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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

Unwise
Part One: Beyond Sound
Part Two: Beyond Sound
Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor
A Squire and his Gelding
Banter
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-01
Troubles in Rashburne (Part 1 of 2)
Troubles in Rashburne (Part 1 of 2)
Belief
Forgotten, Not Dead: Lacking Heart
Begin
FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD
Beneath the Surface
The Man With No Name
Back
Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor
Renewal
Besieged
+ A Masked Stranger + Part One
+ A Masked Stranger + Part Two
Another day at the docks ( Part 1 of 2 )
Another day at the docks ( Part 2 of 2 )
Forgotten, Not Dead: Heartening News
Forgotten, Not Dead: Kadiya
Bones
Betrayal
Next Stop Fiddichvale
The Monster Emerges
A Fervent Prayer
Prayer of Absolution
A Visit to Rumville
))Taking off the Gloves((
The Werewolf (1/9)
The Werewolf (2/9)
The Werewolf (3/9)
The Werewolf (4/9)
The Werewolf (5/9)
The Werewolf (6/9)
The Werewolf (7/9)
The Werewolf (8/9)
The Werewolf (9/9)
Blame
X Brush with Death - One X
X Brush with Death - Two X
Beach
+ A Masked Stranger + Part Three
A Disturbance 01
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-02
Bear
Frostbite
The Bishop and Death
)Counting the Cost(
You can't make an omelette... 1/?
You can't make an omelette... 2/?
Echoes of Eternity
Perfect Timing
Off to Raft Town
Quest for power or fireflies
A Diplomatic Mission (1/3)
A Diplomatic Mission (2/3)
A Diplomatic Mission (3/3)
A Needful Voyage ( Part 1 of 2 )
A Needful Voyage ( Part 2 of 2 )
Are fireflies power?
Candle
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-03
Chuckle
It wasn't me... blame the Raven
Eye of Kai

Cost
*X* Sorting the Chaff *X*
*X* Sorting the Chaff *X* pt. 2
Grist for the Mill
Rumors of a Broken Bond
Cut
New
Victim of circumstance
X We Are All Killers X
Sad sack
Funky Cheese and Grapefruit
Work
Way
Funeral of One (1/2)
Funeral of One (2/2)
Wedding
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-04
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-05
And so it begins
A New Journey ( Part 1 of 2 )
A New Journey ( Part 2 of 2 )
Forgotten, Not Dead: Random Acts
Moving the Prisoners
The price of killing
Dainty Delicate's of Desiring Damsels
Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-06
So a Golden Koi walks into a bar...
Thoughts
Close to You
Hrm.... Check please!!
Close to You (Harmony)





Writer: Odin
Date Mon May 30 19:34:38 2016

To All Imm Raije

Subject Unwise



{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn.....


"Vhere am I?"

"That's Irrelevant"

"Vhat do you mean it's irr..."

"Your mind does not possess the wisdom to comprehend, not your body maintain
the lifeforce to be able to sustain you while you fathom the depths of this
moment."


{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn.....


"Vell, I just vanted to know vhat..."

"No, you didn't want to know anything. You used your brawn to break that
which has not been broken. You tried to bludgeon your way out of a
situation that even the strongest could not not hope to master. You were
unwise."


{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn.....


"I vanted to find out vhat became ov my family, and..."

"Nonsense. You knew what you were going to find before you stuck your foot
against the path. There was no inquiry, only ignorance. You chose to
continue on, even though you had the answers you sought entangled into your
own mortal fears."


{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn.....


"I had to know, had to see for myself. I vas nay going to let the vords of
some druid be the only closure I vould ever have..."


"Wrong. You lie to yourself. Words have power, and the more you speak of
them, the less value they maintain without wisdom. Your words to me are
wasted, because you lie to yourself. You are alone. Face that."


{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn.....


{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn.....


"But there could have been a few vhich vould have valked avay, vere out
sailing, vere..."


"Hope is a fool's errand when it is not based in reality. The strongest
warrior in the world's brute strength is no match for even the smallest
draught of wisdom. Your ignorance blinds you from truth, because you
refruse to open your eyes."


{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn.....


"They can't All be gone. I can't be the last Volsung..."

"You can, and you are. That is the past and the present, but the future is
still Unknown."


{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Dunn.....

"THE FUTURE IS STILL UNKNOWN!"

{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dunn Dunn..... Dun Dunn.....


{pDun Dunn..... Dun Dunn..... Dun Du.....................





Writer: Celestaea

Date Tue May 31 00:22:38 2016

To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Laendyn Aiera (( Zandreya RP Religion ))

Subject Part One: Beyond Sound


"You will need to go in to the forest. Try to connect with the Song and tell
me about what you experience there," Aiera had said.

The night before, Celestaea had spoken with the Songkeeper for some time. A
new chapter of her life was opening up before her and while she constantly did
tell herself of the levity of her choice, she could not stop the excitement in
her heart. When she had first come to Shalonesti there had been a great amount
of information that she had not known. Slowly, over time, she had made friends
and had learned more about who she was, as an elf, as a citizen of the Vallens
and, perhaps most importantly, as a Daughter of the Green Mother, Zandreya. An
enormous wealth of information had been presented for her, as well, about life
within the Groves and about the past that had shaped the lives of All that now
called Shalonesti home. With that knowledge had come desire; desire to emulate
those that had come before her, and to become another branch of the tree; to
act and serve as a guardian and protector of both the home that had come to be
and mean everything to her, and the people within it that fought and worked at
her side.

That was why she now sat beneath the boughs of the largest vallenwood within
their forest, her form settled comfortably among the massive roots. Though her
eyes were closed, her ears twitched and quivered at the many sounds that were
all about her. A breeze moved casually through the foliage, causing leaves to
rustle and the taller grasses and plants to dance and sigh; she could make out
the calls and cries of the night time denizens of the woodlands ranging from a
skittering cry of a mouse as it fled an owl, to the screech of bats and buzzes
that came and went with passing insects. Thousands of noises filled the night
air and each one came to her ears, adding to the cacophony of life, which was
also a symphony. These noises, however, were not what she was looking for.

As she tried to concentrate, thoughts flitted through her mind. She had many
tasks left to rise through the ranks of her House, and Senator Arystos waited
on her to help him restructure the House's tasks. As a Thaumaturge, she had a
number of tasks to finish for herself, and also the responsibility of mentor,
her first student being her friend Olli'viah; the sweet Half-Elf was looking
to open a cafe and was having Celestaea design the store, and help approve the
menu. There was also Fae'lin, who was ever energetic and helping Celestaea to
gather the last pieces of armor that she would need. Thoughts of Fae'lin wound
her mind about to Malinihad, who - upon hearing of Celestaea's apprenticeship
- had looked disappointed, and as he had been her very first friend among the
Vallens, the distance pained her greatly. Thoughts of so many more floated in
and out of her thoughts: Noami, Aiera, Laeroth, Aelon, Reick, Aumanas, Itham,
Meladori, Shiyou, Laendyn, Andreyna, Thanatael, Lailah, Heiryal, Calithie, and
still more. She knew at least a little something each of them, and she cared,
perhaps more than she should, about every last one she met and spoke to; they
were All part of her reasons and her determination.





Writer: Celestaea

Date Tue May 31 00:23:33 2016

To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Laendyn Aiera (( Zandreya RP Religion ))

Subject Part Two: Beyond Sound


It took her much longer than she would have liked; attempting to coerce her
mind to stop jumping about from one thought to another had always been a trial
if not utterly impossible. Little by little, as she encouraged herself to find
a steady breathing rhythm, the thoughts faded away. Then, so too, did the soft
sounds of the forest night. The first melody that become clear to her was that
of the earth.

Sitting upon the ground, between the great roots of the ancient vallenwood,
her body was in direct contact with the durable and lasting earth. The rhythm
was slow and lumbering, powerful and ageless, unconcerned with the passage of
time as living beings knew it. The melody struck deep, and like the mountains
it seemed to provoke a sense of majesty and solidity. Her heart slowed and it
steadied, comforted by the stalwart strain. Next, she became aware of the tree
she was beneath, and its connection through its roots and limbs to All of the
other trees within the forests.

The trees were old, too, but not nearly as ancient as the earth. Each one,
in its own unique way, mimicked the trees about it, though All of them were in
fact joined by the resonance of the largest and oldest of the trees; they sang
together in a harmony of many parts, born from one melody that changed with a
new generation, and changed again with the next. Once she had listened to the
trees, she heard the wind.

A rhapsody that was nearly indescribable, the music of the wind was as fluid
and as everchanging as the element that carried it. In one moment, the song of
the wind might be quiet and gentle, like a lullaby, but in the next it would
dance and jingle like a shanty, and then it would change again to a pealing of
notes so jarring it nearly startled her out of her focus. Truly, the winds of
change was a phrase well coined.

Thinking that she was finished for the night, for there was no water source
near her that she knew of, she began to stir from her meditation, but a faint
chiming caught at her mind and her heart. Beneath the layers of the other song
notes about her, a quieter yet sweeter music was content to not seek her still
developing attention. Even so, as she tuned into the notes, she was stricken
by their stunning and gentle beauty that tears burned against her closed eyes.
Transcendent harmonies rose and fell against her "hearing", the melody making
the song of the earth seem young. For what seemed an eternity, the young elven
maiden basked in the song of the heavens, her soul soaking up the purity and
the warmth of the celestial cadences as if her thirst would never be quenched.

Eventually, she realized that she was toeing a dangerous line, and allowing
herself to fall into the trap of what she heard. It was wrenching to pull her-
self away from the music that filled her with elation, but as she opened eyes,
and shook her head to clear away the disorientation, she slowly came back to
herself, sorting herself out and away from that which was around her, and part
of her - part of everything. Sniffling, she dried her tears and stood with a
touch of care. She could understand, now, why some went mad and why they could
want to give themselves up to it willingly. With that understanding, she was
due to speak with Songkeeper Aiera.




Writer: Tomte

Date Tue May 31 01:08:22 2016




Writer: Vibulus

Date Tue May 31 01:15:40 2016

To Arkane All ( Imm Rp )

Subject Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor


An unexpected turn at the beginning to this journey has left me to start
again with this filing. What was expected to be a rather mundane crossing,
weather has changed and added much in the way of unexpected trials. The
sudden squall as the Captain termed it has left me with naught but the
meager wardrobe I wore, due to the need to lighten our load, namely my
travel trunks and with them All my personal belongings including my journal.
Nonetheless, the mission stands and I will see it through.

That I did reach the Arkanian port is evident on this writing. The small
pittance from the captain hardly covers my lost goods but, it should provide
meals until such time as I find more fruitful employment within Arkane. The
Arkanian Kingdom seems quite flush with coin, evidenced by the generosity of
it's charitable goods, which I've been forced to make use of, and the
willingness of it's denizens to part with it easily over the tumble of dice.
A fortunate turn for me in both instances. In general the few Arkanians I
have met have seemed pleasant sorts, most involved in their own ventures.
My arrival in these circumstances goes relatively unnoticed, so much the
better for a proper evaluation perhaps.

After several days I have managed to make contact with their recruitment
officials. I find it strange that a city supposedly under threat shows so
few uniformed military on the streets. I had hoped to blend in to the rush,
but in the face of the reality here I will simply move a bit slower than
hoped. As further developments occur I will document any valid observations
for inclusion in my final report.




Writer: Hubert

Date Tue May 31 11:25:45 2016

To All Aliera Knighthood

Subject A Squire and his Gelding



A Squire and his Gelding should be knit tight,
And the one that I chose is copper and bright.
He had a high spirit, my rump can attest,
But (so I believe) that type makes the best
Sort of mount for a budding young Knight.

Dasher I named him, and I named him right,
At first I couldn't get near, he seemed ready to fight,
But somehow I knew he was putting me to the test,
A Gelding and his Squire.

I stayed with him for days, and All through those nights,
And soon trust gave way, where once there was fright.
When I tried to leave, Dash whickered in protest,
And only with a brush could I put Dasher to rest.
Together we've become a regular sight,
The Squire and his Gelding.




Writer: Crelius

Date Wed Jun 1 03:19:42 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Wed Jun 1 07:25:52 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Banter



A light rain was drizzling down from the sky now, the howling gale
subsided into a quiet murmer of wind. The Unknown sat under the scant shade
of the malformed tree, which still leaked tiny droplets of crimson from the
scar Odin created with his axe. There was now a small pool of crimson
liquid in a depression at its base, tiny ripples caused by the wind moving
along its surface.

Odin's body stood motionless for some time, and the Unknown jumped up onto
its legs and walked over to it. Bending at the waist, it lowered its frame
down to listen for signs of life. Very faintly it could detect breathing.
It threw its head back in surprise and walked back to the tree.

"Well, he's either strong, stubborn or.... Something else" it mused. "He
will need to be watched appropriately."
The Unknown looked into the sky
and let out a shrill call like an alarmed bird. After a few moments, a pair
of ravens came and flitted down from the mist. They looked for a place to
perch, and chose the shoulders of the Unknown as opposed to the tree. Small
droplets of water fell from their inky black feathers.

"My precious ravens. Do you see this one here?" The unknown stretched out
the arm covered in feathers towards Odin's body, beautiful hands pointing at
him. "Follow, listen, learn. Let each step be accounted for, and each word
be recorded. Let not a moment pass by unaccounted."
The ravens gave out a
shrill shriek in response and flitted from the Unknown's shoulders, landing
on a nearby rock. From there, they just watched.

A loud sputtering sound shattered the near silence as Odin started to cough.
His chest heaved heavily with the effort, dry weezes and painful pushes of
air cracking his deep voice. After a moment, he was able to lift his head
and look around. His right hand was still stuck within the earth, and his
breathing was shallow as he surveyed his surroundings.

The Unknown started forward, moving effortlessly. Though its hips swung in
wide arches while moving, it almost didn't seem to have the usual lift and
fall of a normal gait... Then again, nothing was normal about this
creature.

Odin looked as if he was going to speak, but the Uknown placed a perfectly
pink nail to where its lips would be in front of its veil. "Shhhhh, I think
we both know that talking is not your strong suit, Volsung"
it said in a
playing manner. "It is prudent you listen for a moment, just listen."
Odin opened his mouth for a moment but no sound came out. He closed it and
clenched his jaw, staring right at the Unknown.

"You have found your answers, so what happens now is, well..." Here the
creature lets out an oddly disconcerting giggle "Unknown". "Your place in
this world, in this place, is whatever you make it. Be glad you still draw
breath... Many before you have not been so fortunate."


Odin spat on the ground, eyes narrowed as he growled, a low sound eminating
from his throat. "Like my family? Like All ov those vhich I have loved and
lost?"
He spat on the ground again.

"Why, yes... Yes that is exactly who I am talking about." The Unknown
spread its feathered and scaled arms wide, and then pointed at the base of
the tree. "I have tasted their thoughts, their memories, the knowledge of a
thousand ages. And they are not the only ones. They have been consumed,
lost in body but not in knowledge. And they were quite..."
Here the
Unknown squats down on its haunches "delicious".

Odin jerked his body forward, but found his hand was still held fast.
"RELEASE ME!" He yells and curses at the thing before him. The Unknown
laughs to itself, its many voiced speech tearing at the insides of his mind.
"Oh that? That's not my doing, it's yours. You were the one who brought
yourself here, remember?"
It laughed again, shaking its veiled head.

Odin stared down at his encaptured hand, closed his eyes, and prayed.




Writer: Arreana

Date Wed Jun 1 09:36:09 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-01


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------12
--------------------Ruins: The Way of the "Free"-------------------II-01

It did not pass Arreana's awareness that she would meet resistance. In fact,
she was, in many ways, in a more perlious position now than she had ever been
while in the Wrath of Justice. Within the boundaries of the hall, and with an
army of comrades to call out to, she had always felt some sort of protection.

The Empress had pledgd help if Arreana succeeded, but they both knew that
committing forces otherwise would be a fruitless endeavor. As much as Arreana
hated to admit it, her homeland was not her home anymore.

Tropica had become dangerous territory, the land of the enemy. The forces of
CHAOS did not march in orderly fashion, patrolling the winding paths of the
jungle like a city, but they were always present.

Even more dangerous still were the zealous pilgrims, who journeyed so far
from civilization in the hope of gaining the favor of a pretender, their
chance at lashing out against a world that they felt had wrong them. What
better than to kill a priestess of the Lady of Love to prove their loyalty?

However, there was even internal resistance.

It was easier for Arreana, than most, to dismiss the notions of freedom
and peace as preached by Malachive's followers. Mostly because no
diplomat had come to her tribe to try and convert them, and that the very
act of invasion defied the concept of peace.

What troubled Arreana ran deeper than that.

Her own free will was something that the Ariel had long valued. To her,
faith was more about choices than anything else. Every person did both
good and bad things. However, those who consistently tried to make
choices with good intent were, more or less, good, and those who made
choices with the intent to harm were, more or less, evil.

It was from this place of choice that Arreana pursued her faith, and
did what she did for Taliena. The goddess was usually far too busy to
give her direct commands. But what if Taliena did, and what if that
command was something that did not sit well with Arreana?

Pausing for a moment in her work removing the rubble from the former
temple to Taliena, Arreana perched herself upon a particularly large
piece of rubble, one that would likely need to be moved by magic. She
swept the perspiration from her brow and her wings began to beat
lightly, offering a comforting breeze.

What if Taliena commanded Arreana to kill a child, or to lie to a man
about who loved him? Arreana had difficulty picturing Taliena making
such requests. While the deities certainly had their own will, there
was a definite sense that they had less freedom than mortals. Taliena
could not be anything other than love. She could not help but love,
which is why Her love was pure.

The words of the one called Vaerus rung in her ears still.

"Puppet"; "Chains"; "Slave"; "Master";

Arreana shook her head to clear it, unsettling the long blonde hair
that she always endeavored to keep neat. She looked down at the blonde
locks as they pooled over her shoulder and down the front of her
blouse.

Was she, in fact, chained? Were there invisible bonds that were
holding her shackled like a prisoner, denying Arreana her freedom?

To the Ariel, the notion was absurd. Ariels were a race that knew the
value of freedom on a deeper level than most. Their wings enabled
them to take to the skies, a sort of freedom that the other sentient
races, save dragons, could not understand. Even Pixies, who were
often considered a more flighty race, could only flutter a little.

Arreana could fly. However, the question that posed itself now was:
was she free to fly in her faith as well?




Writer: Ayrora

Date Wed Jun 1 17:53:44 2016

To All Verminasia Ashbie Aybel Aldrin Storyline Roleplay

Subject Troubles in Rashburne (Part 1 of 2)


The rumors of Rashburne had reached Ayrora's ears but she had had no time
to return. That morning she awoke early and said enough is enough. For the
first time ever she had Zamuelson prepare Braedan while she dressed in a
hurry. Rora called for five guards this day including Nefratin and
Salodorion, there was trouble that needed to be handled and she wanted to be
prepared.

She had not said a word to her mother about what was going on because she
knew she would not let her perform her job. The relative of Longshanks had
to be taken care of and she was the one to handle it. She pulled on her
boots and ran down the stairs almost bumping into the servant, "Pardon me.
" She continued at a run as she yelled for Aldrin to hurry up. Aldrin stood
there with a smug look on his face hold the reins of his black stallion and
Braedan's as she shook her head and laughed. "You are quick! "

Aldrin chuckled as he handed her the reins. She looked at the three guards
already mounted and mounted Braedan swiftly. "This is no sight seeing tour.
There is trouble in Rashburne and it must end this day. If you are not
prepared for this speak now for their will be bloodshed. " She looked to
the guards and none budged then she looked to Aldrin who could not hold back
his excitement. "Let us go Sis we have blood to shed! " He grinned at her.
She turned Braedan and they were off.

As they rode toward Rashburne, Aldrin decided to start singing and Rora
could not control her laughter, "You can sing along if you wish. " She said
to the guards as they All chimed in. The ride was long as usual and can be
tedious so why not let them have a little fun, she thought. The singing
soon turned to pirate jokes and then to silence as they reached the
outskirts of the trade city. "Everyone be on alert from now on. Keep an
eye out for the Lonshanks fellow. You will know Joe when you see him.
"

All five rode into the city silently and keeping an eye on everything. The
merchant's seemed fearful, not as they were her first visit. Some shops
closed earlier than usual and the streets somewhat deserted. Rora edged
Braedan on towards the docks and saw him, the spitting image of his brother,
they must have been twins. The guards stayed close as Aldrin and Rora
dismounted and he stood next to her but one step ahead. Longshanks was
harrassing a merchant with two others at his side. The guards also
dismounted, tied off the horses, and walked over to their wards.





Writer: Ayrora

Date Wed Jun 1 18:16:45 2016

To All Verminasia Ashbie Aybel Aldrin Storyline Roleplay

Subject Troubles in Rashburne (Part 1 of 2)


Longshanks turned his head and looked straight into her eyes, the fire
smoldering in her eyes surely visible to the man. "Ye be the wench that
killed me brutha.
" Longshanks growled. Aldrin took hold of his weapon as
the guards drew their swords. Rora calmly held a hand up as a signal to
wait. She looked at the man with no emotion whatsoever, "I was the woman
that killed your brother. I admit this.
" He looked at her with fury in
his eyes as he took steps forward towards her. Aldrin jumped on a crate and
flipped behind him grabbing him from behind as the guards ran past her, one
grabbing each of his friends and the other helping Aldrin.

"You really thought they would let you get to me? Not that you would have
survived either way.
" She walked towards him and stopped a foot shy of
him. "Your brother was scum that killed women for a living. He had his way
with them then tossed them aside like rags which was what he planned to do
to me. Not that I owe you any explanation.
" He glared at her, "You lyin
wench!
" He spit in her face. She calmly took her handkerchief from her
bag and wiped her cheek. Nefratin grinned for he knew what was coming next.


She looked to Nefratin, she did not have to ask, as he passed her his sword.
She looked at the other two men, "This is what happens to insolent fools. "
She looked to Joe Longshanks, "You have sealed your fate. " She looked to
Aldrin and Salodorion, "Do not get All bloody, we have a long ride back and
his stench is not something I wish to carry home. Alrin pull his head back
please.
" Aldrin grinned at her," With pleasure Sis! " He pulled
Longshanks head back as she slit his throat, meeting the same fate as his
brother. She looked to the other two, "What to do with you two? " She
paced back and forth for a few moments and called for the Marshal.

"Have these two transferred to the dungeons, I am sure my mother will teach
them a thing or two before she releases them sometime in the future.
" The
Marshal nodded as six men led the two away. She saw a few crewmen on the
docks and called them over, "See to it that someone cleans this up and feed
it to the sharks for All I care. I am sure he will not be missed. There
were murmurs and cheers coming from somewhere and as they looked up from the
docks they could see the citizenry smiling.

Ayrora smiled and looked at the others, "Our job is done here. Let us get
back and have a well earned meal. I am sure Saemelia will have something
delicious for us." They All smiled as they mounted their horses and headed
back.





Writer: Odin

Date Wed Jun 1 22:02:52 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Belief



Odin's eyes were clenched tightly, desperately trying to shout out any
distractions. He tried to control his breathing, forget that the Unknown
was standing within a few feet of him, or that the tree which feasted upon
the blood and flesh of his family was slowly dripping some unknown substance
a mere breath or two away. After a few deep breaths, he started to utter
his prayers to the heaven's, the entirety of hopes riding on his words to
make it to the Red Moon.

"Raije, God ov Var and Lord ov Battle... I find myself vaged in a var I nay
understand. Grant me the strength I need to find a vay out ov my own
imprisonment. Embolden me to do vhat is needed, nay only for myself but for
the future ov Clan Volsung"


With his eyes still shut, Odin hears the distant stikes of war drums. A
small pang of excitement starts to fuel Odin's spirit, and the corner of his
mouth upturn in a slight smile. Then, like the sound nestled in reality
which stirs one from their dream, a small, impish giggling could be heard
inbetween the beats of the drum. Odin reluncantly opens his eyes and looks
around.

The Unknown was sitting beneath the tree, the paw and goat hoof
criss-crossed beneath it. In its hands was a small bodhran drum, looking to
be a wolverine skin stretched across a small frame. It beat the drum with
increasing irregularity, shaking its veiled head at Odin.

"What did you expect to happen, hmm?" The Unknown stands up an casts the
drum aside, landing on the ground with a small thump, the vibration echoing
for a brief moment in the air. "Did you expect the God of War to truly care
enough about you to come to your aid, Volsung?"


Odin stares defiantly at the Unknown, nose wrinkled in distaste at the tone
of its many voiced tongue. "The Gods ov Battle does not forsake the
faithful, he vill..."
Here the Unknown waves a dismissive hand, then looks
in the discarded direction drum. With a small raise of its pinky, the
instrument catches on fire.

"The Gods are nay the personal servants of mortals. You don't do arts and
crafts with Cliath on a rainy weekend afternoon... You will not plant a
Garden with the Elf Goddess and go about hugging trees, and certainly won't
bring the God of War running to your rescue."
The Unknown moves to stand
within inches of Odin, arms folded across his chest. "Why would your God
come and rescue a warrior which cannot even free himself?"
The Unknown
looks down upon the burn bodhran and reaches its perfect hand down to gather
a pinch of ashes. It picks it up to eye level and lets the ash slip through
its fingers, small dots of dark carbon highlighted against the bleak
backdrop of the land.

"Ve rely on them for strength, Ve honor them for their vorks, and vork to
serve them vith our life"
Odin replies, once again trying to pull his hand
from the ground but unable to do such. "Ve serve them vith our actions."

The Unknown turned its head towards Odin, the last flecks of carbon falling
away from its fingertips. "To what end? Do you believe that they sit on
your shoulder and watch every movement you conduct? Do you feel they are
just sitting around waiting for you?"
Odin shakes his head emphatically at
the Unknown.

"I am nay a simpleton, creature. I know that vhat I do is my own choice, I
know that vhat I do for them is my choice, and I know their vorld is nay
something I don't pretend to understand"
. The moment the words were
uttered, the ground surrounding his wrist started to melt away like a
sandcastle which the sun dried out, and his arm was free again.

The Unknown gave another shrill laugh, piercing Odin's brain in the process.
"The truth setting you free... How poetically droll." The Unknown comes
to stand where Odin was gaining his feet, merely a foot away. Odin rubbed
his formerly trapped wrist with the other hand, staring into the yawning maw
of the veiled face with a stoic gaze. "One drop of wisdom... Just one
drop."





Writer: Elrei

Date Thu Jun 2 01:48:43 2016

To All Taliena ( Imm RP )

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Lacking Heart



He had not written so directly since the time of his banishment from
Althainia. The fact that books, knowledge written down for the benefit of
all, had been outright burned, was something that spurred an incensed
response within the elderly historian more than many actions could. That it
had been done by those claiming Goodness only added fuel to his own internal
fire.

