted the
ability to patrol. Until that time, we will use the additional labor to
finish the watchtowers and man them. "
She penned the missive in a neat, slanted script, sealing it with wax
pressed by the ring she wore, its face marked by the same flaming sword
sigil that adorned the Seraph's banners. When it was dispatched with a
courier hawk, she watched it vanish into the northern wind.
As they rode on, Galen's gaze followed the distant shimmer of the Pillar,
rising faintly on the horizon like a spear of silver light. "The Seraph's
Blade, " he said at last. "You've spoken of them, but I never knew them to
be more than a name. "
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 17:29:32 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Relgion Storyline Imm Admin Rp )
Subject The Northern Front (part fifteen)
Aliera smiled faintly, eyes ahead. "They were born of necessity, " she
said. "Mercerion and I raised them when the Church could no longer afford
to keep its prayers unguarded. There had been attacks at services, and even
the might of the Keep was not enough to be able to keep All coming to the
city and various temples safe. They serve both faith and steel, Knights in
the Eques Vero, soldiers, healers, even those who can call upon holy magics.
When darkness gathers, they march where the light must hold. "
He nodded, thoughtful. "And they'll be joining us? "
"They will, " she replied. "They will man the southern towers. We'll hold
the northern line near the Pillar and man the patrols in between as well.
"
Behind them, the younger Knights traded light-hearted remarks as they rode.
Someone had ended up with a skin of the dwarves' dark ale from the first
lumber delivery, and laughter broke the chill air as they debated whether it
was strong enough to "fell an orc or cause blindness."
Aliera allowed herself a small smile at the sound. "Let them laugh, " she
murmured. They will learn soon enough the world still needs joy as much as
vigilance. And besides, one swig of that and there will be no hiding who it
was that was tempted to try it, the coughing fit will give them away. "
Galen chuckled, casting a glance back at the Pages over his shoulder and
nodded in agreement.
With that, the party pressed northward, leaving behind the growing skeletons
of watchtowers that rose one by one, silent sentinels marking the edge of
safety. The third and final tower site awaited them in the long shadow of
the Pillar, and beyond that shimmered the unseen border where light met the
lands still claimed by darkness.
___________________________________________________________________________-
The Seraph's Blade moved like a living river of steel and faith across the
open plains, armor gleaming, banners rippling, the rhythmic cadence of boots
and hooves filling the air like a prayer set to drumbeat. Their destination
shimmered faintly ahead, a gleaming spire that caught the sun even from
miles away.
As they crossed from New Thalosian lands into Althainian soil, their march
was a study in discipline and respect. The laws were obeyed to the letter.
Tolls were paid without question. No civilian went unacknowledged when they
paused to wave or offer bread. Every action spoke of purpose without
menace, of soldiers trained not only in war, but in reverence.
At their head rode Commander Rowen, a man whose bearing bore the weight of
many campaigns, and beside him Captain Vynara, the half-elven leader of the
Eques Vero, her keen gaze flicking constantly from horizon to horizon.
By the time they passed through the Althainian border towns, the spire on
the northern horizon had grown brighter, its white fire threading through
the clouds, touching them with gold and blue light. The soldiers began to
murmur among themselves as they marched, voices low but full of awe.
"By Nadrik's flame... It's bright as a beacon even at midday. " one
whispered.
Another crossed himself, eyes wide. "The Lucent Pillar. I've heard the
tales. I thought it a story. "
Even Rowen slowed his horse slightly, gaze turned toward the distant
brilliance. "So that's it, " he murmured to Vynara. "The light that marks
the chasm between worlds. "
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 17:35:20 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin Rp )
Subject The Northern Front (part sixteen)
Vynara inclined her head, expression unreadable but eyes filled with the
shimmer of the distant radiance. "It's said the dragons themselves were
struck when it was called down. The gods do not carve warnings lightly. "
Rowen gave a short, grim nod. "Nor do they give signs without need. "
The ranks moved in silence for the final stretch. The southernmost tower
soon rose before them, the framework stark and humble beneath the divine
glow. A knight on watch rode forward to meet them, bowing deeply.
"Commander Rowen, Captain Vynara. Colonel Amarandus awaits you at the
northernmost tower, under the light of the Pillar itself. "
Rowen returned the salute, glancing around the rapidly growing tower
structure, "You've done fine work here. Keep your men steady. We'll join
her by nightfall. "
The knight hesitated before adding, quietly, "The Pillar's stronger at dusk.
You'll see what I mean. "
And indeed they did.
By the time the Seraph's Blade reached the northern tower, twilight had
deepened, but instead of darkness, they found themselves standing beneath
radiance. The Lucent Pillar blazed upward from the horizon like a divine
beacon, its light bending the shadows inward, swallowing them whole. Its
spiraling form shimmered with runes and names that seemed to shift just out
of focus, and All around, the land glowed in hues of pearl and sapphire.
The soldiers dismounted, many for the second time, awe etching itself across
every face. Some wept openly. Others merely stood still, transfixed. One
officer, his voice quiet, breathed, "No wonder they build the watchtowers
here. The light itself is our sentinel. "
When they finally reached the base of the third tower, Colonel Amarandus and
her knights awaited them. She stood beneath the unearthly radiance, the
gleam of her armor made almost celestial by reflection. Her cloak clasp
bore the same flaming sword of the Seraph's Blade that shimmered on their
banners.
Commander Rowen removed his helm and bowed deeply. "Colonel Amarandus. The
Seraph's Blade stands ready. "
Captain Vynara followed, kneeling in the light that pooled around the
pillar. "And the Eques Vero with them, Bastion. " The use of the title
brought a faint smile to Aliera's lips, it had been many years since that
particular one was invoked.
Aliera stepped forward, looking from one to the other, then up at the
blazing Pillar that towered above them all. "Then we stand together beneath
His light, " she said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of both faith
and command. "See it well, for this is what we guard, not just stone or
timber, but unity, and one that is actively being attacked. "
The light of the Lucent Pillar burned pale gold upon the encampment, washing
canvas and steel in hues of reverent fire. It was here, beneath that
radiant column, that two great forces came together for the first time in
many years.
The Knights of Gareth's Keep and the Seraph's Blade met not as strangers,
but as branches of the same great tree of Light, though its roots had long
been parted by time and duty. The meeting was at first stiffly formal:
ranks called to attention, banners unfurled, insignias checked and salutes
exchanged. Yet soon enough, as the camps were set and fires were lit, the
air softened with familiarity and quiet purpose.
The Keep's tents stood in neat, disciplined rows, marked with the sigil of
the Crown, Lance and Shield, and sporting a variety of signs of the faiths
of the Pantheon of Light. The Blade's, by contrast, were arranged in wider
arcs, the banners of the flaming sword stirring faintly in the wind directly
beneath banners of Lord Nadrik's faith. Between them, men and women
mingled, sharing rations, stories, and the slow mutual assessment that
soldiers give one another when learning who will hold their flank in battle.
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 17:44:49 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin Rp )
Subject The Northern Front (part seventeen)
Aliera oversaw it All from a small rise near the command tents, Sir Galen
stood at her shoulder, speaking quietly with Commander Rowen about patrol
assignments and overlapping chains of command. Captain Vynara was nearby,
her half-elven voice crisp as she spoke to a young Eques Vero knight about
coordination between units of differing training and heritage, her pointed
ears standing out a bit more amongst so many humans, even though there were
a few half elven amongst the Vero.
There were inevitable questions, who answered to whom, which orders held
precedence, how far Nadrik's authority extended beside the Amarandus
standard, but calm, clear leadership made short work of it.
"The Seraph's Blade and the Keep ride beneath the same Light, " she said
during the first officer's council that night. "Our chains of command join,
not compete. Commander Rowen's forces will man the southern and middle
watchtowers along with Captain Vynara's Eques Vero. Construction will be
completed and then both towers manned. The Knights of Gareth's Keep will
hold the northernmost tower and keep swift patrols and communications.
Together we will form a wall of vigilance from the plains to the pillar
while the Dwarves man the north. "
Agreement came, as did the inevitable shuffling of rosters, the scribbling
of names, the rattle of dice cups to determine watch rotations. Outside the
command tent, the mingling continued, old veterans of the Blade comparing
gear with younger knights of Gareth's, Pages racing each other with armloads
of supplies, laughter beginning to replace the strained politeness of first
meeting.
It was into this newfound rhythm that the two hooded figures appeared.
They stepped soundlessly into the outer circle of light, graceful,
deliberate, cloaked in the manner of those who had walked long roads unseen.
The fire nearest them guttered slightly, the air stirring with something old
and familiar. Reflexively, hands went to sword hilts.
One of the figures threw back his hood first, revealing the slender, proud
bearing of an elf, Terri Shalonost, dark-haired and ageless, the faint signs
of the training of a Bladesinger visible in the mannerisms of both he and
his companion. At his throat gleamed a pendant wrought of silver,
unmistakably of House Shalonost.
The younger soldiers tensed. Even among the faithful, the sudden appearance
of an elven elder so close to the camp was enough to draw caution.
But Aliera did not reach for her weapon. Instead, her expression broke into
a small, warm smile. "Elder Shalonost, " she greeted, stepping forward and
bowing her head in respect. "You've come far to meet us. "
He inclined his head slightly, his voice low and measured, though his eyes
carried the sharpness of tempered steel. "The wind carried word of your
work here, Colonel. It seemed... Fitting that one who walks in both light
and blade should lend his aid. "
A few of the half-elven members of the Eques Vero exchanged looks of visible
delight. One, a young knight named Seren, whispered to her companion,
"That's Terri Shalonost. I've only ever heard of him, one of the Elders and
Bladesingers of the Shalonesti. "
The other, older and human, looked mildly perplexed until a squire from
Gareth's Keep, grinning beneath his helm, leaned in to explain, "You'll see
them sometimes along our patrols north of the plains and up near the
Vallenwood. The Shalonesti elves send Bladesingers where the balance needs
watching but this is about the Light, If he's here, it's because he's chosen
to be. "
It was enough to settle nerves. By the time Aliera led Terri toward the
command tent, a murmur of respect followed them.
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 17:52:40 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin RP )
Subject The Northern Front (part eighteen)
Inside, Rowen, Vynara, and Galen rose from their seats. For a moment
there was the faintest pause, commanders sizing up another presence of
weight and mystery, but Aliera dispelled it with a word.
"Elder Terri will be joining our councils, " she said. "Largely to listen,
but also to assist as he is able, in a personal capacity. "
Terri tipped his head slightly to the gathered officers, and then they
continued. The night stretched long with planning. Maps were spread,
routes marked, magical wards discussed, and resource lists rewritten. Terri
offered suggestions as he was asked. Rowen spoke on supply and rotation.
Galen raised points on morale and readiness. And Aliera, ever the still
center of their varied storms, wove each thread together with a commander's
patience and a priestess's faith.
Outside, beneath the halo of the Pillar's light, the mixed camp of elves,
knights, and soldiers began to breathe as one great host.
The night was a quiet one, or so it had seemed when the lamps were first
doused, when the last of the supper fires had been smothered and the
laughter of the mingled camps faded to soft murmurs and then to sleep. The
Seraph's Blade had settled with the disciplined stillness of soldiers
long-trained, tents arranged in a perfect grid not far from the northernmost
tower. Beyond the campfires, the glow of the Lucent Pillar still shimmered,
a steady, holy radiance that no one had yet grown accustomed to. Even the
most battle-hardened knights among them had been seen glancing toward it now
and again, whispering half-prayers beneath their breath.
It was Rowen's command that night, his officers seeing to the sentries while
Aliera met with Galen, Vynara, and Terri to finalize morning orders. The
plan had been a simple one: with dawn, the Seraph's Blade would begin their
return south, manning the two lower towers while Aliera's own command of
Knights would continue construction here as well as patrolling northward.
Supplies were accounted for. Watches had been set. Everything was as it
should be.
Until the screaming started.
It came from the pit, that scar in the earth less than a quarter-mile from
the camp's perimeter, where the tops of scaffolding constructed by the
dwarves just peeked above the rim. The guards posted nearest it were among
the first to vanish, their torches snuffed as though swallowed whole. Then
came the shouts, steel drawn, orders shouted into the darkness, and the
sound of something... Moving.
Rowen was the first into armor, his sword already drawn by the time the camp
bells began to ring. Vynara followed close behind, cloak half-buckled,
shouting for her Eques Vero to rally. All around, tents erupted into
motion, half-armored knights and soldiers spilling into the firelight,
blades flashing as they formed defensive ranks.
"Hold formation! " Rowen barked, his voice carrying above the clamor. "No
one advances until ordered! "
But the earth itself seemed to rumble in defiance. From the pit rose a gust
of fetid air and the faint echo of something, chanting? No, not words. A
pulse. A rhythm like a heartbeat deep within the ground.
