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Player Written Story Note Archive

Note: If you see names without the note below, its due to their story not being posted to "All"

Listed By Author Name

Failure is only a beginning
The Makings of War
The Great Hunt - Preparations
Making War - Gnawing
Search and Rescue, and a Deal to Make
Past, Present, and Future
Watching Over a Friend, Two Days Left
Past part 2, Present, Future
Quest for Knowledge IV
Quest for Knowledge (End of times)
X Traces X
Making War: Tainting the Waters
Quest for Knowledge (Conclusion)
Sowing Seeds I
Sowing Seeds II
Lost City - Vanguard
Making War - Message Sent
Sowing Seeds III
Sowing Seeds IV
Sowing Seeds V
Sowing Seeds VI
Sowing Seeds VII
Lost City - Vanguard
Making War - More Than Fire
Novice Work
Returning home
The Library
Vengeance and Hope
The Thunder Rolls
Confirming the truth.
Silence may be worse than speaking Out
The Hunter of Wood
Waking the dead
A Bookworms Task
Quiet Places
End of Games: Return of the Savage
End of Games: Return of the Savage 2
Gone
Killing elves and getting spit at.
Check Mate
Stealing faith
Stealing faith
Stealing Faith III
Returning the sacrifice
X Blood Tide Shipwreck X
Stealing Faith IV
Gambling Man
Stealing Faith IV
Remembrance I
A story
Pruning the Vallens
Post Swap
Lost City - Shimmermist - I
Lost City - Shimmermist - II
Lost City - Shimmermist - III
Lost City - Shadows Linger
Filet o' elf
Unexpected find
Finding the Nullstone: Fate Misunderstood - pt. 1
Finding the Nullstone: Fate Misunderstood - pt. 2
Striking a Chord - I
Striking a Chord - II
Departure
Finding the Nullstone: The Devil's Deal - pt. 1
Finding the Nullstone: The Devil's Deal - pt. 2
Finding the Nullstone: The Devil's Deal - pt. 3
Finding the Nullstone: The Devil's Deal - pt. 4
Burial at sea
[Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt] - Returned.
Remembrance II
Lost City - Of Goat's & Ram's Skulls
Lost City - The Lecture and Arrival
Unloading and prepared
Lost City - Arrival
X A Day in the Life of Zola X
[ Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt ] - Soaring In
Lost City - House of the Holy





Writer: Mercerion
Date Mon Jan 21 03:40:37 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Mon Jan 21 11:01:50 2019

To All Chaos imm rp Malachive

Subject Failure is only a beginning



Scribpog drug his feet as he entered the Warps gathering area, weapons
slumped over in his hands. This coats of blood covering his armor were
thick, yet reeked of failure. The blood was none other than his own. Large
holes made from dragon claws, swords and polearms covered his form, yet as
the healer approached, he pushed them away with what little strength he had
remaining.

None fell to his blade, even the sailors were able to get away. He would
suffer, as was right in his position. The field was desecrated and littered
with corpses, only those of the warp and the aboleths were left behind.

Leaning against a wall, Scribpog slumped to the ground, his eyes wandered up
and over to the Blood Tree. Treachery and failure scattered through his
mind as the tree screeched to him telepathically, yet it was only his own
thoughts screaming at him. His eyes widened as his mind raced. He
suffered, it was not a failure but a beginning, a new opening of what was to
come for the opposition. They too would suffer, they would learn and free
their chains.

Scribpog stood, his battered body fighting against his movement as he
hobbled from the floor to the couch. Reaching out toward the table before
him, his shaking hands defying his wants, he pulled out a parchment and
began to pen a missive to the cultists. It was time to meet.




Writer: Jermichael
Date Mon Jan 21 21:09:30 2019




Writer: Ithelim
Date Mon Jan 21 21:29:43 2019




Writer: Finneas
Date Tue Jan 22 17:49:55 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Jan 22 20:05:33 2019

To Uruvian Gabriella Shalonesti Chaos All imm rp Malachive

Subject The Makings of War



With the actions of the elves, Scribpog was angry. He stormed through
the halls of the warp and took to the couch, his large form slamming against
the soft cushions. He pulled out a detailed map of Shalonesti and began
planning his revenge on the two who wielded staves.

As night fell, the walls of Shalonesti grew dim with the faint flicker of
candle light hugging the streets below. Scribpog went through, slowly
melting against the shops and homes, keeping out of sight so he may not be
recognized by any bystanders.

Slowly he entered the temple of Zandreya, checking about for any who would
tend to the temple at night. A few elves remained, dressed in cloth long
robes. Scribpog assumed them to be priests and priestesses. As they moved
about the temple, none the wiser of his location, he snuck through and took
a seat in a pew. His form was covered in thick garbs, hiding himself from
any who would see him. As an elf approached, their voice bellowed out.?
Sir, the temple is cl-? His voice grew faint at the end of his words as
Scribpog swung up with a quick movement, his serrated blade plunging through
the man? S heart and pierced out the back of his robe.

The man slumped over and none knew the wiser, or dared raise alarm as
Scribpog stood and drug the man out, moving quickly from the city and met
the outside of Shalonesti's walls. Scribpog slung the corpse to the ground
and shoved his hand into the man's unopened chest. Blood began to spurt out
and coated the front of Scribpog. As he smiled in amusement, the only thing
that showed through the dark was his vicious teeth.

Slowly Scriblog drew his hand from the man's chest, heart in hand, quivering
as it took its last breath. He pocketed the trophy and kneeled next to the
wall, fingers gently sliding against the cold bricks, writing in large
bloody letters, ? Uruvion is next. ?

The bugbear sprang to his feet, mouth agape as his voice echoed against the
trees in a maniacal cackle. The birds nearby jumped from their branches and
flew off in a fearful scurry.

As he walk back through the opening of the Warp, his twisted fingers danced
across the walls, leaving a thin blood trail that tapered off, growing
thinner and thinner. Joy showed on his face at his doings as he slapped the
emptying heart against the floor, leaving a fresh morsal for the Blood Tree
to ingest.




Writer: Leumas

Date Wed Jan 23 09:34:59 2019




Writer: Kaladon
Date Wed Jan 23 17:19:03 2019




Writer: Leomire
Date Wed Jan 23 17:55:19 2019

To All Arkane Althainia Geirhart Finneas Kaladon ( Imm RP Religion Xenophon Zandreya )

Subject The Great Hunt - Preparations



As the sun rose, Leomire looked over the equipment he had laid out. The
fire he had burned last night was smouldering to it's conclusion. It had
been huge, the low hanging clouds almost glowing with the light from it. He
had cleansed himself and his tools for the upcoming night.

This was no hunt he prepared for. If the fight was to send him to his
ancestors, he now went clean of his past. The spirits would judge him on
this night.

This hunt he had started, investigating the strange towers so many months
ago, had led him to many new magics that did no belong, that had no place
among the mortals of this world. Furless trying to control a power from the
creation of the world. A skull that would not die. A cult that moved
through shadows, not just hiding in them.

This was All an affront to the Great Mother and Her realm. It All a threat
to Her balance.

It was his duty to protect that balance, as it had been the duty of his
pride since his ancestors first learned to hunt.

Leomire picked up the paints in their bowls. Blacks, and browns, and
greens. All made so as not to have a scent, and would help to mask his own
scent.

This time, Leomire would forgo the usual tribal symbols invoking the
protection of the spirits, favoring a pattern to break up the outline of his
body in most any enviroment. He painted patches from head to tail, leaving
most of his natural fur showing, only doing enough to help conceal himself.
This was a new technique, not one he learned as a young hunter in the pride,
but one through years of hunting while living on his own.

Next he slide his normal harness over his shoulders, centering the ring on
his chest, the leather forming an x across his torso. The bundle of arrows,
each one painstakingly crafted by his own hand to fly straight and true,
went into the quiver handing on the back of the harness. The large hunting
knife, most furless would call it a fighting knife based on the size, he
sheathed on the lower left front of the harness.

Next he picked up the ancient blade of his pride, one that had been handed
down from lead hunter to lead hunter for more than 6 generations.
'Sredreeowrrmgrauhrahrrdr' he whispered it's name as he sheathed it along
the left side of his body. Stormguard as the furless could call it, though
the true translation to furless speak was Incarnation of the Guardian, was
large enough most furless would have had to use two hands to wield. The
history of the sword was long, almost as long as the history of his pride,
now that he thought of it.

He then picked up a near identical, though clearly newer sword.
'Brrllahshraerhprhuhrrryhk' he whispered. Blazefury, or more accurately,
glory of broken families, had only come into Leomire's possession since the
death of the rest of his pride. This one he sheathed along the right side
of his lionine half, opposite of Sredreeowrrmgrauhrahrrdr.

Finally, he picked up his bow, and tested the new string he had placed on it
yesterday. His fingers, he ran over the engraved symbols used to evoke
forgiveness in the spirits for those he hunted and killed with this bow.
The bow had yet to reveal it's name to him. Perhaps that would change after
this night, though Leomire did not dwell on that thought. Weapons revealed
their names when they chose, one only had to listen to them and respect the
weapon to hear it.

He was now ready. He was now death walking for any who were his target.
His prey used the shadows to travel and hide, well now so did Leomire.




Writer: Jermichael

Date Wed Jan 23 22:17:25 2019




Writer: Uruvion
Date Wed Jan 23 23:20:48 2019

To Scribpog Gabriela Shalonesti Chaos Zandreya Malachive All ( Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Making War - Gnawing



Uruvion kept glancing off in the direction of the city through out the
day and evening. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind. What it
was, he wasn't certain. The eldritch sat under a tree by the pool and was
tuning his guitar, or trying to at the very least when a young elf from the
church came running in, pale as a ghost and very shaken.

Uruvion looked up at elf garbed in the robes of the Zandreyan faith, genuine
worry and concern came over him. "What's the matter? "

The young acolyte looked as if he was trying to get the words out but
something was holding his tongue. Uruvion sat his guitar against the tree
and stood before the distressed elf, being patient to see if he would speak.
"The g-g-gates, sir. Come. "

The eldritch snatched his staff up and hurried himself to the gates of the
city where a small crowd had gathered at a section of the east wall. The
crowd of elves fell silent as they saw Uruvion stand in front of a body of
an elf of the church. A jagged cavity in the chest where the heart should
have been was very present as what was left for the eldritch to see above
the lifeless body on the stones of the wall.

Uruvion is next

The pale armed elf pulled a couple guards and some clergy to his side,
ordering them to take the body, inform the deceased's family and see he got
a proper burial. His hand gripped his staff as he glared at the words
written in blood, a fire lit in his hard gaze, "Scribpog. "

His jaw set as he turned away from the wall, telling a gate guard to scrub
the wall clean as he passed and walked back into the hall and up into the
tower of the Moon into the eldritch's circle. "He will burn. They all
will.
"




Writer: Faythe

Date Thu Jan 24 00:16:42 2019

To All ( Xenophon Imm RP )

Subject Search and Rescue, and a Deal to Make



The ritual had worked, it had showed them the Caretaker and the Cultists,
it gave them the direction of where they needed to go to rescue him. They
ran out the door and made their way to the old vaults, to the old library,
there they encountered the cult and their leader. There, on an altar was
Yh'till, tied down by chains, his chest opened wide and the cult's leader's
hands deep in that chest.

Anger surged through her at the sight of the healer taking the Caretaker's
heart out, holding the beating muscle in his hand. Words were exchange,
threats here and there. The cult's members hovered around her small party.
Blows were exchange to no avail, each party standing back to glare at each
other, while Danforth the leader, spoke, wanting the amulet the Inquisitor
wore. She refused to give it to him, even with his threat of ending
Yh'till. Deep inside, the Inquisitor believed that giving the amulet to the
man, would spell disaster for the whole world.

They All argued for what seemed an eternity, but the choice was hers to
make, Faythe held tight to the amulet, refusing to part with it. The deal
was hers to strike and no one else's.

Finally, an agreement was reached, one she could agree to even if not All of
those in her group did, the Leader would give them the Caretaker, and they
would All meet again in four days at the black stairway of the Monolith.

As the Cult and their Leader walked out, the Inquisitor approached the
altar, others moving forward as well to help out, while others discussed
what to do next. Priest and Paladin worked their healing spells as the
Captain picked the malformed beating heart from the basin, handing it
carefully over to the Inquisitor, who held it for a moment, looking confused
at opened chest, so different from a human... Where to place? Unsure, she
placed it in the chest and hoped it would settle itself in the right spot,
the healing spells began to knit the wounds closed and Yh'till seemed to
stir a little, although remaining unconscious.

Where could they keep the Caretaker safe? The Cardinal suggested Arkane,
for it's strong military presence, and although it would seem a safe place,
the Inquisitor wanted to remain close to one who was a friend. In the end,
even Prazhul agreed that keeping the Caretaker and the amulet close together
would be the best choice. With that, Faythe moved to pick Yh'till up along
with the Captain's help, and her spell of flight to make the man in yellow
easier to move. Everyone said their farewells, All returning to their
cities to attend important matters.

The Inquisitor opened the nexus that would take her home, and with help from
the Captain, led her charge home. Once they settled him on a bed in a guest
room. The Inquisitor set up her protective wards around her home and
assembled her staff and guards giving them specific orders, setting guards
all around her estate, then finally, much to her annoyance, assigning two
guards to be her official escorts whenever she left her home.

She would watch over her friend, and prepare for what was coming, four
days... That was All the time they had.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Thu Jan 24 16:50:51 2019

To All Chaos imm rp

Subject Past, Present, and Future


Amidst the deserted wastelands of Icewall, in the midst of open fields of
frozen tundra, stood a single hole, wide enough to fit a full sized ogre.
The hole was not easily found, unless you knew what you were looking for.
Slowly, a large group of soldiers marched on, moving with heavy boot steps,
the sound of crunching snow filling the air.

The soldiers were human, distinct in their features, their height and the
lack of tipped ears. The band moved toward the hole, barking at one another
as laughter fueled their vocal cords. In their arms rested young and naive
goblinoids, shaking from the freezing temperatures that their bodies were
not yet accustomed to.

The soldiers approached the hole and kneeled down, resting the goblinoid
children above the hole and released their grip. Their small frames began
to fall, the hole opened into a chamber made of dirt walls before their weak
shapes hit the stone ground. They did not move, their small shapes began to
shake violently as tears began to run down their cheeks, their mouths
freeing an echod shriek of fear, yet none answered.

Night came and their chamber became dark, sans the dim moonlight that peeked
through. The two cuddled for warmth in a sad attempt at survival. The
young knew nothing, they were merely babies. They had no hope as their
stomach growled and their beaks went unmet with liquids. They could not
speak to justify how they felt, their tears coated their face as snot oozed
from their noses.

Booming noises began to ring out. Voices echoed against their walls until a
bit of flesh was dropped down the hole and liquid was pour down and pooled
in a small crevice. The two did not move, not yet. They were scared and
weak. Neither tempted their fate.

Night turned to day multitudes of times and the two grew accustomed to the
actions of their captives. They ate what was thrown down and they drank the
stout liquids that were poured down. Their cage began to reek of filth and
feces until their snouts became accustomed to the scent.

Years passed and they grew, their arms and legs had become a tool. Their
time was spent wrestling with one another as they awaited their meals and
the sound of those who kept them alive. They knew no better, they had no
ability to communicate besides basic grunting and a showing of their teeth.
Growling showed their anger, pointing was a tool to decide who was allowed
the right to use the rock against the walls.

The sun rose from the east, its warmth peeking its way into the hole. The
two began to sit beneath, doing their best to collect the warmth that
collected against their skin, which was a sign the morning meal would be on
its way. The foot steps against the snow sounded out and the pair grew in
excitement. A figure, blocked out by the suns rays, peered down the hole
and a chunk of rotting flesh fell down, slapping against the floor. The
figure yelled an inaudible command before screaming out in pain. Blood
began to pour from the hole, descending in long streams against the
goblinoids faces.

Again a figure stood in the hole, this one different and unknown. The sun
forced the figure to seem as a shadow, completely hidden besides a
noticeable set of horns protruding from his forehead. The goblinoids began
to panic as two ropes dropped down. They were scared and unsure of what was
happening.

Two men, clad in leather armors, dropped down into their hole and casted
magics, forcing the two to calm down and sleep. As one awoke, his vision
slowly came to and the horned being became clear. Pale skin and cloth
cloaked his form, excluding the horns coming from his head.

The being spoke, ? You are free now. Set out and serve me. Make the world
suffer and find your way.
? Simple words that the bugbear did not
understand, yet he would never forget. The being left the two bugbear alone
within a new surrounding to find their own way.




Writer: Jermichael

Date Thu Jan 24 18:16:53 2019




Writer: Kaladon
Date Fri Jan 25 11:06:20 2019




Writer: Faythe
Date Fri Jan 25 12:02:07 2019

To All ( Xenophon Imm RP )

Subject Watching Over a Friend, Two Days Left



She wandered through the mansion, lost in thoughts, hardly aware of the
maids scurrying by, or the guards standing at attention along the hallways.
Necessary protection to keep her friend safe, and herself... That she had
to admit reluctantly.

She climbed the stairs and walked the down the hallway, stopping before a
door, knocking slightly just in case her guest had awoken, waiting for a
brief few seconds before opening the door and stepping in.

There he lay on the bed, just the same as when they had first brought him
in, cleaner now, she had seen to wiping All the dried blood from his skin.
With a sigh she walks over to the bed and sits on the chair she had previous
set beside it.

"Yh'till... I hope you can at least hear me... Get better soon, please.
I'm.... I'm sorry we didn't get to you sooner. If we had... I'm sorry.
"
The Inquisitor lightly touches the Caretaker's hand, watching his face for a
reaction... Any reaction.

"We need your guidance in this... You, out of anyone else, know Carcosa
best and what will happen when it rises now. Danforth wants to meet us at
the stairway... In two more days. I refused to give him the amulet but we
had to come to a deal in order to get you back...
" she whispers softly as
she touches said amulet, looking down at it as it rests against her fingers.

Lightly touching the Caretaker's forehead, she gives a small sigh, "We'll do
all we can to protect our home, and to save yours as well. Danforth will
not succeed.
" She nods in affirmation before rising from the chair and
walking out of the guest room, closing the door softly behind her.

Two more days to go before they All gathered at the monolith, with her in
the center of it all.




Writer: Scribpog

Date Sat Jan 26 11:58:40 2019

To All imm rp Chaos Malachive

Subject Past part 2, Present, Future


The bugbear took to those who looked like him and over the years he
learned the language that they spoke, goblin. This however, was not enough.
Most who lived in this kingdom, while not in the sewers, spoke a different
language, common. The young bugbear wanted to learn so he could learn to
speak to All of the weird creatures. In this time, the bugbear was happy.
When around his own kind he was treated well. While within the walls of the
city he was looked at with queer eyes, sneers and often times, spit.

He made a decision, and a drastic one. He wanted to join the Althainian
academy. When the sun began to rise he was guided by a much older
goblin-kin and made their way to the school. Every face turned away from
them, or shouted a string of insults, All of which he could not understand,
so he wasn't bothered by them.

The bugbear was lead into a small office set with a large desk and two
chairs. On the other side sat a fat man. The bugbear and his escort were
gestured to take a seat and so they did. The escort and the fat man spoke
the language that the bugbear didn't understand. The man spoke loud and
strenuous, pointing at the young bugbear. The escort turned and glared at
the bugbear, their large yellow eyes peering deep within, as if grasping at
his heart, asking, "What is your name? "

Name? What was this. He had never been given a name. He was trapped and
treated like a captive for so long. He had heard others called out by
specification, yet not himself. "I don't have one. " The escort was mad
and turned back to the man sitting at his desk. "Scribpog. " Scribpog,
this was a word he knew. In his own language this was a way of explaining
someone who was a failure, or an imbecile. It was a word meant to hurt, a
word used to demean the subject. Tears rolled down the bugbear's cheeks as
the fat man penned down his name and repeated it. The word tore through
Scribpog's chest and clamped onto his heart. Each use just as painful as
the last.