Elrei was glad that it, apparently, had been sorted out, but the fact
that it took direct intervention by the Gods to prove to the Knighthood that
their destruction of Bishop Arreana's works was "extreme" was troubling.
Nothing but excuses and defense of Glailen's actions, from both his wife and
Mercerion. Yet there was something in the Crown General's words that
clarified everything, for the Elf - something that explained every instance
in the present and past where he had come up against their zealous,
extremist stances:

"The Men and Women of Gareth keep are judged continunously, as their word
and deed are measured against the tenets of not only the God that the knight
prays to, but also to Austinian, Nadrik, and Siccara as the keep's patrons."

He had called out the Knight's actions as being ones not based in
compassion, but now he realized Taliena's exclusion from Gareth's patronage
meant that in All likelihood they honestly didn't care. Never mind that
Arreana was supposedly an ally, they had attacked her efforts as they would
have an enemy's, filled with a sense of righteousness and bent on
destruction.

Aliera's words, like Mercerion's before her, were disingenuous, based in
circular logic. The book could not be holy until it had been recognized as
such by the Gods, thus it is blasphemous and must be burned. Yet to burn it
before it could even be completed, to discourage this act of creation and
labor of love at its inception, meant that they worked against any possible
recognition of it by the Gods. How could Arreana present it to Them for
Their favor in completed form, if it could never be completed? It was a
fortunate thing, perhaps, that They decided to grant blessing to the project
even in unfinished state.

Arreana handled herself well in the debacle, however, to the point that
Elrei was uncertain he should have bothered to step into things. Her own
words on the matter did not quite bear the ring of truth, given her claim of
Glailen's "respect and courtesy" toward her despite that he had burned her
texts. Regardless, her forgiveness of the acts against her meant Elrei's
own words were unnecessary, superfluous even. He had almost been surprised
that none of the following rebuttals had told him it was none of his
business, as was the usual course from a historical standpoint. Still,
given Mercerion's clarification, Elrei found it unlikely that he would
bother addressing any future conflicts between the Knights and himself, for
just as it is folly to attempt reason with those who have forsworn its use,
it does no good to speak of compassion to those who spurn it.




Writer: Odin

Date Thu Jun 2 05:43:17 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Begin



Odin kept staring between his wrist and the Unknown, trying his hardest
to comprehend the words of the complex creature before him. He couldn't
contain his rooted posture and started to pace slowly around the tree. The
Unknown stared followed his walk as he moved around the tree in a slow,
sunwise gait. "Vone drop ya said.. Vone drop ov knowledge.... I don't
quite understand."
Odin shakes his head, coming to stop just beside the
pool of red liquid that has gathered from the tree. "Vhat do you mean,
creature?"
He inquires.

The Unknown walks, which is not quite the right word for it based on its
strange floating movement even though he could clearly see it make strides
with its unmatched legs, to the opposite side of the pool from him. "I
should think it quite obvious"
it replies, lifting one hand to the side of
its face and resting it on what would have been a cheek had it been visible
through the veil. "But I forget I am speaking with one who has yet not come
to appreciate the value of wisdom."
The Unknown starts to chuckle to
itself, then speaks in a version of its voice Odin had not heard before.
The voice sounded like the seers of old, full of power and authority. As it
spoke, whispers filled the air of things he could not quite comprehend, but
still filled his mind.

"For the briefest moment in time, you called upon something other than your
brawn to conquer your fate"
it says with outstretched arms. "You felt the
panic of an impending end fall upon you, and slew the beast with your
knowledge, instead of with the sharp edge of an axe."
Here it folded its
arms across its chest, the folds of its sleeves drooping way low, almost to
the Unknowns waist. "You realized your life was your own, that your choices
are not because the Gods have ordained them but because you wanted to follow
through with your own intentions."
Here the Unknown pointed directly at
Odin's chest, the voice falling to a low tone. "In short, Volsung, you have
learned that your life is your own, as the Gods have always wanted. It was
in that moment, you were free from the chains of servitude."


Odin thought on this for a moment, his eyes downcast as he stared into the
crimson pool at his feet. He lifted his eyes and stares at the unruly
being, then shakes his head lightly. "No, such talk be heresy creature.
Vhat ya speak goes against everything I have ever been taught"
. Within a
blink of an eye, the Unknown was upon him, streaking across the pool so
quickly it outpaced the ripples which formed on its surface.

"Watch your words, Viking. Each one spoken has its own consequences." It
put its long nail on the center of Odin's chest and instantly the air rushed
out of his lungs, making him silently gasp. "What I speak is pure truth
born of the lives of countless souls more worthy than you"
. It released its
touch and Odin could breath again, desperately sucking in air. "What you
learn and what is true is seldom the same thing"
it says, still inches from
Odin's face. "A servant who only does what the master says is a tool, not
an asset. They look for you to be yourself, and as your glory increases, so
does theirs."
Here the creature bends down and dips the tip of its nail
into the crimson pool, a droplet of red clinging to the undercrook of its
finger.

The Unknown watches as Odin greedily sucks air into its lungs, a low chuckly
eminating from its throat. It slowly lifts the tip of its finger to Odin's
lips. "Just one drop" it whispers again, and presses the crimson droplet to
his lips.

In Odin's mind, it was as if an explosion was set which melted the sky
before him. The world was bathed in colors he had never seen before, the
light of the Icewall Sun blazing with a multitude of etheral colors to a
degree in which he did not only see its rays, but felt the warmth of them in
his entire being. Then came the flood of memories he had tried to hide.




Writer: Laniath

Date Fri Jun 3 07:42:33 2016

To All Arreana ( Taliena ) Storyline Roleplay Religion

Subject FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD



Laniath had been spending much time in the Temple of Kadiya. Her
thoughts of the actions of those of Knighthood would not let her mind be at
peace. "Why did this have to happen? Why did you have to leave us when in
the larger picture the goodness can note even be at at peace?
" She looked
up at the statue with tears streaming down her cheeks.

She had been trying to be a friend to Glailen for her daughter and her
loving husband but, his actions towards this beautiful book, made her
rethink this position yet again. She had not yet spoken to her daughter or
her husband. She did not know what to say to them as she felt her heart
plummet over his actions.

She dropped to her knees and prayed, "Blessed Taliena, You who bring love
and peace to the world. Open their eyes and help them to see that the
disagreements between those of goodness is not what we seek. That the fight
we should be preparing for is good against evil and not within ourselves. I
ask this in Your holy name. Blessed Be.
"

She stayed there meditating for some time before standing and and leaving
the Temple.





Writer: Abbington

Date Fri Jun 3 17:37:30 2016




Writer: Diuxa

Date Sat Jun 4 01:57:35 2016

To All erebaal | chaos malachive ( scorn imm rp storyline )

Subject Beneath the Surface



The child ran, gripping a small pouch of coins in one hand and a
strangely crafted figurine in the other. It rattled as the kid weaved
through the crowd with familiarity, just another waif abandoned in the
alleys of New Thalos.

No one paid him much mind unless he bumped into people or things on his way.
The small army of dust-ridden children that began to follow him garnered
little more than dismissive glances. It was a normal enough occurance.
Merchants were always suspicious, wary of theft, but no one followed the
children or stopped them on their way.

The docks were as busy as ever, full of sailors, guards, merchants and
travelers. The kids were a distraction met with both cheer and
disgruntlement. As adept at finding opportunity as the feral cats and dogs
that often got in the way or stole the fish. They All separated, some into
groups, some alone and while some sought the ships no matter where they were
going, others ran to the warehouses or stopped to help load and unload the
merchant vessels.

It was a typical day with the exception that as the sun began to set and the
mooring ships cast off, there were far fewer orphans and waifs running back
to their makeshift beds.

The poor blind woman, bent and hidden beneath her ragged robes and smudged
so heavily with dust and dirt that she was barely recognizable as anything
but a humanoid, smiled grimly at that sunset and lifted her broken bowl for
alms as she had for the past several months.

It had been pennies in the children's hands, nothing extravagant, and the
doll had been fashioned with a purpose only a very few might understand.
The message had been sent though.

Corruption seethed beneath the surface, gathering, waiting. Watchful and
immeasurably patient.




Writer: Laeroth

Date Sat Jun 4 14:22:43 2016




Writer: Laeroth

Date Sat Jun 4 14:23:11 2016




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 5 17:27:06 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay Storyline

Subject The Man With No Name



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE MAN WITH NO NAME

Mathesan often wondered what it would be like if he hadn't been born
with the Madaur name. It was a name that brought with it All sorts of
prestige... and infamy. It was certainly a blessing in many ways. While
he had traveled abroad to get away from the name, if he dropped it in
a major city, such as Shokono, it was still certain to get some sort
of recognition.

However, that recognition wasn't always positive.

Mathesan had not shared his name much in his travels, he had always
preferred to go about in obscurity. It was why he wore plain robes, and
had his hood up, more often than not. While it was certainly a look that
was creepy for most, it also ensured that nosy people didn't ask too
many questions.

He was, when he traveled, in many respects, a man without a name.

Yet, here, at home, he was quite the opposite. Commoners had already
learned to identify him by his robes, plain as they were. Verminasia's
heroes and heroines All deferred to him. Though, to his eyes, many had
thirsty looks behind their eyes, that could easily transform into daggers
in his back.

Without realizing it, he had arrived at his destination. The tall, stone
building was the very image of grandeur, but it was within its confines
that Mathesan sought some privacy.

The clerics offered him a respectful nod as he entered, but did not
otherwise greet him. They were busy.

Mathesan wound his way through the dimly lit corridors until he found
the library. It was quiet, but not empty. Inside were a great many other
clerics, but also some scholars. None of them looked up as he entered.

He was, again, without a name. As he preferred. He sought an alcove in
the back, far away from prying eyes.

His father wanted him to be Heir. But if the Crown were passed to him,
could he ever again be a man with no name?

pg. 01
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Tomte

Date Sun Jun 5 22:27:04 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jun 6 15:49:36 2016

To All Imm Rajie

Subject Back



The Viking Longship sailed quietly along the crystal clear coastal waters
of Tropica, the dragon head monument on the front snarling at whatever laid
before them. {u(The red crabs which scurried below the surface of the water
were young... Too young. These area has been over-fished, indicating
habitation).
Odin, only fourteen summers old, stood by his father's side
at the helm. All in All there was a war band of twenty viking warriors on
the longship, each armed heavily. Their shields were posted along the
outside of the ship, painted heavily with their own crests.

As the ship came upon a stretch of beach that looked like a good landing
zone, Odin's father placed his hand on his Odin's shoulders.

"Ve vill be there soon, son? Are ya nervous?" His father looked down upon
him. Already tall, Odin's father stood a head above him. Odin looked up at
him and shook his head, trying to put on a brave face. "Nay Fathar, I am
ready for vhat is to come!"
He replies, patting the axe he had fashioned
for him at his side. {u(The sound of birdsong was nowhere to be found, and at
this time of year there is a high migration from Icewall. The jungle sky
{ushould have darkened with birds. There was something amiss)


The longboat slid effortlessly into the soft white sand of the Tropica
coast. All of Clan Volsung's Vikings grabbed their shields and vaulted into
the water, axes at the ready. Each viking warrior and shield-maiden stayed
close together, ready to bring up the shield wall at a moment's notice if
needed. Landing during an assault was one of their more vulnerable moments,
not knowing what to expect. {u(The mixture of bodies they have here was heavy
on men who fought along the coast of Arkania, with few experienced on the
shores of Tropica. This young band did not have heavy exploration
experience to draw upon.)


Odin and his father were the last to make landfall, after securing the
anchor. Typically someone stays back to guard the boat, ensuring that their
passage home would not be compromised. Odin's father walks along and taps a
tall viking with jet black hair on the shoulder. "Bran, I need ya to stay
back and vatch the dragon"
. When Bran's smile seemed to droop, Odin's
father leaned in closer to speak to him privately. "Nay vorry, vill make
sure ya get a cut ov our spoils, and may bring back a lass... Or three for
ya"
. Bran clasped Odin's father at the shoulder, nodding his consent as he
moved back towards the shoreline. Odin took his place at his father's right
side in the mass of Vikings. {u(Leaving Bran at the ship was unwise, as he
had one of the keenest eyes due to his experience. Boat guarding duty with
a clear view of the jungle would have been a task for a less seasoned
warrior, whose hyper vigiliance would have been more boon than curse)


Odin's father stepped forward from the gathering and turned his back to
jungle to address the group. Odin stared on proudly, excited for what was
to come. Bold words were exchanged, promsies of glories and riches, a
chance to prove one's worth to the Gods in order to gain Valhalla. It was
beautiful to be behold, but Odin couldn't shake the feeling something was
wrong. (Several Vikings in the crowd only showed half-hearted displays of
valor. At least two, a pair of brothers whose mother was Clan Volsung but
whose father was from another clan nervously looked about. Their eyes
darted to the jungle more ofthen than to their leader who was trying to
empower them with words. Such concern of one's safety was unviking-like.)


"So brothers and sisters, free men and vomen vone and all, are ya vready to
see vhat the Gods have vaiting for your glory and for yer purses?"
Odin's
father gleefully asks. A hearty cheer went up into the air, men and women
clamoring on their shields. Odin's father turns and points his axe to an
open animal run at the land-fall, starting to march towards it. "Then let
us avay!"





Writer: Vibulus

Date Mon Jun 6 16:45:18 2016

To Arkane All ( Cayenna Imm Rp )

Subject Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor


It has been two full weeks now since I made contact with the Marshal of
Forces here and indicated my intent to enlist in the cause of their defense.
I was surprised at the lack of obvious security in the process, with neither
any vetting of my background or swearing of oaths, although it may be I am
unaware of further steps yet to come. I was told I would be contacted, but
as of yet have heard nothing in the way of personal orders nor a general
call to muster. I will remain patient as the free time does allow me time
to study other factors to include in my evaluation. Thus far there has been
little need for any cover story and although I have one ready, I may simply
state my intent boldly if for no other reason than to gauge the reaction it
draws. We shall see.

On the matter of other factors, I shall begin with their population and its
make up. An amalgamated society for the most part, it reminds one of the
Empire while lacking the prejudices found there. The usual public guilds
are found there as well as a few other groupings. A large and thriving
Leonine presence is slowly integrating and were I involved with such
matters, I would encourage such bonding. At such a time no source of
strength being expendable. Another grouping I must research further,
primarily noted among prominent citizenry, this KWT remains without
definition. Whether through research in the various libraries or the tavern
gossip, I feel confident I shall uncover more and include it at a later
time. All in all, a seemingly open society, I remain undecided if this is a
boon or burden on matters of security.

On personal matters, I have as yet uncovered no sign of Antillicus. I admit
holding out hope that the conflict here would draw him, but will continue my
search for mother's sake. I cannot help but feel he lives still, and with
Kwainin's aid will return my brother to his family. My dread remains
returning to see the name Antillicus Sextus Praetor inscribed upon the
family vault and push it from my thoughts.




Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Jun 6 17:54:17 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm Rp )

Subject Renewal


Pulling on his glove and clenching his fist, Mokla grinned at the feel of
returning strength. Looking up into the reflecting glass, his yellow eyes
blazed at the invigorated image found there. The Mountain had shown it's
devotion in the gift of knowledge, a devotion matched only in the endeavors
and skills of his adored Queen and the selfless Viking he would call friend
ever after. The arcane brew had not only given him back the use of his arm,
regenerating shattered bone, shredded muscle, and sinew, but infused him
with a burning desire which lit the lamps of his eyes and quickened his
pulse. His senses flared with the renewed life and his appetites swelled to
new heights. Drawing in a deep breath to swell his chest, he threw an
inflamed sneer at his own image before throwing his head back in a lusty
cackle of delight, causing the palace servants to cluster in uncertainty at
his behavior. Turning his leering grin upon them, he straightened and
strode past, exiting the royal chambers, his cackling echoing from the walls
of the vast hallway.

Reaching the tunnels he drew in the tiniest sounds, the wafting odors and
slightest shift of shadow, tasting them All and savoring each like fine
drink. Life filled his thoughts and raced through his mind like a brushfire
before the winds. The only interruption to his revelry a tiny voice which
called to him seeking action of some sort.. Any sort. Though the old
thoughts returned their call to waste no effort or energy, his mind turned
to find suitable targets for his new found vigor. The answer came quickly,
surely and like an old friend found welcome. The madman's grin which split
his face, matched the zeal in his eyes as the answer came. "Payback!..
Yes.. YES!"
And the cackling which followed rolled through the Mountain
home like a wave seeking to swallow all.




Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jun 6 20:55:52 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject Besieged



Odin stayed be his father's side as the warriors entered the mouth of the
animal run. {u(No known animal would create such an obvious run, as this
particular beach had shells or mollusks to denote a consistent food source,
or fresh water. The entire area had lines that were two clean in regards to
flora, as nature does not deal with such precision. It was almost a
man-made landing zone)
They vikings stayed together and moved as silent as
one can through the jungle, only using their blades to hack off obtrusive
vines.

They came to a large clearing, and Odin's father raised one fist for them
all to come to a halt. Silently, each man and woman formed a semi-circle
with his father at the center. With one hand shielding his eyes from the
unforgiving sun, he searched the crowded horizon.

A single dark whisp of smoke could be seen rising in the near distance, its
thin pattern and singular point of origin a clear sign of some type of
habitation. {u(The weather was overly humid and uncomfortably hot, much like
a dwarven berserker's breath after a few too many cups of ale. There would
be no reason for anyone to have a fire going at this time of day)
Odin's
father lifted a finger to point at the rising cloud of smoke, a small grin
spreading on his face. Odin felt a small pang of something. He was unsure
of it was fear, excitement, or just the adrenaline of being in his first
real fight, but he was reacting to it All the same. Grabbing his axe, and
lifting his slightly smaller shield than the others to chest level, the
Vikings pushed on ahead cautiously.

Like panthers on the prowl they pushed through the growth, hunger and
anticipation of their spoils bringing them on heedless of the dangers. As
they drew in to the source of the smoke, footprints could be found in the
moist ground of the jungle floor. Here and there broken branches and twigs
could be seen from the traffic of the area. {u(This is uncharacteristic of
the indigenous people in the area, as they live with nature and not just in
it. Residents of Tropica integrate into the land as good as the beats which
dwell there)
Odin kept his head on a swivel, looking for signs of life.
They moved in two columns, with the two nervous vikings from the shore
taking up the rear of the formation. Through the trees they could see the
signs of grass huts up ahead.

Odin's father turns around and nods his head. Each Viking raised their
shields in turn, axe in hand. Odin's palms were sweaty, but he was ready to
meet his fate no matter the outcome. As they passed upon the first hut, the
vikings started to peel off and search as quietly as they could. There
appeared to be no one inside, with their meager possessions strewn across
the hut in haphazard ways. {u(Living within the jungle does not allow for
such carelessness, as every basket, article or item laying around could be a
haven for poisonous snakes or other insects which could paralyze its victim
or worse.)
After several minutes of searching, the finally come to the hut
with the small fire burning in its center. It look like it was lit not too
long ago, with wet straw laid over a pile of rags. Something was not adding
up.

It came silently, whirling like a mosquiton through the air. A small dart
burst forth from the woods and embedded itself into the neck of a tall
viking with reddish blonde hair. He grasped at it with an annoyed
countenance, pulling it from his neck. The tip of the dart was dripping
some green substance, mingled with the ruddy color of his blood. All of a
sudden, the towering viking fell to his knees, eyes rolling into the back of
his head as he started foaming at the mouth.

"Shield Vall!"




Writer: Deccan

Date Tue Jun 7 22:28:08 2016

To All Abaddon Imm rp religion

Subject + A Masked Stranger + Part One


Deccan stepped out from the dilapidated tavern onto the foggy shores of
the cavern, a thick fog drifting into the open door and swirling around his
feet with each step as he made his way towards the docks. The oddly spaced
lantern posts cast an eery glow against the mist.

It was dark within the cavern, save the light from these posts, as night had
fallen some time ago. A heavy mist permeated the air leaving everything it
touched slightly damp. The wind coming into the cavern made a sound like
the far off screams of a dying man.

Then again, it very well could have been the far off screams of a dying man.
Deccan paid it no mind as he stepped onto the docks. He often came out to
look over the waters when he needed to think. He made his way past various
piles of barrels, boxes and netting till he came to stand at the end of the
dock and set his gaze out over the dark waters.

He had only stood there a moment before his thoughts were disturbed by an
off tune whistle sounding from nearby behind him. The sound caught his
attention at first because he did not realize anyone else was with him on
the dock.

He tried to ignore the sound at first as he tried again to retreat into his
mind as he looked over the waters but almost on cue the whistling seemed to
pick up and get louder. Deccan glanced over his shoulder to see a masked
man standing a few paces behind him.

"Can I help you, stranger? " Deccan asked, clearly a bit annoyed at someone
disturbing his solitude.

"Help me? " the masked man asked with a devious smirk, "No. I doubt it.
Though it's not me you should be worried about. Ha!
" the man said with an
irritating confidence as he drew twin rapiers and jumped into a casual ready
stance.

Deccan eyed the masked man curiously as he turned to face him. The man was
dressed in fine clothes, dark and studded with metal in various places. The
man circled his sword at Deccan and gave another of his annoyingly confident
smirks as if in challenge.

"I don't feel like fighting a drunk, " Deccan said trying to stay patient.


"Drunk?? " the masked man said striking forward with amazing speed and
cutting Deccan's belt forcing him to react and catch his swords as his belt
fell against the ground, "It'd be better for you if I were drunk. You might
stand a chance then.
"

Deccan cursed under breath and drew one of the bastard swords from it's
sheath and swung towards the masked stranger intending to cleave the man in
two with one blow but the blade met nothing but air as the man spun
gracefully to the side and leaned against a nearby crate.

"Come now! Surely the Count of Abaddon can do better than THAT!? " he said
mockingly as he sheathed one of his swords, keeping the other casually
pointed at Deccan, "Here. I'll only use one sword. Fair enough? "

Deccan had long stopped listening as he swung again with a blow intended to
take off the mans head but the masked man was too quick and ducked the blow
before rolling behind Deccan. Deccan followed the man's movement and turned
to catch him as he stood with another killing blow.

The man was too quick however and parried the blow with surprising ease
before walking at his own pace backwards towards the edge of the dock, that
same stupid smile still on his face beneath his mask.

"This -was- fun, Count, " he said sheathing his sword and flourishing a bow,
"I look forward to our next encounter! "

Deccan lunged at the man but once again the swashbuckler was too quick as he
dodge the blow and dived backwards into the dark, murky waters gracefully.
He emerged a surprising distance from the dock holding onto the fin of a
dolphin as it carried him away.

"Do be well, my Count! " he yelled as he disappeared into the fog.

Deccan cursed under his breath as he turned to gather up his belt...




Writer: Laeroth

Date Wed Jun 8 11:43:48 2016




Writer: Laeroth

Date Wed Jun 8 11:44:05 2016




Writer: Deccan

Date Wed Jun 8 20:33:18 2016

To All Abaddon imm religion rp

Subject + A Masked Stranger + Part Two


The night was well into the late hours. The moon was hidden behind a
blanket of clouds, it's light barely adding to the gloom of the dark street
Deccan walked down. A perfect night for dark tidings.

Abaddon came alive at times like this. Light breaking the gloom the the
windows and doors of the half submerged buildings that lined the streets.
Wrought iron railing covering the balconies of nearby buildings with drunken
men and women of the night smiling down at passerbyers.

Music could be heard coming from a few of the local establishments, giving
the street a certain ambience. Deccan turned into a dark ally, having no
fear of what the darkness held. The cobblestones under foot turned to grass
and dirt as he made his way further in.

He was barely half way down the ally when a familiar off tune whistle caught
his attention and set the hair on his neck to stand as he turned, already
furious. Before him was not the masked man he expected but another masked
man seemingly.

This one dressed in an All black cloak with a white porcelain skull mask,
it's face twisted in a wicked grin beneath the hood of the strangers cloak.
Deccan's fury only grew at the disappointment of the stranger not being the
man he sought.

"Don't look so sad, my Count, " a familiar voice said with an irritating
aire of confidence, "I told you we would meet again after all. "

Deccan couldn't help but smile. The expression a dark and malevolent one,
"No finery this evening, Stranger? Is All the theatrics neccessary? "

A low chuckle sounded from the strangers throat, "Theatrics make All the
difference, my dear Count,
" the masked man said as he drew his twin
rapiers, "I hope you have learned from our last fight. You'll find no mercy
here tonight.
"

Deccan only smiled in reply as he drew his own swords mid stride towards the
stranger, his killing intent clear in his posture. He struck first but the
blow was too slow and telegraphed for it's nimble target. The masked
stranger side stepped the blow with a parry and chuckled again.

Before Deccan could react the man struck out with surprising quickness as
his blade found skin against Deccan's shoulder. The Count growled in
defiance, ignoring the pain as he struck out again and again, his blows
filled with the fury that was building deep inside.

The agile stranger seemed to be dancing as his blade parried each of the
Count's attacks. Deccan thought he could almost see the man's cocky smile
beneath the skull faced mask. Deccan roared his defiance.

"Now, now, Count! " the masked man said with mirth in his voice, "What good
will All this anger do you? You'll need a clear head if you expect to
anticipate my blows,
" he said as he struck out again, his blade finding
flesh, almost as if adding to the lesson.

Deccan swung his swords wildly, each strike met with air or the faintest
touch of the strangers blade as he parried the attacks. As Deccan fought
all else seemed to fade until there was only the dance of blades. His fury
subsiding as old habbits began to take over.

Finally, Deccan parried a reposte from the stranger and lept to kick the
stranger in the chest with both feet, his blow landing with a satisfying
thud as the stranger stumbled with a grunt. Deccan landed with a lack of
grace but couldn't help but mirror the strangers cocky smile.

The stranger caught his balance as an unnatural fog seemed to over take the
allyway, obscuring the man from view. The last thing Deccan heard was the
strangers deep chuckle as the fog seemed to disperse as quickly as it had
arrived, leaving Deccan alone in the ally.

Deccan leaned against a nearby wall, bleeding from more than a few scapes
and deeper cuts, but a smile crept onto his face as old urges seemed to
return to him.




Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jun 8 22:50:17 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject Another day at the docks ( Part 1 of 2 )



Seagulls wheel overhead in the cool breeze blowing from the west as the
sun slowly moves through the clear sky over the port village. Sheltered by
the hilly peninsulas that form the nearly hidden cove, the small port
sprawls along the curve of the rocky beach. A single war galley flying the
colors of the Dark City stands guard in the passage where the cove opens
into the Puxnu'kiza ip Kupux. Numerous fishing skiffs flit over the dark
waters alongside a few merchant cogs making their way in and out of port.
Dozens of one room hovels built of driftwood and mud daub rise in haphazard
clusters among the scattering of stone and timber buildings- mostly taverns
and warehouses. Impressive for such a small settlement, the numerous piers
of the docks reach far into the deep anchorage. All is centered around two
large drydocks where the huge wooden ribs of two warships loom above every
other structure.

Dozens of men labor on the docks, sawing lumber into planks, drawing
seasoned boards into gentle curves to form the the hull, hammering pegs and
sealing seams with tar. Amidst the flying sawdust, stacking and restacking
of timber, a few men stride imperiously with leather whips in hand, not even
missing a step as they unleash stinging strikes at any person slacking from
their task, or simply not moving quickly enough. One such chastisement
caused Corron to stumble beneath the weight of his burden as the man hefting
the opposite end of the heavy stack of planks felt an arbitrary lash, nearly
causing their shared load to go spilling across the boardwalk. Fortunately,
amidst a string of mumbled curses, Corron's partner recovered his grip and
balance. Both would have received far worse punishment had they dropped a
single plank. With a sigh of relief, they added their load to a growing
cord of planks awaiting the next stage in the process.

Offering a sympathetic nod to the stung dockhand, Corron quickly moved
towards the front of the drydock to where a man stood at a drafting table,
alternately shouting instructions to a steady steam of scurrying apprentices
and moving instruments across the quality parchment clamped to the table.

Perhaps this time Corron would be given some instruction on the calculations
being done for displacement of the carvel vessels under construction, or
maybe some deeper insight into the measurements for the planing hulls. So
far, the title "apprentice" seemed to mean more odd jobs than direct
instruction, with Corron sent to shore up the work wherever hands were most
needed. Today, it had largely consisted of hauling planks and logs.
Yesterday he had been resealing chines along the hull. The day before he
was sawing planks- probably the same ones he had been hauling the entire
morning. Atleast there was plenty of tactile experience if little direct
teaching.




Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jun 8 22:54:43 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject Another day at the docks ( Part 2 of 2 )



As he drew near the head shipwright and dock master, the wizened man
happened to look directly at Corron, his normally taciturn expression
growing even more sour as he considered the lengthy points of Corron's ears,
rising through his dark brown hair. Corron was the only half-elven
apprentice and one of only two half breeds in the whole shanty town. It had
made for an unpleasant childhood, his slight frame and exotic features
making him a frequent target. Things were somewhat easier as an adult, the
long years of labor on the docks having provided him a muscular frame, even
if his elven heritage prevented him from becoming truly bulky, smoothing the
sinew into graceful lines. Another, more dubious, deterrence was the ashen
cast to his skin, dulling the bronze tan from years of sun and hinting his
patronage may have come from the elves of the Dark City. The port town lay
within the shadow of Verminasia's domain and few would risk drawing
attention to themselves, however unlikely a connection to the half breed
might be.

With great effort, Corron resisted the urge to come close enough to study
the numbers and equations scrawled over the blueprints on the drafting
board, having earned a bloody nose the last time. For looking like nothing
but gristle on bones stretched beneath leathery skin, the dock master was
surprisingly strong. After enduring several moments of that withering
stare, Corron snapped a hand up to capture a large roll of waxed and knotted
twine that came hurtling towards his face.

"Get yer arse to the keel an' retake the measurin' from sternpost to stem.
Bloody fools be slantin tha middecks. Make em fair an level! "

The master shipwright's attention was back to his designs before he even
finished the order. Accepting the gruff treatment as normal fare, Corron
looped his arm through the measuring twine and quickly wove his way through
the bustling workers to take a ladder to the lowest part of the drydock,
while wondering whether his next assignment might offer a better chance to
learn more advanced facets of the craft.




Writer: Arreana

Date Thu Jun 9 10:50:38 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Heartening News


********************A Response to: 'Lacking Heart' by Elrei
Glailen had visited Arreana. Not to apologize, but to inform her of what had
happened with him as a result of his actions. It made the concept of
forgiveness somewhat awkward, but she'd done so anyways. She needed Glailen
to know that she held no ill-will toward him.

Arreana pursed her lips as she reflected in quiet contemplation. She was on
the patio of the large tree that her home had been built around, but she
had forsaken the sun-bathing chairs for sitting cross-legged on the patio
boards in a meditative state.

There were still simmering emotions regarding what the knight had done, but
Arreana had done her best to allieviate them. While lying in and of itself
was a sin, most followers of Good realized that stretches of the truth, or
"white lies" could be made when necessary in order to facilitate difficult
conversations.

There really had been little that was courteous about Glailen, ever. The
knight was as humorless as a statue, and incredibly formal in almost all
things. However, he had been professional about how he approached her in
conversation. About the rudest he had gotten was in baldly telling her
that if he received a copy of the Bible of Holiness, that he would burn
it. She hadn't realized it would also apply to the Book of Taliena, but
even that comment wasn't truly rude in and of itself.

However, it was pointless to dwell on the minute details of her missive,
she'd done what she had to do. She hoped it would be enough.

The most important thing that came out of her conversation with Glailen
was something she must have missed in All of the back and forth of the
missives. The Seraph, a messenger of the gods, had spoken of the approval
of the Holy Family for such a text to be created.

With their blessing, Arreana hoped that she would finally get more
aid with the creation of the other texts. While, as a Bishop of Taliena's
faith, Arreana was a representative for All of the other faiths of
the Holy Family, creating a text for each of the other faiths without
the input of its worshipers.

Some had already expressed their desire to help. She would approach
them first. The rest would hopefully follow.
--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------13




Writer: Arreana

Date Thu Jun 9 11:01:30 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Kadiya


********************A Response to: 'untitled' by Laniath
Kadiya.

Taliena's deceased daughter, the only member of the Holy Family that was
deceased, unless Nadrik was not saved, had often haunted Arreana's thoughts.
Though Peace was an extension of Love, and Kadiya's worshipers had been
taken in by Taliena, the principles and teachings of Kadiya remained distinct
enough to warrant a separate book.

Many of Kadiya's most renowned clergy had taken to retirement after the death
of their beloved deity. Not all, of course, though it was difficult at times
for Arreana to remember who was a former priest or priestess of Kadiya. It
wasn't until after her passing that the invasion had occurred and Arreana had
begun to pay attention to the greater world.

The Book of Kadiya seemed to be the one book most likely to daunt Arreana as
she sought its completion. Finding clergy and scholars of the Lady of Peace
would be a difficult task without some help.

Of course, finding the followers of the Holy Family in general was difficult
enough. Arreana had grumbled on more than one occasion at the lack of response
to the creation of the texts. Even with the blesing of the Holy Family, she
was beginning to think that the endeavor would be one which had her hand
writing most of it.

All that Arreana was likely to get would be responses to what she put forth
and, given the book burnings of a book that she had written about the goddess
that she served, she was not ready to imagine the enflamed discussions and
sharp commentary that would naturally come.

However, it would be done. The blessing of the Holy Family was not just a
blessing, it was a responsibility. She had committed to the undertaking,
which meant she had to follow it through, no matter how difficult it was in
the process of completion.

The Book of Kadiya, no matter how difficult, would be written.
--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------14




Writer: Glailen

Date Thu Jun 9 14:37:56 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Fri Jun 10 15:52:39 2016

To All Imm Raije

Subject Bones



The shield wall tightly around the vikings, darts keep zipping through
the air from All directions. They village was small, so they were perhaps
only ten meters from foliage on All sides, which seemed to be the dart's
point of origin. The tall viking which was previously injured lay in the
middle of the group, convulsing on the ground and breathing in ragged gasps.
Odin could peer through the gaps in the shields, and could not spy who was
shooting at them. Odin's father kept shouting encouragement to the others.
















"Hold the Vall, Volsung! They can't be chucking these bloody needles
forever!"
He yelled, keeping low to protect their lower extremeties. It
was odd way to fight a battle, eerily silent compared to the normal clashing
of shields and swords, death throes of man and woman. {u(The poison used came
from a native frog, and essentially restricted the blood flow going to the
lungs, causing an excess buildup of fluid in the body. Eventually, one
would drown without drinking a drop)
Odin's father yelled again, keeping the
wall tight enough to deflect the darts but without obsucring their vision
totally. "Clan, report in!"

One by one the men and women shouted their names, not just in response to
the roll call but in a sort of battle cry, a defiance against their enemies
so that they may know who will bring death upon them. It was pride, and
true Viking bravery. Sixteen names, fierce and proud called back, shouting
their names to the heavens. {u(The voices that called out were lacking in
numbers)
quit Odin's father assessed the situation, peering through the gaps
within the shield wall to find the best course of action.

"The devils can't be throwing darts forever, ve should push forvard into the
edge ov the veeds and see if ve can drive them out ov hiding! No vone beats
a Viking on foot! For Volsung!"
He cries out. Like a giant turtle, the
massive shield wall surrouding the Clan Volsung force started to inch
towards the jungle foliage. They had to leave the tall viking hit by the
dart on the battlefield. There is honor in respecting the dead, but one
needs to be alive to do so. Odin kept his shield held high, small darts
bouncing off of it occassionally. The pace at which they were launched
seemed to slow to a small trickle.

Once they reached the edge of the forest, a sharp eyed half elven shield
maiden spied a streak of silver moving in the bushes. With her free hand,
she called for a spear and had another viking press it into her hand.
"Open!" She yells, and like a hole opened up in the wall just melted away.
She found her target and let the spear fly through the air, hitting its
target with the sickening sweet sound of metal piercing wet flesh. A loud
groan broke the relative calmness of the surrounding jungle.

The half-elven viking screamed in triumph as the wall closed behind her.
The ogre standing next to her grunted a warning sign, nudging her with his
shoulder.

"Arvyn, Glunt sees needle in arm." He says simply, nodding at the spot
with his sweaty brow. Arvyn, the half-elven Viking looks down. For a
moment her eyes were cast in disbelief, which quickly became anger. "Well,
if this be the way in which I am to go"
she says in a voice too calm for her
situation, "Let me go to Valhalla as a warrior, nay a kender lover like you
all"
. Hearty laughs filled the small confined space of the shield wall even
as the sweat started to form on her forehead. Arvyn readies her blade, and
gives a single nod. With a long sigh, her eyes narrow. "Open! For
Volsung!"


Into the jungle she rushes as the shield wall closes behind her, running
headlong into the dense land which would eventually consume her bones. {u(The
silver she spotted initialy would be an anomaly to Tropica, as as a mineral
it is not oft mined in this type of environment.)





Writer: Pomacanthus

Date Fri Jun 10 21:32:54 2016




Writer: Langa

Date Sat Jun 11 00:54:42 2016




Writer: Langa

Date Sat Jun 11 02:27:28 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Sat Jun 11 08:19:00 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Betrayal



Arvyn had the berserker's rage in her blood as her eyes scanned for a
target she had thrown her spear at earlier, hands clenched on her sword.
The poison from the dart was causing her to slightly shake, but it was not
as fast acting as it had appeared on the other human viking. {u(This type of
poison affects different races in various manners. A half-eleven lass like
this would have some natural resistance to plant derivatives based on
genetics)
That same flash of silver catches her eye, and she moves towards
her target.

Odin watched his brave, half-elven clanmate turn her fierce gaze on whatever
it is she spied from the shield wall. Even though he could see the effect
of the poison start to take hold with her minor convulsing, her rage seemed
to keep her focus. She was beautiful and deadly to behold. It was this
moment he was more proud of Clan Volsung than ever before. He may have only
been fourteen summers old at this point, but he shared the honor of fighting
alongside ogres, elves, and there was even a hobgoblin in their midst. Each
had been souls who embraced the Viking way of conquest and exploration,
family honor and the challenge of battle. Each swore to protect one
another, and shoulder by shoulder, surrounding by enemies, they made good
the oaths. There was no greater clan in All of Icewall.

Arvyn raised her blade, fire near shooting forth from her eyes as she stared
down her target. It felt as if the world slowed down as he gazed upon her.
Both hands gripped the hilt of her sword above her head, and the shouting
from the defenders in the shield wall seemed to melt into the background.

Her voice pierced the air with her scream as she started to bring the blade
down hard towards the earth.

"Syurceb yhlyu que jlrebevebr aeeb pebmjeebp eteheb ehiluvec lj Valhalla, zN
yhlyu ehlmlralebcc plj!"
As the blade come crashing down, Odin saw the
streak of silver lift the haft of a spear upwards, the point sticking into
her abdomen. Her blade bit sunk below the line of foliage, obscuring its
target, but he saw the deep satisfaction in her eyes as it made that same
wet cracking sound. She let go of the hilt, and stared down at the
protrusion from her chest. She was able to spit on the ground before she
fell to her knees, rolling to her side to be claimed by the earth.

She would be dining in Valhalla tonight.

{u(The elvish scream was unknown to all, as there were no others capable of
speaking elvish in the party, but its translation would jave been "Curse you
to forever be denied the halls of Valhalla, you honorless dog". This would
only be spoken to one who claimed the had a right to battle alongside the
All-Father in the afterlife)


Now spears were being thrown in numbers against the shield wall, some
sticking into the tough wood, and others glancing harmlessly off of them.
None were able to harm anyone from Clan Volsung, but one struck dead center
into his father's shield. Odin was able to catch a sidelong glance at the
tip of the spear as the shaft broke off with the force of the impact. There
was a small blacksmith marking at the fold of the steel where it connected
to the shaft. It was of Viking make. And he knew the blacksmith which
forged it. He was from Clan Volsung.

Odin's father saw the marking as well, his eyes filled with fury. He raised
his voice to be heard over the clammor of the battle.

"Ton the longboat, Volsung!" he screamed. "Their be volves in our midst!"




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sat Jun 11 14:31:19 2016

To All Verminasia Aybel Ashbie Storyline Immortal

Subject Next Stop Fiddichvale



Ayrora rose early and prepared Braedan for their trip to Fiddichvale,
making sure that Nefratin and Salodorion were informed last night so they
would be packed and ready for the two day trip. The village was about a
days ride and there was no thought in her mind of returning in the dark.
The Captain and Sergeant were ready, just as expected, and she mounted
Braedan and off they went.

They had started to spend so much time together that Rora felt more
comfortable around them and did not see them as "tin cans" as she usually
called them. Nefratin and Salodorion became like friends to her although
they still kept their professional distances. She would especially notice
their professionalism when someone walked a bit too close to Braedan and
Nefratin would make sure to place his horse in front of hers.

They stopped under a large apple tree to have lunch and take a break. It
was cloudy and she knew a downpour could hit at any moment so they mounted
their horses and off they went yet again. They finally reached their
destination, settled the horses for the night, and went off to get rooms to
stay in. The guards took turns guarding her door as she slept through the
downpour that had started as they entered the town.

Morning broke and she was up with the early morning sun, preparing Braedan
for the task at hand. She seemed serious as they examined the apples and
trees at each of the six orchards and spoke to each caretaker. She finally
smiled as she checked All the manifests of incoming and outgoing crates and
found minimal losses and All the paperwork was in order. So far one of the
best experiences she has had.

They headed back to their rooms in town where, once again, they stayed the
night and headed back to the Manor the next morning at the break of dawn.
All in all, a good trip.





Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 15:42:38 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 15:44:40 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 15:48:15 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 15:55:26 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 16:01:02 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sun Jun 12 01:12:30 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sun Jun 12 01:13:26 2016




Writer: Crelius

Date Sun Jun 12 01:15:21 2016




Writer: Euterah

Date Sun Jun 12 02:00:08 2016

To Darkonin Mokla Zola All ( Sunny IMM RP )

Subject The Monster Emerges



The Minotaur scratched the absent horns place absently, it had become
habit as she was thoughtful. They had been watching the passages of the
Hollows waiting for opportunity and lo opportunity came knocking. Vermat,
the fiend of the fells, was already set with crew within the Hollows. All
but invisible they continued on with their business until the signal came in
the stem of a passed pipe.

Vermat grinned his queer quirked smile and fanned his crew out through the
Hollows. They only had to wait for those door to open. Wait. They did.

The doors did not open. Vermat was just about to call it off when he
spotted the Queen and her King and another, they seemed to be looking at the
inlaid carving of the door. Vermat began the brawl, punching a nearby man
in the face, cackling wildly as a scream set up as he launched himself at a
goblin matron. More screams. This was the signal. His archer let loose
their arrows. More screams. He headed for the exit, losing himself in the
crowd. He spied the Queen, kneeling over a prone robed and masked figure.
The did not get theWitch, yet, Vermat brightened, he did not see either the
King. He made his way out of the Hollows and slipped into the icy under
passages, moving through them until he came to the Quarters. That is what
they called their resting place, though it was not home, they moved to their
various positions. The Minotaur stood at the back, a low caterfire blazed
near. Vermat approached.

General Kargeshk, me I am reporting. We am we not get the Queen, we did
kill someone. I no- am not certain who. She look very worry though. Hrum!


The Minotaur turned and faced his second, grunting and nodding.

The others?

They come! I am sure they come. They heard the signal.

The Minotaur turned away from the grinning hobgoblin and looked around the
cavern to his rag tag army. He smiled.




Writer: Laleina

Date Sun Jun 12 06:50:25 2016

To All Roleplay Storyline Religion ( Necrucifer )

Subject A Fervent Prayer



Laleina walked into the Altar of Darkness. What she had heard truly
concerned her and she could not stand by idley and do nothing. As she
walked in and slowly walked up to His statue she bowed her head until she
reached the point intended. She kneeled before the statue as her wolf sat
quitely by her side watching viligently over his owner.


Glorious Master, I come to You this day in supplication. I come to ask that
You look upon Your Knights for I have heard that they no longer follow your
Will and Way. I ask that You intercede and turn them back to Your ways so
they may follow Your teachings, Your Will, Your Ways that you have given
them to follow. Glorious Master I praise Your name and look forward to the
day when You return to restore Your reign upon All of Algoron. In Your
unholy name I pray.


She stayed in quiet meditation for over an hour before rising quietly
turning slowly and walking out the door to return home.





Writer: Vulgrim

Date Sun Jun 12 08:03:18 2016

To All Roleplay Storyline Religion (Necrucifer)

Subject Prayer of Absolution



Walking through the streets of Verminasia, nodding to All the familiar
faces Vulgrim has grown to know over the years. His face contorted into one
of focused purpose as his footsteps neared the destination he sought.
Stepping up the steps as his coat flowed behind him and entering the archway
with a heavy sigh. As he walked along the threshold of the Altar of
Darkness, he had already begun his prayer.

My Master, I pray to you now with not a normal prayer in which I praise only
Your name, but in which I request Your Unholy Absolution. However, not just
for the sins and failures I alone have brought, but for others. Numerous
accounts by others, and witnessed by my own eyes, that in which Your Knights
have failed to walk along Your Way and follow Your Will. They require Your
hand to guide them, and I pray that You will show them the Way once more in
which will please You

As he neared the Altar and the statue, he reaches up to his head and grips
his hat in his hand. As he lowers the hat onto the Altar, he kneels down on
one knee, kneeling to the Statue with his head bowed.

My own personal failures over the years I will never forget nor should You.
I am weary and worn from the sins I have wrought upon You. In choosing to
do such things, I have failed You. With Your blessings my Master, I intend
penance for my failure to know You. Like always; Master, are the one true
lord and may my prayers and meditations of my heart and soul please You this
day and I pray it brings forth Your Eternal Darkness.

There he stays, knelt to the statue for the better half of an hour before
finishing his prayer. Soon, he stands and swiftly returns the hat to his
head. Bowing once more to the statue he knows so well before turning on his
heels and returning home to contemplate.




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sun Jun 12 11:17:28 2016

To All Verminasia Aybel Ashbie Storyline Roleplay Immortal

Subject A Visit to Rumville



Rumville was Ayrora's next stop on the list. With Nefratin and
Salodorion at her side they headed off on their next stop. They rode along
the river, as she always loved being near the water, and shortly came upon
the town. She laughed thinking Aldrin would have loved to come with her but
he was occupied with other things. Rum was always his favorite and Rumvile
was well known for its distillery's of rum and apple brandy.

Her first stop for the day were the grain silos and other areas where stock
was kept for distilling. She found one silo that needed attention and
ordered it cleaned immediately for restocking. Musty grain had no place in
a silo much less to be used in high quality distilling. Everything else was
found to be more than well so her next stop was the port.

At the port she went over All the manifests and, spoke to the port master,
and examined All the crates and sacks that arrived, All was in order. When
she was satisfied she called to Nefratin and Salodorion, mounted Braedan,
and they headed back home. The headed past the Chocolate Factory on the way
home this time and she frowned slightly knowing her project was on hold a
bit longer. At least until she found a steward who could replace her.





Writer: Mokla
Date Sun Jun 12 18:17:52 2016

To Darkonin Euterah Zola All ( Sunny Imm Rp )

Subject ))Taking off the Gloves((


".. And the elders here claim it prophecy.. A time foretol.." The
king was saying to the masked bishop as the whistle of air reached his ears
and the pupils of his eyes tightened suddenly. Already lunging towards his
queen, the first arrow struck just above her short frame. Sprawling to
cover and force her down, he had just raised his head as a volley of three
arrows scattered wildly amidst the panicked crowd. Locking his eyes on the
end of the raised bow stave, Mokla felt his blood roaring through his brain
as the hunter realized he had suddenly become the hunted. A quick survey
over Euterah and the sound of her rising snarl assured him she remained
unhurt, but a glance to the bishop found Zola tossing a gore covered arrow
away in disgust. "See to the Bishop!" He implored of the rising Queen, as
he raced past the nearing guards in pursuit of the attacker.

The confused crowd which slowed the assailant, parted before the bellowing
of the enraged king as they raced deeper into the Hollows gathering place, a
seemingly dead end. Stumbling upon a discarded empty quiver and falling to
a knee, Mokla's hand seized upon a stray fist-sized rock. The fleeing
goblin turned to see his pursuer stumble before resuming his flight, heading
to the back of the meeting place as Mokla rose and let the rock fly. Fury
or fate guided the crude missile to impact the back of the goblins
top-knotted head, and pitched him forward to impact with the rock wall
roughly. The fleeting moment had the enraged hobgoblin pouncing upon the
slumped would be assassin, turning him over and raising him by a fist full
of tunic as the other raised to pummel him. The way the attacker's head
rolled crazily and the smell of voided bowels told Mokla that the goblin
would never feel the intended blow and he threw back his head in a
frustrated howl. There would be no questioning, no hope of answer. The
goblin as much of a dead end as the site of his death.

Seizing the goblin's ankles, Mokla drug the corpse roughly back through the
crowd to find Dkom and his guards clearing a circle around the Queen and
Bishop. Dropping his burden Mokla snarled once more delivering a kick to
the body before turning to Dkom with a beckoning gesture. Heeding wordless
command the officer knelt to peer closely at the attacker turning his head
from side to side roughly before pointing to the familiar brand upon it's
neck and looking up to Mokla. It was a brand now becoming to common in the
Hollows, the mark of an ice prison inmate. Stepping closer to the rising
officer, Mokla drew him aside to speak in rapid yet hushed tones. "This
ends now.. If the folk cannot purge these dogs, we will. Gather your men
and move from tunnel to tunnel, house to house, from the gates of Darkonin
to the cellars of Fort Ghyt and everywhere in between.
.. Check every
living soul for more of these brands, young and old, no exceptions. Anyone
who resists lock up. Anyone found with this mark send to me.. I'll handle
the Queen, but we will have an end to this Dkom, it's time to take the
gloves off"





Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 18:59:01 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (1/9)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE WEREWOLF
OOC for purposes of chronology, this story note actually takes place a
month or two in game time prior to the posting.

There were many places that one might expect to find Mathesan Madaur. The
library, for instance, was a particular haunt of his. There were several
libraries within Verminasia that he might be found in. While he did not
make such details publicly known, the contingent of guards that followed
the Prince these days was hardly discrete. There were times when he
managed to have some time without them, but in those moments it was very
difficult for even the most skilled of observers to notice him.

The least likely place that one would expect to find the Prince was a
small orphanage in Markon. The orphanage itself, though on the King's
Road, was rather remote. It was a day's ride to a town in either
direction. Of course, Mathesan was familiar enough with it that it was a
simple matter to teleport himself, and his guard, to its location.

The building that the orphanage was housed in was beginning to show the
signs of wear. It was only a little older than Mathesan himself, but that
meant it had spent two decades through rainy seasons, snow, and the
oppressive heat and humidity of Markon summers.

Mathesan looked to his guards as he arrived, per usual, by magic. There
were six assigned to active duty at All times, with a total of twenty-
four guards in total. All of them were trained in defensive, enhancing,
and transportation spells, as well as physical combat. However, not a
single one of them looked like a typical guard. They wore no visible
armor, and they were dressed to blend into crowds. The only thing that
gave them away were the brooches at their shoulders, engraved with the
crest of the Madaur family and the seal of the Crown of Verminasia.

At times, when he bothered to consider it, Mathesan supposed he could
probably deal with three or four of his guard if he were an enemy, but
he would have been hard-pressed to take on six of them All at once.

The guards were well aware of their ward's own capabilities, and did
their best to not be in the way.

At the orphanage, they spread out around the building, keeping watch,
while Mathesan ascended the short set of stone stairs that led up to the
impressive oak doors that led into the orphanage. Letting himself in,
Mathesan took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting of the hallway. Most
of the rooms were built with large windows or supplied with bright
lights, but the hallways had a feel that was more reminiscent of a
funeral parlor.

As he entered, a woman exited a room halfway down the hallway. She
glanced down toward the entrance and gave a small, startled jump as
she saw Mathesan. Her tray, piled with plates and cups, nearly leapt
from her hands in protest, but she recovered quickly enough. Mathesan
gave the woman, who he knew was Vallinda, a curt nod of recognition and
headed for the very same room she had exited.

Vallinda offered a shy, "Welcome, Prince Madaur." Lowering her gaze as
she focused on her task and began to walk down the hall towards the
entrance, likely headed to the kitchen which dominated the left side of
the frontmost portion of the house.

As Mathesan entered the room, there were sudden cries of excitement as
the children saw him.

Smiling, Mathesan began, "Time for a story..."

pg. 01
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Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 19:00:12 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (2/9)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE WEREWOLF
(continued)

Mathesan didn't always tell stories. However, they remained, by far, the
most popular activity of his visits. At once, the children of the room
abandoned their play and formed an orderly semi-circle, sitting in rows,
as they prepared for him to begin.