Aliera and Galen arrived moments later, Aliera's expression cold and sharp
as tempered steel. She gave one look to Rowen, and he needed no words. The
chain of command they had debated so carefully that morning fell into place
without hesitation.
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Oct 16 17:57:06 2025
To Knighthood All Fardoc Kraxul Briynjia Terri ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Admin Rp )
Subject The Northern Front (part nineteen)
"Eques Vero, shields up! Knights of Gareth's, ring the perimeter!
Galen, you're with me. "
A flare of divine light burst from her outstretched palm, illuminating the
pit beyond the edge of the pillar's light, and what lay at its edge. One of
the sentries, or what was left of him, half-hanging over the rim, his armor
blackened as if burned from within. The ground around him glistened with a
thin sheen of something dark and wet, reflecting the holy light in eerie
ripples.
"Rowen, Vynara, tighten the perimeter. No one approaches the edge unless
ordered. " Aliera ordered.
The night dragged on in tense readiness, every flicker of movement at the
pit's rim sending ripples through the ranks. At last, as dawn's first pale
light crept over the horizon, joining the light of the pillar, the presence
of evil, whatever it had been, seemed to fade. No attack came. No second
scream. Only silence, and the shimmer of the Lucent Pillar, washing the
weary ranks in gold.
When morning broke in full, the camp was subdued. Men whispered of what
they had seen, or thought they had seen, of shapes in the dark and the
stench of rot beneath the wind.
Rowen stood at Aliera's side once more as she surveyed the still-smoking
pit. "A test, perhaps" he said quietly. "For the alliance. "
Aliera nodded, though her gaze lingered on the wound in the earth. "Or the
machinations of evil... " she murmured.
And so, as the sun climbed higher, preparations began once more. The
Seraph's Blade readied to depart south, as planned, but none among them
would soon forget that first night.
Writer: Kraxul
Date Thu Oct 16 21:07:18 2025
To All Fardoc Agapitos Thaxanos Wargar ( Crusade Storyline Religion Nadrik Imm Rp )
Subject Building Bridges (-part twenty one-)
The day had finally come. The bars were stacked to form a cube, fifty
feet in each direction. The crucibles had been fueled and the
firebricks were All glowing almost white. A trio of mages from the
Kexrar had used their spells to heat the granite that made up the form
of the column, and continued to cast to maintain the heat.
Four wheelbarrows had been loaded with coal, and four more with mithril
bars. The pulleys on the bucket conveyor had been greased, and the
parapet workers had been sent to bolster the guard towers, or to guard
the pile of bars and coal.
The first crucible had been filled with mithril bars, and following a
wait of precisely twenty minutes, the second had been loaded. Twenty
minutes after that, as the third was being loaded, the mithril began to
flow through the trough and into the first of the lift buckets. The
wheel began to turn and the mithril was lifted into the air, and then
stopped as the second bucket was filled. This was repeated until the
first bucket was at the top of the form, and two workers tipped the
bucket, pouring the molten metal into the form.
The metal ran down the inside of the pre-heated form until it impacted
the bedrock, at the bottom of a hole dug a dozen yards into the clay at
the bottom of the sinkhole. By the time the first batch pooled into
the earth, the second bucketload was on its way down. Once the first
crucible was empty, the second began to spill its load, and the first
was loaded up again. This process was repeated for over forty eight
gruelling hours. The Dwarves worked in four hour shifts, and were
rewarded at the end of each shift with a pitcher of Skullsplitter ale.
At long last, the foreman shouted "Stop loadin buckets!" and the
final three buckets were hoisted to the top. The final bucket was
poured slowly and gingerly into the tower until the molten metal
reached a line carved an inch below the top of the form.
The rough shape of the central column was complete. When the metal
cooled, in a day or two, the artisans could begin their carving.
In the meantime, every Dwarf involved in the project was enlisted in
a rotating watch. They were armed with axes, spears, staves, swords
and All manner of implements of death. Some manned the ballistae,
others crowded into the watchtowers. A few dozen stood guard on the
bridge itself, while a like number patrolled the depths of the odious
pit. The rim of the sinkhole was patrolled continuously, one group
walking clockwise, and the other walking the opposite direction.
Every clan of Thaxanos was represented at the worksite. In two or
three days time, the towering column would be one of the strongest
single structures mortal minds could concieve of. Until that time,
nothing could be allowed to threaten the structure.
### TO BE CONTINUED ###
Writer: Pyrsas
Date Fri Oct 17 10:52:54 2025
Writer: Pyrsas
Date Fri Oct 17 11:06:59 2025
Writer: Pyrsas
Date Fri Oct 17 11:47:49 2025
Writer: Pyrsas
Date Fri Oct 17 12:02:26 2025
Writer: Pyrsas
Date Fri Oct 17 12:19:37 2025
Writer: Pyrsas
Date Fri Oct 17 12:34:13 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Fri Oct 17 16:50:49 2025
To All Black_Robes Symantha Naamitsa ( Drakkara Imm RP Tritoch Cayenna Xenophon )
Subject 100 days of Prayer (VII)
{uMother of Darkness, to You I submit.
I am the soft whisper, the thunderous voice, the deafening roar.
Through Your grace, All my work is done.
By Your gift, I live.
Guide my hand as I lead Your Tower,
bless Your children as You have blessed me.
Through following I lead, through my silence I speak.
Through the stillness of shadow, Your will is known.
Let my words be the ink that binds,
let my deeds be the weight that shapes.
May I walk unseen, and yet leave Your mark upon All things.
In darkness, I serve.
In silence, I rise.
In Your name, I endure.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sat Oct 18 20:14:03 2025
To All Black_Robes Symantha Naamitsa ( Drakkara Imm RP Tritoch Cayenna Xenophon )
Subject 100 days of Prayer (VIII)
{uMother of Darkness, mistress of All that is night.
Where others cry for light, I extinguish its flame.
Fear is a disease I spread to the weak.
Your silence is my shield. Your darkness, my weapon.
Guide my hand as it shapes the unseen.
Steady my will as it carries Your name.
Let each step I take be a shadow that speaks of You.
Let my faith strike like a shadowed blade.
Let my name vanish but my deeds remain.
Let Your will be the only light they remember.
In darkness, I serve.
In silence, I endure.
Writer: Melchaleve
Date Sun Oct 19 19:02:16 2025
Writer: Fardoc
Date Sun Oct 19 19:10:12 2025
To All Thaxanos Althainia Knighthood ( Nadrik Imm Religion Storyline RP )
Subject Carving the Mural (Part I)
Fardoc gazed up at the towering mithril column, extending up toward the
sky and looking out over the plains. It was beautiful, its shining sides
reflecting the light of both the sun and the lucent pillar to the south. As
of yet, the sides were smooth, bare, and unadorned, but that would change
soon. Plans, painstakingly crafted by many of the Crusade, had been made
over many weeks to turn the facets of the column into a tapestry of the
Light, and it was finally time to turn those plans into a reality.
The Cardinal strode forward to place his hand against the smooth mithril
surface, and turned to face a stout, ruddy-faced dwarf with long brown hair
tied into plaits, clad in a worn leather apron and a chisel and mallet
tucked into his belt.
Fardoc nodded his head in greeting to the dwarf. 'Thane Kraxul told mae ye
were the artisan tasked with carving the mural, aye? Ah don't think we have
met before, have we? '
The dwarf scratched at his beard and shook his head. 'Nay, Cardinal, we
haven't. Mae name is Joruman Grimmson. Been an artisan All mae life o'er in
Thaxanos, an' even did some work on the Baewar District when the High King
build All that up.' He reached out his scarred hand towards Fardoc.
'Pleased te meet ye, truly.'
Fardoc grasped his hand and shook it once. 'Pleased te meet ye too, lad.
Has yer crew seen the plans we have drawn? They prepared te git started?'
'Aye, Cardinal. They bae ready te go. Are ye going te stick around an'
direct em te make sure et's All how the Church envisions et te turn out?'
Fardoc grinned and nodded. 'Aye, ah would nay miss the shaping of the column
for the world, lad. Ah wrote good portions of the plans. Ah would nay
dream of missing em come te fruition.'
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 19 23:43:37 2025
To All Black_Robes Symantha Naamitsa ( Drakkara Imm RP Tritoch Cayenna Xenophon )
Subject 100 days of Prayer (IX)
{uMother of Darkness, illuminator of truth
In your image I kneel, All know themselves before you.
Light betrays the truth, the weak are too scared to face.
Darkness embraces those with whom we truly are.
May the world bow before your greatness,
May All be true to their innermost thoughts,
Let the blind fools cry demon, forgetting what they are.
Through shadow You reveal what light conceals,
Through silence You speak what tongues will not.
May my will be sharpened by Your night,
And my hands guided by Your unseen touch.
Let their faith in false suns wither,
Let Your black moon rise and swallow their lies.
In shadow I serve, in silence I follow,
Forever bound in Your dark truth.
Writer: Fardoc
Date Mon Oct 20 09:56:26 2025
To All Thaxanos Althainia Knighthood ( Nadrik Imm Religion Storyline RP )
Subject Carving the Mural (Part II)
As the sun rose over the horizon, Fardoc watched a team of dwarven
artisans crowd around the base of the column, being directed in their duties
by the ruddy-faced master artisan, Joruman Grimmson. He shouted commands to
his team as they slowly began carving the base, following the directions in
the plans crafted by the Cardinal, but contributed to by many in the
Crusade.
From where the base of the column met the bridge, the mural began to slowly
take shape from the bottom up. As the hours crept by and the sun rose in
the sky, images of a host of people of All races took form carved into the
mithril. The mural crept higher, revealing a line of paladins clad in
gleaming chainmail in the foreground, lifting banners proclaiming allegiance
to the Lords of Light.
Situated behind the line of paladins, on the left side of the horde, was a
maw of dwarven battleragers. Their beards are braided and oiled, extending
from the base of their helmets to their waistline and tucked into their
belts. Shining axes held in each hand, they seem to face a foe together
with the gathered army that is not in the murals field of view.
On the opposite side of the line, far from the crush of dwarves, stands a
crowd of elven bladesingers, dancing and twirling their twin blades, joining
together with their greatest foe against a common enemy. Behind the three
races in the most prominent positions at the front, a wide range of the
remaining races join the fray. From minotaurs to centaurs, ariels to
kender, leonines, gnomes and pixies and many others, All are joined together
in the Army of Light to wage war against the forces of darkness, putting
aside differences to battle against threats to the Light and the realm.
As the mural progressed steadily upward, Fardoc looked on in pride at seeing
his plan, assisted by many among the Crusade, taking form. The carvings
would extend up to the very top, and it was far from finished, but seeing
the host of Light take shape on the base of the column gave him more pride
than he could express. Eyes misting slightly, he allowed himself a small
smile and nodded in approval at Joruman, who shouted encouragement to his
team of artisans.
Writer: Terri
Date Mon Oct 20 12:00:38 2025
To Knighthood All Aliera Fardoc ( Austinian Nadrik Religion Storyline Imm Rp )
Subject Stringing the Lights
Since arriving at the Knighthood encampment, Terri busied himself with
logistics coordination and supply management. The Knights charged with
their various tasks could only effectively defend the towers while properly
armed, clothed, and fed. There was also the constant supply of materiel
incoming with which to construct the watchtowers.
Some of the members of the Seraph's Blade still looked at him with a sense
of awe. He met their curiosity with warmth, drifting over to their fires
between shifts, and often found himself regaling them with tales from his
time as King.
The half-elven members, bright-eyed and eager, reminded him of his sister
Pythia's half-elven children from her marriage with Ser Seal Breingiton long
centuries ago. It seemed that time, chance, and necessity ever conspired to
weave the elves and the Knighthood together, and it also seemed natural that
he stood beside them now... if only in part because the other side had most
rudely threatened to rip his skin off.
The attack from the sinkhole was unnerving with the tragic loss of life, but
every engagement with the enemy would bring valuable experience. The
atmosphere was heavy with concern in the command tent the day afterwards.
No one had expected the enemy to strike so suddenly and so closely. The
discussion had produced various ideas on how to counter future attacks: some
good ideas, some impracticable ideas, and some possible but costly ideas.