Days later Scribpog started his first day. He made his way to the room he
was told to begin in. Peeking into the doorway, he saw a mixture of races.
Some short and bearded, some slender with pointed ears. Each just as
confusing as the last. None were green, or yellow, or his shade of brown.
None smelled good as he did. None of them wore the tattered patterns he
had. They were different.

He made his way to an empty seat and the room fell silent. He was singled
out and disapproved how he felt yet said nothing. They wouldn't understand
him, just like he couldn't understand them. As time progressed, Scribpog
did his best to cope with the learning, yet it was difficult. He was
teased, made fun of, and tortured. Each passing day in this place was his
own version of hell. None understood him and who he was, and worst of all,
none accepted him.

One day while heading to the academy, Scribpog came up from the sewers and
headed down the Market street before something caught his eyes. Amidst a
wall of posters for help wanted, or common tasks of lost puppies and the
like, sat a large poster with the words WANTED written in big, bold letters.
The man was painted to be pale, with dark hair. The one thing that stuck
out to Scribpog the most were the horns that protruded out of his head. He
recognized this figure. The man once saved his life.

Scribpog tore down the poster and decided enough was enough. He would
search out and find this man and do as he was once told, he would serve.




Writer: Kaladon

Date Sat Jan 26 20:14:07 2019

To All Xenophon imm

Subject Quest for Knowledge IV



Kaladon goes to every library and asks about All of the things on his
list. Gathering a massive amount of tomes, he takes them to his house. He
puts them in his vault, but one. As the days go by he studies them. He
looks for anything that might aid Arkane in the days ahead. Anything he
finds, he takes notes and writes the notes in his secret language.

As the time draws near, the pressure mounts and he works feverishly. For
going sleep and sometimes meals to spend more time studying. He whispers
"There has to be a way to stop this." "Arkane is counting on myself." "The
realms is counting on myself." "Foolish people and their delusions." "All
odds are stacked against us." "But there has to be a weakness." "Somewhere
somehow we shall prevail." "If not All is lost."




Writer: Uriel
Date Sun Jan 27 10:22:07 2019




Writer: Uriel
Date Sun Jan 27 10:23:22 2019




Writer: Uriel
Date Sun Jan 27 10:27:42 2019




Writer: Uriel
Date Sun Jan 27 10:28:36 2019




Writer: Kaladon
Date Sun Jan 27 11:54:29 2019

To All Xenophon rp imm

Subject Quest for Knowledge (End of times)



As Kaladon finishes the last tome, the flings it across the room.
Always the same. Either nothing or little bits that get yourself in
trouble. I have failed everyone. There is nothing left for myself to do
but prepare for the end of times.


He grabs two bottles of wine and two glasses and thinks. In All of this, I
have had little choice. Choices was made for myself and I had to try to
correct them. This should have ended that faithless night. Once again
someone making choices that affect everyone without care nor though. Once
again I am trying to correct their mistake. But this is to grievous of one
for myself to correct. There is but one thing to do. Prepare for the end
of times.


With that he moves into his outdoor living area. He sets the bottles and
glasses down. He unties his robes and lets them fall to the ground. He
uncorks one bottle and fills both glasses. He picks up both bottles and
glasses and moves over to the hot tub. He slides into the hot tub and sets
the unopened bottle in a holder in the arm of his chair. He hands the two
glasses to two attractive females that are in his hot tub. They come up to
him smiling and takes the glasses from him. Kaladon wraps his arms around
them and takes a drink of the bottle of wine and grins.

If this are truly the end of times then I shall choose how I shall die.
Not someone else. I shall enjoy this until the very end.


He gives both of them a very long and passionate kiss before taking another
drink from the bottle of wine.

Death comes to us all...... It is but time and method.




Writer: Zola

Date Mon Jan 28 17:52:06 2019

To All Arkane Bloodlust Black_Robes Immortals Fatale Rhien

Subject X Traces X


Well, that was a thing, he mused.

To say the arrival of Carcosa's heralds had been hectic was a mild
understatement. And that was before Chaos had become involved on the side
of the destroyers and the necromancer Danforth and tried to ruin the realm.
They might well have succeeded
too, with their tactic of capturing wisps.
Surprisingly clever. Once again Zola was forced to concede the heathens of
Malachive were very dedicated in what they believed. Now if only they would
believe something that wasn't a horrific lie.


Well, no matter. Their interference had not prevented victory on behalf of
the rather oddly assembled defenders of Algoron. As had been pointed out:
Knights and Assassins, Priests of Light and Darkness and Death, All united
in a common cause. Under
normal circumstances, the Deathscythe would have
used this as further proof of his own doctrine, that everyone were ruthless
killers, cutting down the titanic heralds who threatened their existence.
But he said nothing as he departed the former site of the monoliths, now
little more than ruins.


He had more important things to do.

Specifically, the first thing he did upon his return to Arkane was make his
way to the Azure Tower Laboratory. While he would have preferred the
Laboratory of Blood in the Grand Temple of Fatale, it wasn't finished yet.
Construction had been
delayed, citing a need for approval from higher up the
church echelons. Bloody bureaucracy. Zola would have cut to the chase (and
killed someone) if that speeded things along, but even in the Church of
Fatale there was a limit to how many
you could kill so freely.

So he was using Arkanes Laboratory. He sealed the dark wisp inside a glass
jar, closed tight and covered in mystic runes that would remain its contents
were thoroughly sealed. And when not being studied, in a protective metal
box (also
runed) deep in his vault. Away from prying eyes and scrying
minds. He did not want a repeat of what had transpired with the cultists
and their book of spells.


Now he could study more about this strange Nightmare realm.

Just this tiny little trace remained of the huge heralds. Great and
powerful, re-shaping the world with their mere presence. Such power was
awe-inspiring... As well as dangerous. Zola was no fool (despite many
claiming as much), he knew
such would be dangerous. He'd felt the draw of
power from the Monoliths, from Carcosa. And it was powerful. There was no
sane way to dispute that. Study would have to be done. Careful, controlled
study. Not the reckless work that Danforth had been doing, or Prazhul
before him.


He would take his time, and he would do it right.




Writer: Scribpog

Date Tue Jan 29 16:01:51 2019

To All Shalonesti_clan chaos Uruvion imm rp Malachive

Subject Making War: Tainting the Waters



Scribpog knocked on the mahogany door with a rhythmic rasp of his
knuckles, signaling to those behind that he was the type to enter. The door
opened with a soft and padded squeek, before the moonlight from outside
introduced the pig faced goblin that stood inside. The bugbear was allowed
into the small cavern hidden under a hill in the midst of the lands just
north of Althainia.

The room was small and freshly dug out by those who kept it. Once a month
the group moved to keep from being caught by the authorities. Scribpog
looked about at the wares the band kept, eyeing each illegal substance or
item they claimed to be hot from theft. Liquids oozed and caged creatures,
some so rare that they were the last of their breed, lined the floor and a
small folding table. Scribpog swept a bottle into his hand and stared into
it. He slowly dipped his grotesque finger tip into the lip of the thick,
sludge and his skin began burning away, the flesh underneath began to spurt
out blood. Scribpog grinned and wiped his throbbing finger against his
leggings, wiping away what was left of destroyed flesh.

Scribpog threw a bag filled with one hundred beautiful jeweled eggs on the
table and the goblin's eyes grew with wonder but no questions were asked.
Scribpog corked the bottle and made his way out of the location. As the
night loomed above, and time marched on at a crawl, Scribpog made his way to
the Vallens hall of warriors, watching closely at the times when men left
and came, when the guard's shifts ended and a new pair met at the entrance.


Night after night, Scribpog watched from a distance, hiding within the
shadows of the great trees that stood outside. Tonight was the night to
strike. Scribpog snuck through when an opening was perfect. He moved
through the front door and made his way through the halls, peering within
doorways and looking over the sleeping elves. The bugbear grinned as he
entered the main hall of the building, each sleeping pad lined with elves
weary from combat from the day. He tiptoed through, doing his best, not to
nudge a single body, as he went and knelt over their drinking pool.

Quietly Scribpog uncorked the sludge liquid and poured it into the water.
Within a moment, long enough to inhale quietly, the sludge took over the
waters form and contaminated every inch. Scribpog's lip quivered into a
deep grin, his bright teeth were the only thing seen. Without a second
thought Scribpog made his way back toward the brush near the entrance of the
Keep.

Soon came day, the sun shining over the trees and Scribpog did his best to
stay concealed. Screams of horror and pain, pure suffering, began to bellow
out of the halls of the Vallens. Scribpog knew he had succeeded.

Once the consequences of his actions came to a halt, and bodies were pulled
from the keep and taken to the mortuary, Scribpog's curiosity got the best
of him. He made his way inside as the keeper left for the night.

Scribpog uncovered the first body and cackled with a dark glee. The elves
ears and hair were still well kept, yet the eyes were large with horror.
The nose ran with snot and thick slime. Just beneath, the jaw and throat
were completely missing. Where the two once were was nothing more than
coagulated blood patches and pits of puss. Scribpog wanted nothing more
than to sit here and enjoy the sight of his trophies, the souls of elves
that the Blood Tree would consume.




Writer: Kaladon
Date Thu Jan 31 13:22:50 2019

To All Xenophon Geirhart Faythe Leomire Finneas

Subject Quest for Knowledge (Conclusion)



Kaladon, bold and cocky, walks up to the Monolith. He puts his hand on
it. He uses his magic to try to find the answers to Carcosa.

Much like the archway, whatever this thing is you get a sense of immense
power. So much so you feel a chill run down your spine and settle inside
you.

All you have to do is reach out. You feel it, a wellspring of power there,
somewhere beneath the surface.

Before your eyes an expansive horizon opens, stretching outward to a black
precipice. It goes on and on into eternity. As your mind reaches out, you
find yourself unable to stop.

Vistas of emptiness reveal themselves to you, stars flicker in the emptiness
of that void. You sense a token of hope somewhere inside, something
recovered from the encroaching emptiness.

Your mind swims at the expanse, overwhelmed by it and a great weakness
settles into your limbs and body. You are small. You are insignificant.
You are nothing, you life gone in the blink of an eye. What is man compared
to this place?

That abyss returns the boldness of your gaze, and finally you are able to
pull yourself away - if you wish. To remain would be to be lost in that
yawning maw of emptiness forever.

The mind is fragile as a robin's egg. Your cheeks begin to feel wet with
moisture as you realize you are weeping.

Your knees are weak, they begin to fail you as you lose your balance. You
feel a great despair, a sadness at your own insignificance welling up
inside.


Bolting up from his bed with fire coming from his hands and his eyes are
dancing flames ready for battle. He looks around and sees he is in bed and
starts to claim down. After he is calm and no longer on fire, Kaladon gets
out of bed. He walks over and looks at the night sky, judging it is still
hours away from daylight. He walks over and gets a bottle of wine and
starts drinking straight out of the bottle.

This..... Nightmares.... Have.... Started to fade. But they are not
completely gone. Could it be, because of that seed still here? I thought
it was going to end us all.
He shakes his head and he continues to drink
the wine.

We are still here so I must fight this. I must be the rock to get this to
end. It now has little to no sway over myself. I am stronger then this. I
have experienced this, and now it is over so time to move on. It is not
over and I shall have to be strong in the days to come. To many have played
with my mind. Too many.

There is but one path ahead of myself. I shall get stronger. I shall gain
more power. I shall gain more knowledge. I shall overcome this. This is
but a chapter in my life. One that is now closed. It is time to move on.


I might be needed in the days to come. I must be there for my family.....
My Arkane family and those else where. Besides, who else will vex Meki like
I do.


Kaladon smirks as he finishes his bottle of wine. He goes over and lays
back down. With a grin on his face.

I am back.





Writer: Jadelyn

Date Thu Jan 31 22:03:52 2019




Writer: Erebaal

Date Fri Feb 1 11:09:18 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds I


The man stepped off of the ship and onto the Althainian port, heavy
bootfalls catching attention before being quickly dismissed. Though he was
broad and tall, the hood over his features hid whether it was due to
prodigious birth or merely ogre blood in him. Such presumptions suited the
man, who turned his armored back on the men who had ferried him across the
tumultuous sea and made his way inland.

Gone were the defiled fetishes and intimidating spikes, the monstrous visage
and the hateful etchings that enveloped him from head to toe. That suit of
armor, fitting for the battlefield, could barely avail him, so badly fallen
into disrepair as it had been since the abduction of his favored smith.
Warpeye's capture had struck a telling blow, though it took the passage of
time to reveal how deep it had been. Now, unpainted metals fitted over
leather sheathed his broad form, the lines curved and smooth in contrast to
the hulking, jagged figure he was used to. The armor was of consummate
quality- he would not deign to don anything subpar in his position- but it
was not his armor. He did not feel at home within the unfamiliar confines
of the platemail, and the irrational urge to carve into the metal, to mark
it with the device of his allegiance was a niggling thought that toyed with
his perceptions.

The road from the port to the nearest city was a long one, passing several
temples of the faiths. From each, the distant chanting of praises and
exhortations met his ears, and each time, the man clenched an armored fist
under his cloak. The droning of voices raised in monotonous praise was less
than anathema to him, it was repugnant in every conceivable way. Passing
the great Temple of Kwainin, the man checked his motion when he found a
leather gauntlet straying to the knife that hung from his thick belt, the
wide sheath hiding its true shape from sight. To draw it here would arouse
unwanted suspicion.

Gritting his teeth with a growl, the man continued into New Thalos, drawing
back his hood only when challenged by the guards. Black eyes stared out
from a weathered face, grey hair spilling down over his shoulders. The face
of an older man than his true age, the price paid for the path he had
chosen. The guards scrutinized him for a moment, but allowed him to pass.
Mercenaries and adventurers were, after all, fairly commonplace.
Shouldering his way through the gates, pushing aside smaller folk who
gathered around the opening portal. Those who protested overmuch were fixed
with a dark look, and the menace that came so naturally to the man was given
a brief instant to show itself. The commonfolk presented with this facade,
to a man, fell silent and meek, allowing the warrior to pass unchallenged
from there. None would dare speak of the incident, mundane though it
seemed. The purity of the man's malice was almost a living thing, coiled
beneath ashen skin and ready to inflict itself upon the foolish.

The streets of New Thalos opened to him, the warrior ducked away from the
main thoroughfare, pushing into the alleyways away from the bustling crowds
of smallfolk joining the city's markets at the start of the day. In the
side streets, the congestion was more tolerable, fewer requiring shoving
aside, fewer eyes to identify the man as he once again pulled up his hood.
His destination was nearby, but unknown to him. Dark eyes scanned the
waning gloom of the alleys, examining each passerby as he brushed past them
aimlessly. Some of them returned his stare, despite the chill down their
spines. Others immediately turned down their gaze, staring at the ground
before them as they stepped aside to give him his berth. None of them were
of interest to him.





Writer: Erebaal
Date Fri Feb 1 11:19:32 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds II


It was only the matter of an hour later before he found what he sought.
The gentle sway of a knife from a belt, the design of a leafless tree
stamped upon its leather sheath. The merchant who owned it peddled from a
dim corner of the market square, his back facing the alley. Despite his
hawking and hollering, few were those willing to glance over his cheap
wares, clay bowls and wooden utensils. Meager tools even by commoner
standards in the desert kingdom. As the gaunt specter loomed out of the
alley behind him, the merchant rounded on him, angry diatribe dying on his
lips as he saw the bulk of the man accosting him. He looked up into the
shadowy hood, eyes widening but not recognizing. It was as it should be,
for the warrior.

'You are with the Brotherhood of the New Dawn. ' The massive warrior
growled the statement, bereft of inquiry. The merchant nodded, paling as
the name of his fraternity was spoken. A growl escaped the warrior, and he
offered an upturned gauntlet to the merchant. A sack of gold coins rested
in his palm, 'Take me to them. '

The merchant eyed the gold, then peered up at the warrior, 'L-loyalty to the
Brotherhood is not bought, my friend. If you want an introduction, I- I
know who can induct you into the fold, b-but...
' His words died on his
lips, however, when the man pulled back his ragged cloak, revealing the
dagger at his side. With care, the warrior drew the weapon, crimson blade
glinting its bloody sheen in the low light. Upon its hilt was a dwarven
rune of destruction, and etched into the base of its pommel was the minute
mark of the eight-pointed star of Chaos, 'I have come from the Warp, and I
would speak with your brethren. Take me to them.
'

The merchant trembled, understanding now the enormity of the situation.
Giving one last longing look at the gold, he capitulated, folding his hands
together, 'Y-yes, I will take you there... Has... Has HE sent you..? '

The question was met with silent staring, the unnerved merchant All but
squirming with terror, 'The- the Everchosen! Has he sent you to guide us?
'

The hulking warrior allowed himself a rare, wolfish smile in the shadows of
his cowled hood, 'I speak with the voice of the Everchosen in this. I will
speak with your kin, and I will bring you his will. Now. Take me to them.
'

Cowed and yet filled with a sense of renewed purpose, the merchant nodded
and quickly disassembled his stand. Meager though his means are, some care
was put into their maintenance from the way he stacked and locked them
beneath his humble stall. Satisfied with his quick work, the merchant
turned and tried to squeeze past the warrior into the alley, 'Yes, great
one... This way, my friend, yes. It is not far, not far at all.
'

Turning to allow the merchant to pass, the warrior cast one last lingering
look over the seething masses of the unanointed, then turned and followed
the merchant into the myriad corridors of the desert kingdom's sprawling
alleyways, toward his true destination.




Writer: Tamaska

Date Mon Feb 4 00:48:19 2019

To All Eclipse Shadow Verminasia Necrucifer Immortal Rp Cayenna Scorn

Subject Lost City - Vanguard


'We leave immediately. ' Tamaska had chortled to herself at the
Highlord's words. She had long since become accustomed to her brother's
penchant for springing things on those of Eclipse. It kept her on her toes
at least and ever ready.

Tam had passed the word on to the others and now she stood on the dock,
watching her brothers and sisters as they were readying their gear and
packs. Many of them taking time to put on warm furs under their armor and
fill their packs and saddle bags with extra blankets. They were venturing
back into some of the more brutally cold parts of Icewall. The cold winds,
constant blizzard conditions and the wet was not likely something any of
them would forget soon enough.

She shifted her gaze to the icy waters, her hands dropping down to the
flasks that lined her belt as she mentally counted them off. It was an
attempt at distraction, a failed one but her thoughts were on the losses
they had incurred on the last trip. Her and Nymaya had been charged with
performing the vision and blood oaths posthumously on those who fell in the
battles. The deafening silence, where their oaths would have been repeated,
still echoed in her ears and haunted her at times.

Expecting there to be no loss of life was a foolish expectation and one she
knew better than to hope for. Lives were lost and more would be but it was
still not something she would ever enjoy or get used to. There was no joy
taken in the deaths she dealt or the losses they took but for each death she
vowed that any life lost not be in vain.

The sound of footsteps snapped her out of her thoughts and drew her gaze.
At sight of her brother, the Highlord of Eclipse, she turned towards the
soldiers and called out, "Load the ship! We have work to do. " The
Guardian nodded towards Rasavadi and picked up her own packs, hefting them
over her shoulder and heading towards the ship. She really hoped they'd find
Nymaya and with her, Narsh.