The Matron of the orphanage, Malda Hopwarden, smiled at Mathesan and
found herself a seat. Two teenage girls, who were helping the Matron,
seated themselves at either side of the semi-circle, keeping an eye on
the kids. However, as Mathesan drew back the hood that so often obscured
his face, he noticed that both girls, blushing, were checking him out.

This was nothing new to the Prince. Though he had now been publicly
courting Clare Kylen for quite some time, it did nothing to diminish the
almost obsessive following of women that he had within Verminasia and
abroad. Even if Mathesan hadn't carried the family name of Madaur, there
were sure to be a number of admirers from his own physical
attractiveness, wit, and confidence alone. Personally, Mathesan believed
the latter made up a significant portion of the two other traits, but
such opinions were, by their very nature, subjective, and thus difficult
to quantify.

The kids, at least, could be trusted to be as unabashedly honest, and
sometimes downright brutal, as Mathesan desired. The innocence of
children held a specific draw to the man who felt nothing. He had begun
to work on personal charm and to transform himself with the famous
charisma that was synonymous with his family's legacy. Yet, at his core,
Mathesan preferred blunt honesty to tactful truths, and a certain
abandon of external judgment, driven by the desire to be whatever it
was one wanted to be. These qualities the children seemed to possess in
spades.

"This tale is a bit more frightening than most that I've shared,"
Mathesan continued, pausing to look out across the eager faces of the
children seated before him, "and, I'm afraid, there is no happy ending."

A few frowns flashed across faces at this last revelation. Whether or not
they were willing to admit it, the children certainly preferred stories
that had happy endings. The Princess won the Prince or the Prince won the
Princess. The town was saved from the horrible Metallic, or some beast of
unspeakable violence was put down by a hero. Very rarely did Mathesan
stray from these formulas. When he did, it was with a specific purpose.
Though, perhaps, the designs behind that purpose may have proved elusive
to even the brightest of the children.

"Long ago, though not too long ago, there was a village in the
northernmost reaches of the Verminasian kingdom. It was a place similar
to here, but they received more snow in the winter, had a longer rainy
season, and shorter, colder summers.

In that place there broad swaths of forest much larger and more ancient
than the forests that make up these parts. In spite of the dangers
lurking in the shadows between the trees, the village depended on the
forest for their survival. Within the forest there was plenty of game,
from which food, clothes, and weapons were made. There were berries, and
plants with curative properties.

When the occasional ship passed by the shore, large trading carnivals
were often set up, and while the importance of these carvinals was for
the trade they provided to the village, the magic of them inspired the
imaginations of All of the children."

pg. 02
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Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Jun 12 19:03:42 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (3/9)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE WEREWOLF
(continued)

Mathesan looked at All of the children, they had a slightly glazed look
to their eyes, mouths parted as if they didn't want to forget to breathe.

He had their attention. Good.

"Now, as it happens, some of the kids grew up in wealthy families, others
grew up in poorer families.

But All kids share the same potential for imagination.

One of the things the traveling carnival learned early on was that if you
could get things that common folk rarely, usually never, see, that the
profits could be enormous. They need only pay their oddities scraps, and,
in the case of beasts without rights, nothing at all. The margins were,
therefore, very good. They could make lots and lots of money."

The kids continued to give Mathesan their utmost attention, a rare treat
for the orphanage staff, including the Matron who had disappeared just
a minute or so after he had started.

Another assistant came in, wearing the uniform dress of the orphanage,
which appeared rather ragged and dirty. Mathesan would have to see if
some funds could be donated for new uniforms. In her hands, the worker
had a tray of cookies, and she went by each child, offering them a
cookie. Most of the children took them, though one or two did not.

Glancing down, Mathesan noted that someone had placed a glass of water
there. He picked it up and took several long sips before replacing it on
the table and continuing, "One of the most popular attractions was the
werewolf exhibit. While many heroes of the realm have fought and
vanquished this pesky foe, their condition of lycanthropy remains a
mystery to the arcane and divine arts.

As such, werewolves usually hide deep in rarely ventured forests, or form
small communities to protect themselves. The latter is rare, as few
werewolves can control their bloodlust in the middle of a transformation
and will kill anything and everything they can reach."

A couple of the kids had now grabbed on to each other. Others clenched
their small hands into fists, their knuckles whitening just as their
faces began to shade a similar pallor. By this point, most of the staff
in the room had turned their attention to the story as well.

"Werewolves in exhibits were rarer still. Because participants were
usually willing beings, their rights had to be recognized in most
jurisdictions. They had to willingly give up their right to freedom
in exchange for safety, shelter, and modest sums of money.

Still, there were always one or two willing, and that's All the
carnival ever really needed.

Now, in this village that I mentioned before, a place that was known
as Icedale, there was a child named Bryhan.

Bryhan was born not only to poor parents, who each scraped by a meager
living in the village with odd jobs, he was also a troubled child.
Bryhan could not help but lie.

Some would say that Bryhan was a child after Devion's own heart, but
those that do are willing to forget that Devion rewards clever liars far
more than compulsive ones.

Unwanted by parents who worked All day and drowned their sorrows
indulging in vices that allowed them to escape their miserable lives,
even if only for a little while, Bryhan was forced to raise himself."

Mathesan paused again for another drink and looked around at the
children.

"Shall I continue?"

A chorus of "yes" and "please!" rang out among the children and staff
alike. Mathesan had learned early on to keep the audience engaged.

"Very well..."

pg. 03
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Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Jun 12 19:04:36 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (4/9)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE WEREWOLF
(continued)

"It wasn't until Bryhan was able to earn some coin himself, at the tender
age of eight, that he was finally able to see the freak show the carnival
offered."

A few of the children, All of whom looked more-or-less eight, glanced
around at their peers, as if they expected the other kids to single them
out for sharing the same age.

Mathesan continued, "There were marvelous and strange exhibits among the
carnival freaks. There was a man who reportedly weighed 600 pounds!
Children and adults alike piled up to watch the man eat, moving his
monstrous bulk to receive another turkey leg or corn bread when he
finished whatever it was that he had.

"There was a woman whose skin was flaky and yet hard, like scales. There
was a child who looked as though he was eighty years old, and yet was
clearly not an adult. There were a pair of twins conjoined at the
shoulder, and a man with two tongues.

"However, above All else, there was the werewolf man. He only transformed
into a werewolf under the light of the full moon, but, by way of primal
arcane magic, half of his room contained moonlight and the other half was
bathed in the day.

"As Bryhan watched, the man walked over to the moonlit side and a most
horrible and fascinating change began almost instantly. The man's limbs
elongated, with tendrils of sinew and lean muscle bulging out against
the skin. His hair grew longers, and it grew out everywhere else as well.
His fingers grew claws and the man's face began to shift, a semi-snout
taking over his nose and mouth, and then, after several moments, a full
snout and on and on the changes went until the man before them appeared
more like a large, bipedal wolf.

"There was fire in the wolf's yellow eyes, a burning flame of the wild,
leaving no doubt that the man who had been standing before the crowd
only moments before was no longer home.

"The werewolf growled and sniffed, pressing its snout up against the
bars as it eyed children and adults alike, but mostly the children.

"Some of the mothers shielded their children with their arms, retreating,
while others watched as their children shouted and giggled with glee. The
werewolf became agitated that food was so close, and yet not within
reach. It began to gnash its teeth, snarl, and slobber. More of the kids
stepped back, these ones mostly on their own, though a few brave souls
remained behind.

"Bryhan was one such soul, and as most of the kids backed off, he
stepped up close to the wolf, trying to touch its snout.

"'Hey now!' Shouted a voice, and one of the carnival workers strode
across the tent, grabbing Bryhan's hand before he could touch the
werewolf. 'No touching, feeding, or otherwise gettin' "friendly" with
the freaks.' He said.

"Instead, Bryhan simply watched. Eventually, the werewolf, simply by
a need to explore out of boredom, wandered back to the sunny side
and the change was no less dramatic in the first. However, the robes
he had had on were nowhere to be found. Naked, he walked over to a
small chest and retrieved a new set, then turned and waved at the
awestruck crowd.

"Thunderous applause came up from the crowd. However, now that the
show was over, Bryhan wiggled his way out and headed home. No matter
how much he tried, though Bryhan wasn't trying very hard, Bryan could
not help but think of the werewolf and imagining what it would be like
to be one."

pg. 04
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Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Jun 12 19:05:34 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (5/9)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE WEREWOLF
(continued)

If the children were mesmerised before, they were trance-like at this
point. The staff were also hanging off of every word, and they weren't
really paying attention to the orphans at all, but, given the way that
Mathesan had them wrapped in the story, there was nothing that anyone
was doing other than listening.

At this moment, the Matron returned, took a look around the room, gave a
slightly amused smile to Mathesan and made her way to the back of the
room.

"Don't stop on my account," she said as she sat down, and made a gesture
with her hand as if to indicate 'continue on'.

Sweeping the room with his dark gaze, Mathesan nodded once and then
began to recite once more.

"Bryhan was a dreamer, if it wasn't werewolves, then it was dragons, or
as a brave knight of the Kingsguard. Other times he was a great wizard
of the Conclave.

"However, seeing a werewolf had brought that dream just a little closer
to reality. Of course, in his dreams, Bryhan was never controlled by
the primal beast that is the curse of the werewolf. He retained full
control of himself through the transformation. Unfortunately, dreams so
often disappoint when they separate from reality.

"Bryhan's parents didn't give him any attention when he got home, even
though he wanted to share the experience of the werewolf with them. That
night, as he curled up in bed, trying to fall asleep. However, sleep
did not tug at her as it usually did. Instead, he continued to wake
from nightmares where the wolves chased her. There were some dreams too,
surreal dreams where he was raised by the wolves, or else went off to
live with thenm as he rejected civilized society.

"Whatever the reason, Bryhan decided to get attention himself and knew
exactly what would help.

"The first step was plausibility. No werewolf had been spotted in the
area in any of the current residents' lifetimes. This made it highly
unlikely that the townsfolk would believe any sort of sighting,
especially from an unsupervised younger child. The whole town knew
of his family situation, and most of them treated him poorly as a result
of it.

"Who would believe Bryhan Loches of anything he claimed?"

Mathesan paused again, looking around at the children and staff, as if
expecting an answer to the rhetorical question the story posed. A few
of the children stirred, startled out of their enrapturement by the
story. They looked around, blushed, and then began to fidget.

After the moment, Mathesan offered a smile and continued.

"Bryhan simply needed some sort of 'proof' to establish his claim.
Thankfully, the idea that would substantiate his story already took that
into account.

"Early the next morning, when All but the village grocer were still in
bed, Bryhan snuck out of the village and into the forest to the south. He
had spent more time in the woods than any of the other children, whose
parents had generally forebade their curiosity in it. Nevertheless,
Bryhan couldn't help but feel a slight trepidation when he ventured in.

"There were All sorts of natural beasts in the forest that were just
as terrifying, if not more terrifying, than a werewolf in and of
itself. In addition to normal wolves, there were dire wolves and dire
bears. Bryhan had spotted a dire bear once, the creature was larger than
the house he lived in. It had sniffed the air and looked over in his
direction. He'd bolted, and never once looked back.

pg. 05
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Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Jun 12 19:06:49 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (6/9)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE WEREWOLF
(continued)

"Thankfully, and fortunately, it took Bryhan less than an hour to find
what he was looking for, a fresh kill that had been mutilated to the
point of barely visible recognition. Bryhan looked around for any
predators, it was unusual for them to leave a kill behind, but not
unheard of. Sometimes another predator would scare them off, though,
usually, that predator would continue with the feasting--unless they
found something more appealing.

"After a minute of searching around, Bryhan concluded that he was
reasonably safe. Though he was only eight, he was big for his age, and
strong. Nevertheless, it took him several hours to get the carcass to the
edge of the woods. It was so heavy that he had to drag it, and every
five to ten minutes, he stopped, panting and sweating from the exertion.

"When, at last, Bryhan had reached the edge of the woods, he began to
rub some of the blood on his skin. He sharpened the edge of a branch and
began to tear into his clothes and skin as well, to make it look as
though he had been attacked.

"Bryhan didn't go overboard, both because he was having trouble hurting
himself without passing out, and also because he needed it to make
sense that he had only 'just' been attacked and then got away. More
severe injuries would indicate a more prolonged struggle.

"The imagination of the young mind is limitless, and yet often narrow
and confined. Most eight year olds don't consider All of the little
details. Their imaginations run wild with any concept, without
pausing to consider whether or not it could be believed.

"But Bryhan had spent most of his childhood dreaming of anywhere but
home. He learned from any source he could: a traveling tinker, the
carnival, and the occasional band of mercenaries that would stop in
town on their way to a job.

"It was because of this that Bryhan was able to be so meticulous
in his planning. When he was finished, Bryhan ran straight for
the village, ignoring the agony in his legs, which had been
already overworked in dragging the mutilated carcass. He ran as
if he would die if he did not, and the effect netted the exact
result he had been looking for.

"As Bryhan ran into town, panting and heaving, a number of the villagers,
who were now awake and beginning their day, saw him and, when the
shock wore off, began to rush over with exclamations and cries of worry
and horror.

"The first man to reach Bryhan was the town blacksmith, Hairy John, due
to his massive amount of facial hair, and the excessive hair over the
rest of his body, which erupted from his clothes as though offering a
promise of how much hair was beneath them.

"'What happened, son!?' Hairy John exclaimed, 'were you set upon by
bandits?'

"For a small village such as the one Bryhan lived in, there were
not usually very many fears. So long as they paid their taxes and
kept to themselves. However, bandits were a nuisance everywhere. And
they were always the first thing to jump to mind for the villagers,
who relied upon a safe road for their commerce to thrive.

"'N-no...' Bryhan sighed, '...w-were-werewolf...' he then proceeded
to collapse in a fashion that would have been worthy of many a traveling
troupe's best efforts.

"While the BlacksmitH did not believe the boy could have seen a werewolf,
and bandits were still well on his mind, he fetched the town healer,
and helped Bryhan to the healer's house. Then he gathered up some of
the men and they headed toward to the forest to see what they could
find of this unknown threat."

pg. 06
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Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Jun 12 19:07:49 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (7/9)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE WEREWOLF
(continued)

"The exploration party had found the deer, and though it could have been
the victim of any number of creatures, Bryhan's indication of a Werewolf
threat put the villagers on edge.

"Due to the unrest in the town, the Carnival left early.

"Bryhan recovered quickly, and showed no signs of being bitten. He had
also gained some newfound celebrity. He had run into a Werewolf and
survived to tell the tale. Not only were the other kids in the village
now looking up to him, the adults seemed to take more notice as well."

Mathesan let his gaze scan his audience once again. The children hadn't
seemed to lost any of their attention, something that children were so
notorious for. Even the Matron had joined the other staff in eagerly
listening to the story.

Continuing, Mathesan looked at a boy in the back of the group, "It was
everything that Bryhan had wanted. And yet, even just a couple of days
after the attack, the villagers seemed less concerned about an imminent
threat, and the other children had already heard his story several times.

"Life was moving on. This was difficult for Bryhan to accept, he thought
his story would linger on, continuing to give him the attention and
admiration that he so desperately craved.

"He knew right away that something bigger had to happen. The villagers
needed a reason to fear, and hate, the 'Werewolf' enough that the idea
of it wouldn't so easily be chased away from memory. Bryhan knew, almost
immediately, what he had to do.

"A boy, just a year younger than Bryhan, Samwent Acres, though he usually
went by Sam, was Bryhan's infrequent friend. Even when the other children
would laugh at Bryhan, Sam wouldn't, and when it was just the two of
them, they would let their imaginations run wild and Bryhan had a friend
to play with that didn't think he was weird.

"Bryhan led Sam into the forest. Sam had been nervous at first, even if
no one was really concerned about the Werewolf anymore, going into the
forest immediately brought the event back into memory. However, Bryhan
had assured Sam that he would be safe. After all, Bryhan had gotten
away the first time.

"Waiting until Sam had finally seemed more relaxed, and both boys were
deep enough in the forest that the village could no longer be seen,
Bryhan finally found a moment to drop out of sight. Sam didn't notice
at first. It wasn't until he'd turned around to ask Bryhan a question
of when they could rest that he realized Bryhan wasn't there.

"Meanwhile, Bryhan found himself a sharp stonehead shaped like a
primitive dagger. It was perfect for his plan. He crouched in the
shadows of the trees, watching as Sam ran around frantically, calling
out for his friend.

"Bryhan sprang out from behind a tree as Sam passed by, and, without
hesitation, ripped the stone across the other boy's throat. Blood spurted
out and, for a moment, Bryhan stood and watched, transfixed by the horror
wrought by his own hand.

"As Sam hit the ground, Bryhan recovered his senses and quickly knelt
beside the other boy. He turned Sam over quickly, and Sam's eyes looked
up at Bryhan in confusion as the light faded from them. San's neck
continued to squirt blood, but, carefully, Bryhan made more marks across
Sam's neck, creating the illusion that a powerful paw and claws had
done the damage.

"Sam was already long dead by the time that Bryhan had moved to other
parts of the other boy's body, creating consistent marks with a
painstaking effort. Covered in blood, Bryhan began cutting himself
across the arm."

pg. 07
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Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Jun 12 19:09:07 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (8/9)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE WEREWOLF
(continued)

Shock played out across the faces of All of the kids and the staff. It
was not the first time the details of one of Mathesan's stories were
graphic, he did not believe in sheltering children from such things, and
after the first time he did so, he was able, at length, to convince the
staff to his way of thinking.

Mathesan merely continued, "The hardest part was making the same wounds
on his own arm. He had to be convincing, but Bryhan found the grit to
push through the blood and the pain.

"This time, when he ran into town, it was the town's baker who spotted
him first. However, Hairy John, the Blacksmith, was summoned quickly.

"'Gods child, are ya dim!?' Hairy John asked, 'Why would ya go back
in?'

"Bryhan did his best to look pitiful, which wasn't hard, since his arm
was lancing with bright, hot pain. He whimpered slightly, 'I- I- we-,
Sam and I th-thought it-it would be safe...'

"Shaking his head, the blacksmith took another party out to the forest.
This time they took Bryhan, for they needed to find Sam's body. Bryhan
had never seen grown men shake like the party did when they found the
mutilated body of the young boy.

"When the men returned, Hairy John met with the men and women of the
town, and several shifts were formed. The villagers took turns going
into the forest in search of this Werewolf. However, after nearly a
month with no other signs, they were forced to conclude that it was
more likely the attack of a dire wolf than a Werewolf.

"Bryhan's fame lasted longer this time. Most of the kids of the
village still believed it was a Werewolf, even if the adults didn't.
However, while he was once again popular with the other children, they
still didn't want to play. All they wanted was for him to tell the
story of the attack, over and over again.

"Killing Sam haunted Bryhan, and he preferred to avoid the tale, so the
other children's lingering interest faded too.

"Frustrated, Bryhan was stumped on what else he could do to keep the
legend going. What's more, he couldn't leave town to head for the
forest. The men and women of the town kept as many eyes on Bryhan as
they could spare, doubting in the boy's sound judgment.

"Late one night, Bryhan awoke to a noise. The house he lived in, like
most village houses, consisted of one primary room, where All of the
cooking, cleaning, and living was done. However, Bryhan's parents had
built a small addition, so that they could have some privacy. The door
to their addition was open, and Bryhan heard growling as though a
wolf were in the other room.

"His heart beating quickly, Bryhan bolted from the house and toward
the town. Old Stan was on night watch duty, and it was to him that
Bryhan ran, 'Werewolf!' He shouted, 'Werewolf!'

"But Old Stan merely shook his head, 'I know you've seen some rough
things, child.' He said, then continued with, 'But All this talk about
Werewolves is nonsense. Go back home, to bed.'

"Bryhan shook and trembled, 'But you have to believe me!'

"Old Stan frowned, 'Listen here, son. You go back home now before you
get yourself and your folks in trouble.'

"Bryhan didn't know what to do, but under Old Stan's imperius gaze,
he trudged back home. Opening the door carefully, he peered inside. The
growling, at least, had stopped. Bryhan wondered if he'd just
imagined it. He'd been so busy trying to convince the town of a Werewolf,
maybe he'd only scared himself.

"He walked over to his parents' room to close the door when out walked
a wolf, walking on two feet. Its intelligent, but primal gaze flickered
over Bryhan, its growl drowned out by his screams."

pg. 08
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Jun 12 19:10:22 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (9/9)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
THE WEREWOLF
(continued)

No one stirred. Mathesan looked around at the room, a room usually filled
with the shouts and cries of children, but a room that had grown steadily
more silent throughout the entire story. If he couldn't see them
breathing, their eyes blinking, Mathesan would have thought them dead.

"Why do you think I told that story?" He asked at length. No one dared
answer for several moments. Finally, a boy Mathesan knew to be Toby
raised his hand.

"To teach us not to lie?"

It was a simplistic conclusion, but he didn't really expect anything
more from the audience. Mathesan nodded. "It's more than that though."

"To lie is one thing, but to be known as a liar is another." Mathesan
paused for a moment.

"It is not a sin to lie in and of itself," he glanced at the staff, a
few of whom frowned, "though I'm sure the sisters here would prefer you
not lie about petty things." A couple of the staff laughed.

"For when one lies about things without reason, or lies All the time,
then that is All anyone will believe they will do. And unless one wishes
to amuse Devion, they should stick to the truth."

Most of the children seemed to nod, though they All appeared to be
thinking.

Mathesan rose and gave a bow to the room. The staff applauded and the
children, stirred by the noise, joined in. Without waiting any further,
Mathesan turned and exited through the doorway.

As he walked down the hall, the oddest thought occurred to him.

'Would I make a good father?'

pg. 09
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Odin
Date Sun Jun 12 20:53:25 2016

To All Imm Raije

Subject Blame



Although only 14 summers old, Odin had spent a good deal of his childhood
learning the battle tactics of the Vikings. It was ingrained as an
essential part of every Vikings education. Their life was one of fighting,
exploration and conquest. Few enemies they had stood against matched the
fierce bravery of a Viking, because they not were only each individually
talented as their only strength. In a group they were each other's right
hand, the shield which guarded their clansmen and clanswomen, and the spear
which struck out in retribution.

Fear and surprise were some of their greatest tools, so fighting against a
traitor put them at a severe disadvantage. Odin's father calculated the
odds, and knew they needed to retreat to the ship to regroup, or their
weaknesses would soon be exploited. Already they had suffered losses, and
tarrying longer in the killzone would have brought them upon the brink of
disaster.

Odin trotted back along the path they had blazed with his father, both
saddened and enraged by the lost of the half-elven shield maiden. Her loss
would be felt for years to come, but those who survived this encounter would
sing her praises of valor in the mead halls, during the long winter fires,
and to the generations of Clan Volsung yet to be born.

Odin's father was nearly foaming at the mouth with raged as they moved
through the dense jungle. Vikings mark their ways clearly in the event a
force would overwhelm them. There was no glory in cowardice, but only a
fool throws their life away in a battle they don't understand. Each swing
of his blade against the dense foliage sent boughs and branches flying off
into the bush. The remaining Vikings' skin were heavy with sweat from the
sweltering heat of the jungle.

"I bet it vas those newcomers, the vones vhich claimed the yinn attacked
their camp along the northern shore. They vere narrow eyed and vould nay
answer straight questions"
his father mused, hacking away madly at the
overgrowth. "Ya can nay trust vone who doesn't fight for themselves. They
came vrunning into our vaiting arms vithout a single loss, no soul brave
enough to shave their own bits and pieces, let along lift a blade against an
enemy."
. At this point, Odin's father was gritting his teeth, the words
more curse than statement.

"Fathar" Odin says softly, touching his forearm with the palm of his hands.
"Ve don't know vhat ve don't know. Blame nay helps vith any...." At this
point his father turned on Odin, eyes more intense than he had ever seen
before.

"I blame who I vant, because there be good men and vomen vorm food vright
now, for no other vreason than some fool put their nose in business vhich
they don't belong!"
He spit on the ground, flecks of spittle still on the
corner of his mustache. "I curse the ground they valk on..." He says,
shaking his head and pressing his face closer towards Odin's. "Nay, I curse
their whole live, may their entire line fade in obscurity, and may their
line by forever severed from the blood of men and vomen ten times more noble
than they".

Odin had never heard his father speak in this way before, his eyes blinking
in incredulity as they reached the trailhead. By this time in the evening,
the sun started to descend beyong the horizon, and a few twinkilng stars the
sun started to dip below the horizon, a few twinkling stars reaching out to
say hello from the heavaens.

"I blame every soul vhich comes against clan Volsung and our beliefs, and
whose souls contributed to these murders."
He offers up. "Volsung vill
have its vengence, and it vill long leave its mark upon the vorld"
he says,
With a final step, he moves the last patch of branches out of the way and
onto the waiting beach.




Writer: Zola

Date Mon Jun 13 07:38:50 2016

To All Euterah Mokla Bloodlust Abaddon Darkonin Verminasia Fatale

Subject X Brush with Death - One X


TWANG.

Zola froze, as All around the chaos seemed to fade away, muffled and
distorted. He could still make out the sound of screaming goblins, yelling
warriors, the royals trying to take charge and confront the assassins. But
he was only dimly aware of it. Instead, he was
considerably much more aware
of the arrow that had found its way into his side, burying itself in the
left side of his chest, nearly puncturing one of his lungs.


Now, to his credit, Zola was a priest. He was an experienced healer. He
knew
full well how to treat wounds from projectiles, especially those who
had
arrowheads. One of the very stupidest things you could do was attempt
to move it.


Ignoring the chaos surging around him, he reached down with a gloved hand
and ripped the arrow out of his side, the arrowhead tearing his skin and
making blood flow freely down the side of
his dusky robes as he snapped the
shaft in two and tossed it aside in disgust. Beyond that, he scarcely
seemed to flinch. Many who saw it could well have believed the wound had
not even hurt
him. Some might have even believed it did nothing to injure
him, though the flow of blood quickly dispelled that illusion.


For the longest time, he ignored the wound, remaining perfectly still,
watching as the King and Queen of Darkonin did their work, quelling the
Hollows. The assassin was dead
before they reached the Queen's feet, tossed
before her by her excitable husband, and they spoke of Dark Mountain justice
and glory to All else whom might be listening. While he would have
prefered
a more public execution and sacrifice (and perhaps some torture) Zola had to
admit the goblin people knew what they were doing.


Then someone spoke of poison, and he realized he had made a grave error.