'If I may, Bishop. ' Terri quietly interjected. 'We of the Shalonesti
fought a similar enemy alongside Althainia many years ago. Our soldiers
would simply vanish from their tents, with nary a trace save a bloodied
elven ear, or human finger. Those cowardly attacks were quelled with some
security precautions that may prove useful here. '
Aliera leaned forward in interest. 'Yes, the war with Abaddon. Go on. '
Terri continued. 'By your leave, I would suggest orbs of light placed on
the most likely vectors of approach to the camp. The darkness that shrouded
my Kyorl companion and I on the path during our journey from Shalonesti felt
almost absolute, and would provide excellent cover for an adversary. During
the patrols, faerie fog should be cast by sector to flush out any who may
evade the lights. Any deviations observed in the outer perimeter should be
immediately reported to the captain of the watch. '
Aliera nodded decisively. 'Make it so, by dusk. ' She turned to Galen.
'Ensure that each of our patrols have someone learned in this spell. '
By that evening, strings of lights emanated like lucent tendrils from the
southern encampment, with the most common approaches that were veiled in
darkness now brightly lit. Terri collapsed in his tent, exhausted from
helping with the conjuration of so many of them, but it was worth it.
Sentries would not disappear again like before.
Writer: Herbert
Date Mon Oct 20 16:17:13 2025
Writer: Fardoc
Date Mon Oct 20 16:27:20 2025
To All Thaxanos Althainia Knighthood ( Nadrik Imm Religion Storyline RP )
Subject Carving the Mural (Part III)
The mural progressed quickly as the dwarven artisans began hitting their
stride. They rose above the area when the army of the Lights faithful stood
on the ground, and progressed towards the stylized sky. Fardoc watched the
artisans at work, admiration in his gaze as they worked with a skill he
could never dream of.
Soaring above the fray is a cloud of metallic dragons in every shade, their
scales given color by precious metals and gemstones. The dwarves carved the
mithril monolith and beat sheets of gold, copper, bronze, silver, brass and
steel into the draconic figures, the eyes of the firstborne colored in
differing shades of quartz. Fine details were etched in each sheet of metal
inlay, forming intricate scales, and even the veins in each wing.
The Cardinal looked on, stroking his beard and rummaging in his robe for his
pipe and tobacco pouch, loading the bowl and lighting it with a muttered
word and a small expenditure of magic. As the clouds of smoke rose into the
sky from the priests lips, the largest of the draconic figures in the mural
began to take shape. A large golden figure took its place in the forefront
of the metallic wing, the mithril of the mural embossed with golden filigree
for the dragons body and deep red quartz inlaid into the metal for its eyes.
The dragons taking wing in the mural appeared to be swooping forth from the
heavens to assist the troops on the ground, torrents of stylized flame
erupting from their jaws towards an unseen foe. The detail was immaculate,
the strength and fierceness of the assembled dragons in flight evident in
their depiction.
Fardoc was overcome with wonder at the skill evidenced by Jorumans team
bringing his vision to life, and he felt little need to interject his
opinion into the work and disturb the tireless work of the crew, aside from
a smile and encouraging nod to the artisans who glanced his way as they
continued carving steadily up the edifice.
Writer: Tamello
Date Mon Oct 20 19:36:19 2025
To Piknim Verminasia Shadow Abaddon Darkonin All ( Imm Religion RP Raije Drakkara )
Subject {nA Start in Markon : {oPathfinder{n VII ( Religion/Alignment Change )
Tam hopped onto his horse and took off to the East towards Markon. He'd
given enough time for the Blue to do her thing with what remained of the
lands. From what he had gathered the lands were bereft of agriculture with
the main cash crop being that of horse meat. He wrinkled his nose at that,
but what customs these people had were just that, their customs. Though
he'd not seen many people on his travels to Markon. Another bit of history
that bothered him from its last care taker.
The land itself was that of highland steppes. Craggy, especially to the far
eastern side against the ocean. Though he had plans on bringing more people
in to live here within Markon, he would start with the what locals he could
find. He was sure that they would take to adding root vegetables and grains
to not only their diet but to the goods shipped out from these lands.
The lands would hold a substantial warren, he thought as he surveyed the
lands and had his assistant take notes while the surveyors did their thing.
Perhaps it would be the major hub of the land with All trade going through
the future tunnels. This thought pleased him as a beaming smile appeared on
his face. Then a though struck him.
"{oCopernicus! I want a detail of a statue to the Goddess Drakkara that will
stand above... Uh... Hmm. I suppose the warren would need name, hmm? How
does Warrenton, trade hub of Markon, sound? Oh! And start spreading the
word that we'll be breeding the horses for war and not food. I want Markon
to be known for the strongest and biggest horses in the nation. Maybe even
Algoron as a whole! '
His assistant looked up from the parchment in his hand and nodded dutifully,
'Yes Warden-General, sir. I will note the name down and find the best stone
and begin to spread that detail about the horses. Though uhm... Might I
make a suggestion on -beginning- Warrenton first, sir? '
Tam nodded and flashed another grin, '{oWe can do All three at the same time.
Stay with the surveyors, I'm going to go ride out ahead. And yes, I'll be
fine. '
Copernicus started to say something and then nodded, letting Tam ride away
to the east towards the coastline. Letting his horse take the bit he lost
himself in speed and in thought.
Writer: Andreyna
Date Mon Oct 20 20:14:02 2025
To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom Symantha Piknim Shadow Verminasia Zandreya Drakkara Kantilles Nadrik Xenophon Cayenna Imm RP Religion
Subject The White Lights and {uThe Umbra
'I promise, we will restore you one day', Andreyna spoke gently as she
drizzled fresh sparkling water around the base of the treat sapling. Though
life had been busy around the Vallens much of the elves bustled about with
their day to day lives and others prepared for the ritual cleansing, the
elfqueen still visited CharredAlder each and every day. She watered him,
talked to him, sang soothing elven songs to the sapling, and most
importantly, reminded him every day that she had not forgotten her promise
to heal him.
The Queen-Priest knelt beside CharredAlder and smiled up at the dark robed
cleric who sat down two vials of purple-hued dust next to her, '{uTwo vials
this time, Cardinal? ', the cleric asked in a low, smooth voice, her head
tilting sideways as she questioned Andreyna.
The elfqueen nodded as she carefully reached for the vials with gloved
hands, 'Indeed, the High Priestess has allowed us to use some of the moon
dust in our ritual to heal the Vallens', she replied as she gently grasped
the vials, a small wince of discomfort crossing her face as she pulled them
closer to her.
'{uYou will heal the Vallens with the Umbra? , The cleric asked her eyes
studying Andreyna's obvious discomfort as the elf priestess touched the dust
filled vials. Andreyna took a deep breath and dipped a gloved hand into one
of the vials, scooping out a handful of purpled-hued dust. She quickly
sprinkled it around the base of CharredAlder's small trunk, the sapling's
few leaves seemingly stretching out in response, welcoming Drakkara's
moondust into his roots.
The Queen-Priest stood to her feet and nodded to the cleric, 'Along with the
souls of the reliqua of light', she stated as she removed the gloves from
her hands and stuffed them into the leather satchel draped across her chest.
'{uAnd what do you intend to do with those? ', the young cleric asked, the
dark robed figure stepping back a little at the sight of Andreyna's pristine
alabaster fingertips.
Andreyna rubbed her hands together, kneading her burning moon-touched
fingertips gently, 'Hopefully', she whispered, pausing to smile down at
CharredAlder who was now the keeper of the elfqueen's Darkness, 'just like I
pray that some day CharredAlder will be restored... My Darkness will be as
well. '
Writer: Thindyss
Date Mon Oct 20 20:17:08 2025
Writer: Herbert
Date Tue Oct 21 11:39:14 2025
Writer: Fardoc
Date Tue Oct 21 14:25:28 2025
To All Thaxanos Althainia Knighthood ( Nadrik Imm Religion Storyline RP )
Subject Carving the Mural (Part IV)
As the sun rose for yet another day of carving, Fardoc was proud of what
had been accomplished by the tireless team of artisans. It took three days
to complete the mural from the base to the middle, and as the sun edged over
the horizon, dwarves were already high in the scaffolding near the top of
the column, the clang of chisels and hammers echoing through the plains.
Work had begun on the sky of the mural, endless billowing clouds with rays
of the sun peeking out through the gaps. Issuing forth from the clouds was
a host of angels, each grasping a flaming sword and led from the front by an
angel slightly larger than the rest, clad in white robes and resplendent
golden armor. The face of each angel was smoothly carved, the expressions
filled with compassion and ferocity, duty and certainty.
When Fardoc peered up at the larger angel, he examined the goblet clasped in
his hand, the interior lit up with light, stylized by embedding crystals
into the mithril surface of the column. He smiled at the growing mural,
nearly finished, and marveled at how closely the artisans had been able to
recreate the vision in his mind for the piece. Now, All the remained to
complete the pillar was placing the statues for the four surviving Gods of
Light on each corner of the column, then placing the diamond at the crown to
reflect light from the pillar to the south onto the bridge.
As far as the Cardinal knew, the statues and gem were finished, and the
final piece of the mural could very well be done before the end of the day.
When the sun rose on the next day, the artisans might finally be ready to
mount the statues and place the diamond in its setting.
Writer: Fardoc
Date Tue Oct 21 15:00:52 2025
To All Thaxanos Althainia Knighthood ( Nadrik Imm Religion Storyline RP )
Subject Carving the Mural (Part V)
The following day, the Cardinal watched the crew of exhausted artisans
putting the finishing touches on their work, Joruman Grimmson bellowing out
encouragement and direction for the placement of each statue at the crown of
the column. Four statues, one each for Austinian, Taliena, Nadrik and
Kantilles took their places at the corners, angles slightly down so it would
appear that they were forever watching over their faithful on the mural
below.
Three dwarves given the responsibility of gemsetters hauled the beautiful
multifaceted diamond to the top of the column using a set of pulleys,
carefully shielding its surface from getting scratched on the way up. As
the three took the diamond in hand as it reached the top, then carefully
lifted it into its emplacement in the large mithril-pronged setting. They
fiddled with the angles, arguing with each other high above the bridge, but
Fardoc could not hear what they said over the din of the workmen.
Finally, they slowly rotated the diamond in its setting, altering the angle
until the rays cast from the lucent pillar to the south caught one of the
facets of the gem. Instantaneously, the light was segmented into fractals,
casting dazzling beams of light downwards over the bridge while the workers
remaining on the ground let out a cheer.
The light reflected off the mithril surface of the bridge to illuminate the
area, evident even in the brightest part of the day, and the dwarves
celebrated the momentous milestone in loud, raucous joy. A beaming smile on
his face, Joruman broke away from his team of artisans and approached the
pleased priest, who was standing just away from the workers so as not to
interfere.
'Et looks grand, doesnt et, Cardinal?' The master artisan asked. 'However,
if ye dont mind mae askin', where are we placin' the final two statues? We
had the two for yer two fallen goddesses, but the column plans only
mentioned the placement of the four survivin' gods. Where are ye plannin' te
put Lady Kadiya an' Lady Siccara?'
The priest nodded. 'Aye, ah only sent ye the plans for this specific piece.
The plan is te put the two statues of the fallen goddesses on each end of
the bridge, down on the ground. They will serve as memorials, usherin' in
travelers te pass. We are placin' Lady Kadiya on the northern end, lookin'
towards the mountain, an' Lady Siccara facin' south, towards the Empire. Once
yer lads finish up their work up on top of the pillar, think ah could
trouble yer boys te set up those statues where they belong?'
Joruman beamed and tilted his head in agreement. 'Aye, Cardinal. We're happy
te do tha'. Anythin' else ye need mae team for after we git the last statues
squared away?'
Fardoc shook his head. 'Nay, lad. Ye an yer boys have done a fine job, more
than ah ever hoped for. Ah could nay bae more proud of wot ye have all
accomplished, an' ah hope ye are as well. Could nay have asked for a finer
team.'
The artisan chuckled and patted the priest on the back. 'We'll git et done,
sir, but the ale is on ye in the pub tonight!'
Writer: Kraxul
Date Tue Oct 21 16:38:47 2025
To All Fardoc Agapitos Thaxanos Wargar ( Crusade Storyline Religion Nadrik Imm Rp )
Subject Building Bridges (-part twenty two-)
Kraxul stood at the edge of the pit, staring into the darkness below.
The last of the mithril cables had been attatched at both ends, and
tensioned. The girders were no longer resting on the massive logs
that made up the primary scaffold. For the first time, the bridge was
a complete and free-standing structure. Still, Kraxul stared into the
darkness and stroked his lengthy beard, now more gray than black.
The twins could be seen examining the final cable connections, while an
artisan was grouting around the base of one of the statues. Fardoc saw
Kraxul standing there and walked around from the statue of Kadiya, on
the mountain side of the bridge and looked at the bridge quietly before
saying "I think et's somethin we ken All bae proud of."
The Thane grunted and tugged on his beard, still looking into the pit-
"That's a hell of a lotta wood."
The Cardinal looked down, realizing what his friend was looking at.
"Find th' foreman for mae, would ya? I got an idea."