Writer: Mercerion

Date Mon Feb 4 02:29:18 2019




Writer: Jadelyn

Date Mon Feb 4 21:54:57 2019




Writer: Jadelyn

Date Mon Feb 4 21:57:07 2019




Writer: Khet

Date Tue Feb 5 15:09:32 2019




Writer: Uruvion

Date Tue Feb 5 19:31:41 2019

To Shalonesti Chaos Scribpog Gabriela All Zandreya Malachive Xenophon Rhien ( Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Making War - Message Sent



A hand the color of fine and pure snow etched with some demonic markings
kept balling in to a fist and unclenching. A deep sigh left the eldritch,
there was still no feeling in his right hand, arm, and shoulder. Maybe
another time he would feel a brief sensation or the markings would tingle
like they did at the Black Rose. Uruvion wasn't even sure if it was a good
sign, he could only pray it was.

Praying was another thing he had been doing more of lately. Praying for the
poisoned elves in the bunk house in the kingdom, praying for the cleric of
Zandreya that had his heart ripped out, his blood used to leave a message
for Uruvion. He prayed for the Vallens, and he prayed for himself. He
prayed not in a sense of asking for guidance but prayed that he wouldn't
lose his center.

He came close to losing it once and the aftermath was an arm whiter than a
new porcelin cup with some kind of demonic markings and a wicked scar over
his heart.

He hadn't lost center yet, no. He wouldn't, but he could be as vicious as
Scribpog. The eldritch were the living weapons of Zandreya. He swore an
oath to protect the Vallens, and Her gifts.

His mind wondered off to earlier in the day. A couple of young tainted
minds of the Warp were roaming about Tropica's dock, spreading their
propaganda of freedom and salvation from the chains of the Gods. Uruvion
had been watching the pier from a distance in the sky while his gryffon
hovered quietly. When he decided the time was right, Uruvion gave the
creature a gentle pat to the side of one her haunches and she dove towards
the two of Malachive's fold, snatching each one in a large talon and rising
back up into the sky. Screams of terror were blocked by the wind, and the
eldritch grinned.

A small flight of diving and rising in to the sky, the talons squeezing and
digging into the Warpling's body wasn't good enough for Uruvion. He had his
own message to send to Scribpog.

The Wolf of the Arlathil called down a vortex of the Mother's fire and
listened to the pleas and beggings of help before they ceased and nothing
but bone and ash were left of one of the men. The other was held to the
ground by his gryffon, made to watch.

Uruvion crouched to the young member of Chaos and spoke clear and with
conviction, 'I let you live to deliver a message. Tell Scribpog the Mother
provides.
' He nodded once and the gryffon's talon released the man to run
for his life. Ash and bone were spread with the toe of his boot before he
and his gryffon came home.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Feb 5 21:30:16 2019




Writer: Erebaal
Date Tue Feb 5 22:20:48 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds III


The dingy cellar was stuffy and dry, dust cascading down from the wooden
beams that served as the floor above whenever the proprietor of the run-down
inn deigned to walk across the floor. The man looked about the drab
surroundings, the half-burned candles and the inane scrawlings daubed upon
the stone. Beside him, a dark elven woman hovered, cowl obscuring her
features. In the dim light, it was difficult to discern specific features
of her face, and in truth, the man cared little. A smattering of people of
various backgrounds had meandered in over the past few hours, the merchant
delivering him to the cellar door of the seedy establishment and having been
dispatched to gather other members of the Brotherhood with All due haste.

The seeming-leader of this cult had viewed him with a measure of disdain and
distrust until she had been shown the Warp-etched knife. Even beneath her
hood, the man felt the detached amusement in seeing narrowed eyes widen,
revealing one blinded orb hidden by her facade. In an instant, her demeanor
had been changed, arrogance traded for supplication in the presence of one
of the Champions. He had been shown their meeting place, this pitiful fane
just large enough to allow some thirty people at most to gather. Despite
their grandiose name, the Brotherhood of the New Dawn had at best meager
means at their disposal but were at the very least in possession of enough
sense to remain inconspicuous. They operated subtly and, from his cursory
glance at the other people gathering, some in hoods and others in clothes of
various backgrounds and wealth, drew from a wide pool of seekers. In this,
at least, he could approve.

The elven woman at his elbow coughed quietly, and he grunted, turning his
black stare upon the dark elf. The cultist took a half-step back
involuntarily, feeling the ill will wash over her but forcing herself to
retain face in the presence of the Warp's messenger, 'That should be most of
them, my Lord. Any others will arrive when they can, or else have their
obligations that keep them from joining us toni- Aaaaagh!! '

Like a cruel afterthought, the man's arm was extended, and blood and jelly
dripped from the tip of the crimson knife in his armored grasp. The
cultists recoiled as their leader shrieked, doubled over and clutching at
her ruined face. Her hood fell in her thrashing, revealing a face that
could have once been pretty if it had not been marred by burns that painted
waxy scars over her cheek and over her blinded eye. Now, another wound
defaced her features, a line intersecting the other eye and crossing the
bridge of her nose, drawing welters of blood that ran down her cheek as she
fell to the floor.

The man began to speak over the piteous screams, his deep voice carrying
through the shrieking, 'Cult of Malachive, Seekers all. The Eye of the Warp
has fallen upon each of you. Your work in the Desert Rose has caught the
attention of the Everchosen, and on this day, I speak for him. Hearken unto
me.
' Despite their shock and revulsion at the man's casual violence, the
cult drew in toward him, snared by the force of his command. The man raised
his unburdened hand and drew back the cowl of his hood, revealing his drawn
features, turning his unhidden visage to examine each of the score-and-some
who had come to hear his word, 'Present your blades, followers. Show me the
marks of your fealty to the Hungering God.
'




Writer: Erebaal

Date Tue Feb 5 22:23:22 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds IV


There was a group fumbling, the slide of metal and leather, and more than
twenty blades were lifted, some presented forward, others raised high. Each
was unique from the last, some purchased and tailored afterward, others very
clearly made by their wielders from metal or stone, with disparate degrees
of craftsmanship. Each of them, however, were etched with the crude design
of a leafless tree upon the blade or hilt, each of them looked after with
reverent care. The warrior gave each a cursory glance, and spoke once more
over the dark elf at his feet, whose screams had devolved into whimpering as
shock set in, 'These blades are the symbols of your purpose and the key to
your shackles. Even if you must cut your own hand off at the wrist to be
free of the chains that bind you in service to apathetic gods, you refuse to
bend the knee to them, to offer yet more of your blood and your kin to their
designs.
'

Around the room, heads nodded, others murmured in affirmation, 'However,
each of you lacks the strength to act meaningfully. You are not fit to take
to the battlefield with the Everchosen. You cannot exhort the masses,
cannot break bodies nor spirits with force of arms or will. You are weak.
' Silence, now. Faces fixed upon him read with measures of anger, fear, and
despair to varying degrees, 'Instead, the Everchosen has decided upon a new
path for you. In his right hand, he wields the blades of Malachive, the
Champions of the Warp whose lives are bound to his. In the left, he bears
the Cults of the Tree. You are but one of the many who have taken root in
the cities of Algoron, and I have come to bear witness to your devotions and
to enlighten you. You shall not go ignorant into the coming days, and you
shall understand the reason you have been chosen to die.
'

More anger, more fear as cultists recoiled. One in particular took a step
forward, his gaze tightening into a narrow focus upon the warrior of the
Warp, but he was arrested in place by the restraining hand of his partner
upon his shoulder. The Champion took three powerful strides and was before
him in seconds, an armored hand closing about the wrist of the hand holding
the blade, 'You would raise your blade against me, knowing that to do so is
to die as surely as any other?
' The man struggled, his face twisted in
anger and terror as he fought the unyielding grip that held him fast, 'All
life is fated to end, boy. Know that, for it is one of the few elemental
truths that the Gods thought to lay claim to, the simple facts of existence
that they would take credit for. The Gods have stolen many things, taken
credit for others, painting themselves as benevolent lords, as loving
masters of their creations.
'

The warrior tightened his grip, and bones began to grind against each other
in the cultist's wrist. With a cry, he dropped his blade, which was
snatched out of the air by the Champion. Turning his own crimson kris over
to hold both blades more easily, he raised the cultist's knife to the light
and examined its make before casually flicking the keen blade across the
cultist's palm. Blood poured from the deep cut, turning the base of the
young man's palm crimson and running over the older man's leather gauntlet
before the Warp's speaker released the boy and offered the hilt of the
bloodied knife back, 'Take it. ' Wincing and delicately, the boy accepted
the blade back, holding it in his undamaged hand as his attacker turned his
back, returning to the front of the impromptu congregation, toward the now
mercifully-silent cult leader.




Writer: Erebaal

Date Tue Feb 5 22:24:43 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds V


'Life ends, for that is its nature. We as mortals have been controlled
from birth, our every decision stripped from us and tampered with by
manipulative gods and their vessels, their priests, who exhort us to fight
in an endless war in the name of mastery over Algoron. The Gods desire sole
dominion over this world, and so the ancient brothers from the dawn of
Creation raised armies- created we mortals- to do battle on their behalf.
They, who are too afraid to fight face-to-face, instead rely upon us to
display the courage that they lack. We, who fight and kill daily in the
name of our masters, gladiator-slaves in a great contest to determine who
shall inherit the world.
'

There was a grim finality to his words, the baritone voice underscored with
absolute conviction, as though born of some dreadful epiphany, and the Cult
was ensnared, even the wounded leaning in to hear, 'And so we are stripped
of agency in our lives, bound to live in predetermined courses that end when
our master no longer has need of us. We are consigned to oblivion, or to be
added to some wretched collection of souls should we curry enough pleasure
or disdain from our patron God. That is what the world would have us
believe. That is the lie told to All who walk Algoron's soil. That is the
lie you have begun to see through. It is the lie you have refuted, and have
come instead to hear the Will of the Tree.
'

One cultist cleared his throat, the sound dispelling the forceful magnetism
of the Warp-speaker's words. Eyes turned toward him, and he seemed to
shrink in place, retreating into the depths of his face-obscuring cowl,
'T-then... What is different about what the Everchosen offers us...? ' The
Speaker recognized the voice of the merchant, who had evidently taken it
upon himself to disguise his face before returning to the fold,
'S-service... And death at his discretion, the way you paint it... Isn't
that the same thing..?
'

The man tensed as the Speaker's gaze fixed upon him, but the massive warrior
made no move, instead raising his hand to show the blade in his grasp, 'The
difference is in choosing. We, who were denied All choice in our youth,
choose instead the manner of our dying. We choose a sacrifice, to give up
our lives and our selves in a great conflagration, for that is the promise
of the Dead God, Malachive. Years ago, the Lord of Chaos was slain.
' This
was met with more recoiling as a dreadful truth settled upon them, 'But for
some, death is not the end. Unlike his fool of a Father, the Dead God's
physical form rained down upon Algoron, pieces that were recovered. A great
ritual was concocted, an effort to reincarnate Malachive and continue his
great work preparing for a new world to supplant Algoron's failed creation.
However...
'

The Speaker growled, shaking his head slowly as though dismissing a poor
thought, 'The ritual was a failure. Instead of a living god, we were given
the Tree of Pain, whose design you now bear. You bear the mark of the Dead
God, the physical form of fallen divinity. The pain you inflict with these
blades are a prayer, your willingness to kill and die are an offering to the
Hungering God, for each life taken, every ounce of pain gives strength to
him. He feeds upon the anguish inflicted and the suffering felt by his
followers, and when he has regained his might, he shall return in physical
form, ready to end this foolish war. We shall All be destroyed, consumed by
the fire that turns Algoron to ash. Every man, woman, child, and beast.
Every plant, every city incinerated. A pyre worthy of a world.
'




Writer: Erebaal

Date Tue Feb 5 22:25:59 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds VI


Again, silence and staring, the dreadful implications hanging over the
air, 'But that End is merely a new Beginning. With the Gods dead, slain
upon the ruined battlefield of their failed world, it shall be Malachive
alone who is given reign to create a new world, one unspoiled by the
brotherly hatred that tainted our flawed Creation. He alone shall have the
power of authority, and he shall invoke a new world for mortalkind to
people. The God raised as a Man shall create, and then he shall live among
his creations, as he was born. Wars, conflict, hatreds shall be born of
mortal desires, not by divine will, and whatever fate befalls that world is
not due to the negligence of apathetic gods playing at General commanding
their slave-armies, but due to our own vices, should we fail to overcome
them. That is the world which you are charged with bringing into being.
'
He raised his hand, crimson kris flashing in the low light, 'Kill if you are
able, die if you must, but most of all, bring more into the fold. Spread
into every corner of this city, whisper in the ears deemed safest, spread
the Word of the Everchosen, and let His Will be felt in this place. When
the time comes, he shall call upon you to act, and your resolve shall be
tested then. We All shall die in this venture, but it is a question of
when. Your strength alone shall determine when that day comes. Look to
yourselves, and find the answer on your own.
'

He looked out over his followers, black gaze meeting each in turn. Some
held furious resolve, others outrage, some were clearly afraid and shrunk
away from his gaze, and some simply looked back, devoid of emotion. Not all
of them were suited for the task, this he knew. Many of them would falter
and fail, some would retreat from the fold entirely, and yet none would dare
speak of what they had once indulged in. What they had become part of in
what they considered a moment of weakness. They simply needed a final push,
to burn this mark of Chaos, to affirm those weaklings' sense of shame. 'The
Tree, Malachive, however, eternally hungers for the blood of friend and foe
alike. Take your blades, and carve the devotion into your palm, as I have
with one of you already.
' His stare pinned the maimed young man once more,
whose composure was closer to anger than fear. It was a good sign. This
one, at least, had promise, 'And you, boy, are trusted with the honor of
greater suffering. Once more, into the cut.
'

There was hesitation from some, but to a one, each man and woman present
raised their blades. The soft slither of metal and stone across vulnerable
flesh was carried out across seconds, accompanied by the hiss of pain from
individuals not yet inured to such pains. Blood flowed, dripping to the
floor in droplets and ribbons, painting their abstract designs upon the wood
and stone. The Speaker watched impassively, before turning to indicate the
near-unconscious dark elf, 'One final offering shall suffice. Each of you,
see this wretch and know the fate of the unworthy as you take her life.
'
His gaze picked out the ones he had marked as weak, addressing them
specifically, 'Or else it shall be you who is sacrificed next. '

The weight of command was dreadful, was irrefutable. Faltering steps drew
the cultists forward, the hideous ramifications of their charge laid bare.
Knives were held in trembling hands, growing slick with blood for some as
they clasped blades with both hands. The dark elven woman tried to raise
her head feebly, delirious with pain and giving weak, incoherent protests.
They went unheeded as, step by step, the Cult descended upon her. Knives
rose and fell, piercing flesh even long after she ceased to cry out and
resist, each cultist driving their blade into her and backing away, many of
them sporting fresh light in their eyes, of sorrow, of exhilaration, of
shame.




Writer: Erebaal

Date Tue Feb 5 22:27:11 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds VII


When the last cultist, a woman, backed away, the corpse of the woman was
a mess, torn to shreds in places where multiple blades had pierced. Blood
formed a pool around her, and the Speaker only then stepped to the body,
kneeling with no small effort to daub the blood on his gauntlet and turning
to the wall, where he brushed the cooling vitae onto stone. The Cult looked
on, fascinated and repulsed, as he worked, until he backed away from his
creation. A leafless, lifeless tree some seven feet tall, rendered with a
remarkable care to detail in its dead branches, rose upon the wall where
once the cult leader stood, looming in the murky gloom, 'Here is where the
Brotherhood shall gather, here is where you will ordain new brothers, where
they shall offer their blood as you have. Those who could not attend my
message today shall be bled here, and a new sacrifice will be made, so that
they may join you in the burden you share. You have taken your first step
upon the Path, one that leads only to the abyss, but shall lead to freedom
to those who come after us. You shall be forgotten by history, for nobody
shall remain to remember it, but the greatness of the cause is comfort
enough, when you learn to embrace it.
'

The Speaker allowed himself a grim smile, his second in a day, as he looked
over his new following, 'The Everchosen has but a single benediction. A
command and a well-wish, perhaps the only one he knows. He bids it unto
those who carry out His Will, and so I give it unto you. Carry it close to
heart, and strive to live up to his order, for it is now he who holds your
life in his hand, in the name of the Dead God. Suffer well, he says, and so
now each of you must abide. Suffer well.
'

The cult gazed at him once more, parting as he took a step forward, then
another. Without another word, he brushed aside his Cult and opened the
door, replacing his hood against the oppressive light as he exited. He
required a fountain, first, to clean the blood from his gloves. The body
was now the concern of the Cult. Whether they succeeded or failed left now
to their own ingenuity. If they thrived, he would return and lead them to
greater glory. If they failed...

The Everchosen growled beneath his hood, making his way back to the main
roads of New Thalos. If they failed, he would be forced to call upon
another of his Cults. Even now, his thoughts drifted west, toward the
vaunted City of Light. It was time to see what the seeds he had sown there
had borne.




Writer: Mercerion

Date Wed Feb 6 04:15:14 2019




Writer: Rasavadi

Date Wed Feb 6 10:48:25 2019

To Elathan Tamaska Shadow Verminasia Eclipse All Imm RP Cayenna Scorn Necrucifer

Subject Lost City - Vanguard



Rasavadi walked to the docks. Elathan and Tamaska were there talking and
lightly supervising the onboarding of the supplies. Their troops needed no
cajoling to do things right, but the average deckhand often needed the swift
application of "motivation" to keep from half assing things. "Brother,
Sister." Rasavadi greeted the two. Two who were closest to his heart, even
if they didn't know it.


"Looks like we have a bit before we can set sail, I will go fix that." He
said while jingling a backpack sized money pouch. "We've enough troops and
supplies to move forward, send ravens to the others. They're either on this
boat or can wrangle their own."

Casting a minor cantrip to isolate the distance his voice would carry he
whispered, "We seek the source for the Codex of Ultimate Wisdom."


Yelling in Minotaur, "Captain, double the pay if we sail in an hour, half if
we sail in two. Your choice.
"

"Judging by the swearing, we're sailing in an hour. I will be in our
stateroom, bring the other Knight's if they make it."




Writer: Mercerion

Date Thu Feb 7 01:32:58 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Thu Feb 7 21:28:20 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Thu Feb 7 21:28:50 2019




Writer: Jadelyn

Date Thu Feb 7 22:08:33 2019




Writer: Uruvion
Date Sun Feb 10 13:27:38 2019

To Shalonesti Chaos Gabriela Scribpog All Zandreya Malachive Xenophon Rhien ( Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Making War - More Than Fire



It was a rare sight for one to see Uruvion angry, and his anger was
usually seen by only a select few. The past weeks it had been brewing, but
he had done his best to tell others he was alright and tried to keep his
center.

Scribpog sent one message after another and they were well received, and it
seemed another was sent. The eldritch came home to find a red dragon's
scale at his bindstone. It wasn't a shedding, no, this scale was ripped
from the body of the wyrm as flesh was still attached. The elf picked up
the scale and knew damn well what was being said. Scribpog was preparing
and Uruvion had a gut feeling that the Warbeast of Chaos had a contigent
that was preparing as well. The scale of a red Firstborne would protect the
bugbear of Chaos and his men and women from the Mother's fire, but Zandreya
was much more than that.