Writer: Zola

Date Mon Jun 13 07:39:19 2016

To All Euterah Mokla Bloodlust Abaddon Darkonin Verminasia Fatale

Subject X Brush with Death - Two X


Glancing at the arrowhead confirmed a slick, oily substance covering it.
And goblin resistance to poison what it was, it was a particularly vile
thing, later revealed to likely be Blackroot. The Queen
supported the
Deathscythe as he was brought to the palace, half-carrying him as his
strength seemed to slip from his body, leaving him faster than his blood
was. He continued to bleed feebly, but it was unsure of that was a sign his
robes were sticking to the wound and naturally bandaging it... Or if he was
running out of blood to bleed.


A goblin maid was summoned to help the Queen as the King worked to quell the
incident, helping to tear open Zola's robes, revealing what lay underneath.
Human flesh and form, pale from lack
of sunlight but not quite the ivory of
a bloodless corpse, and thin from lack of nourishment. Zola made no protest
as he lay on his bed, blood soaking the sheets. They worked to prepare a
poultrice, for
the Witch Queen has some experience with unholy concotions,
and believed what she had would save his life.


Unfortunately... It was meant to be imbibed.

The goblin maid reached for Zola's mask, unsure if he had already passed out
underneath it from lack of blood. A hand shot up faster than a cobra and
with a grip tighter than iron, latching
around her throat. She clawed at
the hand as she began to turn an unhealthy shade of purple, fighting Zola as
he refused to be unmasked in her presence, making his will very known by
this simple gesture.


"Let her go, Zola! "

Euterah's tone was strong, her voice like arcanium, showing without words
just how she had managed to command the might of such a terrible people as
the goblinoids. It was through strength
of will. And hers was formidable.
She would not see even one of her people harmed if it was within her power
to see otherwise. And she promised swift retribution to those who dared do
so. He'd already seen such. That very day, that very hour.


Glancing between the two with his hollow gaze, Zola did as he was bade, but
flung back the maid from his grip, nearly slamming her into Mokla, who had
just arrived. His point was clearly made.


Evidently having had enough of both the rising violence and her unruly
patient, Euterah growled, unleashing a flurry of lightning. Whether it was
intentional or accidental, the display of
raw power was impressive, and it
still struck the Deathscythe with the force of a lightning bolt. He writhed
and twitched as electricity crackled along his frame, before finally
stopping. Fumes
drifted off of his hooded head.

Then Zola collapsed, unconscious and at the mercy of his hosts and captors.
His fate was now in Fatale's hands.





Writer: Thasgerd

Date Mon Jun 13 23:55:19 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Tue Jun 14 00:27:05 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Tue Jun 14 00:49:14 2016




Writer: Milleuda

Date Tue Jun 14 10:53:23 2016




Writer: Milleuda

Date Tue Jun 14 11:22:47 2016




Writer: Pomacanthus
Date Tue Jun 14 15:28:47 2016




Writer: Odin
Date Tue Jun 14 16:39:04 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Beach



Death. It was All around. Bodies strewn across the beach, the white
sands soaked in a dull red liquid, the waves lapping against the shore and
adding serenity to the chaos. Odin, his father and the hobgoblin named
Vorkk were All that remaind of Clan Volsung's raiding party. They were
covered in gore with the bodies that lay at their feet, their breathing
heavy and labored from the effort. Already the carrion birds from the
jungle were gathering and circling ominously overhead. A pair of ravens
cawed loudly in the treetops, seemingly out of place for this land.

{u(A Viking's ship is their lifeline, so it would have made sense to lay a
trap where it landed. They rely on suprise and unified tactics to gain
advantage over their enemies. {uHaving a possible traitor assist the forces
they encountered when entering the clearing would have made retreat
exponentially more dangerous)


The three remaining of Clan Volsung stood before a mixture of men, at least
twenty strong. Some were Vikings of various clans, others were natives of
Tropica. A flash of silver shined off the bracelet of the man standing in
the middle, though his silhouette was masked by the sun. Odin squinted his
eyes and was able to make out the unique design. It belonged to the twin
brother who sailed here with them, and disappeared from the shield wall. It
all started to make sense. The two brothers helped encourage the party to
head towards the village, then dropped out of sight after the darts started
flying. A trap of treacherous nature, and one that bore many a soul to its
grave.

The brother took a step forward, revealing himself fully to Odin, his father
and Vorkk. His face was rife with contempt as he addressed them. "Your
vays, Volsung, defy everything vhich our people stand for. Ve are humans,
ve are Vikings, and ve veaken our blood vith including these beasts"
. Here
he lifted his hand in disdain towards Vorkk. "They are to be culled, and to
nay sure a life vith us. Your vays, your teachings, have led our people
astray"
. At this he spits on the ground, and raises his arms to both sides.
"As ya can see, ve be the strong vones here, and ve nay needed to mix our
blood to do it!"


Odin's father looked at the man defiantly. "Your xenophobia be nothing but
ignorance, Jordi! Ve slayed three times as many as you have, and ve did it
vith you having the element or suprise. Ve are vone people vhich share in
honor and valor."
His father looked down at his left arm, spying the raven
crest of Clan Volsung. "If you say ve be beasts, than so be it. At least
ve nay be little female dogs like your sorry excuse ov a man is, hiding
behind fear ov the unknown to make ya feel better".


At this, the one named Jordi picked up a small reed tucked into his belt,
and blew it towards Odin's father. The dart sped quickly towards him.
Vorkk quickly pushed him out of the way, the dart protruding from his bare
chest. Vorkk laughed out loud, staring down at the tiny need. "Vorkk think
your blood sickness funny. We don't mind, make us strong. Make you dumb!"
He calls back, grinning from ear to ear. Jordi scowls in contemt, and
grabs at the handaxe at his side. With a mighty throw, he hurls it through
the air, striking Vorkk dead center in his chest. Vorkk looks down again,
enraged by the blade. What happened next would forever be etched into
Odin's mind. A true berserker, Vorkk slaughtered ten men before he finally
succumbed to the profuse bleeding of his wounds, charging forward in pure
rage. Two men were killed with their own limbs. When Vorkk fell, the look
on his face was pure triumph.

There were ten men left, and only Odin and his father remained. They both
raised their blades, ready for what was to come. Jordi raised his hand, and
a dozen native warriors came out of the jungle, bows and arrows trained on
the last Volsungs. A maniac grin spread across Jordi's face as he directed
them to close in.





Writer: Deccan

Date Tue Jun 14 21:55:50 2016

To All Abaddon imm religion rp

Subject + A Masked Stranger + Part Three


Deccan leaned against the wall in a dimly lit room, a blanket of shadow
half concealing him, giving him just enough anonymity so as not to be
recognized. His dark gaze casually scanned the room and it's patrons. He
watched as they went about their business.

Nearby a table was sat with a small group of bandits from the sounds of
their conversation. They were bragging about their latest heist, each
trying to out do the other with their feats of violence. Clearly they
exagerated but they were no doubt a dangerous lot.

Deccan barely paid attention to their stories. His mind went darker places.
His bloodlust on the rise, he imagined how it would feel to walk up behind
the nearest one and jam his dagger through the base of their skull and look
out over the confused and horrified faces of his friends.

A waitress walked by close enough that he felt the air stir as she passed
and smelt the flowers of her perfume and his fist clenched and unclenched as
he fought off an almost irresistible urge to cut her throat as she passed.
He focused on each breath, clearing his mind of the deadly thoughts.

He was in a rare mood. His past two encounters with the masked stranger had
him more focused than he had been in some time. He was more aware of his
surroundings and his reflexes teetered on the very edge of action, waiting
for any queue to spring into purpose.

He had rarely felt so alive.

He could scarely remember a man he wished to kill more and that thought
alone gave him life. The thrill of anticipation as he waited for another
opportunity to try and slay the masked stranger.

Over the noise of the crowd he heard an All too familiar whistle that was
just slightly off tune. The hairs on his neck stood up at the sound as his
eyes scanned through the smoke and shade of the room, searching the corners
till he saw him there.

He was dressed differently once again but Deccan could not mistake his prey
for another. There was something about the man that spoke to him. He could
sense the irritatingly confident smirk even behind the mask the stranger
wore this evening.

Deccan didn't feel the rage as he had during their previous two encounters.
He was deadly focused and a dread sense of calm set over him. He met the
masked man's eyes and immediately felt as if the stranger had been watching
him the whole time and wondered how he had escaped notice.

For a long moment the two shared a gaze as if having a conversation no one
could hear but them. Patrons walked throughout the room, passing in front
of them from time to time, but none could break their focus. What was it
about this stranger that resonated with Deccan?

After an uncertain amount of time another patron broke their gaze and when
he had passed the masked stranger was gone. Deccan was startled into deadly
alertness as he scanned the room almost frantically. He would not let the
masked man escape again. But too quickly it seemed and the man was spotted
again mere feet from Deccan, his gaze set on him, holding both a challenge
and an invitation as he walked outside the open door.

Deccan could not let the stranger escape a third time and left his spot in
the shadows as he stepped into the gloom and followed the man's path
outside...




Writer: Ashbie

Date Wed Jun 15 11:13:46 2016

To Verminasia All Aybel Ayrora Immortal Storyline Roleplay

Subject A Disturbance 01



Everyone knew there were a few different places that one could go if
they were looking to have fun in Sacnoth. The Fiddiches were no staid
family, and their legacy was continued by Ashbie when she was placed
to hold the land.

When she married Aybel, he added his own flavor of style. Rashburne,
Sacnoth's capitol, was often known as the "City that Never Sleeps".
This distinction was not lost on the local populace, who catered
their efforts and business in order to make the most of the non-stop
city life.

However, once outside Rashburne, one was overtaken by the broad
swaths of hills, orchards, and forests. Rashburne was an island
of civilation amidst a sea of quiet country.

Therefore, it was a bit odd when, on one particular evening, the
lights in the abandoned Chocolate Factory turned on.

Strange as it was, the event was still noticed. Rumville was
only a day's ride from Rashburne, and, due to its particular
export, it mirrored its capitol in liveliness and sleepless
nights.

It was because of this that Ashbie had installed regular patrols
on the road that connected Rumville to Rashburne, and those
patrols continued through the night. All told, there were six
patrols, of which three were active in a given shift of twelve
hours.

One of the day patrols had just settled down for camp outside
of the factory, and the first watch when the factory lit up. The
building had been constructed along a minor tributary of the river
that served as Sacnoth's northern border to Markon. This river was
what allowed the factory to run, as a whater wheel was powered by
the river's continuous flow.

However, the wheel had fallen into disrepair during its period
with no use. As a result, the lighting of the factory was of
particular shock. While the factory used oil lamps, rather than
the Gnome invention of lights powered by water current, there
was no point in lighting a factory that was far from operational.

Nevertheless, the patrol commander was woken, and subesequently
sent two men to investigate the situation.

The pair consisted of a veteran of the Verminasian Royal Army,
and a youth, whose only experience was a year in the cityguard
for Rashburne.

"Ethan, what do ya think it is?" The younger man asked as they
walked up a cobblestone pathway that had showed the signs of lack
of use, nature was reclaiming her territory.

The older man looked back at the younger one, a slightly disgruntled
look on his features. However, the younger man, apparently used to
this lack of a response, continued on.

"I mean it could be spies from Arkane, you know? Everyone knows that
Cyushoth hasn't been as active in its patrols as it should be. --
I mean, the Minotaur is fearsome, but when was the last time anyone
saw him around here??"

"Pelwin, shut up." The older man finally said.

Ethan's command had the immediately desired effect on Pelwin, who
pursed his lips together and no longer said a thing. However, he
began to take on the distinct look of someone ready to burst. The
younger guard's cheeks puffed out slightly, and his movements were
a bit jerkier, as if he was having trouble holding in a piss.

Meanwhile, as the pair of guards reached the entrance to the factory,
they began to hear the distinct noises of moving machinery. It was a
sound almost exclusive to Gnome contraptions. However, Gnomes had
begun to proliferate their inventions throughout the rest of Algoron,
even something as simple as a hand-crank washing basin made handling
the task of laundry much more efficient.

Whatever was going on inside the Chocolate Factory was not laundry,
though what had brought it back to life remained a mystery. Ethan
tried to open the front doors, but they wouldn't budge.

----------------------------A DISTURBANCE--------------------------01




Writer: Arreana
Date Wed Jun 15 12:40:14 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-02


********************SERIES 'Ruins: The Way of the "Free"'
Arreana had always assumed she was on the right side of the conflict. It was
not even to be considered that she was wrong. This did not mean that she
didn't allow time for critical self-reflection. Having the right intentions
did not always equate with doing the right thing.

Having shoved off most of the rubble, Arreana was left with the piles of ash
that had persisted, stubbornly, since the destruction of the temple.
Momentarily, Arreana's eyes glowed as she lifted up her hands, her wings
slowly spread out.

"The wind be with me. Divine Mother, Holiest in Love, grant me the power
of the primal spirit of air!"

Arreana's voice was lifted, so that she shouted the request, for the
spells of one of the cloth were not meant to be uttered discretely, like
those of Arcane talents.

The wind itself responded, though Arreana knew it did so because the
power of Taliena was behind her. Arreana felt her skirt whip around her
legs, her hair flew in front of her face, and her wings curled, buffeted
by the violent wind in All of its fury.

Before her eyes, Arreana saw the wind begin to wrap around a central
point, from which a vortex formed. Slowly, the vortex began to gain a
life of its own, moving of its own will, against the furious power of
the wind. Ash scattered everywhere, but remained within the temple.

As the gusts of wind began to settle at last, the creature that had
been formed out of the air was left standing. It did not speak, but
Arreana could feel it along a tenuous link that she shared with the
elemental.

It awaited command.

Arreana pointed to the piles of dust and thought, 'sweep away the
dust from here, until only stone and plant remain.'

Immediately, the elemental obeyed her command and set to its work
in cleaning up the ruins. Arreana mused as she watched the
creature for several moments. There were no visible chains, and yet,
Arreana had pulled it from its home and set it to her will. It
was something the elemental did without complaint, but did that
mean it was willing?

Arreana knew better, it was far more complicated than that. Just
as the followers of Malachive, the self-titled "Free Folk" were
more complicated than the labels others bestowed on them.

It was All too easy to see the "Free" as ignorant children, reacting
violently to the established authority. Cast in such a light, they
were merely unfortunate souls, beyond redemption, unless they
somehow matured and realized the ways of the world.

It did not seem that simple to Arreana.

Those who followed Malachive were disenfranchised, bitter, and
many of them did so only after exhaustive efforts trying to
reconcile their conflicts of faith with whichever deity they
worshiped.

The name 'Aoko' settled in the forefront of Arreana's thoughts
as she dwelled on the subject. The air elemental continued at
its given task. It swept the ash up inside of its vortex, then
made its way out of the temple, dispersing the ash evenly into
the wind.

There was an odd, slightly morbid beauty to it. Arreana watched
in fascination.

Aoko would likely have appreciated such beauty, if the stories
she heard were true. She'd only talked to the woman once or
twice. However, it was said that she had been of the cloth of
Siccara, and fled to Malachive when she disagreed with Siccara
on who deserved healing and who did not.

Arreana couldn't blame her. More than once she had questioned
how she could show love to her enemies if she could not bless
them. But faith in a goddess was more complicated too.
--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------15




Writer: Pomacanthus

Date Wed Jun 15 21:42:28 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Wed Jun 15 22:38:31 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Bear



Whoosh..... Whoosh..... Whoosh.....

Odin knelt in the hot sands as the waves crashed loudly upon the beach. The
tide was currently at its lowest point, but the arrival of the red moon in
the evening sky set the wheels of fate in motion. He was flanked by natives
on each side, each holding their spears at arm's level towards his body.
The sun was starting to sink below the water, illuminating the sky with
brilliant smatterings of reds and golds. It was a horribly perfect dusk.

A metal cage was placed on meeting point of water and sand at low tide,
secured to the shoreline with large stones to keep it from being carried off
by the water. Odin's father was locked inside, stripped of his weapons and
wolf hide cloak, his battle scarred chest barred to the world. His grizzled
blonde beard was dark red with the blood dripping from his cracked lips.
His right eye was in the process of swelling shut, dark edges of his face
turning a sickly purplish-blue. He gripped the bars of the cage tightly as
he looked towards Odin on the beach.

The traitor Jordi stood at the edge of the water, arms open wide to the
awakening sea. "Ya see now, Volsung? Ya see now vhat convorting vith your
beasts have done? Ya vill die like vone ov those ya svore to protect, and
drown like an unvanted runt"
. Odin tried to gain his feet and rush towards
the traitor, but Jordin motioned with his hands and the natives pushed him
back down into the sand, powerless against their efforts. {u(Jordi didn't
know the natives' tongue, and could only communicate through hand gestures.
The natives followed him because they viewed him as a foriegn God and not a
man. A few words could have changed their minds)


Odin's father scowled at the traitor higher up on the beach, the fire in his
good eye as he spoke. His words were slightly muffled from his bleeding
lips, but the words which poured out had more authority than any speech Odin
had ever heard.

"Jordi, Son ov Bors, traitor ov your own blood and killer ov yer Kinsmen" he
called out. At this, Jordi spun towards Odin's father, angered by the
accusation. "Ya think ya be strengthening our people vith your ignorance,
but ya are just vrunning from the truth. Ya be a scared man-child vhich
doesn't deserve dining in the halls ov Valhalla!"
His father spits blood
into the rising water now lapping at his ankles. Jordi storms down the
beach towards the cage, slamming his hands against the bars and shaking it
in anger. Odin struggled to move again and received the butt of a spear
into his neck. He hit the wet sands hard, and painfully rolled back onto
his side to move to a kneeling position once more.

Jordi threw a hand back at the shoreline nad pointed at Odin. "Do ya see
that, Volsung? Your son vill be the last, and vill vatch his father die in
vain for All his efforts."
At this, he moved his face in closer to the
metal bars, lowering his force to a barely audible whisper as the water
started to wash over his thighs. "He vill vatch you slip avay into
nothing"
. Jordi started to laugh to himself, as Odin's father threw his
arms through the open slats of the cage and wrapped them tightly around
Jordi in a massive bear hug. He slammed him into the cage, knocking the
wind from his lungs. The water now reached the men's waist, and as much as
Jordi struggled to get free, Odin's father held him fast to the cage.

"Fathar!" Cries Odin loudly, looking at the men with water rushing over
their torsos as the red moon rises higher into the sky. The spray from the
ocean sent droplets into their faces, reflecting beams of light from the
reddish-gold sunset.

The minutes seemed to turn to hours as the water slowly overcame the men.
As the last wave crested the top of the cage, Odin saw a small grin on his
father's face as his visage slipped beneath the waves forever.

Whoosh..... Whoosh..... Whoosh.....




Writer: Slortor

Date Thu Jun 16 01:00:51 2016




Writer: Ambrosse

Date Thu Jun 16 03:01:29 2016

To All Conclave Arkane Flike Rarau Imm RP

Subject Frostbite


Fresh powder crunched beneath Ambrosse's feet as he crossed the door's
threshold, slowly departing the noisy Nordmaarian pub. In warmer climates,
and in shadier parts of town, the streets of any given city on any given
night could be littered with the remnants from the evening's festivities;
the amount of sleeptalking, groaning, and vomit occuring in the wee hours
would be the golden standard to which one could hold every seedy bar in
every back alley upon Algoron. From town to town across the world, it would
be the same old song and dance every night, with only the performers
changing.

Ambrosse muttered to himself, briefly damning the cold as it greeted him
lovingly at the doorway. He stepped just to one side of the entrance, in
case anybody decided to brave the frost after him. Nobody would come,
though. He was alone.

Taking out a handful of previously prepared scrolls, some ink, and a gawdy
peacock quill, Ambrosse began to scratch a handful of letters, using the
wall of the pub as a stand-in desk. His writing, while not exactly
exhibiting superhuman levels of penmanship, would be well thought-out,
deliberate, and very quick. One message particularly he scribed twice, and
the black ink would be plainly visible to any passersby, shining like onyx
in the cool, calm moonbeams.

We need to talk. I tire of the frostbite. -A

The parchments would be rolled, sealed, and waxed almost as quickly as
they'd been written, and placed back within Ambrosse's pack after that.
After a lingering look towards the moons, he couldn't help but smile. Three
letters, five minutes, and he'd be back in time to see his ale finished
before it cooled.




Writer: Euterah

Date Thu Jun 16 11:33:35 2016

To Darkonin Zola Mokla All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject The Bishop and Death



The Witch Queen had been sitting beside the Bishop in the bed, unwilling
to leave her patients side, knowing full well the poison had almost defeated
her Bandit King. They had done All that they knew to do. They continued to
apply the oily tincture to the wound, though no change had been noted and
the angry black veins continued along the Bishops side and chest. They had
dressed the wound, stitching the ruined flesh up. She wondered at the
Bishops constitution, his breath ragged, thin desiccated body rattling with
each inhale, wheezing with exhale. The Witch sat as she had been for the
last couple days, watching and waiting for Zola to wake. She exchanged
duties with Klaer, though the maid was considerably skittish around the
monster priest and the bruises around her neck were purple now. The Witch
idly thought about the Bishops mask, they had not removed it after the
incident with Klaer. She felt a little guilt about backhanding Zola with
the bolt, but she had grown rather found of her chamber maid who had
developed into an advantageous friend. It was rash, but the situation was
bad either way the Witch looked at it.

If the Bishop failed to wake again and expired, the Mountain would be
responsible. The Witch Queen did not want to deal with such a political
debacle is she could avoid it. She finished the missive she had been
writing and sealed it, giving it to Klaer to dispatch. She rose putting
away the writing tools, moving back to the prone form that struggled between
life and death.

The Witch resumed her seat and continued to wait.




Writer: Mokla

Date Thu Jun 16 18:22:51 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject )Counting the Cost(


The bustle of activity within the Peacekeepers Office was in sharp
contrast to the quiet found in the tunnels of the Hollows as Mokla
dismounted from his warg and approached the door, pausing only to return the
salute of the passing guards. Even as he approached, the confusing din of
many voices could be heard from outside, a din amplified as the door opened
suddenly and another squad of peacekeepers emerged, also tossing quick
startled salutes towards the king before making way. The scene within
explained the ruckus, as a group of mixed goblin and ice goblin men stood
chained and braced against a far wall by a trio of ogre guards who pressed
them back with the cross-wise spears in their hands. Mokla stopped a moment
to regard and meet the eyes of each of them captives, noting the expressions
which ranged from confusion and fear, to annoyance and surly insolence,
before turning towards the office from which Dkom carried out his duties.

A slight courteous rap of knuckles upon the open door frame brought the
senior officer's head up from a stack of reports reviewed and sorted from
pile to pile. The sudden scrap of his chair upon the floor was near
simultaneous to the bark of "Sire!" As he rose into a rigid stance and
salute. "At ease, Dkom.. Didn't mean to startle ya, but curiosity led me
to see what has been found out so far."
Mokla replied giving back the
DeathRider salute they had oft shared over the years. "I see you have ..
Guests.."
The king continued, gesturing with a toss of his head towards
the outer office. "Yes, sire.. We have.. Six we have turned up bearing
the mark thus far, the search continues forward from here to the Fort as you
commanded."
Dkom replied, pausing to quickly glance at a parchment atop
one of the piles. Noting the kings glance, Dkom quickly offered the report
to Mokla.

Scanning over the report, Mokla was reminded again of his admiration for the
older hobgoblin's efficiency and attention to detail, more so knowing that
Dkom would peel flesh to be back atop a warg, leading a squadron. "How does
it proceed? Any.. Incidents?"
Mokla asked with a glance over the report.
"Surprisingly none, sire.. In fact cooperation is high, as I noted there in
my report."
Dkom said with a gesture towards the report Mokla held before
continuing, "As I reported earlier, the other.. Losses, were felt deeply
here among the Hollow folk, particularly the child, sire."
Mokla returned
his eyes to the report to cover the slight flinch at the reminder that a
loosed arrow does not discriminate. "The Queen has expressed concern that
innocents may be swept up,, settlers and the like.. It's something we must
address."
The tall hobgoblin assumed a stance with his hands behind him as
he replied tactfully "The thought had occurred to me at the time of your
orders, however it seemed a point best not debated at the time, sire. I may
have found a source of assistance in the sorting and await their arrival."

Mokla raised an eyebrow at the statement and covered a small grin at the way
the officer had so deftly handled him, by raising a hand to stroke his chin
in apparent thought. Raising his eyes to the doorway Dkom added "In fact it
has arrived."
With a slight nod.

Mokla turned to see a short goblin female in the outer office, white silky
hair, reminiscent of his own queen's, framed a stern, resolute face which
regarded the detained goblins cooly. A name was elusive, but Mokla
remembered the face from previous trips to the Hollow and turned back to
Dkom with a questioning glance. "Sagemn the Plaguebearer, a local healer
and advisor, she has tended All in the Hollows at some point, particularly
the new settlers."
Dkom replied to the unspoke question. "I will accede
to your judgment in this but the General has raised questions of security."
Mokla replied. Dkom shifted a moment as if choosing his words before
saying "I would place my own fate against any question of her motivations.
You see, the child from the report.. It was hers.."





Writer: Nessah

Date Thu Jun 16 19:25:42 2016




Writer: Clare

Date Thu Jun 16 20:13:12 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Traice Rochford

Subject You can't make an omelette... 1/?



It began as just a simple inquiry, because, really, who isn't curious
about what secrets are found among the belongings of the esteemed and
mysterious King Marcaus Madaur? Clare observed with idle curiosity as the
King rummaged and sorted through his personal effects, taking from one pouch
and depositing in another. Occasionally he would discard something
entirely, sacrificing it to Necrucifer in a brief but familiar prayer. It
was a process she had seen a thousand times before, especially within
Verminasia's stronghold.

What she had not seen before was what could only be described at first
glance as a malformed eggplant. Except not really an eggplant. Though, if
it was an eggplant, it had been forgotten on its stem too long, and now its
black skin was leathery and its flesh surmiseably too tough to eat.

She gently nudged her spectacles higher along the bridge of her nose and
leaned forward where she sat, her blue eyes following the eggplantlike orb
as the King placed it into a saddlebag.

'May I see that, your Majesty? '

Marcaus's brow raised before reaching a velvet clad hand into his saddlebag
to retrieve the ostensible aubergine and offered it to her. 'This? '

Clare nodded her head in affirmation, and she reached out with a pair of
soft, uncalloused, caster's hands to accept it.

'It is a relic of a time long past, and they say the Lords of Talon kept it
safe.
'

Realizing the orb's true origin and purpose, she handled the egg with
absolute care, even cradling it protectivey against her for fear of dropping
it. She secretly wondered who "they" were and why they would claim such a
thing.