### TO BE CONCLUDED ###
Writer: Kraxul
Date Tue Oct 21 16:39:48 2025
To All Fardoc Agapitos Thaxanos Wargar ( Crusade Storyline Religion Nadrik Imm Rp )
Subject Building Bridges (-part twenty three-)
Kraxul stood at the northern end of the bridge, leaning on his pickaxe,
visibly older and grayer than when the project began. The secondary
scaffolding, no longer needed after the mural was carved and the jewel
placed, had come down quickly. The scaffolding crew had built a sort
of open wooden cage just west of the road, where the old lay-down area
had been. Now they were carefully dismantling the primary scaffolding,
under the bridge. These were heavy logs instead of the planks used for
the upper scaffold, and took a bit more work.
Kraxul watched the first log-laden wagon creep up out of the sinkhole.
He shouted at the driver, "Take them over to yonder cage and have em
tossed in. After et bae full, ah want ye ta take as many carts full
to tha brewers as they ken hold, ta bae turned inta barrel staves fer
their kegs. When that bae done, take a wagonload up t'Wargar fer their
gourdsmiths. After that... ah donno, may'ap we'll build a new boat
an go fishin." He grinned and looked over at the cage. "Oi, p'raps
lay a few of em on tha ground here, but nae too close, ye ken?"
The Thane looked at the bridge and then back at the bare staging area.
The ale was set to arrive at dusk. It was going to be one hell of a
bonfire, but they had All earned it. The bridge, at long last, was
complete.
### THE END ###
Writer: Thindyss
Date Tue Oct 21 21:09:02 2025
Writer: Symantha
Date Wed Oct 22 03:16:03 2025
Writer: Melchaleve
Date Wed Oct 22 19:04:08 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Wed Oct 22 23:33:16 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Thu Oct 23 21:10:38 2025
Writer: Agarwood
Date Fri Oct 24 12:54:25 2025
To All Sebatis ( religion imm roleplay rhelic xenophon )
Subject Recap: Torn in Different Directions
Shirking the darkness of a library or study hall, Agarwood preferred to do his
thinking under the light of the sun or moons. He sat on a boulder in the middle
of the Indigo Plunge and let the sound of water wash away his worries of the
world, but the sounds coming from this famed natural reflecting pool would not
bring him any peace today. His roots dangled over the edge of the boulder and
stroked the surface of the water, acting as a tether between his thoughts and
Algoron. He fed on the sun and stream of Algoron while lost in his worries.
Few calamities are as dire as the defacing of a moon, but to shear a piece of
the moon away and thrust it to Algoron was beyond anyone's expectations. The
Priest shifted his roots a little, feeling the coolness and pressure change
as he did so. The lunite is a corrupting presence, I have heard, but does it
corrupt because it is warped by Chaos or does it corrupt because it is magick
unbridled.
Agarwood looked upwards at the periwinkle blue of the sky and furrowed his
mossy brow. The trailings of the Red Moon, its wound agape and weeping, was
in full view of the Sebatite priest. As if ashamed, he grumbled and looked to
the plunge again. No one thinks of embers as dangerous until they are left
alone. The realm enjoys the rain of magick from the moons as most would enjoy
a fire, but should we get too close, there would be consequences. Perhaps that
is how we ought to think of the lunite. It is an unwelcome presence, yet with
all else that occurs on Algoron, its people will need to learn to adapt. Gen-
erations forward, there may be a time when no one will be able to recall the
Red Moon as whole.
What a disappointing time to walk this world. For as wonderful and boundless
as magick is, it can be easy to forget the damage it can cause in the wrong
hands. Throughout All of this destruction and worry, Agarwood wondered: where
in All of this was Sebatis? Where had the Young Master gone?
Writer: Agarwood
Date Fri Oct 24 13:03:19 2025
To All Sebatis ( religion imm storyline xenophon rhelic )
Subject Recap: The Defilement of the Red Moon
From the Indigo Plunge surrounding the Hidden Academy of Magick, Agarwood
stared up at the Red Moon between stints of writing. The arboren was not
having trouble deciding what to write. His concentration was being halted
by a foreign feeling deep within his heart- within the magicks that inspired
life inside of him, and within the divinity belonging to Sebatis buried deep
within his soul. The Chaos Invasion had left a wound in the sky for All of
the realm to see, a disease and scourge of the gods and mortals alike: the
mark of the Everwar worn as though it were a veil in front of the Red Moon.
The arboren's palms still stung from battling the worms and chaosbeasts. He
had expelled much of his magick that day alongside Queen Piknim and her axis
of powers. Cataclysms make unlikely alliances. While he disapproved strongly
of Drakkara, he saw no other path towards foiling Chaos in the moment. This
world belongs to those who oversee it as any kind of steward- even if they
would see themselves become its conqueror one day.
The priest set his quill against parchment and immediately halted once more.
He emitted a troubled grunt as he felt a foreign tug within him. It was dis-
tracting, like enduring a fleeting night terror while awake. It left a tinge
within him as it passed, as though sipping on a cold glass of water ended in
the horrible taste of rust. If his soul were an instrument bear taut silken
strings, it felt as though a dull knife was being dragged across them to test
their integrity. He glanced now up at the mark of Chaos above and furrowed
his brow in anger, the red light of his eyes shifting from its soft glow to
a swirling scarlet fury, and turned to his quill and parchment once more.
At one time, Agarwood had viewed Chaos as the natural progression of a mortal
consciousness that sought to distance themselves from the gods- viewing them
as the cause of All anguish and pain. In their attempt to make sense of their
loss, they honed their suffering into an edge to plunge into the breast of
all gods believing it would free them. Many believed (Agarwood included) that
once they saw the harm they themselves inflicted, they would see the parallel
between the suffering caused by the gods and the suffering caused by Chaos
and come to their senses to acknowledge themselves as equally imperfect and
flawed beings. Not so. Chaos drank deeper from this cup and embraced a future
that can only be called Algoron's Doom.
Agarwood penned one last thought onto the letter, rolled the foil up quickly,
and tucked it away into the sleeve of his robes.
Chaos is not natural. Balance doesn't have an opposing force. If it did, it
would be no different from the extremes of good and evil. Chaos had found a
magick to interfere with the passage of the Red Moon. If by some nebulous,
wyrding magick they wish to inflict harm, then, by magick, they will be smote.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sat Oct 25 01:02:44 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sat Oct 25 19:59:32 2025
Writer: Ulyssus
Date Sun Oct 26 19:15:37 2025
To All ( Imm RP Kantilles )
Subject The Crystal Monastery XV
The dawn over Icewall broke pale and silent, painting the Monastery in
muted gold. Bells rang through the halls, calling an assembly. Ulyssus
stood among those gathered as Brother Vaerin addressed them.
"To the east lies a wound upon these mountains, " Vaerin said. "A cave
where the dead refuse to rest. We shall see how the Light purifies. "
No one mistook this for a simple errand. The monks had spoken of this place
before, a cave beneath the peaks where unearthed relics were tainted with
dark will. For years, the cold alone had kept the evil contained. Now,
with the thaw of the season, the darkness had grown restless once more.
The novices armed themselves with faith and steel. Ulyssus carried his
staff of white oak, its crystal faintly glowing with a restrained, icy
shimmer. He would learn the divine ways of cleansing.
The ascent was slow and solemn. Snow whispered beneath their boots as the
wind wound through the cliffs. The world seemed still, save for the soft
chanting of the monks who led them, their voices weaving hymns like distant
bells in the mist. They continued to proceed down the path towards the
mountain peaks.
Brother Vaerin lifted his staff, its crystal head burning with inner light.
"Remember, " he said, "you do not fight the dead. You release them. Let
your will follow the Light, do not lead it. "
After some travel the group arrived at the cave. Inside, the air was
unnaturally dry, humming with quiet dread. Frost glimmered on the walls,
reflecting a thousand fractured lights from the monks' staffs. Bones lay
scattered like driftwood along the stone floor, and faint whispers rippled
through the dark.
Shapes emerged from the mist, gaunt forms of the once living, their eyes
hollow. The lead monk began a prayer of illumination, and light bloomed
outward, touching every surface.
"Hold firm, " Vaerin called. "Do not falter. "
From the center of the group, a monk raised both hands calling forth a ray
of truth, and a spear of radiant energy shot forth, striking one of the
wraiths full in the chest. It screamed, dissolving into blinding
brilliance. Another monk followed, summoning forth a holy flame, and a
column of silver fire descended from above. The undead shadows burned away,
leaving only pale ash in their wake.
Ulyssus watched with rapt focus, studying how the light moved, how divine
will obeyed neither arcane formula nor gesture. To his side, the novices
recited blessings, their trembling voices finding courage in the echoes of
the cave.
The ground shuddered. A darkness stirred. From the rear cavern came a
skeletal form clad in rusted armor, bound by a curse older than memory. Its
blade dripped frost, and as it moved, the air turned sharp and biting.
Brother Vaerin stood firm. "Prepare the purifying storm! "
The monks began a harmonic chant, low at first, then rising in waves.
Ulyssus felt the temperatures fluctuate as two monks raised their hands,
their joined voices summoning both firestorm and blizzard, opposite forces
united under Kantilles's Light. The cave roared alive, flames and snow
colliding in a storm of incandescent fury.
When the elements met, they created a pillar of white brilliance so intense
that the undead's armor cracked like glass. The undead howled as the storm
tore through him, light devouring darkness. In seconds, only silence
remained.
Vaerin turned to the novices. "Remember what you witnessed here. The Light
restores. These souls return now to peace. "
On their descent back to the monastery, the wind sang faintly through the
peaks, carrying whispers that no longer moaned with unrest. The cleansing
was complete. Ulyssus looked back once at the cave's mouth, now a quiet
wound sealed by light.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Sun Oct 26 21:07:14 2025
Writer: Agapitos
Date Mon Oct 27 17:48:08 2025
To Althainia Wargar Knighthood All ( Rhelic Xenophon Immortal )
Subject Hunters of Shadow I
Dark grew the night outside of the castle of the Lucent Emperor, darker
yet were the tidings that ever flowed like rumour among the masses. Efforts
to the south had been foundering, the foundations sunk into the riverbed
proving quick to weather away under the unnatural entropy that seemed to
ripple through the tide of blood, and thus far had no answer been found to
address it. Worse yet were the whispers of mischief that the guard had been
taking pains to quash, though as with any secret, the efforts of its keeping
served only to promulgate it among those of wagging tongues and questing
ears.
The disappearances and damages that had been wrought on the night watches
had caused no small stir among the men at arms, and the Emperor found
himself up at the late hours to quell their terrors. The black nights held
only ever more fears as matters unfurled themselves, the displacement of the
evils that had sunk themselves into the bedrock of the Althainian lands
serving only to further compound the woes of the City of Light. Orders had
been written from on high, passed from Emperor to Marshal, to commandants of
the Watch and to the men of the guard, but little hope was there of any
quick resolution. It was always so.
The Emperor took to the balcony behind the chamber of his throne, forsaking
all counsel and those who would deliver it for a want to be alone. His
vantage was as though from a great aerie, the wide space serving well enough
as a gathering hall as any lords' receiving parlors in any of the lesser
provinces of the great Empire. For now, it was simply a place of solitude,
refuge from the unending demands of state that he had foisted upon his own
back. A shepherd though he styled himself as, the needs of his flock had
proven innumerous, and the strain of their demands had worn on his timeless
patience.
The twilit city twinkled by torchlight and streetlamp, casting their flames
like stars in a sea of stone. Below, the city revealed its darkened
majesty, undimmed by the sun's retreat over the western bounds for beauty,
though it held no candle to its splendor by noontime's graces. Within
toiled the countless lives, the thousands beholden to his rule. The
greatest jewel within a crown he did not deem proper to wear. They, sat
atop the diadem of duty, were seated alongside the villages and hamlets, the
port towns and trade cities that flourished on the Empire's borders, the
dull underground kingdom of the goblins that were held in vassalage by the
Imperial predecessors who had ruled with greater fire and fury than he had
leveraged against his detractors in public and in court. All depended upon
him, their lives shaped by the judgment passed down by his hand into law.
It wore upon him.
The latest of his decrees even now filtered through the halls of the palace,
stolen by keen ears and the witnesses at keyholes and the winemates of
scribes and courtiers. It was harmless enough, deemed the Emperor, for it
was merely the promise of aid. The orders to the cityguard for the night's
watch would see to their safety, and the order he began to fashion would
serve as his left hand in the matters of pulling back the facade of
tranquility that belied the many sins that festered within the heart of the
Lucent Empire. No agents of secrecy, but the hunters of shadows would be
called upon to track the miscreants that plagued now his people by
torchlight in dead of night. If they could be apprehended, he would pass
his judgment directly within the court, for he could ill afford to take up
his knife and stave and stalk the streets by dusk alongside his duties as
monarch.