Willow trees that were alive held three members of Chaos, each one was dead
and an example of what else an eldritch was capable of. One corpse was
burned by the intense jolt of lightning, half of it's body charred with
black jagged streaks. The second was melted by the blast of acid, it was
more a mass of a melted being than anything. The third held the red
dragon's scale, the whole body stiff and blue, steam rolling off the body as
both the corpse and scale were frozen together. Etched into the scale to be
clearly seen was the symbol of Zandreya.

Uruvion walked away from his very clear message left for Scribpog at his
door and took a deep breath and didn't look back. His gryffon was ready to
take him back to the Vallens. There would be some things to discuss.




Writer: Asyrlin
Date Tue Feb 12 20:14:36 2019

To All Shadow

Subject Novice Work



She {ocalculates
.

Three essence of pain. Six gold coins weight in activated charcoal.
Seventeen silver coins weight in quartz dust. Four harpy feathers. A
single orange mushroom.

The novice hunches over her work space, every breath baited and held as to
not disturb the ingredients. She is careful. One speck and one drop at a
time the ingredients are placed into the vessel. An overwhelming,
efforvescent smell of wild magic overtakes the room as the components begin
to interact.

She {oinnovates
.

The lack of sleep and food contribute to the epiphany that strikes her in
that moment. Her own life blood. The final touch to allow her concoction
to bind to a human host.

She is {owithout hesitation
. A single stroke of a knife and her palm is
a-gashed, the blood seeping forth. The mixture begins to bubble.

"Flesh to scale, Hair to horn. Through the blood I spill, allow him to be
reborn. "

A few soured gulps later and the creation slides down her throat. Pain,
heat, and adrenaline wash over her. The transformation begins. Smoke
erupts from the ether, enveolping her form. The power of her mixture is
realized as her body takes shape.

She {orejoices
.

A single, pathetic frog bounds from the cloud. If it possesed the ability
to speak, this one might let loose a long string of obscenities.

She {orefines
.




Writer: Milleuda

Date Fri Feb 15 17:27:50 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sat Feb 16 03:08:26 2019

To All Chaos imm rp Malachive

Subject Returning home



Scribog sheathed his weapons at his sides and set the last heart down at
the roots of the tree. 200 as of that moment. He had worked hard and was
prepared for war with the elves but the horns called out and it was time to
return to Darkonin. It was time to leave the marbled halls of the Warp.

Scribpog set his plans aside, leaving them to Rezekir to continue on. The
elves deserved to die, but not now, not by his hand. Scribpog packed his
ruck and picked up his beanbag chair and made his way to the docks. A small
group of beings were gathered as ships waded along the extended platforms.
As Scribpog approached, eyes grew wide and the group began to chatter and
whisper, their words growing louder as he came near. The people moved away,
their faces showed the fear as the warpling began to walk up the plank to
the ship headed toward Icewall.

The time on the ship snuck by, nearly unnoticed until the winds became cold
and crisp and Icewall approached. Scribpog left the ship and moved to the
mountains on the east coast. Staring at the heavy gates of the kingdom, the
doors opened and the large demon king grinned, welcoming home the Warpling.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sat Feb 16 03:14:31 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sat Feb 16 03:15:44 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sat Feb 16 03:15:55 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sun Feb 17 11:54:10 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sun Feb 17 11:54:55 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sun Feb 17 11:56:39 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sun Feb 17 12:09:30 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sun Feb 17 12:09:56 2019




Writer: Zog'dorr
Date Sun Feb 17 12:27:02 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sun Feb 17 15:15:23 2019




Writer: Ceffyldwr
Date Sun Feb 17 23:06:31 2019

To All ( Imm RP Kantilles Religion )

Subject The Library



The space was cramped for a creature of his size, but Ceffyldwr was not
known to complain. Not least when there was precious knowledge to be
gained. The gnomes called this room The Library -- more appropriately and
perhaps fondly Ceffyldwr had named it The Closet. This was seen as a
scandalous affront to the architects who readily pointed out that there was
in fact no door.

It took the centaur some time to find this place, truth be told. And time
even more in search of a written copy of Kantilles tenets. Why were they
not more readily available? A lacking not specific to the Magical faith,
but a lacking nonetheless.

Hmm, the White Tower probably has dozens of copies.

Ceffyldwr closed his eyes briefly and grasped the charm at his chest before
chasing the clouded thought into evaporation.


After many a day spent in poorly lit temple hallways or loosely attended
bookshops of yore, he found what he was looking for. Quill in hand, he
began the task of etching word to paper. Here was one labour of will and
writ, letters learned and message delivered.

Walk with wisdom...




Writer: Raekwon

Date Tue Feb 19 18:34:06 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Wed Feb 20 12:30:15 2019




Writer: Geirhart
Date Wed Feb 20 14:55:19 2019

To Scribog Mercerion Austinian Religion All RP

Subject Vengeance and Hope



The old priest climbed up to his room in the Inn. His bones felt heavy
and the aches seemed more painful today. Must be about to rain he thought.
He has just met with the Emperor over the matter of Scribog. It was a
surprising end but then the old man thought perhaps not. This man had left
his clan, been outcast from society, betrayed, and removed from his last
home. Vengeance is a strong emotion and it seems Scribog fell to it.

Then there was his ward, who he had sworn to protect. Had not Maccus or the
Emperor been there, Geirhart didn't know what would have happened. Then the
poor maid, died protecting the child. So much pain, death, why did it have
to be? The priest had hoped that perhaps Scribog could have offered
something other than the pain and violence that Erebaal preached but in the
end, the bugbear was the same.

The priest took his strawhat off, laying it on his desk, and rubbed his bald
brow. He would preach about this in the eve, life and death, hope and pain.
Yet now there was no fire in him for oration. Only a dull ache where a hope
for this casted out faith might find a path to redemption had been.

The old man looked worn and tired as he surveyed the temple grounds from his
window. In the last day, a father had become lost from his child and a man
from his people. A woman had sacrificed herself for a child. So much loss.
His eyes began to weep a bit for a man who perhaps no one might weep for.
That may well become a rally cry for more hatred and vengeance.

The rain fell softly on the paving stones outside his window, echoing the
droplets that fell upon his floor.




Writer: Raekwon
Date Wed Feb 20 20:36:37 2019




Writer: Jadelyn
Date Wed Feb 20 22:02:29 2019

To Althainia All ( Imm RP Raije )

Subject The Thunder Rolls



Thunder.

Jadelyn had always found it calming. Whether gentle rumbles or deafening
crashes, she sought comfort in the sound. Couple that with the sight of
lightning crackling along the darkened clouds... It was perhaps the best
way to calm her frayed nerves.

That was the reason why she often found herself sitting in the crow's nest
of the Vanguard. The sounds of the ocean, the thunder, the lightning, they
all provided an appropriate backdrop, tonight moreso than most nights, as
Jadelyn sat staring at the signet ring on her left hand.

It had been a gift from Aliera after the Captain had taken the Amarandus
name, and the nobility that came with it. Truth be told, the nobility part
of it All didn't feel right to her. She had been found on a pirate ship and
then raised as a pirate on said ship. She got into bar brawls and drank
sailors under the table on a near regular basis. She was, quite possibly,
the complete opposite of what a noble should be.

Jadelyn brushed a thumb over the combined Darkwater and Amarandus crest as
lightning crawled around the clouds above her. She had to give Aliera some
credit. The priestess had done so much to make her feel like she was really
part of the family. She had tried to make Jade feel like she belonged.

Did Aliera know, though, that I never really felt like I belonged?

Not that Aliera was around anymore to ask. No one who bore the Amarandus
name was around, save for Jadelyn, and even then she never went by it. She
always signed her missives with Darkwater, the name her pirate family had
given her. Back before she washed up on Althainia soil. Before she met
Aliera. You know, once upon a time...

A frown tugged on her lips as she pushed herself to her feet. This wasn't a
fairy tale she was living in. Maybe she did live such a life, but not
anymore. She wasn't a noble. She never wanted to be nobility.

Lightning struck the water some ways out to sea, but the thunder cracked
loud in her ears as she pulled the ring off her finger. She wasn't Jadelyn
Amarandus, adopted into nobility and titles she didn't want or deserve. She
was Captain Jadelyn Darkwater, a daughter of Raije. Her fingers wrapped
around the ring, and she drew her arm back. Lightning flashed again as she
threw the ring as far as she could into the ocean.

The second the ring hit the water, she felt... Lighter. She looked up at
the sky, taking a moment to watch the sky above. Her eyes close as a single
drop of rain lands on her cheek. It's followed by another... Another...
Until the clouds All but open up to drench the Captain head to toe. She
didn't mind. It was rather cathartic, almost like she was washing away the
thoughts that troubled her. She allowed herself a smile before looking down
at the deck of the ship. She had a couple more things to do before she
could feel like herself again.




Writer: Maccus
Date Thu Feb 21 06:05:36 2019

To Scribpog Mercerion All ( Imm Fatale RP )

Subject Confirming the truth.



The Overlord donned the mask he wore so many. Times before, pulling his
cloak tight about him as he slipped past Althainia's guards. Hearing the
news of Scribpog's death, he had to make certrin of it, to make sure at
minimum the information Mercerion had told the realm was truthful. His
heart sank. His body approaching the Dump where he had flanked Mercerion in
confronting Scribpog. The signs of a swift battle, and a rather tremendous
amont of blood still lay splattered amongst the ground. He closed his eyes
a moment, looking around and silently followed the trail of blood which
would lead to the Bugbears corpse.

He felt an odd swell in his throat. Something unfamiliar as he looked upon
Scribpog's corpse. 'Old friend... How far you've fallen' as he pulled the
mask off now. He strolled to the corpses side, letting a hand touch the
shoulder he injured, 'You were my brother once upon a time, Scribpog. When
I was young, angry and wanting to see the oceans filled with blood
' Many
outside or inside the Dungeon did not know just how fond of Scribpog the
Overlord truly was. Just how much the initial friendship had meant. 'My
children... My wife... Myself... We will only remember you now as the
Warp who threatened us. Yet the lingering memories of fighting beside you,
as my brother will always be remembered.
'

He took a deep breath, biting back the tears as be donned his mask for what
he hoped was the final time. Slipping out of the room and away from the
city, back to the seclusion he knew so well now.




Writer: Lira

Date Thu Feb 21 12:08:33 2019

To All Drakkara Religion Roleplay Immortal Cayenna Storyline

Subject Silence may be worse than speaking Out



Lira walked along the streets of Arkane because she could not sleep due
too the things that happened the day before. Silas was sleeping when she
got up and quietly left the room. She did not want to tell him of her day
because she was worried what she was trying to do would collapse. It
collapsed even before she said a word.

She enters the room while we were speaking and I told her not to enter a
room without at least letting know of she was arriving.

What happened next Lira never would have never happened back in her home.
The chain of command failed.

Belittleing Guild Leaders and saying you are the law and the rest have no
say because of a pissing contest, I have no time to stroke your ego. I am
sure Meki will not be happy.

I am not sure how Rohesia will take it either.





Writer: Diuxa
Date Fri Feb 22 21:24:34 2019




Writer: Oleandra
Date Sat Feb 23 15:39:02 2019

To All ( IMM RP )

Subject The Hunter of Wood



The mist hung heavy on the White Moon Isle, as it always did. The trees
breathed with their usual slow breath, the music of their branches conducted
by the sway of the wind.

All was serene, All was peace. All was Right.

*CHOP*CHOP*CHOP*CHOP*

The discordant noise echoed and ripped at the heartstrings of the forest.
Pain rippled across the roots, and the gentle music morphed into something
more dire, a keening wail of loss and agony.

Deep within the forest, something stirred. A tree that was not a tree; a
person that was not a person.

*CHOP*CHOP*CHOP*CHOP*

Too many times it had heard the noise. Too many times, it had heard its
brethren screaming. Too many times, it had stood by in fear.

"No more." It whispered, in a voice like the wind. "No more. No more.
No more."




Writer: Scribpog

Date Sat Feb 23 18:09:38 2019

To All Chaos imm rp Malachive

Subject Waking the dead



More chains and rope covered the apparition form of Scribpog. As more
fell across him, they turned bright red, as if the sun had pierced through
the material, burning at his nonexistent flesh. Longing for his freedom, he
took the scorching sounds and the pain, waiting for them to drag him off,
and yet he went unmoved. As the demented stared at Scribpog, anger began to
unfold amidst his face. Creature after creature began to loosen their grips
on their bindings and they began to fall. Hard confusion fell across
Scribpog's face as the beasts began to back away, some looking afraid.
Instantly Scribpog turned around, facing the mighty beast, cloaked in heavy
darkness. Visually, what was in front of him was unspeakable, yet Scribpog
knew it was a monster of Malachives faith. Everything was going wrong,
Scribpog was ready for his peace and here it was, being taken away.

Lashing out, as his bindings fell, Scribpog attacked at the darkness,
landing blow after blow but nothing worked. Ideally the beast would have
fallen to Scribpog's attacks, yet he was ignored. Viciously muscular arms
lifted and pointed out at the distance, noting the sun that was beginning to
rise in the dark filled lands. Eerie grays and blacks began to brighten up
with shades of orange, pink and reds. Scribpog began to panic, he was being
forced to carry on by Malachive. He was mad, rage built up through his face
and his fists clenched as he too began to return to color.

The corpse kept by Althainia began to melt and dissolve, leaving nothing
behind but a thick pile of bugbear venom. Scribpog opened his eyes and
found himself back in a familiar place, lying face up in the halls of
Nirvana. His armor and weapons were back, just as if he hadn't fallen.
Rubbing across his throat, the scar Mercerion had left still remained.
Scribpog was pissed, not just at Mamoritai, but also at the gods, who kept
him cursed to continue feeling his suffering. He would find his peace.




Writer: Raekwon

Date Sun Feb 24 16:24:21 2019




Writer: Asyrlin

Date Tue Feb 26 21:57:10 2019




Writer: Asyrlin

Date Tue Feb 26 22:07:38 2019

To All ( Imm ) Shadow Jermichael Nehtur Vincent Shalonesti

Subject A Bookworms Task



Stuffy libraries, darkly lit obsidian caves, cramped chairs. A lifetime
of captivity was recently being expunged by these strangers. She found her
bones aching at the end of the day. Clothes {ndirty
, hands bloody.

Among themsleves they were friendly and jovial, clad in green vines and
tasteful attire. Among enemies they were savage wolves rending and
slaughtering. Meandering, joking in sun-lit glades one minute and
shadow-borne, tactical predators stalking prey the next. The Elves were
more polarized than any race she had faced yet in these lands.

Her latest instruction was her most difficult yet: get tough. Anyone could
read books and formulate recipes, but only His truest chosen could both lead
and be lead upon the field of battle. Only those that walked adeptly at all
paths of life would be of use in the master plan.

Whether they knew it or not, these elves were teaching her. Not directly,
but by example. When to strike. When to run. Where to ambush. A feral
side of her came out when she roamed with them. When she killed with them.

And she was beginning to crave more.




Writer: Uruvion

Date Thu Feb 28 23:08:43 2019

To Shalonesti Scribpog Chaos Zandreya Malachive All ( Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Quiet Places



The porcelain skinned hand flexed and relaxed over and over. There was
still no feeling in it or the limb and shoulder attached to it. He was in
his quiet place, deep in the Vallens where only one other person knew where
he could be found but the old druid was off somewhere so it was just
Uruvion, and his thoughts.

Most of them were angry thoughts. Thoughts of hearing of Scribpog's death
was one at the forefront. The Warbeast from the Warp had come to the
Vallens and left heinous reminders and still had much to pay for. The
eldritch felt as if he failed in protecting the Vallens from the Warp,
failed the elves who died for nothing. He wanted to burn the bug bear to
ashes.

If he would have known that the Warpling was in the Abyss, or where ever it
was, he would have followed and made sure he never returned, but that wasn't
the case. Scribpog was granted some sort of reprive, some sort of second
chance, something. Uruvion had ill feelings about it. He paced around the
circle of the camp fire then stopped. He knew being angry would get him
nowhere and took a deep breath. His shoulders slumped as he took a quiet
seat on one of the few logs that he often sat on to think and looked in to
the ever going fire.

He felt defeated somewhat. He wasn't the one who ended the Warbeast, but he
could do what he sworn to do to the Vallens and Zandreya. He was told there
would be innocent lives lost, casualties were inevitable, he wanted to oh so
much not let those elves' deaths be in vain. Uruvion knew those elves were
by Zandreya's side, and he knew of the teachings of the Warp. Suffer. No
peace. Death to the Gods.

Finally some of his own peace came after a bit. Zandreya was alive, he knew
this very well in his mind, body, and heart. He had witnessed Her Grace and
power numerous times. A sense of calm washed over him in a memory that took
over All the previous thoughts - He was Zandreyan, and he and others of the
Mother would fight for Her, and even others who prayed to another god would
join. He didn't feel shackled or under Her thumb, but at peace knowing She
watched, listened, and was.




Writer: Xekrar

Date Sat Mar 2 22:26:49 2019




Writer: Kabeel

Date Mon Mar 4 16:47:39 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Mon Mar 4 20:59:41 2019

To All Althainia Chaos imm rp Malachive

Subject End of Games: Return of the Savage



Scribpog set his weapons against a tree. Tonight he wouldn't need them.
The bugbear tightened his leather studded gloves and set out from the woods,
heading east toward Althainia. His scin boiled and crawled with pain and
suffering, each step caused the pain to intensify. Anger built up as he
stepped closer toward the kingdom, the torch lit streets casting shadows as
the moon sat directly above his head. Midnight was upon him and most souls
would be fast asleep.

Scribpog crept in through the west gate, which was naturally less guarded
than the east. The guards were used to seeing him about by now and did
nothing because of his presence. Down thinly paved alleyways, he sidled
along, looking for the lost or individuals who sat about, sleeping on
tattered sheets or jackets. This was perfect, Scribpog thought to himself.
He lifted a clawed hand up to one of the homeless women, until she screamed
out in bloody murder at the sight of the Warbeast. Tears began to roll down
the woman's cheek as the clanking of armor soldiers began to pour down the
brick walled ally. Scribpog turned around and faced three men, each
prepared with a weapon but noticeably rookies. The closest to him wore a
set of leather armor, to thin for Scribpog's liking. In his hand he held a
single short sword, his wrist was limp and shaking from fear.

Scribpog jumped at the opportunity and clawed at the tunic, ripping it to
shreds. Within the blink of an eye, the soldier was disarmed, the sword
tanged against the ground, as the mighty bugbear dug his fangs into the
shoulder of the man and clamped down, flesh tore apart under the pressure
and blood began to fill Scribpog's mouth. With the force of a crocodile,
Scribpog pulled back with his head, shattering the soldier's collar bone
between his teeth and pulled the bone out. Quickly he spit the jagged bone
into his hand and swung up into the panicing guards cowl, the bone piercing
flesh with ease, crushing the eye with a loud pop, causing blood to explode
out as the bugbear held the dead body up by the collar bone.

The beast tossed the corpse to the ground and stared down the other two, his
heavy breathe leaked from between his jagged teeth, causing the blood that
leaked down his face to splash off and sprinkle to the ground. Slowly,
keeping their defenses up, the two armored soldiers backed off until they
reached the street, before running for their life.

Scribpog was so pleased as he gave chase, he hungered for times like this,
where he was the predator, the warbeast, and his prey ran from the fear of
death and the Chaos he brought. With a precise swipe, Scribpog's claws cut
through the necks of the men, much like a butchers knife through a side of
beef. Without hesitation the bodies of the men fell to the ground and the
heads fell just feet away, blood draining out and pooling over the bottoms
of his boots.