'I acquired it ages ago' he continued, 'But will entrust it to the Research
Academy to look into the myth of the skinwalkers.
'

'Skinwalkers? ' She had a suspicion, but wasn't completely certain to what
the King was referring. Moreso, what direct parallel was there to draw
between "skinwalkers" and a dragon's egg?

'Yes. Some say that dragons can take a mortal form. '

'Oh, but they can! I have seen the transformation and the reversion, but
only once.
' She smiled, still cradling the onyx orb.

'I've never seen the transformation for myself. '

'Truly? '

The King nodded. 'I have heard many claims, but have never witnessed the
act.
'

Clare glanced down, seeming to talk to the egg instead of her King, 'It's
not a magical as you might expect.
'

'The common folk still awe at the mysticism of it all, but we who live in
tall towers and are wrapped in finery lose interest quickly.
'

She mulled his words for a moment and nodded her agreement. Before she
could remark on this, his cold gaze turned once again to the egg, 'Perhaps
you can get the egg to hatch, as I have not been able.
'

Clare blinked, turning her full attention from the egg to Marcaus, truly
questioning if she heard him correctly. It was a ridiculously crazy
prospect, one that, even if successful...

'What if I was successful? '

Clare's brow gently furrowed as she quietly studied the more miniscule
features on egg's surface. She highly doubted the King's claim. Who,
exactly, would be better for having to feed, house, raise an ill-tempered,
acid-spitting hatchling? For as many happily-ever-after firstborn stories
ever told, there were just as many reports that ended poorly for the mortal
or mortals involved.

(continued)




Writer: Clare

Date Thu Jun 16 20:19:04 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Traice Rochford

Subject You can't make an omelette... 2/?



Undecided as to if she even wanted to know the answer, she asked anyway.
'Well, what methods have you tried? '

The King answered sharply, 'The entirety of my magical arsenal. ' It was
like he was never more certain of anything else in his very long life.
Though, and given the King's monastic training, Clare could only speculate
on what consisted of his entire arsenal. 'Originally, I had thought fire.
However, with it being of the black genus, I had thought even to dip it in
acid, but the danger is significant.
'

Her imagination ran wild with All of the possible hazards that came with
handling acid. True to being highborn, the answer was obvious: 'Delegate
some poor soul to that task.
' Specifically and hopefully, not -her- poor
soul.

'Scholarch, such is your charge. ' the King's deep baritone voice rang with
a subtle hint of a waning Markonian accent. 'Delegate at your leisure. '

Clare could think of a thousand cons and not so many pros to this endeavor.
'What of its mother? Will she seek it out, or worse, us? '

'Time will only tell, as I've not seen a mother of black in ages. Nor do I
truly know where the Talon Lords acquired it.
'

'And what if the egg is no longer viable? ' She was not well versed at
chicken husbandry, but at the very least, Clare knew that egg viabiity was a
thing.

'In truth, I know little of dragons. Some say that they are born with the
wisdom of the ages.
'

Clare's brow lifted at this information.

The King continued, 'There was once a man who claimed himself the Scion of
Dragonkind, but he was mad. Who knows if there was any truth in his words?
' He paused for a long moment to reflect on this before exclaiming,
'Rochford! '

The Scholarch shook her head gently in non-recognition, 'Not a name I know,
Majesty.
'

'A soldier of the Storm, perhaps someone your father knows. '

Clare nodded, making a mental note to contact Traice.

'If you would excuse my rest. ' As if King Marcaus Madaur needed her
permission.

'Rest well, Majesty. ' She smiled as she inclined her head towards him.

For All Clare knew, it could have been a painted rock or a well crafted
replica of a dragon's egg. But if the King said it was a dragon's egg, then
she would regard it as such. And with that, she slipped the black orb into
a soft bag of the finest Shokonese silk, and that silken bag within another,
larger pack among many she was known to carry, where it would stay and
likely be forgotten.




Writer: Catroina

Date Fri Jun 17 10:10:25 2016




Writer: Selonis

Date Fri Jun 17 22:25:57 2016




Writer: Selonis

Date Fri Jun 17 22:29:33 2016




Writer: Nessah

Date Sat Jun 18 03:43:23 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Sat Jun 18 13:57:36 2016

To All Immortal Religion Knighthood Crelius

Subject Echoes of Eternity



Mercerion knelt silently before the statue within Nadrik's temple. The
raw power of the holy essence in the room was enough to both soothe the
mind, and overwhelm the senses. It took many years for the man to be able
to meditate in such an environment, but he found that there was seldom a
better place for such an activity.

As he closed his eyes and focused inward, his mind's eye went back to a time
many years ago when he was still serving as the Emperor of Althainia. He
would take walks in those days, to get away from the politics and the
constant hustle and bustle of the Empire. Rarely would he walk with guards.
A smile played on his features, "Damn was I a fool in my youth."

True enough, in that he had survived two assassination attempts, and still
would tempt fate enough to go on long walks outside the confines of the
Empire, without escort. Fate, it seemed, had plans for just such an
encounter however.

The General remembered the day well, the cold rain coming down on the
northern shore of Althainia, and the crumpled visage he came across, not
recognizing the man until Mercerion approached, and was close enough to see
the bloodied face.

Crelius.

The former Dark Lord of Storm Keep, lay savaged upon the northern shore,
clinging to life as persistantly as he did everything in his life, and
though he could not see with his eyes, he was able to recognize the
Emperor's countenance in some way.

Mamoritai...

Mercerion approached, assessing he did not need his weapon for the time
being, and knelt beside what should be one of his greatest enemies. The man
had been through an unholy ordeal. Burns, scars, and it looked from what
Mercerion could tell, as if he'd been completely blinded. What was left of
his eyes surely could not function.

"Mamorita... You should kill me. There is no bettter time... If you do
not, I will continue... I will kill Yours, and All of the Light's Gods..
"

Mercerion gently restrained Crelius' movements in order to tend to the most
dangerous of his injuries as he replied, "You may be right, Attenim... ; But
there would be no Honor in such an act. Have you some place safe
?"

Crelius scowled momentarily, but relented. It must have seemed foolish to
him, perhaps even insulting, to be spared and tended to by an enemy. Often
Mercerion wondered what his thoughts on the matter were... The General was
pretty sure how it would have played out if the tables were turned, and it
was he on his death bed.

Once Mercerion got Crelius to his feet, he offered a shoulder for Crelius to
stabilize himself, and opened a portal, preparing to take Crelius to the
sanctity of The Storm.

---Greetings Knights---

This salutation snapped the General out of his meditation, and he opened his
eyes, sensing Izsak's awakening.

So it was true... The Son of Attenim is here.




Writer: Flike

Date Sun Jun 19 02:50:57 2016

To All Ambrosse Rarau Arkane imm RP

Subject Perfect Timing


The oversized map of Algoron was tacked up haphazardly. Its corner
flopped down like a dog`s ear. Shokono was concealed and rolled up while
the painting of a white tiger, which served as a more familiar sight, was
now visible. Flike stared at the map with a furrowed brow and his finger
firmly planted on his chin. The painful expression on his face exuded
ridicule, as if the map was guilty of a heinous crime. His eyes darted back
and forth from behind the puzzled squinting. A crash resounded.

Rarau hastily entered the office, appearing to be full of urgency due to his
untimely timing. His clumsy footing quickly gained composure without too
much balance lost in the racket. The Bishop raised his hand and gestured
behind himself toward the mostly-closed door from where he entered, and
provided a few suggestions as to what the delay was owed to.

`... And then that same fruitcart was broken down just a little bit fur-
Flike interrupted Rarau rudely. Flike hadn`t moved a muscle from the same
exact fixated spot which he had remained for hours prior to the two men
meeting just now. His finger tapped against his chin with rhythmless
determination. For the first time in hours, Flike broke his statuesque
pose. His arm extended outward, pointing at the southern region of the map.
That is right when Flike spoke without regard to Rarau`s anecdote with will
driving his words. `What do you think about there? `

Rarau quickened his attention to the map and approached with intrigue. The
Bishop`s eyes gravitated directly upon Tropica. He smiled and nodded a few
times in agreement. Flike and Rarau exchanged praise about the concept,
offering support regarding the peculiar geographical placement for such an
undertaking. One had to wonder what sort of horrors the unforgiving, unkown
jungle which unapologetically grew across the exotic lands of Tropica.
Flike spoke with modest resolve, `It was Ambrosse who made the point of it
being a brilliant plan. He changed my mind and convinced me that my
original idea was flawed. And he was right. Speaking of which, did you
see?
` Flike gestured toward his desktop with a sudden motion of his head.
Rarau chuckled to himself and focused at the littered desktop, `Why yes- do
you seem to be the greatest collector of junk in All of Arkane. Perhaps I
could help you learn how to organize?
` Flike clearly found Rarau`s jab
humorous, though his expression insinuated that he was doubling down on his
reference to an obvious missive atop the desk.

Rarau picked up the weathered missive, not having had a chance to see his
own with his busy life taking a necessary precedence. His eyes absorbed the
concise message, and a half smile crept on his lips accompanied by a quirked
brow. The priest nodded at the concept, almost as if overtly expressing his
approval of the visitor who was soon to be amongst them once again.

`Ambrosse is coming back home. Its time now, isnt it Flike? ` Flike
grinned back in response to Rarau`s question. He didnt say anything. He
didnt have to.




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sun Jun 19 16:11:50 2016

To Aybel Ashbie All Verminasia Roleplay Storyline Immortal ( Drakkara )

Subject Off to Raft Town



Raft Town was a small town but pretty far from Ayrora's home. She packed
for a few days and the long ride ahead. With her riding clothes and her
cloak they headed off on their journey. On this trip five guards were sent
along with Nefratin and Saladorion. Her mother wanted to assure she was
well protected. Rora had resigned herself to the fact that her mother was
nothing but overprotective with her and had finally given up part of the
fight.

As night was falling they pitched their tents. Rora made sure Braedan was
taken care, rubbed down, and his blanket placed over him before going to
wash up and rest. With more guards meant they would get more rest so they
should All be refreshed by morning. The Captain stood at her tent, "Is
everything alright, Lady Tenneal?
" She smiled warmly at Saladorion,
"Perfectly fine, Captain. " She entered her tent and tied the flaps.

She lit a candle and moved further into the tent, sitting on her cot as she
she prayed softly, "Mistress of the Dark Magics, I thank you for the
blessings You bestow upon me every day. May I continue to do your will as I
go through my daily life. I praise You in Your unholy name. Amen." She
blew the candle out then lied down on her cot and fell fast asleep.

As always Rora was up with the sun and ready to take on the day. They had a
long ride ahead as she put her packs on Braedan and assisted in loading the
pack horses. She was never one to sit back and watch others do everything
while she stood there watching, no, she enjoyed getting her hands dirty. As
her father always says, hard work never killed anyone. She smiled as she
walked back to Braedan and fed him a sugar cube.

The next leg of their ride was uneventful but by the time they reached town
it was well after dark. She led Braedan to the stables and settled him in
first as the others took care of All the other horses. She tiredly helped
them unload the pack horses, even though the Captain insisted she go rest,
once done they went to get rooms. She spoke to the Captain, "Make sure all
get a good nights rest it is well earned. We will start our work at midday.
" The Captain nodded in understanding, "No guard tonight, just rest. " The
Captain nodded exhaustedly.

She knew her mother would not be happy about that but they earned their
rest. She had a maiden fill a warm bath as she sunk in and relaxed. She
was content as long as she knew Braedan was safe. She stayed until the
water started to cool and then got out and put her night clothes on. The
bed looked so much more inviting than the cot. She brushed her long hair
out, put it in a braid, crawled into bed, and fell fast asleep.

She awoke a bit before midday and was up and dressed when she heard a tap on
the door. She opened the door to see Saladorion in his dress uniform. "You
are up early and as pretty as a peacock.
" She giggled. Salodorion smirked
at her but he knew her well enough to take her jokes. "Braedan is ready
Lady Tenneal.
" She looked at him and smiled, "Thank you Captain. " She
closed the door behind them as they headed out to work.

Their first stop were the orchards, Rora had always enjoyed the orchards,
and then they stopped by the river for a very late lunch. Their next stop
was the boat yard. It was interesting to watch them crafting small crafts
and, according to the books, everything seemed in fine order. They stayed
there for a bit speaking to the ship builders until the sun was falling,
then headed back into town for rest. The long ride home would take its toll
once again.





Writer: Durst

Date Sun Jun 19 17:08:10 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije

Subject Quest for power or fireflies



The day started like any other day would for the young man, well as
normal as it could be for him. The man woke up and ran his grubby hands
through small wisps of red hair, eyes squinting slightly as he adjusted to
the light rays of sunshine. The sounds of a brook beckoned him for its
sweet, yet cool refreshment. Using his palms, as dirty little cups, he
quenched his thirst.... Adding a good helping of the liquid onto his beard.
Mumbling to himself he stumbled a bit towards the only direction that was on
his mind. The trails were fine for the various game animals, but in the
distance he heard sea gulls and waves crashing against the cliffs.

"Yes, yes.... I saw you firefly! Were you trying to sneak up on me?! I
also saw your blasted friend. Really? Did he think he could simply hide
against that tree?"


He pointed at the unseen foe and chuckled loudly.

"Got to get up pretty early in the... Well in the... You know, got to get
up to try to fool me."


He nodded his head rapidly and smiled. His feet picked up pace as he could
hear calls to board the vessel. The hurried pace quickly turned into a
sprint, carrying his broad frame towards the adventure that may or may not
await him.

"N... No.... Time to talk! Power to be sought!"

He could barely make out the full sentence as he made it to the ship he
sought.




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 19 22:00:45 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject A Diplomatic Mission (1/3)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A DIPLOMATIC MISSION

The land of the Orient was a place that few ever got to visit. It was a
land that most commoners only dreamed about, and talk about in stories
that had been passed down for generations.

Even dignitaries rarely had reason to visit the fabled land. It was
impossible to use magical methods to find one's way to the continent,
which left only ship travel -- or swimming. Mathesan had traveled to
Shokono, Doija, and many of the more remote shrines and villages several
times.

As the waves of the Tirixin Belian pounded against the frigate that
transported Mathesan to Doija, he contemplated previous visits. Before
returning home, Mathesan had been able to travel with relative anonymity.
There were always little birds, spies, and, at times, Mathesan used his
heritage abroad to gain access to libraries and other places typically
barred to common folk.

However, he'd never before gone on a diplomatic mission.

The entire event was likely to be a painful ordeal, Mathesan mused. He
wished he had thought to ask Clare if she had wanted to come. It was
not something he was used to, having to consider someone else. However,
he found he rather liked it. In addition to being beautiful, Clare was
intelligent, thoughtful, and passionate. She embodied emotions that
Mathesan couldn't feel, she had perspectives he didn't consider, and
she made him want to be a better man.

When Mathesan arrived in Doija this time, he would be "Mathesan Madaur,
Crown Prince and Actuary of Verminasia". It was a lengthy title, but,
at the very least, it didn't yet have 'heir' attached to it. He
suspected part of the reason he'd been sent on the mission was to get
Mathesan away from the capitol while the matter of heir was settled. It
had been over the time allotted for voting, but no decision had yet
been announced. It was likely that the announcement would come while
he was gone.

Pushing away from the railing, Mathesan began to patrol the starboard
side of the ship. The crew had kept their distance from the hooded,
brooding dignitary on their ship. While Mathesan was not one to lord
his titles above anyone, he didn't bother to dispel the crew's
anxiety. He needed space at the moment.

The matter of heir was not the only prospect hanging in the air, there
was also the issue of Mathesan's marital status.

He did not feel as though he had been courting Clare long. Yet, at the
same time, being with her had grown comfortable to him, something he
had not expected to happen. When the matter of heir came up, he
realized that he needed to decide whether or not Clare was someone he
could trust if his position were ever elevated.

After much thought and consideration, Mathesan had decided that,
indeed, Clare could be trusted and, further, would provide value to
anything Mathesan chose to do. He respected her opinions and
perspectives well enough that he was comfortable with referring to
her as his wife.

As a result, Mathesan had proposed to Clare. The caveat to the
proposal was that he suspected Clare's answer would be a 'maybe', so,
while he planned to surprise her with it, he did not intend for
the proposal to be elaborate.

Things had gone as planned, and now Clare was considering whether
she was comfortable referring to Mathesan as her husband. However,
the prospect of a true proposal loomed on the horizon. His little
'experiment' had forced his own hand, and the decision needed to
come sooner rather than later.

Mathesan did not regret this, but he wondered if Clare did.

pg. 01
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 19 22:02:10 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject A Diplomatic Mission (2/3)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A DIPLOMATIC MISSION
(continued)

Day three, and nothing.

Mathesan was fortunate that he felt so very little. His annoyance with
the tedious affair didn't show on his features. He attended suppers with
the Emperor's friends, his Daimyos. They were like Verminasia's lords,
except not. The Emperor of Doija was far more bound to their petty
conflicts than the Crown of Verminasia was. However, because of the
in-fighting, each Daimyo held less power than any of the court back
home.

It was amusing, but, again, tedious. At the moment, Mathesan dined
with the one Daimyo he had found most tedious of all.

Daimyo Shinwu of the Wu clan. His family had held feudal land for
over a thousand years, or so he claimed. Mathesan had been watching
the man for the past hour while they dined, and it had only confirmed
his suspicions that Shinwu was a liar almost by compulsion.

The man was exceedingly plump, and Mathesan wasn't surprised why.
They'd already had ten courses, and Shinwu had already promised another
four.

The food was excellent. To that, Mathesan could give credit at the very
least, though he suspected that a well-seasoned ham would have
complemented the meal well. He eyed Shinwu, who was into his fourth cup
of sake.

"And then... ha! Xiaoxen had the nerve- the NERVE to ask for payment,
the fool. Don't do it right the first time, he'll be lucky if he gets
my business again." Shinwu snorted, "Though I must say, the sword is
quite excellent. It's not the heirloom piece I lost, but my son will
find good use for it All the same. Isn't that right, Tao?"

Shinwu looked down the table, on the other side, where his son was
seated just two seats from Mathesan. Where Shinwu was a whale, Tao was
a tiger.

Mathesan was an Arcanist, but he still exercised daily, to keep fit
and to ensure that he had at least some skill with a blade. However,
he knew by looking at Tao, that Shinwu's son would be a formidable
opponent in battle.

Tao had the grace to look slightly ashamed at his father's behavior,
but he was composed enough that most would not have been able to tell.
Mathesan, however, was an expert on the subtle hints of the face, and
a master of reading the mind.

However, this development was of interest to Mathesan. The trip was
unlikely to end in a visit with the Emperor. Mathesan still had six
days left before he was to return home. However, he had not even
glimpsed the Emperor since their first meeting, when he received
Mathesan and introduced him to the court of Daimyo.

As uneventful and dull as the meetings were, Mathesan knew that
Doija's leader was a busy man, and that the tedious process of meeting
each Daimyo was a sort of a courting. Mathesan carried the Madaur
name, and now the distinct title of Crown Prince. However, he was a
relatively unknown factory. When his letter arrived in advance of him,
the Emperor had admitted that his scholars had to double check the
genealogies they had to see if he was who his letter stated he
was.

No such questions existed anymore. While Mathesan did not aspire
to be the King, he knew that it was something he might have to prepare
for, and he comported himself with the dignity and composure of one
with noble blood.

As he mused, Mathesan continued to watch Shinwu. The way the Daimyo's
chins jiggled as he talked, and how his massive arms rested against
the table, for he struggled to lift them, even just to move food to
his mouth.

Mathesan was reminded of a farm animal.

pg. 02
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Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 19 22:02:50 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject A Diplomatic Mission (3/3)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A DIPLOMATIC MISSION
(continued)

Mathesan was leaning on the railing of the frigate once more. However,
this time he was headed home.

The spray of the sea didn't bother Mathesan this time. In the ship's
hold, in the magical ice box that Mathesan had brought him, were
several new cuts of meat, including a succulent thigh portion which
was now curing in salt.

In his hand, Mathesan held a letter. The Emperor, it said, had been
too busy to meet, and sent his apologies along with an invitation to
return at the Emperor's request, in which he would have time to
prepare for the visit and ensure it was a proper one.

Mathesan tucked the letter back into an inner pocket on his robes, one
that was sealed with a sigil that only he had memorized. He traced
his finger across the pouch in the pattern of the sigil, and it opened
at that request.

It was less than he had hoped, but more than he truly expected. The
trip had not been a complete waste of time though. The meat, the
invitation, and the opportunity to leave Verminasia and its fervent
commoners for a little while.

His father, at least, would also be satisfied. Marcaus had requested
that Mathesan get the Emperor to visit Verminasia. However, an
invitation to return was at least acceptable.

The only dread that truly filled Mathesan was knowing he would have
to return, and to suffer the same formal niceties and politics that
he could not stand.

Though he missed Clare, he did not think he would bring her, even
though he would miss her again. He would send an invitation for her
arrival when it was clear that a meeting would finally take place.
For the mean time, he would return home to find out who had been
elected heir.

pg. 03
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Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jun 20 14:00:33 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject A Needful Voyage ( Part 1 of 2 )



The ketch sliced through the dark blue waves of the Sh'lanira Belian
sending spray flying as the square brown sails of the junk rigged vessel
gathered the wind. A distant edging of green along the western horizon
marked the first sighting of the Isle of Shokono. Hanging from a batten
halfway up the mizzen mast, Corron strained against the parrel, alternately
cinching the rope and drawing in slack until the square sail was fully taut
with filled wind. A squall the night before had loosened some of the plates
anchoring the lines and the crew had been in a frenzy making repairs and
tightening the rigging.

Heaving a sigh of relief as the last ripple eased from the sailcloth, Corron
righted himself with careful balance. The first from the sailcloth, Corron
righted himself with careful balance. The first day out of port, an
unexpected pitch of the prow as the ketch tacked across the wind had caused
Corron to lose his balance and split his scalp at the hairline. A line of
resin now streaked from his forehead into his dark brown hair, sealing the
gash in lieu of a proper stitching. That spill had lost him a considerable
amount of respect among the Dojian crew, particularly considering part of
his fare for the voyage was based on his signing on as deckhand.

Firmly gripping the spar, he looked out to the ever growing shoreline. It
was a stroke of luck to find a ship leaving for Shokono at such short
notice. The timing of his departure was not of his choosing, circumstances
prompting him to leave the mainland with considerable haste. Fortunately,
Corron had long dreamed of visiting the famed lands beyond the horizon,
intrigued by the new knowledge now available to the rest of Algoron.

The rest of the crew had settled back into their normal routines with the
bulk of the repairs finished. Comparatively stolid as sailors went, the
Dojian's had been tight-lipped with him for the first few days out of port
as the crystalline blue of the Beleg'luin Aelin turned shadowy in the deeper
waters. After considerable effort to make up for his early embarrassment
with dedicated work, the mood turned and a few began answering his questions
about the Isle, offering advice on customs and how the handling of the
batten ketch differed from other sail designs. Estimating it would still be
some hours before landfall, Corron drew his thoughts back to the moment and
clambered down from the mast to resume his duties.




Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jun 20 14:03:16 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject A Needful Voyage ( Part 2 of 2 )



With the sun hanging low in the western sky, Corron set foot on solid
land for the first time in days, finding himself in the famed lands of
Shokono with much more coin than he had expected. As he had attempted to
secure his return passage, the captain had pressed the coins back to him
with a firm admonishment to be back to the port before the ship's departure.
Corron could only assume his work had earned the startling discount on his
fare. Halfway along the journey, following some heavy rain, something had
felt peculiar about the ship's bearing, a subtle list.

The nagging thought took him to the lowest deck. Some water was to be
expected following a storm, but the amount standing in the bilge was
disconcerting. Several minutes of careful searching had revealed a split in
the wet wall that seeped water away from rope pumps. The minor crack was
slowly swamping the boat and causing the list. Nearing the end of the
repairs, Corron had stood to find the captain at the ladder staring at him
with an inscrutable expression. After a few moments of that stone-faced
stare, the man had departed without a word.

Turning green-tinged grey eyes towards the rising hills beyond the small
port, Corron considered the next segment of his journey. Hidden beyond
those hills lay the kingdom of Shokono and a wealth of knowledge.
Meanwhile, somewhere far down the coast was Dojia and darker mysteries. A
massive wain drawn by oddly-horned oxen bearing peeled logs rumbled by the
docks and reminded him of the navigator mentioning a shipyard near the port.
The stern warning to venture out after sunset as little as possible in the
strange land echoed in the back of his mind, but the sun was still well
above the horizon. Perhaps there was still time and surely a small detour
from the beaten path wouldn't hurt. The lure of seeing local construction
techniques and new designs proved too much and soon he was rapidly striding
down the beach on the trail of the wagon.




Writer: Aviandha

Date Mon Jun 20 18:42:26 2016




Writer: Durst

Date Mon Jun 20 19:23:13 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Are fireflies power?



"Hey you! Don't sleep against the Captain's door!"

With a crash of water against his brow the man quickly awoke, though
startled by the odd exchange in pleasantries. He shook off some of the
intrusive water from his beard and decided it best to move to another place
upon the rocking ship. His eyes roamed over the lay out of the large vessel
and took notes on where things were located. He attempted to get some what
of his sea legs, stumbling and awkward as he made his way towards the side
rail. Breaching in the distance were several large creatures. He had heard
of them once before... What were they he wondered to himself again.
Grinning like some idiot he almost shouted out the answer.

"WHALES!"

"Yes those are whales. New to the sea it would seem."

The voice spun the young man towards the left, looking at the seaman or
possible traveler, he did not know which or did he care.

"Too big to fit in a bottle it would seem, but exciting none the less.
Maybe a good pet?"


"A bit loose up in the head are ye'? Too big for a bottle for certain lad.
Name is Kia. And.... You are?"


Kia extended his hand and the other man waved excitedly at Kia. His palm
unknowingly turning with a bit of frost as he waved.

"Oh yes, yes, yes, . My name is Haunt, sometimes Durst.... Hrm.... Yes
Durst, usually that is."


Kia looked puzzled for a moment, then simply nodded his head with a half
toothed smile.

"An odd magi you'd be. Then again you sort usually are..."

"Magi? Where and what?! Does it bite?"

Durst looked around his form then over the railing.

"You my friend... Are a bit wombat crazy."

Durst adjusted his belt line... Wombat? He thought. What in the hell is a
wombat.




Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jun 20 21:24:48 2016




Writer: Pomacanthus

Date Tue Jun 21 13:25:18 2016




Writer: Pomacanthus

Date Tue Jun 21 13:25:18 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Tue Jun 21 15:41:34 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Candle



The etheral darkness of the night sky was nigh overpowering, swallowing
all objects in its powerful maw. Odin's eyes were unaccustomed to the
blackness of the eve as he knelt on hands and knees in recovery from the
mental journey the drop of liquid from the tree took him on. The only sign
of color anywhere in the inky darkness was the liquid flowing from the
ancient tree. The thin red line where Odin scarred the mighty trunk glowed
in a flourescent red, much like the crimson color of the algae bloom from
the blood sea. The slow drip from the scar as it ran down to the small pool
below basked Odin in an eerie red glow, the light from the liquid seeming to
brighten and fade in a languished beating rhythm.

Odin found shaking off a severe groginess. In some ways he was exhausted,
his mind tired from the countless memories he couldn't help but re-live. In
others, his mind was excited and aware, as if a long misunderstood concept
was finally clear. He blinked his eyes a few times and waited for them to
become accustomed to the dark. He felt several presences watching him, but
could not pinpoint the location. The breeze was cool but silent as it
flowed in from the north.

Once his eyes adjusted enough to start to make out basic outlines, he spied
a pair of ravens sitting on the shoulder of a silhoutte he couldn't quite
make out. It took him a moment to realize that they were perched on The
Unknown, and reality hit him once more. She/It/Whatever did something to
him. He wanted answers.

Odin reached for his axe secured to his side, more out of instinct than
thought. "Tsk, Tsk, Tsk" came the many-layered voice, sounding both sweet
and chiding at the same time. "Is that any way to repay a gift freely
given?"
Odin glared at the sound's origin, but he could not seem to be
able to completely focus on the object. The voices came from both in the
air and within his head. It was near maddening.

"Gift? Ya call that a gift? I fought hard nay to vremember those days, the
blood, the loss, the..."


"Yes? And what good did that do you? Did you not see that at any point,
with just a touch more wisdom, a smidgeon of knowledge, you could have
changed your fate? The fate of your loved ones?"
Odin bristled at the
question, placing the handle of his axe firmly in hand and lifting it to the
ready position. "You know vhat ya know, and only the Gods decide yer fate!"
He searched around to find the Unknown, angered and ready to strike. A
cold chill came over him as something blurry moved to his right. Any icy
grip tore at his wrist, and the axe fell to the ground, balanced on the pool
of crimson liquid.


"You try my patience, Volsung. Knowledge, Wisdom, these are the gifts, as
is your pathetic life. You cannot bludgeon your way out of every mess if
you seek to be more than just a sack of meat, a glorified foot soldier for
kings and queens to direct to their death!"
Odin grabbed his wrist with
his other hand as the cold subsided, the many-layered voice still speaking.
"You will never rise above worm food if you stay sightless, stuck in the
darkness of ignorance and mediocrity"
. Here the Unknown's voice seemed to
swirl around him. "Don't you ever want to me just... More?" It asked?
Odin lowered his gaze, staring at the pulsing pool with a contemplative
gaze.

"Yes" he reluctantly replies before raising his head more confidently. "Yes
I vish to be more"
. All of a sudden the darkness was shattered with a
single flame coming from across the pool. He could see the Unknown carrying
a small, black candle in her perfect hands. As it walked towards him,
seemingly floating above the liquid, it stopped just shy of his face. The
light continued to flicker and dance before his eyes as he finally came face
to face with the veiled countenance of the being.

"Very well Volsung. We shall see what you are truly made of".




Writer: Celia

Date Tue Jun 21 18:54:47 2016




Writer: Arreana

Date Wed Jun 22 11:04:58 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-03


********************SERIES 'Ruins: The Way of the "Free"'
With most of the ashes cleared, and any large rubble gathered in a corner,
Arreana turned her attention to the rest of the temple. Namely, the small
cottage just to the south.

Arreana had never before been inside the cottage. In her past visits to
the temple, she remembered seeing couples walk into the cozy little building,
and her father said they were performing a sacred act of love in there,
privately. It wasn't until some years later that she grasped his meaning. For
whatever reason, the soldiers of Chaos had ignored the little cottage in
their rude rampage. As couples were unlikely to venture to the place anymore,
Arreana decided it would make a good temporary shelter.

Upon entering, Arreana noticed that the cottage appeared exactly as it had,
or likely had, appeared on the day the temple was invaded. There was a thick
layer of dust and some large cobwebs, but everything else was neat and
ordered, as though the last couple had only just left, and the clergy of
the temple had seen to its cleaning.

Turning to the right, Arreana walked beside the one window that faced the
temple. She ran a finger along the sill, gathering a thick, sticky dust on
the tip of her finger. Arreana's wings shrugged in behind her as tightly as
they could. She hated getting them dirty.

"Lady of Love. I have found the cottage that belongs with your former temple
on Tropica. I intend to reside on it as I work to clear the foulness that
the denizens of Chaos have brought to this place."

As she turned to look upon the bed, Arreana felt an immediate pang of loss.
The sensation threatened to rend her chest in two, and, in spite of trying
to keep her wings clean, she had to lean in and clutch the window sill hard,
her left wing brushing in the dust.

"Aidyn..."

Arreana shook her head. She remembered that the Wellesley Company had been
looking for him too. It had given her hope when she thought All of her
hopes had been dashed like a wave breaking upon a cliff. If they hadn't
gained any information, and Arreana hadn't, then perhaps Aidyn did not
want to be found. The alternative made Arreana shudder.

"Mother, please help me." Arreana cried out, startling herself with the
desperation of the sound. "What do I do when I feel so lonely? When the man
I swore to be with is nowhere. How long do I look? When do I move on? ...this
is All a little much for me to handle. If it were anyone other than myself,
there is counsel I would give. But I-...." Arreana shook her head again,
"Please, Lady Taliena. I need your hope and preservation."

Arreana lifted her gaze and looked around the cottage once more. Closing
her eyes, Arreana briefly connected to the elemental energies and her divine
link to Taliena in order to summon elementals.

There was still a lot of work to be done.
--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------16




Writer: Odin

Date Wed Jun 22 14:58:40 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Chuckle



The candlelight became the only focal point Odin could see, allowing his
eyes to stare just at the dancing flame as it flickered in the eerily silent
evening. As the many-layered voice of the Unknown whispered about him, it
seemed to solidify in some way, become a singular entity with a rich but
unnerving tone. Standing transfixed while staring at the small flicker of
the black candle, Odin heard only the voice in his head.

"Knowledge and Wisdom are not free. Do you understand this?"

"I understand, vhenever something is vorth it, it takes dedication".

"It is more than a matter of dedication. Dedication is merely time put to a
task. It is about sacrifice."



"I understand."

"No, you do not, which is the root of the problem. Tell me, Volsung, what
is Knowledge?"


A small grin appears on his face, basked in the light of the black candle.
"Knowledge be power".


"Don't get smart with me about knowledge, Volsung. Your childish anecdotes
betray your ignorance. Knowledge is relative truth, not some catch phrase
for people who don't understand it."


"Truth vould not be truth if it be relative though."

"All knowledge is seen from various vantage points. How one interprets the
information or the truth can vary vastly amongst mortal souls. It takes
wisdom to understand this. Wisdom is being able to apply knowledge in a way
that serves the wielder's purpose"


"Now ya have lost me. Don't visdom and knowledge mean the same thing? I
have seen it used the same vay vith many."


"What you have seen is people who speak without thinking beforehand.
Knowledge is knowing that bees live in a beehive. Knowledge is
understanding bees attack any who distrub the hive. Wisdom is knowing
poking it with a stick without protecting yourself to get the honey is a bad
idea."


"This vould seem like common sense these days. No vone in their vright mind
vould attack the problem this vay."


"Yet common sense is not as common as you would think. You would be
obtaining wisdom to understand that it is not about just striking, but
striking with percision. It would not make you slow to act, but may make
you think about the second and third order effects before you lose yourself
in rashness."


The candle flickered sharply, dangerously close to the yellow flame dying on
the small wick. "Then vhat do I need to do to pay this price, to learn how
to be viser?
"

An eerie chuckle filled the dark void. "You will need to unsee All that you
have seen"
it says in an impish tone.

"You will have to sever the ties from your eyes to your mind, and build a
new bridge. Only then will you understand how to face the relative truth of
knowledge in this world."
With a small, dry burst of air from the
Unknown's veil, the candle was blown out. Two silver tendrils of smoke
wafted through the night sky.




Writer: Celia

Date Wed Jun 22 17:38:28 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jun 22 19:14:12 2016




Writer: Celia

Date Thu Jun 23 12:57:06 2016




Writer: Durst

Date Thu Jun 23 18:52:31 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject It wasn't me... blame the Raven



The far off forks of lighting danced in the distance of the vessel and
was shortly followed by the loud sonic sound trailing it. The small cargo
ship rolled with the waves causing Durst to rub his stomach. So this is
what they called being sea sick felt like. Durst shielded part of his brow
from the side of the menacing rain. It came harder now, like little pin
needles, stabbing any exposed flesh.

"HEY KAI! ARE YOU OK!? THIS IS FUN RIGHT!!!??" Durst shouted out towards
his new friend. His eyes only lit up when the illumination of the weather
cracked.

Durst cupped his mouth to get a louder sound off and yelled out. "I
SAID..... THIS IS F..."


Words cut off from the flash accompanied within a moment of sound. Oh so
this is what death is? Am I dead? Did the fireflies get me finally or was
it that damn seagull? Thoughts came and went within an already messed up
mind. Imagines of odd creatures and a dancing chocolate-chip laiden ice
cream cone entered his mind. Who brought the dancing cone to my slumber
party? Durst tried to shoot out for a response, but nothing happened. No,
no, no... This is All wrong. He walked up towards the cone with a finger
pointed outward and pointed before explaining why it shouldn't be here!

Life seemed to be sucked back into his body as he rose up screaming, "GET
THE HELL OUT OF HERE CONE!"
.

Several bodies were floating about along with some various parts of the
ship. Durst found himself laying atop a bloated form of what was once the
gentleman named Kai. Though the near exploding form no longer looked too
much like Kai. One thing was for certain though, he only had one dead eye
looking upwards at Durst. Off some ways was a spec of what could be land.
Using his departed friend as a life raft, a bit of leg power, and his will.
He swam onwards toward the possible landmass. Legs kicking away, he
whistled a pirate tune.




Writer: Durst

Date Thu Jun 23 20:00:38 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Eye of Kai



Durst used the body as a small boat and guided it onto the sandy shores.
Reaching down he grabbed at the haunches of the dead man and dragged him
towards a recess into the cliff face. What he thought was a tiny bit of
shelter turned out to be a moderate sized cave.

"Well that is some good luck eh?" Durst nudged the corpse happily and
glanced down at the rotting face. Bending down he spoke louder at the
decaying flesh. "I SAID, THAT IS SOME GOOD LUCK EH?" Durst frowned a bit
and started to fool about the form of Kai.

The pirate tune was now stuck in his head. He started to whistle as he
built a small fire and propped up Kai against the other end of the cave to
face towards the flickering flames. Now what to do with him he wandered.

"OH! YES, YES!" Smiling as a dagger was produced from his soaked robes,
he sliced out the remaining eye and a bit of an ear. Why didn't he think of
this before. He could somehow help his friend live again or somewhat as
something.

Flames started to die off a bit as a small pot was placed upon it. He added
the parts inside and quickly added some liquid. The cave began to smell
less of bat droppings and something far more putrid.

The night went by rapidly and soon the shoreline was a shimmer of blackened
sand. Durst eased up and stretched his limbs happily at the morning warmth.
Within several moments a sound of fluttering came from the east and grew
louder. Flying in with a swoop was a pitch black raven. The bird slowed
and came to rest upon his right shoulder.

"Oh hello Kai! Did you miss me?!" Durst said happily as the raven turned
its head towards him and let out a "caw". The raven winked at him and
flapped his wings out a bit. One single eye peered out onto this new world.




Writer: Ulrog

Date Fri Jun 24 01:56:43 2016

To All Tashio Cahlizna Imm Fatale RP

Subject <The Search for a Name>


Ulrog awakens with a start, pushing aside the enormous lid of the coffin
he lies in to sleep, and sits up. The crypt stands dark and dreary, with no
portal to the outside world. The day had passed by, and the demon sensed
the darkening of the sun and the rise of the moon through the blood power in
his veins. His sleep during the day had given him much time to rest,
recuperate, and think upon his previous conversations with the High King of
Thaxanos, Grumf, and the Thane of Wargar, Thzad. The conversation with the
King had been interesting, surprising in that it remained civil despite the
personal dispute that exists between the two. Much of the conversation had
revolved around the dual nature of the demon and the host, one that Ulrog
maintains as symbiotic, but the King resolutely claimed was parasitic in
nature.

This thought had kept the demon occupied for much of the daylight hours,
while he rested. It was true, yes, that he could recall All the memories,
trials, and tribulations of the dwarf Ulrog from prior to the demons
inhabitance, and the demon had merged with the dwarf to create a powerful
being, filled with the monstrous rage and strength of a battlerager, yet
also with the devastating power over blood an ancient vampire could bring to
bear. Vampires, as a matter of course, were lesser demons under the aegis
of the Master Fatale, lesser even than the lowliest messenger of the god,
but under his aegis All the same. However, unlike true demons of Fatale,
these lesser beings of the darkness have no true name, taking on the name of
their host. Therefore, the creature formed by the symbiosis of the demon
and the battlerager still went by the name of Ulrog, despite the nature of
the beast changing.

The thought had great personal significance to the demon. It had achieved
greatness as a lesser demon, claiming a powerful host, but it had no name of
its own. What the High King said rang in the demons ears, he had dual
natures, but what bothered the demon was the fact that the demon borne of
the Master had no name at all.

Ulrog gets out of the carved stone coffin, ascending up the stairs to the
rest of the crypt, and unlocking the grate that kept the deepest chamber
separate from the rest. Pacing into his feeding chamber, Ulrog gazes at the
statue of the Master Fatale, blood from the demons kills pooling from the
statues eyes and flowing into the shallow pool of a fountain. Kneeling
before the statue, the demon prayed.

Master, this one has served him faithfully throughout the long nights. It
has become feared in the minds of mortals, and now serves him as a demon
apart from All others, renegaded to deal death as the Master sees fit. Yet,
as the lowliest of His servants, the demon inside this one bears no name to
call its own, and would make a request of the Master. Task this one with a
challenge worthy of bearing a name, and name the demon within this one
according to His divine will. Blood will be shed, as befitting the Masters
cause, but this one seeks to prove its worth as the rightful servant of the
Master.

Standing up once more, the demon nods once towards the image of Fatale in
the center of the chamber, the only choice now being to wait, and see if the
prayer has been heard.




Writer: Odin

Date Fri Jun 24 14:36:43 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Cost



Odin tried to make sense of the Unknown's words, the creepy sound of her
/ its chuckle lingering in his brain. The black candle it held was near
burnt out, the wick fighting to keep the flame alive. Much of the black wax
had dripped down onto the Unknown's perfect hands, melted in odd shapes.
Odin looked down at the faintly pulsing crimson pool, then back up into the
veiled face of the creature before him. Her odd legs, one wolf paw and one
goat, stood standing on the illuminated water without sinking into the soft
ground below.

"Plain talk be the easiest to understand spirit. Vhat do ya mean vith I
need to cut avay my sight so that I can see, or vhatever it is ya vere
riddling vith?"
Odin's face was both bewildered and agitated with the
cryptic words of the Unknown, and his soul was oddly disquieted remembering
the chilling delivery of its laugh. The Unknown's voice still head that
singular quality, instead of the many layered voices he heard it speak in
before. Truthfully, the focused voice was more disturbing. It was raw and
powerful, like watching a wave in the ocean increase in height as it speeds
to the shore, yourself powerless to escape the crushing blow once it reaches
you.

The Unknown let out a chilly breath from behind its veil and extinguised the
black candle. Small tendrils of smoke rose towards the sky. The sun's
first rays could be seen peeking just above the horizon. It discarded the
black candle off to the side of the pool and folded its arms across its
chest, the melted wax still covering its fingers. "Knowledge and wisdom is
something that can be obtained, should someone pay the cost, Volsung"
. The
Unknown seems to incline its head slowly to look down over its own form, but
the competion between dusk and dawn kept him from completely seeing its
focus point. "If you wish to be more, you need to pay. Simple as that."
The Unknown turns its head towards the tree for a moment as it spoke. "The
power in this tree, incalculable souls from ageless eras have been trapped
within its roots, its lifeforce"
. Odin looks up at the tree with its scar
he made in its rich brown trunk, the small drops of crimson still leaking
out of it slowly.

"Vhat does vone do to harvest that information, to learn from it?" He
found the question hard to say outloud, his own voice slightly quivering at
its askance. The Uknown turned its head back to Odin, its eyes seeming to
brighten behind its black veil. "The cost is nay for me to decide. Each
person values life differently. If you sacrifice too little, you get little
return. If you sacrifice too much... You will not leave this place."
The
Unknown stares down at the crimson pool she stands in, and starts to walk
backwards until she is at its edge, carefully stepping up on its slope.
"You offer what you feel is appropriate." Odin scratches at his beard
thoughtfully, eyes downcast into the pool. "Just remember that the cost of
such has meant that many souls have never left this place."


Odin nods at the Unknown, his voice regaining its confident composure. "I
know vhat I the cost shall be then."
That evil chuckle started to eminate
from the Unknown's throat, sending shivers up Odin's spine.

"Confidence alone will not make your sacrifice worthy, Volsung. It takes
more than bravado to face the unknown".
It chuckles again. Odin bristles
at the jab to his choice, his brows furrowing as he looks towards the
Unknown. The sun just started to lift its head above the waterline,
scattered rays piercing the gloominess of the dawn.


"If there is a vay to keep the mistakes ov the past to be repeated, there be
no cost too high, spirit or vhatever the hell you are."
Odin pounds his
fist against his chest, right above his heart in a proud salute. "I am Odin
Volsung, last ov my clan. I vill make sure ve love on, no matter vhat I
suffer."
The Unknown simply stares at him. "Very well, Odin"




Writer: Mokla

Date Fri Jun 24 19:28:23 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject *X* Sorting the Chaff *X*


"CLEAR 'EM OUT! GIVE HER SOME ROOM!" Hollered the hobgob peacekeeper
to the ogre guards in the outer office. The mewling complaints and
indignant retorts of the crowd proved ineffective against the bulk of iron
the guards presented, shoving the assorted crowd towards the door and into
the street. Left in their wake stood the small goblin woman with a stance
like a glacier and a gaze to match it's coolness, regarding the chained
prisoners arrayed along the wall. Nodding to the peacekeeper in charge as
he stepped from his office, Dkom approached to stand next to Sagemn, waiting
silently for the woman to speak.

Watching quietly from the doorway of Dkom's office, Mokla's curiosity at the
scene was evidenced by his raised eyebrow and shift of his eyes across the
assembled potential insurrectionists and the tiny figure who held the key to
their immediate futures. Dkom opened his mouth to speak when cut off
suddenly by the tiny woman's movement forward to the confused ice goblin
before her and whispered command "Your hands.." . Raising his eyes warily,
the detainee offered his hands slowly, his eyes flaring at the gaze which
held him as the gobliness grasped his hands, pressing her fingers along the
insides of his fingers and palms. The man's growing tension was broken
finally with the whisper of "No.." And release from her grasp and gaze.

The healer paused before a pair of similarly featured goblins and crossed
her arms, shaking her head slowly. "Vikt and Wurz.. , Trouble finds you
together as always. Get you gone, and worry Fligga no more.. Must you make
a mother suffer the stupidity of her get?"
Both looked down at the
dismissive wave and hiss they received. A turn of her head fixed her gaze
on the short, round ice goblin next in line. "Filmig.." The small voice
intoned with disdain, at the indignantly staring man. "Spared the wrath of
Dialook's army, and fat on the Witch Queen's mercy.. Certainly cowardly
enough to strike from behind a crowd.."
"Stuff yer witchy tongue up yer",
the peevish man began before Sagemn's own glare bored through him and her
words cut him off. "Even an assassin must have nerve,, If I thought there
was a shred of it in you I'd bleed you myself.. I may yet."
She chastised
in a voice of iron before turning away.

Stopping before the last mixed pair, she regarded them quietly before
repeating her prior command, "Hands.." , And repeated her examination of
both grasping the fingers of each's right hand. Holding them up she glanced
back at Dkom, who nodded noting the bowstring callous each possessed.
Releasing their hands, Sagemn continued to stare at each. Mokla noted the
rising anxiety of the tall ice goblin and the steady indifference of the
shorter goblin wondering at the meaning of each. Dkom seeing her
deliberation raised a hand, halting the motion of the peacekeeper who
started forward.

Locking her gaze on the unsettled ice goblin the healer proffered a
question, "How long in the Hollows?" . A glance towards his fingers as if
ticking off time proceeded the shaky reply "Se.. Seven months". A turn of
her head indicted the same question to the cool goblin who said "Nine"
surely. Stepping back to take them both under her gaze, she uttered a new
command, "Boots.. Remove them". Perplexed looks crossed many faces,
including Dkom and Mokla as the pair sat to pull their boots free, exposing
their feet to the tiny gobliness' discerning inspection. The ice goblin
twitched as Sagemn's talon scraped across the hard, worn callous of his
foot, and her eyes held no assurance as his confused gaze met them. Turning
to the goblin she finally got a reaction to break his calm as she poked at
the inflamed and tender sole of his foot with an ungentle talon.
** to be continued **




Writer: Mokla

Date Fri Jun 24 20:12:55 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject *X* Sorting the Chaff *X* pt. 2


Mokla watched the interrogation, his mind searching to find it's
reasoning and noting the looks passing between the assembled peacekeepers
and the shift of Dkom's hands from their usual at rest stance clasped behind
him to a more ready position at his sides. The reasoning may have eluded
him but the bandit king knew intimately the feel of the sudden rising
tension in the room and unconsciously shifted his own hands to the hilt of
his dagger.

The tiny healer leaned in closer to face the mostly stoic goblin and spoke
in a soft, near whisper which chilled even Mokla from across the room, "The
Hollow's paths.. They are unkind to the feet. The new gravel sharp and
shifting.."
Pausing to prod the inflamed feet, once more bringing the
painful flinch and grinning with a malice Mokla could appreciate, Sagemn
crooned softly "The folk.. They All come to me when the sores rupture..
Never more than a month after arrival. You.. Are a liar."
The prisoners
eyes flickered to take in the nods of agreement passing between the
assembled guards and peacekeepers before returning to the icy gaze of the
gobliness. A quick inhale powered the glob of spittle he launched into her
face with a sneer which died slowly as she neither flinched nor moved to
wipe it away.

Rising slowly, her gaze still locked upon the prisoner as the guards jumped
to assure he went nowhere in a series of kicks, Sagemn spoke huskily, her
voice the embodiment of wrath and justice. "I will make flutes of your
bones to play a dirge for my dear Minzi's spirit.
Know that your legacy
will be silly songs played by children.. A fitting doom for a fool."
Her
curse proclaimed, she turned to face Dkom resolutely stating "Your search
begins with this one..."
, Her eyes turned then to regard the king within
the doorway with a level gaze before finishing ".. Do not fail us."

Mokla acknowledged her solemnly raising a clenched fist to his chest and
offering a small bow before she returned her gaze to Dkom and gave a small
nod to both before turning to exit the office quietly, the gathered crowd
hushed and parting ahead of her. Mokla met Dkom's gaze as he turned,
nodding sagely. "See him brought to the jail in Darkonin. The Plaguebearer
has cleared away the chaff.. It's time we grind the meal."





Writer: Euterah

Date Sat Jun 25 17:58:48 2016

To Darkonin Mokla Vershae Zola All ( Sunny IMM RP )

Subject Grist for the Mill


The Witch watched from the Tower of Juju, the thick glass casement
obscuring the figures below as they were bustling another past the black
dragon statue, moving off into the shadows toward the inner caverns. They
were lost from her sight as soon as they were spotted. The Witch Queen
gathered it was to do with the attack on the Bishop, yet the Bandit King did
palaver with Dkom. The wind whistled in the loose chinks of the Tower. She
closed her dark brackish eyes as a cascade of tasks overtook her thoughts.
So much to do and so little leaders to do much with, the Witch banished the
line of thinking.

Even the stars burn out in time to be born anew, once more hanging in the
fabric whisper of the gods. She had hope. The Witch felt it within her,
that faint fluttering of everlasting, spark of creation and creativity. She
plucked her cloak from a peg and threw it on, rushing down the staircase and
giving Jupu a scare and she flew raven fast out the Towers door and into the
drifts. The night was gusting with sparkling snow, though the clouds were
at bay and the visible moons shown down. It was like a walking dream as the
Witch tuck cloak around her and trudged toward the inner caverns.

Whatever befell here, she would know.




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Mon Jun 27 01:32:36 2016




Writer: Vahriah

Date Mon Jun 27 05:56:54 2016




Writer: Vahriah

Date Mon Jun 27 06:19:56 2016




Writer: Elrei

Date Mon Jun 27 21:04:15 2016

To All Taesia Folt Celestaea Ixi'kweez Aneiron Taliena Imm RP

Subject Rumors of a Broken Bond



'When I was in Shalonesti I believe I had met your ex-wife. She told
me she divorced you because you wanted to leave the vallens. May I ask why?
'

There was no physical blow, but Elrei felt it regardless - an emotional
strike which nearly drove the wind from him. 'There must be some mistake,
to my knowledge the Bond between myself and Taesia was never broken.
'

'She told me she divorced you sir.'

Elrei had not seen or heard from Taesia in countless ages. She had
become difficult to catch even before her retirement from the Senate, but
beyond it she was nigh-unreachable, residing more or less permanently upon
Shokono for the past decade or more, per the Old Calendar. Ixi'kweez had
seen her, some seven or eight years ago - around the time Elrei's grandson,
Aneiron, was born - but Elrei had not even heard of her being sighted since
that time. That, coupled with the thought that their Lifebond had been
somehow broken, nearly made the aged Elf dismiss the man's words out of
hand. After all, the man could not confirm with certainty that it was
Taesia he had spoken with.

So Elrei found another source. 'Would you happen to know if an Elf by
the name of Taesia has been seen within the Groves, or Shalonesti in
general, within the past few months?
'

'Yes, actually. I saw her within at least a fortnight, I believe.'

'And you are certain of the name?'

'She is a Lady, and an enchantress. Does that sound correct?'