Writer: Agapitos
Date Mon Oct 27 17:48:32 2025
To Althainia Wargar Knighthood All ( Rhelic Xenophon Immortal )
Subject Hunters of Shadow II
If they could not, then a summary death would need be dealt. Such was
the burden of the hunter whose prey proved too stubborn. In this, the
Emperor offered no envy nor pity. It was the necessity of duty, of those
sworn to higher causes. He prayed instead only for their swiftness in
success and for the valour by which they would prosecute this burgeoning
shadow war. It was All that was left to him, fettered by his throne and his
responsibility. No other was worthy to bear it.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Mon Oct 27 20:49:32 2025
Writer: Lhemec
Date Tue Oct 28 18:37:29 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Tue Oct 28 20:24:22 2025
Writer: Piknim
Date Wed Oct 29 04:13:16 2025
To All Geirhart Knighthood Althainia Thaxanos ( rp imm Rhelic Drakkara Cayenna Admin )
Subject {uMalevolent Meddling
Continent of Althainia, Northern Foot-hills
The Center of the Moonlily Field
A carpet of white moonlilies blanketed the great meadow from end to end,
pure and pristine and impenetrable no matter how many were plucked or
trampled. Every whorl of wind carried a scatter of delicate petals like so
many meandering fireflies. In the distance loomed an impenetrable woodline,
obscuring any intimation of space and time to be found on the other side.
Under the lambent aurora of moonlight, the field took on an ambience
altogether surreal. Indeed, the three moons seemed to loom All the larger
here. Even the Black Moon, normally sequestored from innocent eyes, could
be deeply felt if not directly witnessed. A soft luminescence permeated the
ground, born from a multitude of pistils, casting ethereal light that made
the surrounding forest appear All the more impregnable.
Silence reigned, but for the crackle and spark of embers, the roil of a
wrought-iron cauldron, and the titter of a rat in a wooden cage. A kender
in black robes tended the cauldron well into the witching hour, topknot
bobbing about whilst she worked her wicked craft once more. The world
beyond the dark ring of trees knew her as the Darkfinder, but the meadow
knew her far more intimately. It knew her by a different name.
Geirhart had brought Piknim to this sacred place some time before she
managed to find her true place in the Darkness, misplacing much of her
former self along that very path. The memory of her trek with the venerable
paladin of Austinian blossomed in the fertile field of her mind, perennial
and vivid as the day they were planted.
"Where are the black moonlilies, Grandpa?"
"Piknim.."
Piknim knelt before the wooden cage and produced a large, ruby-red Sacnothan
apple from a pouch, offering it to the rat. She watched the hungry creature
eat its fill of succulent fruit, her thoughts straying All the while it
chittered and nibbled. Finally, she stood and struck the apple upon the rim
of the cauldron, cracking it open. Harsh vapors streamed forth and maggots
tumbled from rotten flesh into the boiling depths with an acrid hiss. The
apple that appeared so shiny and perfect at a glance had long been befouled
at the core. The kender witch tossed it in after the maggots with a shake
of her topknotted head.
"The moonlilies must be bathed in blood
to turn them black."
She pulled a long-handled golden mirror from her pack and held it before the
rat, forcing the hapless rodent to watch as blood began to seep from its
eyes, ears, mouth, and nostrils, prompting a panicked squeal. At the
shedding of blood, All the moonlilies in a circle around the Darkfinder
blushed vibrant crimson. The rat cast a scarlet-hued shadow that spasmed
and convulsed in tandem, pain and anguish reflected in the polished glass.
In a sudden violent motion Piknim spun about, shattering the mirror upon the
cauldron rim. Shards of glass rained into the bubbling brew, and the
captured shadow of torment along with them.
"Go there and pick the biggest white moonlily
you can find to take home with you.."
Piknim retrieved the dying rat from its cage, pausing to cradle it gently in
both hands. Blood frothed at the rat's lips as it panted for breath,
clinging to every precious moment of life that remained. She snapped its
neck with a sharp crack of finality and cast its body into the cauldron. A
final high-pitched squeal echoed across the field and the circle of
moonlilies darkened to an ebon hue, sprouting jagged barbs from the stems.
The kender witch picked a black moonlily and stood, plucking delicate petals
from its center widdershins and dropping them into the wrought-iron vessel
one by one.
"This is what you need, right?"
"That's why I'm here."
"You know what I did?"
"I know what has to be done!"
"Do you know why?"
"Grandpa.."
"So that you would not be made to do it.
Your road is hard enough."
"Why do you get to make that choice for me?"
The last petal fell from her tiny fingers, sacrificed unto the wild aether.
The cauldron rumbled and shook. The blanket of moonlilies rippled under the
moonlight, individual blossoms trembling in unison. Distorted chittering
filled the air, rising to a high-pitched crescendo. A flood of rat-like
shadow-creatures poured from the cauldron and streamed to the east like a
living river of perdition.
Writer: Telthian
Date Wed Oct 29 09:13:33 2025
To All Shadow Verminasia ( Imm RP Drakkara Cayenna Storyline Tritoch Religion )
Subject {uUmbrawake II
{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--
For years, the Infinite Night called out and its whisper fell upon ears that
did not yet know how to listen. The stratum of Umbra had always existed, a
living thing both timeless and quiescent. Drakkara herself was born of it,
and it was born of Her. And though it was a concept, a thing evoked in
scripture in a whisper of black ink, few still understood it was a realm
unto itself.
The first Voices were made to answer, and were not priests of the dead god
nor His Knights, but a dark-elven sultana, a goblin, and a gnome magi. But
they had been rendered silent, some jaded in apathy, or gone mute through
treachery of the meek. And the mages swathed in black failed to recognize
the opportunity they overlooked in their arrogance.
But true Darkness is as relentless as it is seductive. It pervades every
corner, every crack, and every recess it can. It waits for not any moment,
but the right moment. A hair's breadth from death and ruin, two priests
wagered everything on their own tenacity to court the shadows and prove that
where others failed, they alone could succeed. From beyond, their
detractors would call them pre-ordained, blessed by the dark gods, that all
was won in blood and fire had been promised and delivered neatly.
Perhaps they were destined to reshape the world. Perhaps they were given
gifts that surpassed others, that enabled them to struggle through failure
and setback, to climb upon the broken bodies and bones of the fallen.
When one's very god and maker are destroyed, what greater test of
determination is there to press on through the fugue of uncertainty, to
forge a new destiny, a new prophecy, to draw and raise up Lords, Captains
and Queens, souls who were possessed of the dark spark like them, and
together boldly carve a swath towards a new dark horizon and invent their
own victory from the wreckage of defeat?
That is the very essence of Power.
{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--
Writer: Telthian
Date Wed Oct 29 09:16:07 2025
To All Shadow Verminasia ( Imm RP Drakkara Cayenna Storyline Tritoch Religion )
Subject {uUmbrawake III
{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--
Twisted shapes streamed like clouds in the sky, working against the umbra
tide where crystals of dusk-earth rose as broken pillars. Black waves of
living night thundered where they met the edge of the terrain, grains of
black sand compacted and mortared together by blood, bone, and the silent
weight of countless fallen souls.
Umbra streamed around the High Priestess, and she wore its power comfortably
as one might a cloak. The wyrm's claws settled on the dusky earth as his
tattered wings folded back against his flank. Fate-paired in shadow and in
flame they arrived on the grave battlefield, where a Dark Citadel loomed.
Un-light illuminated their approach: up an escarpment where many, many years
before a conquest of this place forged the pact between Necrucifer and
Drakkara that would come to define much of Algoron's history. A resonance
of aetheric mists gave way to soulsteeled plate more suited to breaching the
climb above without tipping their hand to the Citadel's occupants.
Arrow shafts bearing a glassy obsidian-like fletching littered their ascent
over the bones of the forgotten dead, their swept horns and bone spurs
cracking beneath each heavy footfall. They climbed slow and steady, warding
one another against the currents of annihilating power that could strip the
soul from the flesh. The waves roiled in endless formations of pure dark
arcana, and though there was no brine or even moisture to them, the pressure
of their currents was no less crushing.
Darkness swelled around the dyad, it flowed through their bloodstreams and
surged through their veins. Here it gathered upon them like dense
thunderclouds pregnant with the storm's fury, power drawn to power. They
were no strangers to the Infinite Night, anointed as they were, but
obedience and submission never came freely among men nor creatures of
darkness.
From the aeterna that had lain still for a thousand years or more, something
that hungered to reclaim it bore down upon them, plate and silksteel
offering no protection from its teeth nor its claws. Abyssal fire drove the
ghastly presence back, sparks lit between Symantha's steely gaze and the
hungering void that reigned in this place.
Her words carried through the dark to him, the point of her naginata
piercing the aether that gave their attackers form. Telthian pressed
forward with a ferocious cleave of his halberd, leading the cutting edge
with will as much as muscle. Covenants had been made, lives and souls given
over in the exchange, and nothing, least of All the abject emptiness that
prowled here would keep them from taking the Black Citadel.
{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--
Writer: Telthian
Date Wed Oct 29 09:19:12 2025
To All Shadow Verminasia ( Imm RP Drakkara Cayenna Storyline Tritoch Religion )
Subject {uUmbrawake IV
{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--
They reached the crest of the escarpment, leaving the disintegrating remains
of the voidghasts that haunted the black fortress in their wake. Before
them the plateau stretched on a short distance, the signs of war between
Dark Gods still undisturbed.
Broken, jagged lines of dark acana erupted along Telthian's skin as he
hefted a heavy iron bound tome and the chain that secured it to him, freeing
its lock. The Black Moonstone trembled in Symantha's grasp, her brow
furrowing with concentration as she coaxed it into submission to her will.
The calm veneers and stoic masks, none of it served them here. There was
blood ahead, death and conquest with it, and there was naught the dyad could
do but grin with shared ambition as the die was cast.
'{uUmbrus Caelum,' Telthian shouted, spreading his arms wide as if he would
embrace the whole of the astral island and its Citadel. Umbral torrents
spilled forth from the High Priestess' command of the moonstone, re-shaping
the land around them to her will as one side of a stygian doorway was pulled
into existence.
'{uYou belong now to the Knights of Shadow. From this Black Citadel will our
Order drink in the power of the Umbratide and drown the flame of Hope.'
As the words escaped Telthian's lips, the Umbraseer wrote the Edict into the
firmament of the land, the threads of black arcana weaving their way through
the stratum, sealing the last of the loathsome beings that sought refuge
here after Necrucifer's destruction within.
'{uSubmit or Die.'
{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--
Writer: Thindyss
Date Wed Oct 29 20:12:29 2025
Writer: Ezrianne
Date Thu Oct 30 13:47:23 2025
To All Shadow Verminasia ( Drakkara Immortal RP )
Subject Threads in the Water
The little Drakkarian temple on Tropica was quiet that morning. It
always was before the prayer bells - a kind of waiting that made even dust
motes dancing in the sun seem reverent.
Ezrianne entered without fanfare, the hood of her cloak (the one without
Storm Keep insignia) drawn up over her head. Her military boots left faint,
dusty prints on the mosaic floor. She'd chosen this distant, rural place
deliberately: small, discreet, and less of a chance that anyone might know
her; which meant less potential for over-heard information to turn into
gossip or street chatter.
The cleric, an aging Arboren woman whose eyes had the color of river stones,
looked up as Ezrianne approached. Recognition flickered across her face --
they'd spoken before -- but the woman said nothing of mention toward Ezri's
earned honorifics or rank. Only: "You have come for the truth, then."
Ezrianne paused. "If magic exists that can reveal such. "
The cleric nodded and gestured to the inner cloisture of the chapel. The
air within was thick with the scent of sage and iron. A silver bowl rested
upon a low table, filled with water so clear it reflected nothing.
"I -can- show you, if you are ready to know." the cleric said, standing
before the table, "But the truth is a double-edged grace; it may indeed
free the spirit from extended fretting of the unknown, yet it may also
cause more complications than it solves."
Ezrianne, who had already considered such, only inclined her head. "So be it."
The cleric drew a thread of light between her fingers, murmuring words in an
unfamiliar language to Ezrianne, the chanting voice low and steady. Ezri's
eyes followed the motions, the dancing fingers, which were slow, deliberate,
and sure.
The light dropped into the bowl, and the water stirred. Images didn't form, so
much as suggest themselves: a glimmer of blue at first, bright and strong, then
splitting to form one of red. The two hues swirled, touching, mingling, until
one overtook the other - not erasing, but combining into a shade of purple.