With pride the beast tore into the chests of the bodies and pulled out the
warm hearts and crushed them between his fingers. He rose and made his way
toward the north gates and headed toward Shalonesti




Writer: Scribpog
Date Mon Mar 4 21:02:47 2019

To All Shalonesti_kingdom Shalonesti_clan Chaos imm rp Malachive

Subject End of Games: Return of the Savage 2



Shalonesti was far more prepared as horns began to blare out from the
south. The guards did not patrol alone, as was expected. Sitting in a tree
top, Scribpog sat in waiting, watching from the darkness of the moon filled
night.

The elves were scared and ill prepared, each staying in formation, in a
defensive stance just waiting for their chance to lash out at the murderer
that they could not see. Slowly the groups branched out, keeping their eyes
peeled on every inch of the vallenwoods, hoping to catch a glimpse of the
bugbear. Each creek of a branch or a broken twig startled the guards. They
would jump and turn from fear.

As one guard patrolled alone, came near the tree that concealed Scribpog, he
jumped down and caught the elf off guard. Pouncing, Scribpog landed on his
back and cackled, his voice carrying against the dead of night and echoing
against the trees. The elf was afraid as he attempted to prod at Scrib, his
body trembling as he met the beast one on one. Scribpog lept at the first
opening, forcing the spear to the side as his teeth dug into the elf's
windpipe and bit down, before tearing out the tube and flesh. The elf
dropped his spear and stumbled as he tried to breathe. Blood poured out in
spurts as the elf fell to his knees and collapsed. A last gasp escaped as
the elf drown in his own blood.

Scribpog knelt down next to the corpse and rolled it onto its back. He dug
his claws into the elf? S chest, causing the ribs surrounding its heart to
bend and crack, breaking as he pulled out the heart. He ran his tongue over
the heart before forcing it down the elf's open wound.

He stood and headed toward the gray church, clearly satisfied with his
night.




Writer: Jermichael
Date Tue Mar 5 22:01:07 2019




Writer: Nehtur
Date Tue Mar 12 22:06:05 2019




Writer: Uruvion
Date Wed Mar 13 19:15:43 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Wed Mar 13 23:26:22 2019




Writer: Kabeel
Date Fri Mar 15 16:28:41 2019




Writer: Tash'a
Date Sat Mar 16 00:12:17 2019




Writer: Tash'a
Date Sat Mar 16 01:06:47 2019




Writer: Maccus
Date Sat Mar 16 10:19:26 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sat Mar 16 21:18:17 2019




Writer: Nehtur
Date Sat Mar 16 22:06:45 2019




Writer: Uruvion
Date Tue Mar 19 19:41:50 2019

To Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Gabriela Juelian Scribpog Zandreya Malachive All ( Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Gone



A few recruits of the Sha'falas ran up to the eldritch, seeming out of
sorts, not sure what to do or say until one finally spoke up, letting
Uruvion know that some raving lunatic was on the bridge, wanting to speak to
him. The elf put some tailoring supplies away in the city's vault then
looked at the recruits with a knitted brow, "What the hell? " He grabbed
his staff from the wall and headed towards the bridge over the river, the
recruits followed behind, giving each a worried glance.

A familiar face, but somehow not at the same time was coming in to Uruvion's
view. He could make out the earthy brown robe he'd seen for years. This
was the man Uruvion called a friend and mentor. The druid was flailing his
arms, shouting, and wiping at his eyes. What was being swept away, the
Senator had no clue and his pace quickened then he full on sprinted, his
staff gripped tightly.

The old druid spun around, laughing and crying at the same time, hysterical
some would say, shouting about his suffering coming to an end, and the
Vallen's only beginning and Zandreya's head would roll from Her shoulders
and be a prize for his master and the Warbeast. Uruvion stopped dead in his
tracks, his jaw hung open in shock and disbelief. His gaze took in the
blood that covered the raving druid's face, some dried, some still dribbling
down from the eight-pointed star carved in the flesh of the forehead.
Disbelief turned to horror.

"Plans are in motion Uruvion! Her time is coming! " Maniacal laughing was
mixed with the shouting while a crowd of elves began to gather around the
druid and the eldritch. Uruvion glanced around quickly, assessing who were
closer than others and how far apart he, the druid and the circle of
on-lookers were.

The earth shook some as a couple of the lord's of the earth's domain rose
up, nothing was spoken between the faceless beings of rock and dirt and
Uruvion but they did their duty given to them at the time and kept the crowd
at bay. Careful steps were taken towards the druid who was still spewing
his rantings. The gloved left hand reached for the druid, the elf couldn't
tell if it was him or the druid that was shaking as it held one of the
druid's shoulders tightly. "Wha-what's happened to you? "

The old druid's eyes pierced Uruvion's soul, the eyes of someone who knew
they were going to die and would relish in it, "Freedom, old friend. You
can find it. You do not need to have some Goddess dictating your path, your
desires, your wants. Malachive wants you to be free. You do not need these
woods. They are just that. Wood. Now do what you must, but you know I'm
right!
" His voice, the tone that the Oathsworn elf had heard since his
early age wasn't the druid's fatherly voice but of some stark raving mad
man, a man who spoke what was needed to be said to a crowd of elves. Hot
tears welled up in Uruvion's eye as he let go of the shoulder in his shaking
grasp, his mouth formed the words 'I'm sorry. ' but no sound was produced
as he looked at his former friend and his staff drew energy from the Goddess
of Nature Herself and a hot sworl of fire rushed down and consumed the
druid. The earthlords pushed the crowd back further as the eldritch watched
on, All color drained from his face, only the immense heat felt from the
vortex of flames.

A steely gaze stared in to the glass sitting before him on the bar. Several
other glasses, once filled with rum, were empty and upside down. Time was
lost, Uruvion couldn't remember when he got to the bar, and he didn't know,
or really care what time it was at the present. All he knew was that
bugbear would burn, he would make sure the Warbeast would fail his mission.
He'd go down with Scribpog if he had to. Uruvion asked Juelian's permission
and it was granted. It's All he needed to hear.






Writer: Dhrawg

Date Wed Mar 20 13:58:31 2019

To All Mog Raije

Subject Killing elves and getting spit at.



It was a short stroll through a dwarf forest for Dhrawg, he climbed down
some hills and behind a secret door to a city of dark drow elves. He waged
a war of defense from these drows, as they did not like him walking into
their lands and houses. Quite a warlike town. Drow weaponmasters abounded
and fell, they knew weapons but did not have the strength that the yinn did.
Chilled from the drow weapon's Dhrawg eventually alerted to screams, and
found a sanatorium of imprisoned elves that were insane enough that their
own minds held them captive as only receptionists and janitors guarded them.


So, Dhrawg did free them throuh death from their torments. Vigerously and
absent mindedly. This proved to be a near tragic event. Whilst Dhrawg was
liberating elves, an unknown foe entered the room and quickly closed the
door on the cell. Dhrawg was near instantly alerted and intrigued who would
attempt to accomplish this attack. A goblin known as Mog then did attack
and when the goblin stabbed Dhrawg in the back he juked left and went right
to open the door to escape. Then Dhrawg attempted to throw his horse into
Mog when attacked again but that was a bad idea and only resulted in Mog
eating the horse. Remembering an appointment with his arms trainer, a
double this day, he returned back the way he came to the warrior's pub.




Writer: Kabeel
Date Thu Mar 21 16:02:37 2019




Writer: Kabeel
Date Thu Mar 21 16:09:08 2019




Writer: Symantha
Date Thu Mar 21 19:27:59 2019




Writer: Uruvion
Date Fri Mar 22 11:12:03 2019




Writer: Uruvion
Date Fri Mar 22 11:24:59 2019




Writer: Uruvion
Date Fri Mar 22 11:46:49 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Fri Mar 22 11:52:58 2019

To All Chaos Uruvion Shalonesti_clan Shalonesti_kingdom Imm rp Malachive

Subject Check Mate



Scribpog strutted through the Shalonesti forest with a dark grin covering
his face, as an elven woman came closer to his side, cloaked to conceal
herself from any other knowing who it was. As the pair found their way to
an opening, Scribpog began to bellow out in a maddening war cry.

The elf lifted her hands and began an incantation, forcing her hands to glow
with a dark magic. The earth beneath their feet began to shake and crumble
with a violent quake. Bones and deep growling erupted as large creatures,
numbering in the thousands began to shake the dirt off and rise.
Dracoliches began to litter the field and the tree line that surrounded
them, their smouldering breath teasing at the crisp air.

Off in the distance the fluffy wolves began to ring out in howls of the
hunt. Time was of the essence and Scribpog demanded the move as he screamed
out. The winged beasts flapped and began their charge, some staying solemn
and circling about, claiming the forest for the Warp.

The skeletal remains that lead the charge met numerous sets of eyes in the
dark. The glowing was menacing as it was followed by the growls of the
largest of dire wolves, each standing close to the size of the dragon like
zombies. The beasts made battle, dragon ripping and tearing through flesh,
blood splattering the greenery surrounding the war zone. Whimpering
protruded from the wolves with each bite and slash as they returned the
volley, biting at bone, snapping the dirtied white calcium and collagen.
Bone meal began to litter the earth, meeting an equal amount of freshly
slaughtered wolves.

Off in the distance Scribpog backed away, finding a deep corner of the
woods, leading a battalion of lumberjacks. The men followed his orders and
quickly began to chop the trees. Most were ogres, meant to quickly fell the
trees while battle distracted the masses. As each tree fell, ogres tied off
the trunk and began to drag it off. This was only his beginning.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sun Mar 24 21:17:23 2019

To All Malorie Shalonesti_clan Shalonesti_kingdom imm rp Malachive

Subject Stealing faith



Scribpog scrolled through the acreage of the Vallens once again, the
plain was barren of trees, All that remained were stumps from his time in
the forest. Soon he found a large gathering of great vallenwood trees,
their trunks were vast and well aged. Scribpog dug his clawed fingertips
into the bark and pulled back, scarring the trees until he saw her.

Malorie was set within a garden, plucking up the weeds and tending to the
plants that had grown to bare fruit. Scribpog sat and watched the elf,
humming and singing to herself. The bugbear inched forward, his brow
covered in sweat as his eyes glazed over the elven form.

He edged forward, getting as close as he could until a branch snapped under
his boots. Quickly he sprinted as the woman stood and turned toward him.
His fist balled and extended out, striking the elf in the face as she turned
and stood, knocking her out. Her limp form slumped down to the ground and
Scribpog lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder.




Writer: Malorie
Date Tue Mar 26 12:33:01 2019

To All Scribpog Juelian Shalonesti_clan Shalonesti_Kingdom Imm rp Malachive

Subject Stealing faith



*drip*..... *drip*..... *drip*.... The dampness in the air was quite
heavy, and made everything seem as though it were in slow motion, and hazy.
The elven woman slowly began to open her eyes. The discomfort began to
creep to her body. Her wrists bound together by a pair of dark steel
shackles covered in blood runes, hung her from the ceiling beam. Looking
towards her feet, bloodied and covered in dirt, the floor was just within
reach for a moment with her foot extended. The ground was wet, covered in
blood and murky water. Exhaustion had overtaken the druid, and she fell
back into unconsciousness.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Mar 26 19:00:51 2019

To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Uruvion Juelian imm rp Malachive

Subject Stealing Faith III



Scribpog pulled at the chains that held the elf, lifting her higher in
the air. He wrapped the chains against the wall and hammered in a nail,
forcing her in the air. The woman squirmed as Scribpog came near, forcing a
gag into her mouth and binding it around her head. No screaming or spells
would be coming from her now. Scribpog cackled with maniacal glee as he set
pieces of vallenwood under her feet and began to light the wood.

As sparks began to fly, the wood caught and a blazing fire soon began to
burn. The embers built up and began to lick and toy with the bottoms of her
feet and toes. Quickly the elf tried to pull herself up against her
shackles. Her arms began to become weak as her arms began tired. Slowly
her form began to fall back down, the weight of her body pulling back down
against her bindings.

The flames picked up as the flames began to eat against Malorie's feet once
again, beginning to scorch the bottom of her feet.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Mar 26 23:25:50 2019

To All imm rp

Subject Returning the sacrifice



His first day back and he was already back on the prowl. He walked the
marbled halls once again, the heavy footsteps that bounced off of the walls
were so memorable. In his hand rested the heart of Masc'dec. He slowly
walked up to the tree and set her heart near the roots.

The sounds in his head, invoked from the tree, once again sang out its
livelyhood as the heart was devoured.

Scribpog stood back for a moment with glee spreading its ugly head across
Scribpog stood back for a moment with glee spreading its ugly head across
his face. 'I'm back. '




Writer: Zola
Date Tue Mar 26 23:36:03 2019

To All Arkane Immortals Fatale

Subject X Blood Tide Shipwreck X


By the time the Silverwind chugged into the Haven, it was less a ship and
more of a shipwreck.


Watching the crew disembark, some drenched in saltwater (the King, in
particular, looked quite soaked) and others looking positively green, Zola
took his time looking over the ships damage. Huge
gouges were torn in the
sides of the Arkanian vessel, and the sails had come close to fraying to a
million pieces thanks to the repeated uses of the
magewind magics. In all
honesty, the damned thing looked like a ghost ship, barely able to keep
afloat. It was a small miracle they had made it back
to their harbor before
sinking.

And yet, they had won.

As he made his rounds to catalogue the damage, a wooden beam broke off and
fell fro the mast above, narrowly missing Zola as it crashed onto the
deck,
sending sailors scurrying out of the way, shouting in panic and confusion.
Wooden splinters scattered everywhere, two even impaling Zola's leg. He
glanced at them contemptuously, barely reacting. Much too far from his
heart, they were no threat.


Zola was satisfied with what had transpired. Those who won had to be
willing to do anything to win. Ruthlessness was one of his favorite Fatale
tenets, and it definitely
applied here. And it had been close, he could
conceed that. But a wrecked ship was a small price to pay for victory.
Much as the Admiral did
not do so well with running water (hence his desire
to keep the Silverwind afloat) he also had little tolerance for silver.
Miserable metal.

Passing an order to his Quartermaster, he ensured repairs got underway. And
making sure one of their more capable Deckhands was within earshot, added
they needed
to prepare the other Arkanian vessel for what was to come next.
They'd be a great target now.





Writer: Scribpog

Date Wed Mar 27 18:43:03 2019

To All Ivyna Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom imm rp Malachive

Subject Stealing Faith IV



The elven maiden struggled against her bindings just as Scribpog
approached. The cold of the cave chilled the woman to the bone. Scribpog
drew his serrated dagger and drew it across the torso of the elf, drawing
small eight pointed stars as his eyes watched at the woman's face, eating up
every sign of struggle and fear.

As her eyes met his, he lifted the dagger up and rested the tip against her
cheek, poking a pinhole, forcing out a small stream of blood to fall.
Excitement crossed his face as he slowly drew the blade down, making the cut
grow and split down to her cheek. One cut was enough for today. Scribpog
drew the blade back, waiting for any sign of a muffled scream but none came.
Scribpog sheathed his blade and walked away, his heavy foot falls echoing as
his silhouetted shadow leaves the presence of Malorie.




Writer: Uruvion
Date Wed Mar 27 19:15:39 2019

To Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Zandreya Malachive Scribpog All ( Imm Rp Religion Scorn )

Subject Gambling Man



It could have happened to any elf and he would have felt the same -
angry. Scribpog had dealt his hand, and it could have been the best by a
gambling man's perspective. Uruvion made a promise that the emporer of
Althainia or any other elf wouldn't be taken or traded for Malorie. He had
a plan, but time was running out. A few elves were needed and perhaps some
permission again.

The eldritch stared deep in to the water's of the Fiallae Nenya pool.
Scribpog had come, not once, but twice. Dracolitches and wolves littered a
portion of the deeper part of the Vallenwoods. Someone was working with
him. A necromancer, but unknown. Trees were crudely chopped down, the
remains of jagged stumps left for any who saw the cleared section of woods
to question the purpose.

Large footprints were left along with the bark of a tree, marred by claws,
and a familar stench lingered by a garden, now empty, but once was tended by
Malorie Sha'enlas, the wife of Juelian Shalonost, and mother to Khet,
Gabriela, Annemari, and some others.

The bugbear of Chaos, the Warbeast gave Uruvion confirmation in the gift of
a lock of hair that he quite certainly had Malorie in his possession, and
would make her suffer. The Wolf of the Arlathil knew the druidess would
endure. It's what the Vallens did.

Uruvion's gaze cut in thought, still focused on the water, but seeming
silent as the waterfall fed the pool. Time was getting short, but he hadn't
dealt his hand, and a plan was coming to fruition. He had a few risky aces
up his sleeve.




Writer: Ithelim
Date Wed Mar 27 19:31:26 2019




Writer: Malorie
Date Thu Mar 28 23:04:07 2019

To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom Juelian Scribpog Uruvion Khet Imm RP Malachive

Subject Stealing Faith IV



The druidess looked around the room, her face tender, and eyes sore. Her
left eye swollen almost shut, and begining to crust over from the blood
dried to it. She could hear the footsteps of the Bugbear coming into the
room. Calming her breathing, and trying not to focus on the discomfort of
the shackles, and hanging position she had been in for days. She could not
understand why she was taken, or what he had planned for her. She was
unsure if she would make it back to the Vallens, at this point. Still, she
kept herself calm, quiet. Scribpog came near, and the druidess squirmed,
trying to shake herself lose from the shackles, and kick him. Sniffing at
her, Scribpog shoved a foul tasting cloth into her mouth, gagging her from
uttering any spells, or screaming. Malorie winced, as a most maniacle
cackle of glee came from the Bugbear.

What was so gleeful? The fact that she could not get herself lose? That
would change. He began to pull the chains and lifted her higher into the
air. Squriming her feet, attempting to kick him, he slapped at her feet.

Malorie noticed the wood he was piling below her feet. "MHmmhmm". Scribpog
just looked at her and grinned, as he began to light the wood. She had to
get loose, she had to kick the wood away from her feet. Without being able
to utter spells of protection fire, she knew this was going to hurt. The
flames began to pick up, and flick across her feet. Wincing at the pain,
she closed her eyes and began to pray to Zandreya.

Someone will come. Someone will find me. I will get lose. I will murder
him. Juelian would come.

The flames began to eat against her feet. Tears of pain began to fall from
her eyes down her cheeks. She had to give into this pain. She was trapped.





Writer: Geirhart
Date Tue Apr 2 13:51:51 2019

To Althainia All Imm Religion Austinian

Subject Remembrance I



The old man sat in his room at the inn. He was happy that his kingdom
placed in a few of the World Games. It was a small sense of pride for him
that he could help. However, unlike cooking, tonight's event would be more
difficult.

The box sitting across the room on the desk called to him. A small pine box
with elaborate carvings of animals and scroll work sat there. In the center
'GR' was engraved on the top. Geirhart stood up from the bed and walked
over.

He caressed the smooth edges with a finger and gently lifted the lid.
There, in a velvet lining, rested a worn redwood flute. It was simple,
plain, and well loved. Geirhart lifted the flute gently from the case and
held it in his hands.

Memories assailed him, moments of his past fluttering through his mind.
There he was, learning to play from his father. Then shifting to a young
maiden listening to him play in a field of flowers. A scene in his home,
his children and wife dancing by the table. Then by her bedside when she
was ill. The last image, the flute returned to it's box and the bed empty.


He hadn't touched the object in years but now he would play again. Not for
pride or kingdom. Not as a priest or a steward. He would play as a man
seeking to remember a better time. A time of love and joy. Perhaps to
reclaim a small piece of what was lost.





Writer: Sylanna
Date Tue Apr 2 23:19:22 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Apr 2 23:46:34 2019




Writer: Sylanna
Date Wed Apr 3 18:01:08 2019




Writer: Ceffyldwr
Date Wed Apr 3 19:52:43 2019

To Shalonesti Paxx All ( Imm RP Kantilles Zandreya )

Subject A story



They made for an interesting pair.

The wild elf was waiting for Ceffyldwr at the agreed upon meeting place, a
patch of hills over the horizon from the mountain halls of Wargar. The
priest of Light approached the dark shaman.

"Paxx, I have come as requested. "

"Unfortunately the third priest was unavailable. We must postpone. "

The centaur gave a patient nod, looking over his enemy so named by the law
of Justice.

"There is time yet for such things. I look at you though, and I see a
willing listener. Perhaps a story for today, in lieu of the sermon?
"

Ceffyldwr watched as the elf considered, his head cocked to the side
communing with the spirits, perhaps? Shortly thereafter, he acquiesced, and
the centaur began his tale.

-----

There once was a young centaur who was good at most things, and great at
others. He was fit, he was fast, he was of able mind and a dutiful laborer.
He kept to himself mostly, and this was also seen as admirable and strong,
to be respected.

One day the boys father, observing these things we both now know he set a
task for the young centaur, one he would not be able to complete by himself.
The boys father knew this.

And so, the young one tried. Time, and again. Pride swelled in the face of
defeat. And yet, finally, he came to his father, and surrendered. "I
cannot do this thing," he said.

"Did you ask for help?" The father queried.

And it dawned on the boy then, in the midst of his frustration and
exhaustion, what his father was trying to get him to see.

The elder centaur saw the light in his eyes and smiled, "Unity is the key."



-----

"A short story, and yet an important one to me in these days. Shalonesti is
strong, it looks inwards for protection, it always has.
No matter your
aura, your god, you will band together to defend the forest. Through
Zandreya you have access to new and powerful Magical pathways to safeguard
your home. But there may come a day when elves are not enough. And I pray
for you on that day, I pray for Shalonesti, and I pray for the strength of
the Light in the face of doombringers.
"




Writer: Jermichael

Date Fri Apr 5 22:21:09 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Sun Apr 7 21:27:28 2019

To All Shalonesti Chaos imm rp Zandreya Malachive

Subject Pruning the Vallens



Scribpog made the deal, Uruvion for Malorie. He took the elf to a secret
location and boarded a ship, taking him just below deck. Here he barked
orders toward the deckhands who pinned the elf to the side of the hull,
pinning the elf by the throat with a forearm.

A deckhand handed Scribpog a heavy weighted hammer, a set of thick steel
chains, and large metal rods. Scribpog set a length of chain against the
wall, above Uruvion's head and and hammered a spike in, holding the links
against the wall.

At the left end of the chain, Scribpog set a spike through the chain and a
deckhand pinned the elf's hand against the hull. The wedge was set against
Uruvion's hand and the hammer was drawn back.

In a flash of anger and hatred, Scribpog threw his muscles into action and
the hammer smacked against the spike, forcing it through the elf's hand and
into the wooden side of the ship.

Scribpog followed through, the deckhands holding the elf up as the second
nail was driven through Uruvion's right hand. The elf did not scream, nor
did he yell. He only cursed Scribpog's name as his body began to turn white
and his body became limp from loss of blood.




Writer: Sofka
Date Sun Apr 7 22:35:29 2019




Writer: Trahan
Date Mon Apr 8 15:08:19 2019

To All Shalonesti Chaos imm rp Zandreya Malachive

Subject Post Swap



It was so much, so many lives changing in the blink of an eye, so many
decisions being made with such impact, so much pain and suffering.

"You're relieved" Trahan spoke to another guardsman who was returning form a
patrol.

"Thank you Hawk.. Nothing to report this eve, safe travels", with quick
words the exhausted guard was off.

Trahan quietly jumped from branch to branch and settled in for a moment to
oversee some of the woods that he now called home. Some of the trees bore
gashes and burns from near by battles, evidence of numerous clashes were
about in All directions. Some had resulted in the fall of some of his
kinsmen or even himself but the elves rose again and again and never slowed
there defense of this sacred ground. He lept down to a nearby pool to see
himself, his face aged and some smaller scares replaced flawless tissue. He
had battled, he had fallen, he had tried and failed, but always there was
the rise. Wether it was a lone patrol or in the heat of battle with his
cousins which he now thought of as family, they were there to help pick him
up and encourage him forward making sure his effort was true. He sighed and
continued his route with the threats of Scribpog echoing in his own head.

A threat to the entire land if his needs were not met, the entire land, was
the beast mad or capable. Scribpog had already done so much with what
seemed so little effort that it was not out of the question.

But what could he, a new member of the Guard do. He worried about his new
friend, Uruvion, after hearing that he took the place of Malorie so that she
would return and certain needs met. He worried about the condition of
Malorie, would she be the same after the exposure to the warp and time with
the beast. What of his Leader Juelian, how could one elf bear to be near
the center of it All and still hold his head above shoulder and lead the
clan.

"Damn it All you cursed Beast....." Trahan whispered as he felt a vast
majority of his joy which he had always carried to lift himself and cousins
alike, began to slip away.

And his patrol continued




Writer: Nehtur

Date Mon Apr 8 21:19:07 2019




Writer: Telthian
Date Mon Apr 8 21:45:18 2019

To All ( Scorn Necrucifer Imm Religion )

Subject Lost City - Shimmermist - I


-*-

Spellshaped doors of umbric silver withstood the banal onslaught of time
and elements without so much as a sign of fatigue. The oculus-like entry
lie solitary and arrogant on an expanse of dense, impregnable stone, barring
the only entry down into the long-cold forge of dae'Tok.

The Guardians stood clustered around the door, grave figures with blades
slick with black blood. Behind them, the Kingpriest worked the bindings
with a determined focus, unaware or unconcerned about the steady arrival of
Ghul summoned to the ruined foundry. Beyond the seal lie a fierce and
protean magic. They might carry the embers of it deeper into the ruins,
should it be borne by those strongly willed enough to shade it from the
wretches who lust for power above All else.

The Kingpriest tended to his task, and the Guardians to theirs. A hard life
in the Deathwatch built upon experiences steeped in blood and combat had
prepared them for this, and they made full use of that preparation. The old
warden barked orders, repositioning the men in the thick of the Ghul advance
with their brothers who were fresh and greedy for their share of the grim
work.

The ghul came in groups, testing their defenses and probing for weakness
without a shred of pause for any of their number impaled by a spear,
decapitated by a blade, or subdued by fire. But the warden and his men were
flesh and blood and bone. It was a matter of time before injury and
weariness would take their toll and cracks in their defenses would reveal
themselves.




Writer: Telthian

Date Mon Apr 8 21:48:31 2019

To All ( Scorn Necrucifer Imm Religion )

Subject Lost City - Shimmermist - II


-*-

Something twisted uncomfortably in Telthian's mind. A cold, sickening
sensation ran through him as the foreign suspicion took hold that he had
done this All before. That the men fighting behind him had squandered the
last moments of their lives to buy a few minutes that ultimately amounted to
nothing.

Within this courtyard, he managed to open the iris into the covenant's forge
only to find the protean source of magic had long since expired. His
convictions tested and found empty for yet another time, he would fall to
his knees as the ghul overran the warden's men. Within such tight confines,
there was no alternative but to accept his fate. He would take his share of
them before he went, but eventually, Telthian would die at the hands of the
ghul.

-*-

It didn't make sense to him, and elusive small fragments of memory cluttered
around him, jostling for his attention.

It was not how the Black Wind spoke. This was something else, and his
intuition screamed it was an unreliable recollection, a false memory hung
upon something tangible and real.

With considerable effort that he pulled himself back to the present. He had
found the last seal, his burnt hands tracing it as he fed what precious
vitality could into the lock. The mechanism within began to release, and
the iris parted enough to permit entry. His voice carried with it a
collective sense of urgency, cutting through the din.

Discipline and mastery wins the day when confronted with chaos and disorder,
and so was it in the courtyard of the foundry. Telthian and the warden were
the last to slip into the forge chamber, sealing the iris behind them, while
the corpses of the ghul already were being scavenged by their kin.




Writer: Telthian

Date Mon Apr 8 21:53:51 2019

To All ( Scorn Necrucifer Imm Religion )

Subject Lost City - Shimmermist - III


-*-

They stood in darkness for a time, catching their breath as the smell of
fresh sweat and blood invaded the musty air of the inner chamber. There was
no sound from beyond, not so much as the footfalls of their enemy or the
scratching of ghul on the umbric door. After a moment the command was given
to fan out. Making light as they could by torch or by spell, the chamber
was illuminated.

The warden was half expecting the appearance of some monstrous guardian or
champion of the ghul, a towering golem or patchwork beast with too many
limbs. The harsh light and hard shadows gave the foundry an artificial and
ethereal quality. Expelling a breath, the warden confessed his fear with a
sigh of relief and was met with brotherly chuckles and agreement. The
Kingpriest shot him a grin. That was a good sign.

Before them lie a forge. It was not impressive in size, nor overwrought
with gems, gold, or flowing script like one might observe with the elven
smiths, fond of pretense as they were. It was utilitarian, well cared for,
and entirely unassuming. The chamber, like its entryway, was untouched by
the struggles and catastrophes of the world outside.

Heavy clay jars stamped with the sign of the arcanaeum brimmed with oils for
the slack pools, though the waters had long since been stolen to the dry
air. The bellows would operate with minor repair. But most importantly,
recessed within the hearth kindled that protean glow, remaining just as it
had the day of the Doom, well appointed and hungry for work.

His vitality would stoke the ancient forge once more, and the plume would be
signal to both his fallen Master's servants and the Ghul alike, leading the
Kingpriest one step closer to finality.

Such was Telthian's observation, his conviction, and his expectation.

-*-




Writer: Telthian

Date Mon Apr 8 21:57:47 2019

To All ( Scorn Necrucifer Imm Religion )

Subject Lost City - Shadows Linger


-*-

The hellmouth is known for its boiling pits of sulfur, the ivory waste
the sun-bleached bones of soldiers long dead, and the blood lands its
shrieking wayward souls, but no place exerts quite the same influences upon
the susceptible as Dae'tok.

Time was ever a flexible asset within the city, yet even before its end
Dae'tok was haunted by the shadows of its own grandeur. The tectonics here
are ever-changing. Slowly, but it progresses so.

Shadows, literal and figurative still lie upon ruined homes and within the
minds of those pitiable few who thought they might find wealth, glory, or
even redemption in the ruins. The land on which the Imperium had been built
had once been blessed with abundance and ascendancy that surpassed all
others. The land stood green and promising in the summer months, rising
gently from the frigid waters of the inland lakes.

And now, the whole region seemed undefinable tainted. The lands itself were
mired in degeneration and pestilence against which there was no recourse, a
festering wound left to rot away that could not be cleansed by the choking
snow or ice nor the procession of time. Many who sought the riches of
Dae'tok perished there. They died within, sublimated and twisted by the
Ghul. It is a perilous path where dark figures chitter and screech, and few
who escaped beyond the icy curtain survived it intact.

After the Doom, the Knights came. Self-styled inquisitors and confessors
who saw things that assured them of their righteous nature. They were quick
to declare victory and return back to more hospitable climes, leaving behind
the standards of Madaur, dePaynes, and d'Aggravaine. But the blight
festering beneath the ice was out of sight and out of mind. In this, the
Ghul kept their secrets and grew cunning in that keeping.

From within the depths of the ruins, they could leak her influence back into
the frozen world above and slip between the cracks, soaking into the waking
lives and color every decision with delicate shades of malice. A clawed
hand carefully picking away at the fragile strands that bound together a
tenuous unity.

-*-




Writer: Ithelim

Date Tue Apr 9 02:08:00 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Tue Apr 9 09:44:52 2019

To All Shalonesti Chaos imm rp Malachive

Subject Filet o' elf



Scribpog sat in front of the bound Uruvion, the wooden crate hardly
holding his weight as it creaked and popped. The bugbear reached into his
sheath and pulled out his serrated dagger, in his off hand he grabbed the
elf before him by the head, his large hand gripping tight as he tucked the
elf's chin into his elbow.

Scribpog plunged the dagger into the elf's throat, the sound of flesh being
spliced and bones being splintered filled the hull. Blood poured out and
coated everything around Scribpog, his body was covered. Once the elf's
head came off the body slumped to the floor and Scribpog chucked the
lifeless head over his shoulder, causing it to make a thud against the wall
behind him.

Scribpog stood and grabbed the body. His dagger pressed easily against the
skin as he cut around the wrists and ankles, filleting the skin open without
cutting anything beneath. It took Scribpog nearly an hour of perfect blade
strokes and execution before, in his hand, he held the skin of the elf.

Scribpog left the ship with the skin in hand and travelled to the realm of
Terror. Dismissing the two headed giant, he unwrapped the unconscious
Malorie and carried her off, leaving her and the skin at the Vallens door.




Writer: Kyrlynn

Date Tue Apr 9 12:03:45 2019

To Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Zandreya Malachive Scribpog All ( Imm Rp Religion Scorn )

Subject Unexpected find



With the Emperor currently resting, Kyrlynn took a moment to return to
the vallens and check on things there. When she reached the gates, the
guardian Lanac Sha'falas reported that he had heard some rustling and
thought he might have seen the bugbear in the forest. After searching
around the gates, she came across the unconscious form of Malorie. She
quickly called out to Lanac and determined that the woman was indeed alive.


She sent Lanac to gather the clerics while she assessed the woman's injuries
and prepared to move her into the groves. She noted the cut on her cheek as
well as how badly burned her feet were. Kyrlynn winced inwardly and shook
her head, cursing the bugbear under her breath. Within moments the clerics
rushed out to see to the speaker's wife and Kyrlynn stepped back to give
them room.

'Its not safe out here, let us get her inside. ' They All agreed and with
the singer and Lanac's help, they moved Malorie into the groves. More
clerics came and took Kyrlynn and Lanac's place, assuring them that they
would tend to her as best they could. The guardian nodded and returned to
his post outside the gates while Kyrlynn watched the clerics carry the elven
woman off.

She decided that she should take a better look around now that the Speaker's
wife was being tended to, so she headed back out the gates. The elf
returned to where she had found Malorie and began to look around the area.
It took only moments for her eyes to spot something that made her blood run
cold. She swallowed hard as she approached something that was laying on the
forest floor.

The color drained from her face as she stepped back a moment and grabbed her
stomach. 'It... Can't be.. ' It took her a moment to calm the lurching of
her stomach before she unsheathed a sword and used the tip to inspect the
item. She lifted her free hand to her mouth, the back of her hand pressed
against it as she clenched her eyes shut, 'Gods above, its an elven skin..
'
Kyrlynn stepped back and paced back and forth a moment, taking deep breaths
as she tried to calm herself, though she muttered and cursed the bugbear
continuously. It took her several moments, a pack and some towels but
somehow she managed to gather the skin up carefully and stow it away before
she lost the contents of her stomach several feet away.

She made her way back to the grove and to the Lhedr-Eowyl Pond where she
knelt down and splashed some water onto her face. Once she regained her
bearings, she stood up and grabbed some parchment and a quill. She had
reports to write.




Writer: Vincent

Date Tue Apr 9 16:00:16 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Ithelim Rasavadi Tamaska All ( Necrucifer Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject Finding the Nullstone: Fate Misunderstood - pt. 1



It was a simple contract. One so menial that Dorgal "The Avalanche"
Vendrickson was initially insulted at its offer. Find a boy. Take a rock
from him. Return it here. Here, into the wastelands of Icewall, far from
society and convenience. Too far from convenience to be tasked with getting
a simple stone.

Yet as odd a request and as outlandish as its maker was, the contractor had
offered subsequent compensation. Jeweled eggs by the dozen, worth far more
than the object they were to retrieve. Dorgal thought it a trap at first
then a poorly made joke second until the Ogre showed them what was promised.
The Avalanche had long subscribed to the philosophy of "seeing is
believing." The Ogre let him touch them, examine their authenticity. They
were the real deal.

Much like a reflex, the thought occurred to simply kill the Ogre and take
his prize. The Ogre was isolated, alone, singular in his offer and company.
Easier to walk away with a small fortune than to return for it later. The
odds may even have been in favor of the Ogre being far gone by the time they
returned, sent on a fool's errand by one of their rivals or victims'
associates, but the details were too complex for such a petty scheme. The
Avalanche Mercenary Company had never dealt with or antagonized anyone with
so much creativity as that.

"There is a Half-Elven boy traveling to Nordmaar, " the Ogre spoke. "He is
an herbalist by trade. You will know him by the symbol his satchel bears.
He carries with him a family heirloom a stone encircled with strands of
silver, copper, and gold.

Find him. Take it from him. Return it to me first. One-hundred and fifty
jeweled eggs in exchange for the stone.

Do we have a deal?
"

Dorgal's experience repressed his savage urges once the offer seemed, to the
best of his knowledge, earnest. Such treasure was often not as ill-guarded
as it appeared. Surely the Ogre was not truly
alone despite the remoteness
of their rendezvous spot. Others would be keeping watch over such wealth.


His gut feeling had long been a dependable ally. Now it warded him against
burgling this strange, secluded creature. Still Dorgal scrutinized the fine
print, briefly worded as it was.

"First? " asked the Avalanche, among several other pointed inquiries.

"Yes, " replied the Ogre. "There is at least one other like myself in
pursuit of the stone. It is imperative you find it first
... For I am the
most civil and amenable among us. No other would pay you so gratuitously,
nor welcome you so graciously.
"

More like this one after the stone? An Ogre in Nordmaar would stick out
like a dragon living in Greystoke. Better yet were it to become hostile the
native populace would rise to their defense. Dorgal and most of the Company
were, after all, locally born and raised. The contract was finalized and
taken without much further hesitation upfront, though the sincerity of the
offer remained questionable in the minds of many.

For the Avalanche Co. , Few winters had promised to be so easily weathered.
Nay, prosperous. The wealth would last them long beyond this harsh season,
even if spent lavishly at first. While they could not retire on the fund,
quality arms, armor, and a surplus of indulgences and supplies were about to
become quite affordable. In their minds, the eggs were already spent.




Writer: Vincent

Date Tue Apr 9 16:01:46 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Ithelim Rasavadi Tamaska All ( Necrucifer Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject Finding the Nullstone: Fate Misunderstood - pt. 2



For the young Half-Elf Marron Trent, however, this winter was to be his
last.

This "prized possession", his family heirloom, grew steadily heavier since
the wager made within that tavern twixt the Arkanian and Verminasian
borders. So easily the Ogre had lured the boy far from the warmth and
vibrancy of his Althainian home.

About a week after his victory over Mucky Jobte in a game of Nexus Holdem,
the "Trent-Stone" began attracting unwanted offers and attention of all
degrees where it had never done so before. It followed him through Arkania,
across the sea to Thalosia, and on to his master's hovel near the city of
Ofcol, just below the shadow of the Dwarven Mountain.

The heirloom, sentimental and precious to his forefathers as it was, grew
burdensome on young Marron. Why was it so sought after and why now All of a
sudden? Had Jobte, spiteful in his loss, placed a curse on him? Was it a
sign from his ancestors? Were they trying to tell him something from beyond
the grave? His want to dispose of the heirloom had grown such that it was
only checked by his trepidation of doing so.