The Arboren leaned back, her gaze distant. "Two kin. Not wholly one, nor
wholly the other. Both hold magic, their mix formidable."
Silence held for several long seconds. The water in the bowl stilled,
clearing once more to nothing, again absent of reflection.
Ezrianne reached into her cloak and placed a coin on the table, the motion
calm and deliberate. "You've been thorough."
The cleric's gaze softened, just slightly, reading Ezrianne more deeply
than Ezri was, perhaps, comfortable with. "I hope the knowing gives you
the peace you seek."
Ezri gave no reply other than a polite "thank you". She turned and stepped
back out into the morning light filtering through the open doors - a pale,
silver glow that seemed neither warm, nor cold.
Outside, her shadow stretched long across the flagstones, two distinct shades
caused by the sun, before she stepped forward, and it merged again into one.
Writer: Melchaleve
Date Thu Oct 30 18:26:45 2025
Writer: Ithelim
Date Thu Oct 30 19:49:54 2025
Writer: Lhemec
Date Thu Oct 30 19:53:26 2025
To Shadow All Imm Drakkara Necrucifer RP
Subject The Death of Faith and Ignorance, for Faith to Be Born Again
Lhemec sat back in his chair, pinching his nose and rubbing his sandy
eyes. His neck ached and brain felt numb, yet he was awash with emotion as
he read through the texts before him. Ser Maccus Kesepton had advised he do
so earlier that day when they had spoken in the Chamber of Rest. Lhemec had
taken the opportunity when it was just the two of them, finally broaching
the subject of Drakkara's domination of the Dark Tides. It had been awkward
at first, but Ser Maccus' manner had put him at ease.
At first, Lhemec could hardly believe his ears. Not only due to the manner
of the Dark's Lord's death, but also the surrounding events and absolute
domination of Algoron's dark pantheon. But that was just the beginning.
Maccus had guided him to the gnomish texts accounting everything and so
Lhemec went. If he was going to understand and navigate the coming weeks,
it was necessary to know what was being dealt with.
Thus Lhemec had began his hours-long journey through the texts. In truth,
the accounts read like the ancient tales of gods and heroes, of the times
when Kingdoms were founded and gods walked Algoron freely. To take it from
these accounts, there had been more divine intervention and conflict
recently than Lhemec had ever seen in his time at Storm Keep. Necrucifer
had never been so present as it seemed Drakkara now was, nor near as potent
and dominating. He could scarce believe All that he read, but then again
Algoron had been wrent across it's face with evidence.
Sicariis came to mind as the contemplations came to a close. Lhemec's older
brother had raised him to be a Knight of Shadow, and that he did--he could
still remember the smile on his brother's face at the ceremoy. But how
*would* Sicariis handle this situation? Whatever the answer was, it would
have been honor-bound and courageous.
Thinking back to what he had just read, Lhemec then considered the great
efforts and hardships already endured by his Brothers and Sisters while he
was lost to any use or purpose here. It shamed Lhemec to think he had not
been there to support and fight alongside them. To read of members being
hunted down by even those of the dark pantheon for unwillingness to submit;
it All told a story of a struggle that was settled. The Shadow had fought
the good fight, else at least seen the situation for what it was. After
all, why throw everything away for a dead god who had never taken an active
role in his own prophecy within living memory? Certainly, continuing to say
the words and make the pledge day in and day out was never going to bring
about His will.
So, what point is there in trying to keep faith in Necrucifer? Not much,
Lhemec supposed. From what he could tell, in the end it seemed like the
sundered Dark Lord was a victim of his own inaction and willingness to move
forward. And that concept resonated within Lhemec. For the first time he
truly understood what had occurred while he'd been lost at sea, and he
couldn't have imagined it in ten lifetimes. No, Lhemec would not attempt to
fight a battle already lost, He would learn from the Dark Lord's Mistakes.
He only hoped the Dark Mother would forgive him for having said one last
prayer to Necrucifer while still naive of it all.
As the dawn began to break, Lhemec snuffed the candles and lazily cleaned up
after himself. Nervous, certainly, but also feeling more confident than he
had in several days. It had been difficult feeling as though he were among
strangers, but that was starting to melt away. Off to bed for a brief nap,
he decided. And then he needed to talk with Ser Maccus again, and see about
making contributions wherever possible to his efforts in Her service.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Thu Oct 30 20:02:24 2025
Writer: Herbert
Date Thu Oct 30 21:34:36 2025
Writer: Herbert
Date Thu Oct 30 21:42:52 2025
Writer: Herbert
Date Thu Oct 30 21:49:27 2025
Writer: Herbert
Date Thu Oct 30 21:54:52 2025
Writer: Agarwood
Date Fri Oct 31 13:51:51 2025
To All Sebatis Shinalstin ( religion imm storyline ) Xenophon Rhelic
Subject Recap- Shinalstin and Historic Holdings: The Reunion (1/3)
In the sanctity of the Hidden Academy of Magick, Agarwood poured himself over
the newly uncovered mural fragment presented to him by the red-robed archivist
Orrysta. The smell of the magnolia trees in the commons did nothing to calm
his nerves as he stared at the artefact resting on his lap on a shale slab.
He stared at the winged, runed figure prostrated in worship before the symbol
of Drakkara and emitted a grunt of frustration. Do they have a name? Is this
figure just a symbol or concept of a movement? Why do they have wings? What
was the culture of the Shinalfolk like? Was it common for Shinalfolk to worship
Drakkara as well or was this individual an exception? Were they a champion of
Drakkara in the days long before she moved to take the seat of Dark Queen? Do
all of the Shinalfolk have wings or was this a blessing by their patron? What
is "the Origin" that Orrysta spoke of?
The arboren is typically evenminded, but the presence of Drakkara seemed to be
felt in every dark nook and crack on Algoron's surface. It frustrated him that
one creature could cause so much damage and inflict so much unrest on Algoron.
First, the secret son Malachive. Next, the killing of the primal god Necrucifer.
Then, the bloodying, etching, and rifting on Althainia. Agarwood did not have
to think too deeply to understand that Drakkara represents a greater danger to
Algoron than even Chaos, but these thoughts still felt taboo to speak in public.
Drakkara has been implicated in most destructive events on Algoron. Was she also
responsible for the death of Shinalstin- the people that loved Sebatis so?
Angst. The priest could feel it upwelling inside of him, but now was not the
time. He was expecting some guests. Three brothers, specifically. He needed the
perspective of the gnomish stakeholders and their analytical minds. Agarwood's
worldview is largely viewed through the theological lens, but now he felt that
he needed a new perspective rooted in the freshness of a scientific mind.
"I do love the smell of those flowers," said a happy voice. "We should plant
some near our home."
"We aren't here for gardening tips, grease-for-brains. He couldn't have thought
to put his church in a place less damp? These are genuine selkie-suede leather
boots," grumbled another.
Writer: Agarwood
Date Fri Oct 31 13:53:39 2025
To All Sebatis Shinalstin ( religion imm storyline ) Xenophon Rhelic
Subject Recap- Shinalstin and Historic Holdings: The Reunion (2/3)
"Shhh. He'll hear you," the first voice responded in a harsh whisper. "Hi there,
Priest! We were happy to receive your letter." The first voice was Ottograd, who
Agarwood viewed as the diplomat of the moody and less likely to yell at him. The
other he recognized as Archigrad, the cartographer and most likely to yell at
him. They approached at a brisk pace. So brisk that Agarwood didn't have much
time to step far from his bench.
"Otto. Archie. It is good to see you again," Agarwood stood from his bench with
the fragment in his hands. "Could Gerald not make it?"
"Gerald is more comfortable with lifting rocks and moving earth. He had other
responsibil-" Otto began, before Archie cut him off. "He hasn't been home in a
couple of days. I think the stress has been getting to him. I'd rather him be
out of the home where he can't break anything expensive of ours anyways."
Otto flashed an annoyed glance at Archie. With a second of recollection, Otto
clasped his hands together and excitedly cried, "Oh! Is that the one? Is that
the mural piece?" He pointed at artefact in Agarwood's hands.
It is. Come have a look.
It was Agarwood's understanding that the Grad Brothers had never found anything
substantial related to Shinalstin before. It was their lifequest, but they were
starved for leads. Archaeological or anthropological lifequests were laughable
in Gahboom and other gnomish communities, so when they inherited this from their
father on his deathbed, they were doomed to shame. You could not fine tune a
petroglyph. You cannot grease up an ancient text. There was nothing to improve
upon. Like thirsty men lost in the desert, they hurried across the commons and
drank what they could see of the mural in Agarwood's hands as if it were the far
off shimmer of an oasis.
Writer: Agarwood
Date Fri Oct 31 14:01:23 2025
To All Sebatis Shinalstin ( religion imm storyline ) Xenophon Rhelic
Subject Recap- Shinalstin and Historic Holdings: The Reunion (3/3)
A gnomish storm of excited whispering gathered in a cresendo as they poured over
the ancient relic:
"Aah.."
"OooOOaaAAhh.. look- lookatthis, Archie. Look atthewings!"
"My goodness, doyou thinkit grewthem itself?"
"Wedon
"Thoserunes seemsignificant. Or doyouthink theyare just tattoos?"
"Ifthey aretheyseem important. Lookat this! Drakkaran symbology."
It is said that arboren do not get headaches, but the priest was not about to
put that theory to the test standing close to a storm of gnomish babbling.
After the first hour, Agarwood set the mural piece on his bench and told the
two Grad Brothers they were free to examine it to their hearts content. With an
enthusiasm that can only be described as ravenous, they glossed over the mural
piece intensely and continued their gnomish argument slurry. Over the span of
four hours, Agarwood had to intervene three times when the conversation turned
into disagreement. The two brothers came close to blows over the arrangement
of the runes on the skin of the Shinalfolk. The priest reminded them that they
are in this together and All thoughts should be heard to shine a light on even
the most fringe of ideas. Inwardly, Agarwood was relieved that Geraldgrad was
not present. He wouldn't have hesitated in the slightest.
The sun glided overhead, compounding the rosy and cream hues of the canyons
with the reds and oranges of a Thalosian sunset. The gnomes had finished their
exhaustive duel of ideas with a loud whooping, shoulder pats, and a gentleman's
handshake. Agarwood was distracted with some pruning when he was approached by
the brothers with mural fragment in hand. They passed it back to the priest and
Otto stepped forward.
"Priest, we don't know how to thank you for showing us this item. After years
of coming up with nothing, this was perhaps the first time we have got excited
over something that resembles.. well, a thing to be excited about," Otto said
in a quiet tone. His voice seemed a little tied from the long debate with his
brother. He continued, "The best we can do in the way of a thank you at this
time is to share our thoughts about it."
The two gnomes and the arboren shared a cedar bench and Agarwood nodded, "That
is enough for me. What do you think?"
Archie spoke first. "One thought is that these are symbolic art pieces. It
isn't a specific figure or figures being shown here. It might just be a piece
that shows the diversity of religion in the Shinalfolk community. Being that
there are representations of Drakkara and Sebatis here, I wouldn't be amazed
to learn there is another piece with Kantilles present. The Shinalfolk were a
highly advanced magickal race. It would make sense that they are polytheistic
in their lean for All three magick gods." Otto nodded with agreement.
"Another is that this is a representation of a moment in Shinalstin history,
minor or significant. Wings and runes were not present on the first Shinalfolk,
but they are on the one bowing in worship to Drakkara. Maybe these two were
actual people artistically rendered for future referencing. I would be willing
to bet that if Drakkara's symbology is present that this is tilting more on the
significant side of the spectrum, given that one doesn't engineer a scenario
with subtlety," said Otto as he scratched his neck.
The two took turns speaking seamlessly. They exchanged a glance, then Archie
spoke again, "Our last thought is that this might not be a mundane art piece,
but maybe a representation of the final hour of the Shinalstin people. Before,
we did not know of Drakkara's involvement with the race. This seems obvious
now given that they are a very magickal race, but the presence of Drakkaran
symbology in this second mural piece may suggest that this was a final, dark
minute. Drakkara's impulses have been consistent throughout time, eh?"
Otto adjusted his glasses and said hoarsely, "A betrayal, we mean, priest."
Writer: Archal
Date Fri Oct 31 20:56:29 2025
To All Ezrianne Shadow Verminasia ( Imm RP Drakkara Telthian Carrionmaw Cayenna Storyline Tritoch Religion )
Subject Tidefall
Dark clouds gathered on the horizon. They turned sunset into dusk, but
provided flashes of their own light, as terrible bolts of lightning struck
the ground, or something less fortunate, below, though the view of
Verminasia, and the forests beyond, was nearly uobstructed. Nearly as clear
as the view above from here, atop the parapet of Eclipse Tower, which began
to reveal the stars of night with the early blotting of last daylight.
So much revealed in dark of night, so much hidden by the false hues of
daylight that turn the sky blue, or gray, orange, red, or purple. Each
shade a different lie from the same lips, obscuring what lies beyond,
overwhelming the delicate pinpricks within the infinite black sky with the
all consuming self-importance of the sun. 'Here I am, ' it seemed to boast,
'see only me! '
What wouldn't Archal sacrifice, to usher in the Infinite Night, or to shed
even a fraction more of its truth upon Algoron? Perhaps even part of
himself, he mused, a tinge of wryness to the thought, and bitterness. He
would prefer it not be himself.
Tidefall is the arrival on a specific umbral flow, of a particular place and
time. A Darkmoor is the arcane structure upon which a particular place and
time can be tethered to an umbral flow. Not a pillar or a bollard, but a
shape of the fabric, a weave of magic that can be enmeshed.
Making Tidefall and landing Eclipse Tower upon the Darkmoor within.
Archal's task. Like dropping from a balcony onto the writhing tail of a
dragon, or dipping one's cup into the midst of a waterfall. It ought to be
done gracefully, though rough and tumble will suffice, but don't fall off.
Don't let go.
Archal awaited the anchor that would bind this place to that, but he already
knew what tether he would have to throw when the time came. The force which
bridges this plane with the next. The braided rope of soul and magic. Here
atop the battlement, among the parapets of Eclipse Tower from which Tidefall
would be made, the High Mystic's vision slipped, replaced by thaumatic
intuition of primordial evil.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Fri Oct 31 23:17:34 2025
Writer: Skiiz
Date Sat Nov 1 09:24:22 2025
To All Darkonin Euterah ( Imm RP )
Subject Coronation : Business As Usual
It was late in the afternoon when the messenger showed. Crawling from a
small tunnel, a minuscule goblinoid appears before Skiiz to relay the words of
the big ones deep within the mountain that Skiiz had been waiting for, "Master,
the tallies are done. You are King once more."
"Good, now lets get down to business," Skiiz says in perfect goblinoid
while reaching into his satchel to withdraw a ledger and a wrapped stick of
charcoal. He unwraps the end of the stick and quickly scrawls on a page of the
ledger. "First, inform All vendors that there will be no taxation until further
notice," he says, then mutters to himself, "That should keep the consumers
happy."
Skiiz continues, "Next, a coronation party. Nothing too fancy. Lets keep
it private." He glances at the small messenger, who gives a broken-toothed grin
and nod. "Just gather my usual goblinettes, two orgresses, no, three. Might as
well go big." Skiiz grins at the tiny goblin, who holds its dumb, cross-eyed
grin the entire time.
With a furrow of his brow, Skiiz wonders if the goblin suffered some kind
of head trauma recently, but then shrugs and continues writing. "Two jars, no
four, of green leaf. Three casks of fermented swill." He points his charcoal at
the goblin. "And not that watered-down junk sold at the taverns. Get the aged
stuff from the lower caverns!" Then Skiiz returns to the charcoal, "Two
weights of powdered bread mold. Oh, and make sure ALL the furs are cleaned
before AND after, this time."
Skiiz sends a pointed squint at the goblin as he tears the page from the
ledger and hands it off. The small messenger nods several times in thanks,
takes the page, and backs into the tiny tunnel while offering short phrases of
appreciation and affirmation. Skiiz slips the ledger back into his satchel,
then continues down the halls to resume his daily routine.
Business as usual for the newly minted goblin King. The private coronation
party comes and goes as the moons drift through the sky, escorted by clouds and
stars. As dawn nears, Skiiz stirs from the tangle of limbs and furs, toppling
empty containers as he tugs a few pelts around himself for a wander through the
halls. "Oh, ya, I cant forget this," he whispers to himself as he plucks the
Darkonin crown from whoever it rests on.
He sets it canted upon his head and wanders out into the quiet tunnels of
early morning. Stopping to light a rolled smoke of green leaves clinging to the
furs hes draped in, he glances from the corner of his eye and spots a set of
doors. With a sigh, he wanders toward them. Pushing through into the receiving
room, his gaze sweeps over the twin chairs of carved black bones lined with
fur. After a few puffs and a few steps, he stops before the one on the right,
eyeing it with a squint.
The small King reaches up to pull the smoke from his goblin lips, hissing
with an inhale before exhaling the cloud and flicking the roll toward the ground
to dislodge the burning ember. "I miss Euterah," he whispers to himself. In
defeat he leaves the room, mood soured, to start his day. Business as usual.
Writer: Nathalos
Date Sat Nov 1 20:40:35 2025
To All conclave imm rp
Subject The Rust-covered Mage
Near the base of the Crimson Tower, a grinding sound broke through the silent night. An oddly muted metallic noise, as something or someone began to move
around.
A shimmer of green light flickered beneath a crust of rust and sea-salt. Then came a cough dry, electric, like a thundercloud trying to remember how
to rain.
Eight decades or has it been nine? The voice was low, like the hum before lightning strikes.
From the half-buried alcove beneath the towers foundation rose a figure wrapped in robes that once gleamed like molten arcanium. Now they sagged in
reddish-brown
tatters, the result of years spent in enchanted sleep. Every thread of his metallic cloth had oxidized, but the spell of transmutation still held
armor beneath the rust was still weightless as silk, and still carried a faint, stubborn glow.
Nathalos of the RedRobes Electrocutioner of the Conclave, Vizier, Jouster, and Archmagus blinked his poisonous-green eyes against the moonlight. His
electric-blue skin shimmered faintly, veins pulsing with the slow rhythm of a storm waking from slumber.
He flexed his hands, each movement sending small sparks crackling across his palms. The air around him began to smell faintly of ozone and the sea.
Still whole, he murmured. Still alive. The storm sleeps, but it never dies.
-----
The Crimson Tower loomed above him, one of three in the ancient Conclave of Arkanian mages the Red, the White, and the Black. The trinity that had once
shaped the worlds magic. The RedRobes, his order, were the Invokers masters of flame, frost, and storm. They wielded destruction as art.
But tonight, the towers windows were dark. The RedRobes had no Wizard, no Archmagus to lead them.
Now, as if by destiny or cruel necessity, someone had woken him.
A shape approached through the fog a young mage in crimson training robes, the faint sigil of the RedRobes stitched on his chest. He stopped short at
the sight of the ancient elf, eyes wide.
By the four winds its true. Archmagus Nathalos?
The sea elf tilted his head. If that name still carries weight, then yes. Who disturbs my rest?
The apprentice swallowed, then bowed low. Just a humble apprentice of magic, ArchMagus. No one of note. His voice trembled, but he pressed on. The
Conclave gave up hope of your return long ago. Most think you faded into the stone itself.
He hesitated, eyes darting to the faint lightning crawling over Nathaloss fingers. But I studied your writings what little survived. You said the storm
never dies, only sleeps. And now the skies are breaking again. I thought if the storm woke, maybe you would too.
Nathalos regarded him for a long, silent moment. The apprentice could feel the air thickening, humming with static.
You thought the storm might wake with me, Nathalos said at last, his voice soft but edged with power.
The young mage nodded. Yes, Archmagus. I had to see if it was true.
-----
Nathalos turned his gaze toward the horizon, where thunderclouds were gathering black and immense, veined with silver light. Then your courage has cost
you the peace of ignorance, he said. For the storm stirs indeed and it remembers.
He reached to his side and drew forth his grand arcanium sword. The blade sang as if delighted to be remembered, its hum resonating through the mist. From
his other hand, a fulgurite crystal floated, glowing brighter with each pulse of his heart.
When the first bolt of lightning struck the spire of the Crimson Tower, Nathalos was already walking toward the gates each step leaving behind a faint
crackle of electricity that danced over the puddles at his feet.
Behind him, the apprentice whispered a prayer.
Before him, the world trembled in anticipation.
And above, the heavens opened, welcoming back the storm that had slept too long.
Writer: Ezrianne
Date Sun Nov 2 12:57:20 2025
To All Archal Shadow Verminasia ( Imm RP Drakkara Telthian Carrionmaw Cayenna Storyline Tritoch Religion )
Subject Tidefall: II
Dark clouds bled into one another above Eclipse Tower, where, below,
Arkania and Verminasia lay in uneasy shadow. The Umbral rip above
Verminasia was stirring, a color reminiscent of bruised gray and venomous
violet. The lightning inside it didn't just flash, it cracked the world
open, tearing the sky into ribbons that illuminated the keep's black spires.
The stones themselves seemed to hum - a deep, resonant sound that Ezrianne
could feel through the soles of her boots.
Inside the common room, Archal moved closer, towering above Ezri (as
everyone seemed to do), eyes bright with the weight of command. "There
telling what kind of malevolent creatures will crawl out of this once we
make tidefall. You are going to secure the tower," he said. "The wards are
old, but they'll hold if someone feeds them."
Ezrianne's gaze shifted beyond him, to where the horizon rippled and bent
like a heat mirage, the air itself warping.
"Whatever comes through that rift will go for this place first," he
continued. "If Eclipse Tower falls, Storm Keep follows. If you fall-"
"I won't."
Lightning struck again, close enough that the shock wave rippled across the
parapet, shaking dust from the stone. For a moment, both High Mystic and
Supplicant considered the unspoken dangers of what they were about to do,
silently, verbal communication unnecessary to convey the very real
consequences of hesitation or failing, here. For an instant, Archal's hard
expression softened - barely.
Ezrianne turned from him before any emotion could crack through her armor.
The stairwell spiraled down into shadow, each level thrumming with the
tower's pulse - old wards waking, sigils bleeding faint blue light from the
walls. Her boots echoed, the sound swallowed by the heartbeat of the place
itself.
Reaching down to the tower's lowest level, she took a look around and
paused, closing her eyes and opening up her draconic senses, reaching deep
into an arcane pulse that vibrated within her, connected deeply to her
Firstborn nature. The air became thick with magic, tasting of ozone and
blood memory. Power stirred, vast and ancient, crawling through her veins
like liquid lightning.
The tower responded.
Runes along the walls flared to life, rippling outward in concentric rings.
The heartbeat grew louder, faster. She could see it in her mind's eye: the
wards stretching up through the tower's height, wrapping around its spires,
forming a web of protection.
She pushed harder. Energy burned through her palms, searing flesh, but she
didn't pull away. The wards needed to feed, and she had power enough to
give. The stone beneath her boots trembled, the tower itself keening with
the strain.
A blast of backlash magic threw her back across the chamber. She hit the
wall hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs, but a cackle of
laughter escaped as she caught her breath and struggled to her feet.
"All right, High Mystic!" she shouted up the stairway.
"What's next?"
Writer: Archal
Date Sun Nov 2 14:32:57 2025
To All Ezrianne Shadow Verminasia ( Imm RP Drakkara Telthian Carrionmaw Cayenna Storyline Tritoch Religion )
Subject Tidefall: III
Archal unveiled the mirror with barely a flourish, the black felt
covering falling in a heap to the side. The surface of the mirror was
black, and as the High Mystic stood there, shed of his battle armor, wearing
only the Gray Robes of his order, his eyes began to adjust.
Archal peered into the dark of the mirror. This creation had taken him
years of effort and All his skill in shaping metal and cutting gems.
Countless distortion shards cut, polished, fitted together until it shone
like a pond the dead of night, lit only by the faintest glimmer of
starlight. The backing, a plate of umbrasteel, a metal hard won from the
far side of the rips in the skies of Algoron, torn from deposits, outcropped
nodes among the black sands of the realm of his Mistress.
"All right, High Mystic! " Supplicant Scott shouted, Eclipse Tower now
sealed shut. "What's next? "
He did not answer. He peered into the black pool of the mirror, his own
eyes growing darker as their pupils began to devour the great of the irises
which bound them. He began to see. The basic shapes of the common room of
Eclipse Tower took form, reversed in front of him in the black mirror. They
did not have colour, nor even light, for he perceived them in their umbral
blackness, the unlight which revealed the shape of things beneath.
Behind him, every brazier, every wall sconce, flickered and sputtered, while
in front of him, the dark vision grew in clarity. "High Mystic? " came the
voice of the Supplicant again, closer, behind him, and Archal turned from
the mirror, his eyes black holes in his skull now, and he turned back to the
mirror.
Through the mirror, he could now see the flows of umbra as whey whipped and
swirled through the tower behind him. Ribbons of current snaking violently
through the cosmos, through Algoron, through the tower, and eventually, he
perceived that the torrents were static, that Algoron was moving, hurtling
through the void, and he began to see, began to perceive, began to know the
Infinite Night. He gripped the scepter made just for this purpose, a
ball-head of amethyst set in a cradle of ferrite, the pommel, rod, and
prongs a that head the ferri-amethyst finial in place a single piece of
forged voidiron.