The day the missive from Icewall arrived claiming to "explain everything",
Marron cast aside All skepticism to be rid of the troublesome rock. With
great haste and little respite from his slog through the Death Marshes,
Marron set off to meet with a man claiming to be of relation to his
Nordic-born mother. The Half-Elf's desperation to return to normality held
at bay the anxieties gnawing at the lining of his gut.




Writer: Maccus

Date Tue Apr 9 16:04:29 2019




Writer: Uruvion

Date Tue Apr 9 16:50:28 2019

To Shalonesti Chaos Zandreya Malachive All ( Scorn Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Striking a Chord - I



His heart sank as a hot tear tear welled in his storm gray eye then
rolled down his cheek. What he saw was unspeakable, unnecessary, and
something he never wanted to see or think about again. He was truly sorry
for the elf that Scribpog had brought from the Vallens, just to make the
eldritch suffer.

Each hand was pinned by a nail, but luckily he was on a storage crate to
support his weight. He said a silent prayer to Zandreya then took a deep
breath. "Hey kid. What're you doing here?"

Some scrappy looking fellow that couldn't be no further along than his mid
teens peeked around the door and in to the ship's storage compartment.
"Guarding you."

"You don't belong here, there's nothing for you here, and you don't belong
with that beast, or with the Warp. You can still make a choice."
Uruvion
took another deep breath then tried to pull his left hand away from the
inner hull of the ship some. A grunt and a good choice of curse words were
muttered under his breath. "Look, I'm really thirsty and I'd love some
water. Would you get me some?"


The teenager looked around quickly to see if any others, mainly Scribpog was
back or around before he gave a mousy nod. A couple quiet moments passed
then the scrappy teen appeared with a small cup of water. Uruvion wasn't
lying, he really was thirsty.

The eldritch eyed the young guard then smiled some. "You can give me the
water, or you can help me. I'd prefer you help me. Call it pride."

The water bearer looked at the pinned elf curiously, taking a glance back
over his shoulder ever so often. "What do you want?"

Now the senator was getting somewhere. Something struck a chord in the
teen. "I'm going to need you to take the nail out of my left hand, that's
all. After that, you can tell the others what's happening, or you can go
home to what I'm guessing is some worried parents. I'm not going to do
anything to you. Sound like a deal?"


The look of relief on the young man instantly took over as he pushed a crate
of cargo in front of Uruvion's, the water set off to the side. "I don't
want to be here anymore."
The nail was worked free from the hammer left by
Scribpog, and Uruvion gritted his teeth as his arm dropped. He glanced at
the palm of his hand and noted a bandage would certainly be needed.

Uruvion smiled genuinely at his helper, "Can I have that water?" The
youngster held the cup out and Uruvion took it, enduring the numbing pain in
his hand and took a sip. "Thank you. You're going to make some people
happy. Now get on home, and Zandreya bless you and your family."
The
scrappy young guard nodded and turned and ran out without a word, leaving
Uruvion to himself.




Writer: Uruvion

Date Tue Apr 9 17:13:12 2019

To Shalonesti Zandreya Malachive Chaos All ( Scorn Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Striking a Chord - II



The water was downed just like the many shots of alcohol in his life he'd
drank, the cup tossed to the floor. Somewhat better, he gave a silent
chuckle, thinking how ironic it was that the one time he was glad his right
arm and hand didn't have any feeling in it and worked the nail out from the
palm. His hands free, hurting like hellfire he created an eldritch staff
and with the blessings of Zandreya, channeled nature's energy and up rose a
being made of pure earth. "Hello, Francis. Let's get the hell off this
ship."


Uruvion took a step and immediately a bark of pain and a word he rarely
used, especially around children blurted out from his mouth. The
earthlord's features, or what features an earthlord had seemed to show
discontent at the choice of the eldritch's word. Uruvion looked up at
Francis, "Nnyeuh. Whatever. You get poked in the hip and see how it
feels."


The lord of earth shrugged it's massive shoulders and sauntered by the elf
of the Vallen's side as they exited the cargo hold.

The ship was docked and those who were loyal to Scribpog and the Warp were
on shore. Francis the earthlord turned it's head to look at the small crew
and puffed it's chest. Uruvion peered at each one, not one seemed to be a
full fledged adult. Easy minds to twist and taint.

"I want you All to understand something. I'm beyond pissed and can set this
ship, you, and this ground on fire. But today, you can choose. The Warp,
or family, your God who hasn't abanddoned you, and life."


Just like the scrappy teen who helped Uruvion and left, so did the rest of
the crew, and quite hurridly. Uruvion patted the earthlord on what could be
a shoulder. "Go home."

Francis looked as it melted in to the ground and was gone. The eldritch
lifted his staff as a glow surrounded it, his head and chin lifted to the
sky, "Thank You, Mother." Landing next to him and folding her wings was
his gryphon, ready to take him back home to the Vallens.





Writer: Rasavadi

Date Tue Apr 9 22:19:43 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Eclipse All Imm RP Religion Ampersand Cayenna

Subject Departure



There was a quiet knock on his state room door. "h-h-Highlord, the
Captain says the tide is nearly favorable to depart."

"Thank you Clarence. Have All arrived? "

"Yes my'Lord, the last couple are stowing their baggage now, and the other
two... D-dead ones are below."

"Good, inform the others then that I will meet with them after the sun sets
then, and tell the Captain to set sail when he feels its best.
"

"Yes sir."

Turning his head toward the litter of missives on his desk Rasavadi pondered
over one. On one side was a waxen seal bearing the crest of d'Aerthe which
was normal. What wasn't normal was the fact that he couldn't open it with
nail, knife, or halberd. Flipping the envelop over his mothers familiar
script taunted him. "It will open when they are ready. "

"Then send it when they are ready... " he growled, yet carefully stowed the
letter in his map case.

"Ship leaves for Icewall when the tides are ready! Make sure your things
are stored away before then!
" the Captain bellowed.

Rasavadi smiled at the Captains efficiency and looked out his port hole.
"Hrm, nightfall in a couple hours, and the ebon moon is out and full...
Time to do something I haven't done in a long, long time.
"




Writer: Rasavadi

Date Tue Apr 9 22:52:16 2019




Writer: Vincent

Date Wed Apr 10 16:43:05 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Ithelim Rasavadi Tamaska All ( Necrucifer Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject Finding the Nullstone: The Devil's Deal - pt. 1



As he departed the sheltered warmth of Nordmaar's Viking's Tavern, Dorgal
could predict what would happen when he raised his hand in farewell to his
blood kin Marron Trent.

He could predict that his gesture would signal his lieutenant Borislav to
would slit the Half-Elf's throat in cold blood and pilfer the stone from his
satchel. He could predict the patrons, many whose faces and families he was
familiar with, would pay little mind to and speak nothing of the boy's all
too casual assassination. He could predict his gold, which was given to the
tavern keep in advance, would pay for the clean-up of their mess and
disposal of Trent's remains.

Most, if not all, of Dorgal's predictions came true.

Borislav met Dorgal and the rest of the Company within their rented stables
later that day. Here in respite from the biting cold, the Avalanche was
presented his prize. For the first time, Dorgal was able to truly inspect
the stone. It fit snugly into his large palm and though it had weight to it
the stone wasn't overly heavy. Like most large, solid objects it would
certainly hurt to be hit with, but beyond its reflective, blue sheen it was
just as plain as any other rock.

Though it appeared to be quartz, to Dorgal it more resembled the black,
volcanic stones found along the coast. Even the threaded precious metals
banding it weren't worth what the Company was promised for it. More silver
and gold clinked around in Dorgal's pocket than the amount used in the
circlet's creation. The Avalanche again doubted the contract's validity.

Dorgal enjoyed being punctual in his work and with his clients but he knew
better than to test the fury of Icewall's storms. The job nearly finished,
they would set out once the inclement weather had passed. The Company's
roots and connections would see them sheltered and safe while the men
enjoyed a moment of respite.

For almost two days straight, Turpa's wrathful spirit pummeled the territory
without relent. The weather abated early into the second evening of the
Company's stay, the fallen goddess placated for a time. Preparations,
checks, and re-checks for a distance so far and remote would require several
hours at least and Dorgal wished to leave at sunrise.

The Company numbered 16 strong, 17 including The Avalanche himself. Amidst
their wagons and sleighs, caribou, and musk oxen they gathered within their
stables. They spent the remainder of the long winter night making ready for
the arduous return trip, sleeping in shifts and rebutting the cold in the
solace of their pack animals' radiant warmth. For them it was a night like
any other.




Writer: Vincent

Date Wed Apr 10 16:49:04 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Ithelim Rasavadi Tamaska All ( Necrucifer Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject Finding the Nullstone: The Devil's Deal - pt. 2



Night's grasp weakened in the early morning hours preceding dawn. A
hundred some paces away from the party's stables Dorgal sat atop a fallen
pine, alone save for the warm company of a small, crackling campfire. He
enjoyed the quiet of this solitude, a time of day oft All too quick to pass.

The skies had cleared following the storm, bathing the snow covered land in
the twin moons' red and white glow. Dorgal could even point out the
shadowed black moon, a rounded void amidst the starry backdrop across which
an aurora danced. Icy sheets had formed atop the snow drifts, causing the
light to reflect and refract in a display of natural allure.

The crisp air was still save for the occasional stray and gentle eddy. The
campfire and mug of spruce tea Dorgal nursed in his large, calloused hands
repelled the cold to his satisfaction. His head bowed forward, basking his
scarred face in the crisply sweet steam rising from his cup. The
comfortable silence lulled him to rest his eyes and briefly doze as he
habitually did throughout the day in place of true sleep.

A gust of cold wind caused Dorgal to wake from his nap prematurely. It was
not the breeze itself, for he was no stranger to either the cold or the
wind, but the whistling it produced. He thought he had heard whispers upon
it, in what language he couldn't make out. The Avalanche quickly surveyed
his surroundings for potential assailants and, upon seeing nothing and no
one, shook his head in dismissal of the thought. It must have been his
dreaming subconscious.

He lowered his face to take a long sip of tea and bring his mind back to the
waking present. No more than two seconds had passed, but when Dorgal looked
up he found a pair of unfamiliar eyes staring back at him.

Seated on a log across from him in a pose mirroring his own was now a raven
haired man garbed in worn chain mail. The tabard covering his torso was old
and slightly tattered, as was the dark cloak wrapped loosely around his
person. The leather of his boots and gloves had sustained the test of time,
but time had left its mark. His eyes were starkly blue and glassy such that
the flames before him seemed to dance across their mirrored surfaces.

Despite the man's strange and sudden appearance, Dorgal felt no alarm.
There were few things to fear here surrounded by his men and in the
heartland of his native country.

"Y'lost? ", the Avalanche inquired. His tone implied the man was where he
shouldn't be.

The stranger did not reply immediately, but kept his wordless gaze fixed
upon Dorgal. When he did finally speak, it was not the answer Dorgal
expected.

"Dorgal "The Avalanche" Vendrickson, founder and leader of the Avalanche
Mercenary Company.
" The man's voice was deep and pointed, clear but quiet
enough for civilized conversation.

"Y'found mae, " Dorgal loosed a raspy chuckle. "State yer bus'ness or clear
mah camp.
"

"You recently took something from a Half-Elf named Marron Trent, " the man
accused with unfailing confidence. "A stone, black as the starless sky and
bound in threads of copper and precious metals.
"




Writer: Vincent

Date Wed Apr 10 16:51:44 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Ithelim Rasavadi Tamaska All ( Necrucifer Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject Finding the Nullstone: The Devil's Deal - pt. 3



"Ah'll boite, " Dorgal replied with a hoarse chuckle. The conversation,
while not loud was neither hushed, had stirred the attention of some of his
men. They kept watch at an inconspicuous distance, most camouflaged against
or within the stables' structure. It was only a matter of minutes before
Higgsly "The Hawk" Ghydsotch, one of his foremost veterans, would return
from his predeparture scouting trip.

"Wot abou' et? "

"Nothing about it at all. "

A small smile tugged his lips upward, at what Dorgal could not tell. The
gesture only fed the flames of Dorgal's irritation. His ambiguous answer
was near enough to bring it to an inferno.

"Let's make a deal, Vendrickson. "

The cadence of the man's speech never wavered and save that single, fleeting
smile, it remained cast as a statue. Only the brave or the foolish would
appear so untroubled, so at rest, in his present situation. Dorgal scoffed
and grinned ear to ear. How could this be anything but a joke?

"Yae loike makin' deals, eh? " Dorgal snickered again before All amusement
faded from his face, giving way to flesh of thunder and stone. "Ah've go'
ah deal fer ye then.
"

The Avalanche put down his cup and rose to his full height. He stood just
over seven feet with a colossal build to match. His attire of leathers,
furs, and the odd plate decorated with trinkets of metal and bone only
seemed to make him All the larger and fierce. It was easy to imagine why
Dorgal received his moniker, for few but Half-Ogres or "Half-Men" regularly
reached such size. The man who remained seated, while perhaps a foot
shorter than Dorgal but still tall for a Human, looked like a mere
adolescent by comparison.

"First: Ye goin' t'tell mae why tha 'ell et es that tha rock wants fer such
attention. Then: Ye goin' t'convince mae why Ah shouldn'ave 'Iggsly o'er
there warm up on yer peachae Sou'ern arse fer target practice.
"

Dorgal jerked his head towards the forested border of the compound, alluding
to the marksman that lie hidden within.

"Yer en ah bad place, lad. "

The man rose to his feet then as well and turned his gaze to the shadowed
treeline. He mimicked Dorgal's nod.

"That "Higgsly" over there? "

"Aye. Tha' Higgsly thar. Quit stallin', boy. Ye got till sunrise t' make
yerself straight... Ah figure tha ain't too far off now.
"

The smaller man's eyes returned to meet the Avalanche's brooding gaze. Now
that the man stood upright, Dorgal could make out the crest of Verminasia
woven into his frayed, abyssal tabard. A suit of chain mail covered what
parts of his person that cloth and leather did not. His armor, though worn,
in addition to the weapons and jewelry Dorgal now spied, were certainly
valuable. All the less reason to keep the fool intruder alive, never mind
entertained.

"More than you know, " the man scoffed in response.

"The offer is this, Dorgal Vendrickson: Take me with you on your return to
the one who provided this contract. Whatever reward you're due is yours to
keep. I've no interest in the stone you carry.

I will provide myself sustenance and, as a courtesy, will unfailingly
protect anything within six feet of my person. My word is bond.

My only other demand is to ride within one of your covered sleighs, I care
not which or what with. The burden of my presence is so light as to go
unnoticed.
"

Another grin broke through the storm clouds of Dorgal's face, but it lacked
the jovial vibrancy of its predecessor. This grin was dark, even
malevolent, for it precluded a sadistic act which would satisfy its wearer's
ire. It met a steel wall, for still this man appeared unafraid and wholly
serious.

Dorgal rose one massive hand into the air, stationing to signal for the
meddler's execution by crossbow.

"Best hope wha'ever yer offerin' bae worth mah weight en diamon's, lad. Yer
teeterin' on tha' edge now.
"





Writer: Vincent

Date Wed Apr 10 16:54:11 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Ithelim Rasavadi Tamaska All ( Necrucifer Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject Finding the Nullstone: The Devil's Deal - pt. 4



"That is the offer, " the stranger shot back. "Refuse or betray me and I
slaughter you All every man, every beast, except for you. You I will
dismember and carry in tow, strapped still living to a sled of your own
rotting limbs as I ravage everything that has ever brought you comfort or
joy.
"

Thunder and lightning cracked across Dorgal's visage as he clenched his jaw
and narrowed his eyes. His raised arm quaked with anger begging for the
tension to be released. A strange notion scratched from the back of his
mind restraining his rage enough to let the man finish.

"Do we have a deal? "

"Worst an' last mistake o' yer life, ye daft 'oreson. "

The man's words plucked a familiar string in the back of Dorgal's mind,
though it was buried beneath the cacophony of anger swelling in his head.
In a swift downward motion Dorgal released the tension in his arm, flagging
Higgsly to loose his bolt.

Nothing.

Heavy were the few seconds which followed as they trudged past with uneasy
quiet. For the first time in decades, his gesticulation went without a
hair-trigger response. The man before him stood intact, unmoved, and
appeared as if still awaiting an answer to his "offer." Then came the
screaming.

Wailing cries of agony, more beast-like than man, pierced the forested
treeline from where Higgsly's shot should have launched. Higgsly stumbled
forward and into view from his ambush spot, arms clenched tightly over his
torso. Behind him trailed a spattered line of dark crimson streaks and
blotches, staining the once pristine snow. The pale skin of his face was
unrecognizable under the mask of blood he now wore, his own that covered his
hands and soaked through the cloths clinging to his convulsing person.

The Hawk's screams paused only long enough for him to replenish his breath
and resume again. Even then they were sometimes stifled by the pain,
causing Higgsly to choke and sputter before continuing his tortured song.
The marksman collapsed no more than three yards from where Dorgal and the
stranger stood, his screams falling with him into silence.

Intent on skewering the man before him, Dorgal reached down to clasp the
hilt of his short sword. In the time it had taken him to blink, he now
found both his weapon and hand stuck fast under the stranger's crushing
grip. Dominant hand folded over his waist, no matter how hard he struggled
Dorgal could not wrest himself from this awkward position without further
disadvantaging . Despite the bewilderment rampaging through his mind, the
Avalanche soon realized he was at the mercy of this smaller man.

"Unwise, Vendrickson, " the stranger placidly remarked. It was only now
that he stood face to face with the man that Dorgal noted his words came
unaccompanied by the fog of warm breath. His eyes appeared hollow as if
vacant life and yet some manner of "life" stared back from behind them,
inexplicably terrifying and inhuman at best.

"Accept or suffer further losses, mercenary. As you said, we've until
sunrise to reach an agreement.
"

"... Foine, devil. Ah accept yer 'deal. '", Dorgal seethed with stubborn
acquiescence and a wounded ego. The Avalanche maintained his glare but
offered no further resistance.

"Excellent... I'm going to release you now and see myself to the stables.
I would go tend to your Higgsly before he bleeds out on the ice. Are we
understood?
"

"Aye, we're un'erstood, " the mercenary agreed with a grim nod. The man
released Dorgal's wrist as promised and started towards the cover of the
stables.

Dorgal whistled and signaled for his men to collect Higgsly. A pair jogged
forward, wading into the untouched drifts to attend their comrade. They
were flanked by crossbowmen on either side who kept their eyes on the
treeline in search of Higgsly's unseen assailant.

The ridiculous contract seemed less and less a ruse.




Writer: Scribpog

Date Wed Apr 10 22:26:03 2019

To All Uruvion imm rp Malachive

Subject Burial at sea



Scribpog sat within the marbled halls of the Warp and leaned back against
the couch. A stash of hearts coming close to fifty sat next to him, the
blood pooling and coagulating under its mass. The bugbear slowly picked up
each on and tossed it into the air and caught it before throwing it toward
the Blood tree. It did not speak in his mind, nor was there glee in the
air. The hearts did not belong to the Vallens, they were All of his own
puppets.

Scribpog leaned forward and picked up a scorched plank of wood. His clawed
fingers ran over the plank as his mind wandered and reminessed over what
took place on the ship.

As Scribpog boarded the ship to finally claim his prize, the crew began to
panic in a frenzy, each quickly pointing fingers and blaming one another for
the elf's escape. Scribpog's brow furrowed as a blaze of anger crawled
across his face. Slowly and with precision, the bugbear drew his serrated
sacrificial dagger and a sword wreathed in flames.

Screams began to pour out as the bugbear began to slaughter the unarmed crew
without mercy. Some begged for their lives, others crawled into the fetal
position and prayed to the gods who turned a blind eye to the non believers.
Once each member was dead, a hooded elf holding a bag began to follow behind
the bugbear and drew out the exposed hearts.

Once the tithe to Malachive was collected Scribpog stood at the back of the
ship and lifted the flaming blade high into the air. His body trembled and
shook as he plunged the blade down into the deck of the ship. With
calculated steps, the sharp blade was dragged from rear to front of the
ship, setting the entirety of its body ablaze, including the collection of
its felled crew.

Scribpog closed his heavy eyelids and expelled a heavy sigh before looking
around himself. His exposure to the battle was long over and now his body
was drained. So much plotting and planning gone to waste by a lowly crew of
sailors. Now was time to rest because the war would pick up once again.




Writer: Riordan

Date Thu Apr 11 13:51:59 2019

To Verminasia Shadow All ( Necrucifer Imm RP Religion Ampersand Cayenna )

Subject [Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt] - Returned.


The path to Eastdrift Redoubt had gone from being not much more than trails
to something of a small road, albeit a snowy one. Roughly every hundred yards
metal poles had been hammered into the ground with an iron-wrought lantern
containing a ball of light fixed to each.

Leaving a trail to Eastdrift so visible might've seemed risky but to Riordan
it seemed worse to have workers, soldiers and equipment get lost on their way.

He had already visited some months prior, trying to keep the troops and workers
morale up, to show them that they were not forgotten, to bring letters from home.
Now on his return he had now brought along a large sled which held gifts and
additional items for the men and women of the encampment - things sent along
by their families such as letters, personal items and some luxuries only found
back home in Verminasia gathered by his hand, a token of appreciation offered
in the name of the Verminasian Crown.

Riordan's stay in Eastdrift would likely be long and a small part of him looked
forward to it beyond the duty connected to it. Being among those who would not
speak of futility, those who still held hope and faith helped him in ways he
couldn't quite put words to.

Riordan was suddenly jostled out of his thoughts by a burly, mostly-frost-bearded
soldier. "Thank you, Advisor!" he rumbled, shaking Riordan's hand so vigorously that
he thought the whole arm might come off. The soldier had just received a bundle
from home and a bottle of rum.

Giving a sharp nod, Riordan exctracted his hand from the soldier's grip and gave
the fellow a pat on the shoulder. "The Crown and Verminasia appreciates your service."
He repeated the words again and again as packages and bottles of rum were given to each
worker and soldier. Even those who wouldn't expect a package from home were offered
the same rum, and a bundle of necessary items, each bearing the mark of Verminasia
and the province Gogothath.




Writer: Nymaya

Date Thu Apr 11 23:09:14 2019




Writer: Geirhart

Date Fri Apr 12 15:44:40 2019

To Althainia Austinian All Imm Religion

Subject Remembrance II



Geirhart stood in his room at the Inn, the medal in his hand glinted from
the sunlight coming through the window. He looked at it and then looked at
his priestly vestments. He still wore his normal attire. Perhaps he
wouldn't return back to his service just yet.

The old man closed his eyes, his brow wrinkled as he concentrated on the
image in his mind. It was a road, the one that lead to his old house. Then
he gathered the divine energy and stepped through a gate. He opened his
eyes and was greeted by a boy staring at him in disbelief.

The young lad was skinny, All arms and legs. Geirhart knew this young man
had never seen true magic. The boy's eyes, wide as saucers, changed as they
recognized something.

'Grandpa? Grandpa it is you! You did magic! '

His grandson ran into his arms, the boy's grip strong and welcoming. Then
he peppered Geirhart with questions as All curious children.

'Now now, enough of that. I will tell you All my stories as we walk. Is
Papa or your mother home? '

'Yes, sir. Both are home and Ma is making meat pie! It's the best. Are
you staying Grandpa? Are you back? '

Geirhart smiled a bit and said, 'For a few hours but then I have to return
to the capital. I have some news that I wanted to share. '

His grandson skipped along as they walked towards the farmhouse at the end
of the lane. Geirhart recounted the recent world games, the arena battles,
ship races, and the various kingdoms that entered into the competition.

The boys eyes widened at the tales and Geirhart smiled at his grandson.
Here was innocence. He has missed this.




Writer: Symantha

Date Fri Apr 12 19:25:22 2019




Writer: Arahnia

Date Fri Apr 12 20:51:22 2019




Writer: Vincent

Date Sat Apr 13 00:34:23 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Eclipse Rasavadi All ( RP Necrucifer Ampersand Cayenna )

Subject Lost City - Of Goat's & Ram's Skulls


Fully dilated this night, the Black Moon cast its baleful gaze upon
Rasasvadi through the frigate's porthole, boring into the red scaled helmet
to meet the abyssal coals that peered back from below.

Rising from his prayer, the Yinnae turned to meet yet another set of eyes
wanting - demanding - his attention in the late hours of the night. These
glowed with red hellfire against the stygian backdrop of the hall below
decks, unblinking and focused upon him with perfect clarity.

"Donimas," the demon seethed with harsh brevity.

The shadows cast by the ship's skeleton tugged and pulled at the borders of
his person, distorting the appearance of his outline and extremities to the
affect that he himself appeared comprised of them. Whatever dark power he
had retained in this worldly binding seemed magnified under the pull of the
full moon.

At that the High Lord knew immediately the archfiend's business. The
intensity of the exchange which followed came not in the form of violence or
raised voices, but in pointedly sharp words and hammering rebuttals.

Though the ambient din of the rocking vessel was enough to muffle the
dispute from the crew and their comrades in the adjacent rooms, for those
few souls who wandered past the tension was tangible to more sense than one.
The body language and posturing of the obstinate veterans clearly betrayed
the restraint with which they verbally assailed each other.

Powerful but brief, the squall died out quickly as most strong storms do.
Despite the admonishment which dripped from de Vere's teeth, Rasavadi
staunchly refused to revoke his admission of the Fatalite into the reformed
Eclipse. Xaran'xaxes, whose basest instinct urged the fiend to sink the
ship there and then, was not so foolish as to squander his master's few
remaining champions within the realm.

The two had reached an impasse.




Writer: Shilo

Date Sat Apr 13 17:58:25 2019




Writer: Rasavadi

Date Mon Apr 15 19:34:01 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Eclipse All Imm RP Religion Ampersand Cayenna

Subject Lost City - The Lecture and Arrival



Rasavadi rose from his prayer to the glowing eyes of the Field Marshall.
He knew this would come eventually, at least it happened out here where he
could just tie a cannonball to his leg and pitch him overboard for eternity
if necessary.

Many did not believe as Rasavadi did, about the value, worth and potential
of both Donimas and Maccus, yet he was rarely wrong about these things in
the long term, and the long war was the only war Rasavadi fought.

Rising from his knees to his full standing height Rasavadi peered down his
long, Aspect torn snout into the eyes of the Knight. Harsh words were
spoken in harsh tones, but in the end Vincent issued the ultimatum. That he
would destroy Donimas if he was not cast out.

This was not the first time he heard these same words, though last time they
were issued by the White Robed Wizard, Rumptin. Little did most know that
Donimas had cast aside his aspiration for power, sacrificed the pinnacle of
power a mage could attain, so Rasavadi wouldn't face the Tribunal.

It mattered not that Rasavadi had won the Tribunal, even if he had lost,
Rasavadi knew full well the potential that lay within that cold, blackened,
dead heart.

"Until we fly under one banner truly, I groom whom I choose to. I find the
ultimatum you issued interesting, since we both share a war with the Horde
for precisely the same reason.
" Rasavadi snarled and stormed past the
Knight onto the open deck.

"Eclipse! Attention to orders! " he bellowed loud enough that even a large
part of the ships crew snapped to attention.

The second we hit East Drift after we land we will be in hostile territory
against enemies none of you, or even myself eventually, have faced. You
will live and die upon your ability to carry out orders without question.
Kill without question. I asked each and every one of you if you were
willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Each of you responded yes, each of
you will be held to it. Up there on the field of honor you only have each
other. Your brothers and sisters of blood and steel. No other bond exists,
no other bond matters. Some of you will not return from East Drift, let
alone dae'Tok, but that is ok because the Eclipse lives forever. Therefore,
you will live forever!

The gathered crowd cheered as Rasavadi performed an about face his boots
clicking so hard at the heels it could be heard below decks. Stepping
forward into his state room he was stopped by Clarence. Highlord, a raven
came for you with this.

Expecting another cryptic message from his mother he took the case and
entered the room, shut the door, and then stopped in his tracks. This
scroll was from the shade of Crelius.




Writer: Maccus

Date Tue Apr 16 15:48:55 2019

To Shadow Verminasia Eclipse All Imm RP Religion Ampersand Cayenna

Subject Unloading and prepared



Rasavadi's speech stirred within his mind, the excitement buzzed
throughout the ship as they began unloading the supplies. Maccus noticed
several men who seemed more rattled than motivated, 'Some are not as fierce
as you, my love.
' as Sofka whispered in his ear briefly as she carried a
box of supplies down the gangplank. Food, weapons, medicine and other much
needed supplies were headed toward East Drift. Much of this he had done
before, only this time he had felt a much greater meaning to it, something
more important.

A small swell of pride jumped through him as he went and reported to the
Captain of the ship that All but the supplies had been unloaded. After
reporting that to the Captain of the ship, he turned to head down to the
bunks, with several others joining him as they All moved to collect whatever
personal belongings they brought. Without much thought he began to arm
himself completely in his chainmail. Much of it had seen plenty of battle
in what he has done before, yet he trusted it, as much as he trusted his
blades. After he had donned the armor he made his way towards. After which
he made his way to Rasavadi's quarters, knocking on the door several times
before stating loudly for the Highlord to hear through the wood 'Sir, the
supplies are loaded and most of the troops have already formed and are ready
to march
'

He turned from the door after an acknowledgement from Rasavadi, however the
words he did not catch. Running along the ship now as he makes his way to
catch Sofka preparing to join the march as well.




Writer: Tamaska

Date Tue Apr 16 18:40:18 2019

To All Shadow Verminasia Eclipse Imm RP Religion Ampersand Cayenna Scorn

Subject Lost City - Arrival


Cold and Wet. Tam didn't mind the cold so much anymore. It had been a
considerable adjustment during the first part of the expedition since she
had grown up in the warmth of Shokono. Narsh, having grown up in the harsh
cold of Icewall, had found her preparations quite amusing. She did not like
the combination of being cold and wet though, it put her in a foul mood.
Everything up on the main deck of this wooden death trap was cold and wet.

She stood on the deck of the ship, watching the crew from a distance as most
of them stayed away from the guardian. A scrawny, young crew member eyed
her as he climbed down from the mast. She tipped her head and noticed his
shivering as well as his eyes fixated on the flask she was holding and
occasionally sipping. The guardian grunted in amusement and slid her red
dragon helm off as she motioned the boy over. He looked even more
intimidated when her eyes met his.

The boy nervously approached Tam and stammered, 'Y-yes Ma- I mean Guardian.
' The guardian chuckled softly and extended the flask towards the boy, 'You
look cold, have a sip and then get on with your duties.' Eagerly, the boy
grabbed the flask and lifted it to his lips, 'A sip.. I don't need you
passed out on the deck or worse.. I'm not swabbing up a mess. ' She
watched the boy tip the flask back and nearly choked in laughter as she
watched his reaction.

Tam deftly caught the flask as the boy dropped it and watched as he doubled
over in a coughing fit. Extending her free hand, she slapped the boy on the
back and nodded to another crewman nearbly, 'Keep him away from the railings
for a while. ' As she lifted the flask up and took a sip, she watched in
amusement as the boy was led away, already stumbling from the effects of the
alcohol.

"Eclipse! Attention to orders! " Tamaska looked up sharply at her
brother's words and returned her flask to the empty spot on her belt. As
she listened to Rasavadi's speech, her eyes drifted over the gathered
members of Eclipse and noted their expressions and reactions. She had made
her pledge long ago, her life was not hers anymore. Her life belonged to
Eclipse, her service and devotion to Necrucifer and her loyalty to her
brothers and sisters of blood and steel.

While she listened she dropped her hand down into her pack, pulling it and the
amphora inside closer against her side. Unlike the others, the Guardian
carried Eclipse with her every where that she went. The blood of those who
had taken their final vow to Eclipse as well as those who had died serving
eclipse lie within the amphora. She prayed that she'd not have to perform
anymore oaths posthumously but the reality was that she would likely have to
on this expedition and she knew it.

When the Highlord's speech was done, he left the deck and headed back to his
stateroom. She made a mental note to check in with him later, he was
snarling more than usual. Maybe he had found the extra furs she hid in his
packs. He'd thank her later or yell at her. She hefted her helm up and
slid it on before setting to gathering her own packs and items.

The Guardian aided a few crew and Eclipse members with heavy items on her
way off the ship but she was clearly in a rush to be back on solid ground.
As soon as she was, she drew in a deep cold breath of air and barked a few
instructions to Eclipse members as they prepared themselves to head to
Eastdrift. Everyone needed to be as prepared as possible for what was to
come, the more they were then perhaps the less number of Eclipse she would
have to both welcome and say goodbye to at the same time.

In one hand she clutched a medallion that had both Necrucifer's symbol and
an eclipsed sun as she waited and watched for her brother to exit the ship.
She was ready to get on to Eastdrift and find Nymaya and hopefully Narsh.
What patience she did possess had been carried away by the frigid cold
winds. The core members of Eclipse had been apart for too long.




Writer: Zola

Date Tue Apr 16 18:51:43 2019

To All Arkane Bloodlust Black_Robes Immortals Fatale

Subject X A Day in the Life of Zola X


There was a saying: rest was for the weary, sleep was for the dead.

It was eminently accurate when it came to describing the Deathscythe. True,
he kept up the pretense easily enough, and of course more than a few
believed he slept during the day, but this was untrue. Like a shark, Zola
was perpetually in motion, always working on something. His projects, both
professional, priestly, and personal, were piling up as time went on.
Countdown, Mirage, On High, and so on. Always with more work to do and
accomplish.


As Admiral of Arkane (if temporarily) he kept his main routine to the
daytime hours, of course. But always he kept inside, in the Captain's
quarters on the Azure Mystic, or else within the Haven. And such was his
own dread reputation that none of the deckhands and privateers dared to
disturb him unless it was a matter of grave importance. Which suited him
just fine. Let his own captains and officers deal with lesser concerns. He
would not otherwise emerge until the sun set on the horizon. It gave him a
chance to catch up on paperwork, both for the navy and for his side business
dealing in lumber.


When the sun went down, however...

Making sure a night watch was posted on the docks, Zola slipped away from
them to the Grand Temple of Fatale, in the Blood Lands. Dusk was a prime
time for prayer to his Dread Lord of Murder, and Zola always made sure to
give his lord His due at least once an evening. Intoning a prayer for His
guidance and strength. Speaking the names on his list aloud. And if the
previous day and night had been fortituous, providing a sacrifice and
spilling blood on the altar of Fatale. A day going by without a life ended
was considered a waste by his Dread Lord.


Some lesser gifted might've used this opportunity to feed, but Zola did not.
He was sustained purely by his faith, his body nourished by dark prayer. It
was the rare occasion he did sup or dine, and then only for appearances
sake.

His devotions complete, the remainder of the night stretched out before him,
to do with as he pleased. And he had much work to do.





Writer: Cettoce

Date Wed Apr 17 22:03:33 2019

To All Shadow Verminasia Eclipse Imm RP Religion Ampersand Cayenna

Subject [ Lost City - Eastdrift Redoubt ] - Soaring In


Soaring above the treeline, Cettoce surveyed the land below her. She was
assured by the Dark Kingdom's Advisor that there would be something
sufficient for her to consume when she made it to Eastdrift; however, the
likelihood of it being her preferred animal would be small. Such is but a
minor inconvenience to her considering the magnitude of the task the mortal
beings have set before them.

As she crests the next forest hill, she spies a lush green meadow and flock
of sheep grazing upon the delicate leaves. Upon noticing her presence, the
sheep begin to flock together and run as the natural fear of prey animals
grips them. When the flock cuts along a steep ravine, a large ewe loses her
footing and tumbles down the incline and lands on a ledge unable to stand.
Cettoce finds it a tragedy to let such a snack go to waste, and in her
benevolence, she decides to consume the ill-fated ewe.

With her stomach satiated, she continues towards Eastdrift, leaving some
bones and scraps of flesh for the carrion birds and scavengers. She spies
the faint trails of various cooking fires before the land reveals the
encampment to her. She lets out a roar over the camp announcing her arrival
as she circles around taking note of the three dominant banners flying over
the most significant structures and several smaller pennants denoting
individual groups. On some of the massive ridges overlooking the gathering,
she spies various flags indicating places that other firstborns have
claimed. Cettoce examines several of hills defining the outer edge of
Eastdrift as she flies around the campsite before she claims a ridge
suitable to her size and stature among the firstborn as her own.

A contingent of human servants scampers up the hill to greet her and see to
her needs as they mark the ridge for her similar to the other firstborns.
She begins setting out to make the space more comfortable for her temporary
stay as she waits for what is to come.




Writer: Crelius

Date Wed Apr 17 23:25:05 2019

To All Shadow Verminasia Rasavadi Necrucifer ( imm RP )

Subject Lost City - House of the Holy


Anguish came first. A scurrying feeling it was, as if a gull spooked
from its carrion. It moved on. Quick as it came. Never were they more
telling though, to his consciousness and the leftovers of his spirit, the
implications that bled out. Legacies and lies All spun for one eventuality
that was never meant to occur. Centuries and more of plans carefully hewn
in the guise of this, and that. The unfathomed and unfathomable. Yet it
had occurred. Contingency was now the seed of purpose.

He stood within the beaten and vandalized remains of a church that was built
as to not call itself a church. The foundation itself held host to many
visages in time, not unlike its architect. Physically it remained,
somewhere deep within the ghettos of an old and nasty city. How he appeared
within it he did not care to recall. As, with his own eyes, he had just
witnessed the undoing of a god and at this moment, the black winds howled
with madness.

Curiously he regarded his surroundings. Focusing on the roughly carved
altar that remained in defiant existence. He remembered the night so many
nights ago that his true vigil began.

'Take of my essence and forever be bound to my will, ' Necrucifer commanded
him. The young sacrifice drank willingly from the lifeblood of the divine


Jarred by that memory he unclasped the buckle of a weighted tool at his
side. Continuing to look on to the altar in his moment of recollection.

'Fill your cups that the triad might become whole. ' This time it was the
sacrifice who had spoken. Those directed nodded in absolution. One by one,
Shay, Isadore and young Reklah bled unto the altar.
The stygian aspect of
Atenum took from the three and gave hence his essence as he was once given
his. Bound now in the blood of everlasting, what remained was left to pool
and recede into the altar it was offered upon.


Contingency was the word that snapped his focus away from the memory. His
tool unclasped, he hefted the hammer and struck the altar. Its shell gave
way to the enchanted device as would a curtain parting a stage. Bits of
rubble remained in the altars place and at its center sat something that had
taken many life times to conceal. This was truly what Nagash had sought
from him some time ago. The old mage had not planned carefully enough.

The tarnished cylinder was plain and unremarkable. Taking it in his hand he
noted that the seal was still intact upon the stopper. Good. Its contents
important to the contingencies lying ahead.

A black wind entered the chamber and howled for the last time within that
place. Crelius faded into the gust and only stillness remained.



 


Dark


Dark & Shattered Lands (DSL)
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