As Algoron tore through its own firmament it aligned briefly with the umbral
torrent that Archal required and he plunged the scepter forward, thrusting
it into the black mirror.
Writer: Archal
Date Sun Nov 2 15:10:39 2025
To All Ezrianne Shadow Verminasia ( Imm RP Drakkara Telthian Carrionmaw Cayenna Storyline Tritoch Religion )
Subject Tidefall: IV
It was like jamming a polearm into the dirt atop a galloping felbeast.
Everything began to shudder and the fraction of Archal's mind that could
spare a thought considered the whole tower might rattle apart around them,
timber by timber, stone by stone. As Archal willed Eclipse Tower to make
tidefall he could see - what exactly? The shadows of every object rattling
free of the object itself. The feeling came of plunging, of deceleration on
one axis and acceleration in another, of clawing oneself to a skidding halt
after falling from a charger - the rattling, the desynchronization of umbral
and material as the former caught and strained against the latter, the
violent reorientation of making tidefall at great speed and coming to
relative rest, the hull of a ship tearing itself apart as it runs aground
but will the ship break apart or will it come to rest?
Archal fought to find the darkmoor, the place of binding within the umbral
current that would tie this place to that, to create a stable point of
contact between here and there, and his eyes whipped around the Commons. He
could see, truly see, the umbral ghost of every physical object straining
against its form, not trying to separate but being dragged as if by
friction, pulling at the connection between physical and metaphysical.
It All stopped.
Archal was disoriented, and did not trust the gap between sensation and
perception. He was left only with impressions of what had happened. Echoes
in his mind reminded him that the Supplicant had fought a great battle, but
he could not pierce the fog - what battle had she fought? Had he drained
her, used her to fuel him during tidefall? Had some creature rode the
tether of his blood and soul as he lashed their plane to the umbral flows
they landed upon? They had found their darkmoor, but Archal could not
remember the cost.
Quiet within the Eclipse Tower, and stillness, and the shadows no longer
rattled and trembled against their objects. Now they All pulled in one
direction - towards the black mirror. The mirror protruded from the granite
stone of the tower wall, and it no longer reflected an image of the tower
commons. Before them now was an arch, a tunnel into the umbral torrent of
the Infinite Night. A stygian doorway opened into clearing at the edge of a
dark forest.
Writer: Ezrianne
Date Sun Nov 2 16:31:54 2025
To All Archal Shadow Verminasia ( Imm RP Drakkara Telthian Carrionmaw Cayenna Storyline Tritoch Religion )
Subject Tidefall: V
When Archal's magic burst outward on its quest, it was not the Tower
alone that strained. Within the convulsing geometry of Eclipse, another
struggle took shape -- not in the stones, but in the void between them.
His focus turned inward and he surrendered his sensibilities to the
immaterial currents, while Ezrianne stood just behind him, her breath drawn
through clenched teeth as the umbral wind scoured the chamber raw. The
mirror had begun to pulse before it opened, a heartbeat not its own, and
from its depths something forced its way through.
It came, half-born from shadow and will, a figure more ethreal wisp than
flesh. Wings like torn sails unfurled, their span too vast for the chamber
that contained them. Its body was smoke made solid, its eyes two hollows of
starless night. It struck at Ezrianne once, twice - blows that carried the
relentless weight of lower evil's feral and savage hunger.
As the power of her wards upon the tower flared against the intrusion,
Archal's hand snapped out and gripped at her wrist, the pressure hard enough
to convince her the bone beneath might be at risk to break.
He was drawing from her, seeking more arcane power to augment his own
resources -- which were considerable, as the High Mystic's power should be.
The siphon slammed against her without asking permission, fracturing her
vision, though she opened herself to it without hesitation, welcoming it,
feeding the greedy, seductive tendrils of his spell.
She steeled herself against purpose - sheer tenacity emboldened by religious
piety and belief in the cause and the people in which she'd devoted herself.
She flipped her protesting wrist in such a way she could wrap her fingers
around the High Mystic's forearm and strengthen the connection, screaming
Skald song at the beast surging forward and attacking her. The Tower was
vibrating under the assault, roof timbers groaning under the pressure.
One strike of the beast's talon tore through her shoulder, another striking
shallowly across her throat. Blood hissed as it met the floor, and the
umbral current drank eagerly of the sacrifice given by Drakkarian blood.
Still, Ezri doubled down, pressing her will forward through the torrent of
conflicting mix of problems, painful wounds, and soul-draining forces that
had been laid out upon her metaphorical doorstep.
The black glass convulsed, suddenly shattering outward and inward All at
once. The wild shadow creature shrieked, kept from fully courting disaster
with the might of her songs, finally cut off and stuck between realms, as
Archal brought everything under control and the portal stabilized.
Writer: Aothien
Date Sun Nov 2 22:35:04 2025
Writer: Aothien
Date Sun Nov 2 22:37:50 2025
Writer: Aothien
Date Sun Nov 2 22:39:39 2025
Writer: Aothien
Date Sun Nov 2 22:45:58 2025
Writer: Aothien
Date Sun Nov 2 22:51:23 2025
Writer: Aothien
Date Sun Nov 2 22:53:55 2025
Writer: Pomacanthus
Date Mon Nov 3 16:16:21 2025
To All ( IMM RP Raije )
Subject Self Reflection (I)
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The steady echo of dripping water kept time to the elf's slashes and
swings. It marked parries and ripostes, occasionally sending the flash
of rainbows cascading along the entirety of the cave.
The elf fought shadows; the elf fought memories.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
She remembered the kind face of her Highlord; the first who had won and
kept her loyalty. The one who had taken in a frail, scarred sea elf to
twist and forge into a weapon. That she had relinquished control of the
fort was sin enough - and yet, for her, Pomacanthus would still fight,
given the option.
Illusionist as she was, the elf could neither raise the dead nor tear
asunder the fabric of time to redeem those lost to it.
Another parry; a thrust. The worn chess pieces looked on, disapproving.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Her family faced her next; kith and kin alike that had fallen to the
elf's Path over the years. Her sisters; her brother. The occasional
dalliances and friends. For these, the elf changed weapons; slipping
away the broad blade of her falchion in favor of the tentacle that had
lashed and strangled so many of them to death.
The shadows struggled in accusation, but that did not stop the elf.
These stories, too, had already been written. Their endings, found.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Systemically, perhaps cruelly, Pomacanthus worked through her worries
and her history, the shadows shifting to match the needs of a bruised
and battered psyche. Elves, dragons, hobgoblins, giant ogres - there
was no end to the myriad of shadows that she conjured, facing those in
training that she could no longer face upon the world's surface.
At some point, hand aching, mana depleted, the elf was amazed to find
tears upon her cheeks.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The elf fought on anyway, switching to her thresher, the heavy, blunt
weapon a welcome hold in her weary hand. No need for finesse; no demand
for culture or training. Aim, swing, repeat, until everything fell away
and the world became less complicated once more.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Perhaps, it was time for her to join the shadows as well.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Another visage. Draconic. Surly and belligerent. Noble - a constant
reminder of her limits. It came unbidden, the elf uncertain if it was
her magic or her mind alone that filled the shadows with its noxious
presence. The name yet remaining on her list. The promise unfulfilled.
The one who had slaughtered her beloved.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
There was reason yet, to continue down the Path.
For the Path was the Path, even if none were left to bear witness.
Pomacanthus fought on. For now, at least.
Writer: Thindyss
Date Mon Nov 3 22:11:21 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Mon Nov 3 22:12:47 2025
Writer: Thindyss
Date Mon Nov 3 22:14:36 2025
Writer: Ezrianne
Date Tue Nov 4 11:36:43 2025
To All Shadow Verminasia Darkonin ( Drakkara Immortal RP )
Subject The Engagement
It was strange, the way life folded in on itself occasionally.
Ezrianne fixed her long, dark hair in the mirror in Sacnoth's master suite,
taking a moment away from frenzied duties in Storm Keep to dress for a
small, celebratory betrothal brunch with polite society. She inhaled as she
tried to shed the all-encompassing military responsibility just briefly, to
morph herself into the part of titled landowner of the flourishing province
of Sacnoth, in Verminasia, successful business owner, and orchard liquor
magnate: a woman of power and prestige. They were just more layers of
herself, among the many she had zealously created, positioning herself in
the right circles and the right rooms.
This marriage was, of course, meant to merge status, lands, fortunes, and
influence - and other things of that nature. It was to elevate both parties
into a higher and better reputation than they'd built alone, "a union of
convenience", as the aristocracy called it. A partnership that had
absolutely nothing to do with love or emotion or yearning tenderness.
Some times, she mused, these marriages didn't even consider "like". In
fact, it wasn't so uncommon for the brides bartered away to enter what would
end up being miserable alliances with husbands they couldn't stand to be in
the same room with - but gods knew plenty of love matches ended the very
same way.
She fixed an earring carefully, knowing she would have laughed once, in the
past, to think she'd give her hand away for something planned and cunning,
rather than loving; but she wasn't one to repeatedly bang her head against a
wall when attempts at something weren't working.
Besides, this one - her betrothed - wasn't what shed expected. Not even
close.
Despite the fact they came from two totally different worlds, racially, she
absolutely did find her intended was likable. He was surprisingly
fastidious with his personal hygiene, his cleverness made her laugh, and his
personality was big enough that she didn't even think about the fact he was
slightly shorter than she was. He was surprisingly thoughtful, too, in that
he obviously cared about what she had to say, made it clear he appreciated
her intelligence, and kept her on her toes by genuinely asking about her
preferences, ideas, and inclinations.
As if he wanted to make and keep her happy. All and all, he was a lot
kinder and selfless than anyone she'd ever dated before. One such prior
fool had called her "belligerent" when he realized he couldn't match her
power and ferocity, couldn't rise to her level, despite her attempts to
elevate him there.
Belligerent. As if ambition were a vice. As if power in a woman equated to
indecency. As if she should shrink herself to make someone else
comfortable.
Her current betrothed didn't flinch from her intensity. He didn't try to
temper her, didn't call her too much, or too aggressive, or too ambitious.
He listened. He asked. No one had ever done that before.
Only time would tell what this marriage of political alignment might bring,
but so far it promised more than anything she had ever stumbled into by
chance. Perhaps it could become a union that challenged her, satisfied her,
and even, in its own quiet, unassuming way, delighted her.
And if it did, she thought with a faint, wry smile, she might finally have
someone beside her to share the weight of the world - not to lessen it,
never that, but to meet it with her, shoulder to shoulder.
Writer: Skiiz
Date Tue Nov 4 13:57:01 2025
To All Darkonin Shadow ( Drakkara Immortal RP )
Subject The Engagement : A Darkonin Stag Party
Skiiz had been bragging since the day the engagement was established,
never having been one to exercise humble discretion when he had something to be
proud of. This was definitely something to be proud of. Not only had Skiiz
found a way to cure the existential loneliness within his soul, but a way to
obtain something he'd never truly dared to pursue.
Sitting around the fires at the hearth deep within the mountain, Skiiz
chatted and joked with those who lived in the tunnels of Darkonin, sharing his
news. "Ya, youz shuld see her! Talk about legz, she'z got a tail that goez on
until tomorrow!" The ogres and bugbears laughed, the hobgoblins cackled, and
the goblins that had joined snickered.
"She gon' smush you!" a giant ogre laughed while pointing at the goblin
king. "Then she gonna eat him!" one of his bugbear compatriots joked. A pair of
goblins jumped around before the fire while chanting, "Skiiz Jelly Sammiches!"
repeatedly.
"Maybe I'z shuld eatz her firzt!" Skiiz happily exclaims, pointing at the
bugbear who made the claim. Most about the fire just seemed confused, not quite
grasping how one would go about eating a dragon. Perhaps a piece at a time? But
that could take months or maybe more. In a corner of the hearth, a pipe smoking
half-ogre gave a faint chuckle, clearly understanding the joke.
To end the somewhat awkward silence, Skiiz shouted out to one of the
skulking hobgoblins nearby, "We'z gonna haz to haz a stag party," pointing at
him in assignment. The capable goblinoid perked up and nodded, wall-eyed glance
looking out in both directions while its nose pointed toward his king. "Stag.
Party. Ya," and the hobgoblin quickly disappeared from the hearth down the
tunnels.
About an hour later, while Skiiz and the others were still gathered about
the hearth telling jokes or making fun, that skulking hobgoblin shows back up.
Off his shoulder he flings down a large highland buck, bleeding and broken,
before those gathered near the fire. The hobgoblin points and states, "Stag."
The energetic goblins who'd teased about 'Skiiz Jelly Sammiches' high five
each other and shout, "Party!" |