It did, of course. She had been Senator of the Sha'tavas, back before
the merge of the Houses and the decision to drop that Noble Name, and she
had been regarded as a great enchantress, having won a competition of such
skill held in New Thalos many years ago. 'Yes. That does sound like her.
I am glad to know she is well, at least... Do you recall, perhaps, whether
she still wore a jeweled ring of hematite?
'

'It has been so long that I truly cannot recall and any guess would be
more fancy than truth. I am very sorry, though my thought is that I noticed
no ring.
'

Confused, and in pain, Elrei retreated to his home to compose his
thoughts, and try to find the words which would be the first to his Bondmate
in many, many years.




Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jun 27 22:12:02 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Cut



Odin stood before the Unknown, as determinned as ever to do what was
needed to gain wisdom and knowledge. His thirst was nigh unsatiable, and
the small bit given to him by the unknown awakened something deep within
him. He didn't want to be limited by simple minded ideals, nor did he wish
to move forward with his plans to revitalize his clan with limited foresight
or ill-equipped information. If he was going to bring Clan Volsung back
from the dangerous brink it teetered on, it would take extreme measures of
which he was prepared to pay the cost.

"I am vready. Vhat must I do?" Odin folds his arms across his chest,
glancing between the ancient tree and the Unknown standing on the opposite
side of the pool gathered at its roots.

"So eager, Odin. You shall find yourself not wanting to walk so quickly
into the fire."
. The Unknown cocks its veiled head to the side curiously,
looking in Odin's direction. Its many-layered voice had an edge of
inquisitiveness. "Why the rush, I wonder?" From the boughs of the naked,
twisted tree, ravensong could be heard, two sets of golden eyes watching the
exchange.

"Vhy I tarry here, I vrisk the destruction ov my clan, my people, their
ideals. They vould have died for naught, and I vill nay keep that blood on
my hands".
Odin's resolve seemed sure as he pounded his fist against his
heart again. "If I can bring Volsung back to life, and nay repeat the
mistakes ov the past, it be my duty and honor to do such. I vill not let
mediocrity stand in the vay."


The Unknown seemed to consider this a moment, while a slight dip of its head
seemed the only inclination of resignation. "Very well. As you have asked,
so I will answer".
The Unknown spreads its hands out to indicate the pool
before her. "This crimson sap is the lifeblood of this tree, the name of
which cannot be uttered by the unlearned.
" It looks up in the direction of
the tree before turning back to Odin. "If your sacrifice be considered
worthy, you are granted permission to take one drink. The vessel of which
you drink from is your own choosing."


Odin nods once, studying the Unknown but being brusque in manner as he
responds. "And vhat happens if my sacrifice is nay vorthy? Vhat vill
become..."
Odin stops mid-sentence, and then shakes his head back and
forth. "I dont' care vhat vill happen, because at that point, it vill be
too late to do a thing about it. How do I proceed?"


The Unknown raises her perfect hands, almost in supplication towards Odin.
"Speak your Sacrifice, Odin of the Volsung" it says, somewhat softer in tone
than he had come to expect from the creature. In Odin's mind, he had an
entire monologue planned for this moment. He was going to say how his true
sight has let him down, how he failed to see the danger before him and was a
poorer man for it. There was symbolism in his gesture, a hope for washing
away his ineptitude. The words stuck in his throat, held fast by something
he did not understand. Whether or not it was fear or worry that tried to
present itself, he would not be deterred.

At Odin's side was a beautifully craft black blade with a golden-head hilt
of a warg carved upon it. With one deft movement, Odin raised the blade to
his right eye. There was no cry of anguish or pain as light turned to dark.

Odin looked down into the pool with his left eye, the screaming heat from
his right eye blurring his senses. He thought he felt the cold exhale of
breath from the Unknown, but he was too concerned with the next step. He
had forgotten to produce a vessel to drink from. Quickly, he decided what
to do. Taking a deep breath, Odin fell face forward into the opaque pool of
crimson water.

He would be the vessel.

A few bubbles of air broke the silence of the moment as they reached the
surface of the pool, making a brisk popping noise. The sun's rays shown
down fully on the pool now, and Odin was nowhere to be seen.





Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jun 27 22:58:50 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject New



He knew not when he emerged, the concept of time shattered in his mind.
Odin raised himself using his forearms as he bent at the waist and sat up.
The once crimson pool where he fell into was little more than a ruddy
puddle. His body was naked, the water melting away his former threads. The
tree still remained where he had left it, the crimson sap dribbling down its
trunk but at a much reduced rate. The two ravens that had been in the
boughs were high overhead, circling in the noon sky.

Odin stood slowly from the mudpit, the Unknown nowhere to be seen. Next to
the roots of a tree lay a cloak of blackest midnight. Odin walked over to
it and noticed a small parchment pinned to its broach. He unrolled its
fragile parchment, the paper dry and nearly crumbling at the touch. Reading
the words even as it started to fall about in his fingers, he was taken
aback.

Odin, last of the Volsung. With age comes wisdom. You shall now face the
Unknown with new sight. Time will tell what your sacrifice has wrought.


The small bits of paper tumbled carelessly in the wind. Odin picked up the
raven feather cloak and threw it around his shoulders. A small glint of
metal could be seen in the new sun sticking out of the mud. Odin moves over
to check it out, and kneels down to retrieve the object from the ground.

He was relieved to see the shiny head of a golden warg caked in dirt staring
back at him. As he bent down to fully remove it from its tomb, his jaw
dropped at the sight of his reflection in the crimson pool.

Odin raised his free hand to his cheek, tracing his fingers along the scar
over his right eye. Its blue aegean sheen had been muted, and a one inch
scar was present above and below its lifeless orb. He was more shocked to
see his countenance, well aged beyond his recollection. Odin was only
eighteen or nineteen summers old, he forgot which, when he first started to
track down what occured with his family and came to this place. After he
fell into the pool, letting the crimson liquid fill his lungs, everything
went into a state of total darkness. What was staring back in his
reflection was not a young boy, but a man of thirty or more years.

He kept touching his face, feeling the subtle wrinkles in his forehead, and
the small crows feet in his weathered eyes. He looked down at his body, and
although he was thankful it had not withered away, it had changed. He was
not the athletic lithe warrior he had once been. His form was that of one
closer to a lumberjack, knotted with raw muscle but somewhat stressed with
time.

Odin stood slowly, stretching his arms out to his sides as he inspected
himself in wonderment and awe. He was not the young impetuous warrior that
had came to this place. He was something different now.

Something Older.

Something Wiser.

Something More.

Gathering his thoughts and his blade, Odin started down the path to the
ocean, the raven cloak drawn tight around himself. From high above, the
ravens kept trailing him as he picked his way slowly through the icy fields.


A small, many voiced laughing could be faintly heard in the breeze before it
was carried off and drowned out by the sound of the raging ocean and
cracking ice-breaks.




Writer: Durst

Date Tue Jun 28 18:10:41 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Victim of circumstance



Gentle laps of water embraced the merchant ship as it completed its
docking process. The sun started to rise on the horizon, illuminating the
sky with tendrils of {ppink
and {oorange. Durst grabbed for his travel bag and
started to awkwardly stumble down towards the loading dock. In the distance
behind he could hear someone shouting behind as he strolled down onto the
wooden deck and towards the cobbled road. The pitter-patter of tiny feet
came ever closer. Durst turned grudgingly towards the sound and tried to
remain in a better mood. Kai fluttered on his shoulder and let out several
sounds at the adventure whom approached. The kender collided against the
worn pants of the warlock and breathed heavily from the running.

{n"Oh... Oh... What an adventure! I thought you were leaving Mr. Haunt.
Why do they call you Haunt anyways? My brother is Jack and my mother is
Paula and my father is...."


Oh what did I do to deserve this thought Durst, trying to drowned out any
further garble the kender was spewing out of its mouth. I could kill him he
thought. The thought of it alone made the madman chuckle to himself.

"Yes we can do that if we wanted sure.. Ha! HA HA HA!" Durst busted into
a roar of laughter, which only sparked the man standing below him.

The kender started to giggle and smile upwards at him. Thinking back I
shouldn't have laughed outwards... Durst almost kicked himself for being so
stupid. He might of just insighted this... Hrm what was his name. Oh yes
Trevor. Who would name there son Trevor. Durst was back into his own world
and started to walk away from the ship, kender in toe, and right behind him.
Several miles had passed along while Trevor kept rambling on about this site
of interest and that site of wonder. Belly rumbling and a bit wiry from the
walk, they both made their way off the cobbled pathway. Durst started a
small camp fire with a flick of a wrist at the amusement of Trevor. A
slight smile came to Durst, as he produced a cooking pot from his bag, and
started to boil several items inside of it.

{o"Oh man, Oh man, am I hungry Mr Haunt. What we having for supper anyways?"


"Oh we are having a bit of rabbit... Some potatoes... *coughs softly* some
tongue..."


{o"TONGUE?! I never had that Mr. Haunt. Where did you get the tongue
anyways? Can I see it? I've never seen a tongue out of somethings mouth
before. I bet its All icky looking."
Trevor smiled across the camp fire
at Durst.

"Oh... Yes.. Um... No need to see it. Patience is a virtue. Well
something I heard once."





Writer: Xelin

Date Wed Jun 29 23:40:13 2016




Writer: Xoknath

Date Thu Jun 30 08:00:07 2016




Writer: Andreyna

Date Thu Jun 30 09:27:15 2016




Writer: Zola

Date Fri Jul 1 15:46:57 2016

To All Abaddon Bloodlust Verminasia Darkonin Immortals Fatale

Subject X We Are All Killers X


Thalosia, the Desert Jewel. Too bright. Not just in terms of sunlight,
which baked the body and broiled the mind, but in terms of devotion. The
people of the Desert Jewel were either apathetic to the Eternal
War or else
firmly on the side of the Light and its shackled ideals. That said, they
were excellently organized, and their eye-for-an-eye philosophy had
impressed the Deathscythe during his visit.


Ironclad, the Marauder Stronghold. A collection of uniformed brutes with no
concept of what it truly meant to fight for a cause higher than themselves,
only to fight and fight and fight some more like the drunken
brawlers in a
dwarven bar. Once, they had understood the concept of conquest... Now they
knew only war. They mocked the word of his dread lord Fatale. So they
could live long enough to see their precious keep crumble to rubble around
them. THEN die.


Arkane, the Mystic Kingdom. A kingdom of walking dead. Parodies of life
going through the motions, no spark in their eyes, no faith in their souls.
They were merchants and traders and those concerned
only with their wealth
and their comforts, not true life. Those who even bothered to lift their
heads quickly buried them back in the ground the moment they saw or heard
something that did not fit their
lifestyle. Killing them All would be a
mercy.


Verminasia, the Dark City. A dark gem and a welcome, soothing calm for the
Deathscythe. Here at least were those devoted to the Darkness, with a
commitment to seeing the grand designs of Fatale, Necrucifer, and
their
family come to fruition. If they held any flaws, he had not been able to
find any. Save perhaps one that would reveal itself in due time.


Darkonin, the Dark Mountain. Dank, dark, and full of creatures out to rend
and slay and reap. It was a place of great power, and glory just waiting to
be found. The smell left something to be desired, and
the goblinoid's
temple complex was marred by a lack of place for Fatale, but their hearts
were filled with murderous ruthlessness, and that was enough. He should
know, thanks to one of their number he'd had
a close brush with death that
he wouldn't soon forget.


In between his trips to the grand kingdoms and old empires, Zola also
visited various hamlets, villages, towns and towers. Speaking to those
would speak with him. Learning of faith and of killing. Took
many trips
into Purgatory with many organizations. Everywhere he found variations,
people who prayed, people who practiced, people who did not understand,
people who thought they did. Those he could offer guidance and wisdom too,
he did. And places he could learn more, he did. But through it All he saw
one constant, and reveled in the great truth as he'd come to understand it
so long ago. Everyone was a killer. Some denied it, some fought it, but
everyone who lived did so through death of others. Fatale's truth was known
all across Algoron, even if it was not understood.


His pilgrimage a success, Zola bid his final farewells to the kingdoms,
turning his steps to the hallowed Dungeon of Bloodlust. For the foreseeable
future, his home. Where he would venture forth to bring death and
destruction. Snuffing out the light one candle at a time, if need be.
Killing in the name of Fatale. If necessary, dying in the name of Fatale.
And then, and only then, when the dread Lord of Murder deemed his work
amongst them done... To return to Abaddon. His home.

The dark kingdom he would one day call his final resting place.




Writer: Keinan

Date Sat Jul 2 11:34:29 2016




Writer: Durst

Date Sat Jul 2 17:35:12 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Sad sack



Muddy boots left a trail of his travel behind him. The cobbled stone
near the entrance to the large city started to take a less crude look.
Durst thought must of been scrubbed daily and set with great pride. The
large towers on either side of the out long walls sprouted upwards, defying
the odds, and stood as beacons of security.

The rain started again much to his enjoyment. Large portions ran down the
crude piece of leather he wore upon his balding head and dropped into his
outstretched palm, his other hand grasping at the end of a sack. Durst
continued onward with an unseen thing in toe. He glanced back for a second
to only see a small brush move for a moment. A gentle breeze rushed by and
tickled his beard. The now drenched fellow chuckled and shook his head.
"The blasted things always try to follow, but I am too smart for that." He
shook his head with a grin as he spoke to himself. Still holding the bag
securely, he cupped his hands as best he could before shooting out towards
the bushes. "I CAN SEE YOU! I SAW YOU JUMP IN THERE I DID! STOP BEING
ABSURD!"
He swore he heard the bushes giggle and decided to keep on his
journey towards the west gate. Approaching him, armor clanking, two armed
guards confronted him.

"Hey you there." The one of the pair of guards motioned for Durst to come
over as he became closer to stepping into the city. "What's in the sack?
Why the hell is it All red at the bottom?"
Asked the guard cautiously and
his palm gripped at the pommel of a very large blade. The other guard
overhead the beginning of the exchange and gripped at his own weapon as
well.

"Oh uh... Yes yes it is simply well stuff really." Durst gave out a
slight smile, the bottom of the sack dripping a crimson red.

"Simply stuff you say? Do I look like the sort who would believe that?"
The guards came closer and out from behind Durst stepped Trevor with a large
smile and an energetic wave to them both.

"Oh hello there guards! Wow neat looking swords. I bet you can scale a
wall with those in your teeth. Oh have you ever scaled a wall? That was
dinner last night. He said it was tongue, but it really tasted like
chicken... You should of seen h..."
Trevor continued, but was drowned out
by one of the men. The rest of the story remain unfinished. Trevor almost
pouted as the guard spoke.

"Well then.... Lets have a looksie.. Open the bag you nitwit! Durst
complied with his head down and gazed into the bag. Remains of the left
over dinner was housed within the leather. Parts of a leg, head, and a
broken in half carcass of a rabbit laid inside.

The gate guards both looked into the bag and at the remains of the creature.
"Alright then, move along, and no funny business." Durst nodded his head
in agreement and the kender did the same. The pair trudged onward and
quickly Trevor started explaining the whole history of the kingdom of Arkane
and other things that were not asked for. Dursts' free hand made its way to
his brow and whispered to himself, "Should of had you in there..." Durst
grinned at the thought and continued through a now bustling main street.




Writer: Durst

Date Sat Jul 2 19:10:26 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Funky Cheese and Grapefruit


Grubby hands tried to reach out along the quick pace of the town center.
He must of gotten bumped and lost his future lunch for the sack was missing
among the vast amounts of people moving about. If one looked hard enough
into the chaos you could pick out the various lot of scoundrels, farm folk,
tradesmen, and other races from throughout the lands. Trevor tugged at
Durst's long brown robe and looked up with pleading eyes that rang out of
hunger. Did I purchase some sort of pet and did not know of it? Durst
thought for several moments, his mind wandering off into the unknown for a
second, but was brought back to reality of his own turning belly. Kai
fluttered his feathers a bit and continued to groom himself. The raven
remained perfectly perched upon the robed man and Durst looked down towards
Trevor. Durst gave several slow nods and mulled around a bit.

"Yes yes I am hungry too. Maybe in that place?" Two fingers jutted
towards an unsavory looking place and if by magic two drunken fools were
tossed out of the entry way. Trevor gave out a giggle and pointed towards
the two men that were just hurled out of the tavern.

"Ooooo MAGIC!" , Said Trevor with a mirth to his voice. Durst simply shook
his head and headed into the establishment with some caution to the wind.
Looking around he found a suitable table for himself and the pestering lad.
They both took a seat at the table without an aid of a waitress and glanced
over the small, pathetic menu. A barmaid walked by tossing down a plate of
cheese and a selection of fruit.

They both started at the dishes with some delight, though the funk of the
cheese was almost unbearable. Durst glanced up and the kender was gone. He
cleared some of the grapefruit juice from his beard and took another bite
off the hunk of cheese. Well good, I didn't want company anyways, thought
Durst happily. As the thought was completed he heard commotion coming from
the top of the bar. Seems he thought too soon. Durst let out a large sigh
of frustration as a crowd gathered around a perky figure standing atop of
the oaken bar top.

Several people, mostly the drunken kind, started to hoot and howl at the
turn of events. The kender danced his small, yet well traveled boots along
to the sound of a stringed instrument playing. Laughing out loud and
grinning ear to ear, Trevor began to sing a tune:

"Gather around and don't be shy, Come meet this wonderful guy. Though his
clothes are drab, And his attitude bad. He points and you will fall! Come
now and join off the wall! My friend here is misunderstood you'll find Come
now and do be kind! Power I know he won't flaunt Please welcome my good
friend Haunt.


The crowed cheered the Trevor on as the kender bowed politely towards the
captivated audience. Not All were pleased as a man gripped powerful hands
along the neckline of the robe Durst wore. The burly fellow hoisted Durst
and a sense of flight filled the clouded mind of Durst. Durst kicked his
feet a bit and felt for the ale soaked ground below him. He then peered
into the pug like face of the man gripping him. The bar brawler peered back
at Durst and said, "Haunt eh? You don't look so damn sca..." . The man's
words trailed slowly into almost a stammer and the pupils of the man drowned
out any other color. Durst kept his hands gripped around the unwelcomed
mans wrist with a strange smile upon his face. The bar kept the music
playing while Trevor did some acrobatics. No one saw the large fellow plop
in the corner, sobbing like a new born. Using a napkin to clean some cheese
from his beard, Durst placed several silver pieces on the table top and
headed for the exit.




Writer: Odin

Date Sat Jul 2 20:59:14 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Work



Odin stood in the center of the great forest, stripped down to his waste.
His chest was marred with scars from battles, and the sweat on his torso
mingled with small chips of wood. His axe in hand, he was hacking away at a
tall tree, cutting it in a way so that when felled, it would not harm its
surrounding mates.

Living in the woods had given Odin a respect for nature, a closeness to the
land unlike any other. Since his run in with the "tree" on Icewall, Odin's
mind had be focused on things much more important than his own existence.
He would love to have the best armor and the finest weapons, but for now,
there were people in this world who didn't feel like they belong anywhere,
much like himself. He could not let that stand forever.

Odin took a few more swings against the tree, the thudding sound ringing out
through the dense woods. Small chips of wood flew into his face at times.
Thankfully his eye patch deflected most of the splinters. He was still
getting used to only having one eye, but knew he could not complain. It was
his decision that brought him to where he was. He did not regret it, nor
did he lament about things he could not change.

As he chopped at the tree, the dull ache of the impact felt in his massive
hands as it hits the trunk, he thought of his first endeavor since leaving
Icewall. It wasn't about revenge anymore or finding his family. It was
about building a life he could live honorably. The first part of that was
this tavern.

He had thankfully had some helpful benefactors, raising enough for a single
room. He had hoped for at least two, so that he may include a place for
others to prepare for battle, a ready room of sorts for those who get hired
out of the tavern. He wanted it to be a place where mercenaries,
outlanders, and the wandering souls of the land could come and rest. If he
couldn't get All the funds he needed, he decided he would have to chop some
of the wood himself. It was not an easy task, nor one that would benefit
him at all. It was about the people, those souls who need a place just for
them. It was greater than himself.

A few more swings, and the dull, creaking noise of cracking timber started
to grow louder in pitch. The tall trunk started to bend in the direction
Odin wanted, leaves shaking from their boughs as it started to come crashing
down.

TIMMMMMMBEEEEEEEEEERRRR!!! He yells, as the large trunk hits the ground
hard, shaking the earth as it lands. He deftly moves to clean off the
branches, sweat pouring from his forehead.

There are worse ways to spend your days.




Writer: Todor

Date Sun Jul 3 21:08:05 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jul 4 07:34:09 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Way



Odin stood with his axe in hand at the base of a large cedar tree. The
sun had just peeked its head above the horizon, sending scattered rays of
golden light through the dense canopy of the Realm of Wood. It had been an
eventful few days, so he was actually glad of the simplicty of cleaning the
forest of dead logs and old growth. There was catharsis in the repetitive
task. He was also horrible at just sitting around on his arse.

Odin set about cleaning the branches of the log, refreshed by the cool wind
blowing through the Coven. The resident witches and warlocks were not a fan
of his intrusion, but quickly learned to give him space as they saw what
care he took in his job. That is not to say they were any less possessive,
as duty and honor prompted them to throw their wild gouards at him each time
he passed. They simply did not give chase when he deftly walked away from
battle, leaving them to their miserable brewing.

Odin was granted audience by the King of Thaxanos the other eve, and was
intrigued by the information he found regarding the history of the war
between the elves and the dwarves. Tales of ancient grudges soon turned to
aspects of religion, the guiding doctrine of many societies within Algoron.
Most faiths had tenets, rules to live by and guide their people through
their day to day lives. Vikings did not do well with such restrictions, at
least Clan Volsung did not. They believed in a free society of men and
women, challenges of strength and tests of personal skill. Telling them
they can't drink too much never sat well with any of them. You would most
likely found yourself drowning in a bowl of ale if you made that suggestion.


The Gods played an important part in his world. The sound of Cliath's anvil
ringing in the sky brought forth the sparks of lightning seen in the
atmosphere. Zandreya's gifts provided the resources needed to survive the
harsh Icewall climate. Faith had its place, and always would. Odin
followed Raije, which many a Viking did. Grumf had instructed Odin that
Raije's faith only came down to Loyalty, Courage and Victory. Even without
religion, Odin had been familiar with these principles through his
upbringing in Clan Volsung. They were outsiders in the Viking community,
accepting elves, dwarves, goblins and ogres into their mix. They had to be
loyal to one another, courageous to stand against the tide of people wishing
to eliminate them, and victorious. Each member of Clan Volsung knew this
lesson before moving onto Valhalla, as Odin was the last one standing.

As Odin cleared out more of the branches of the log, his mind drifted into a
conversation he had with one of his elven friends. A bladesinger of
considerable skill, she had helped Odin often along his journey. Celestaea
was strong in her own convictions, and they discussed several points of life
in their talks together. Odin had informed her of his path to being a
lumberjack to earn extra coin, and wanted to make sure his friend understood
his goal was to help, and not hurt the forest he inhabited. In their
conversation, she had mentioned the arrogance of humanity, to believe that
one man could affect the landscape of nature and harm the world in
irrepairable manners. While shouldering the large log on his massive
shoulders and carrying them over to his pile, Odin though on this. He
understood his friends sentiment, knew that life takes care of his own.
Yet, in the back of his mind, he knew that he did not totally agree.

He would be one whose work affected the entirety of the world. Perhaps not
with cutting down trees, that is not his lane and only brought him about two
eggs a day. He would need much more eventually. Zandreya can take care of
the forest and replenishing the woods. Odin was going to change the world.
He believed that with every fiber of his being.

He would change the world, even if he was just one man. It was the Viking
Way. It was Clan Volsung's Way. It was His Way.




Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Mon Jul 4 08:13:06 2016




Writer: Andreyna

Date Mon Jul 4 09:19:05 2016




Writer: Mathesan

Date Mon Jul 4 20:06:16 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject Funeral of One (1/2)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
FUNERAL OF ONE

One was dead.

It happened while Mathesan had been away in Doija. Thankfully, someone
had come calling and noticed the foul order and had it investigated.
The Kingsguard knew better than to go snooping without Mathesan present,
a fact for which Mathesan was immensely grateful. There were numerous
skeletons, almost quite literally, that he didn't want revealed.

However, Mathesan arrived home just in time nevertheless. One had been
scheduled to be buried publicly in an unmarked grave. While Mathesan
paid One well, no one really knew where the servant's money went and so
there were no arrangements for his unexpected passing. When Mathesan
returned and caught wind of the news, he headed for Verminasia's morgue,
located in the basement of its temple, immediately.

The magical cold that permeated the room must have been what sent a
shiver down Mathesan's spine. However, he noticed a slight feeling of
apprehension that he couldn't shake. Perhaps it would not be One whom
he saw on the table. Maybe it would be someone else, and Mathesan would
find that One was alive and well.

The man that led Mathesan through the winding tunnels of the basement
was short and stooped, as though he were a hunchback. However, he was
slender, almost like a skeleton. As Mathesan looked around, he realized
that, honeycombed into the walls, the recently dead were stored. Out of
sight, waiting examination.

Eventually they found themselves in a room, some ten feet by twenty
feet. The walls of this room also held the deceased. Mathesan knew that
below this level, the catacombs of Verminasia began, and delved down
into storied depths.

A tall man, though he still only came to Mathesan's chin, stood beside
one of the holes carved into the wall. As Mathesan approached, he
reached in and pulled out a small steel bench. The metal was cold and
clean, gleaming even in the low light. As soon as Mathesan saw the
cadaver's face, he knew it was One, the man who had, for so long, been
a faithful servant not only to him, but to the Madaur family.

Mathesan nodded, and One was unceremoniously shoved back into his hole.

---

There was only one in attendance of One's funeral.

It turned out that One's wife was ailing, and so their son remained
behind to take care of her.

It was a simple affair, held in the church to the east of Verminasia,
with One lying back on a stone slab. Mathesan sat in the front pew,
gazing at the servant that, in many ways, had become like a friend. It
was an unusual thing, to realize the loss. Yet, Mathesan didn't feel
any of the other things -- the emotions that he was told one would
normally feel.

There was no urge to cry, Mathesan also didn't feel anything that would
fit the description of sadness. In fact, while he was contemplating
what it meant to lose his servant, and perhaps friend, Mathesan was
also already moving on and mulling over a letter that had arrived the
previous day.

Mathesan had only been a week at home when a summons was delivered,
urging Mathesan to visit again with the Emperor of Doija. It was
written courtesy that clung and dripped from the letter like fresh
honey.

His last trip had been mostly uneventful, and Mathesan was certain
that no one would discover what had happened to one of Doija's
missing Daimyo. However, while he was away, One had met his untimely
end. There was a definite suspicion of foulplay.

It wasn't unusual for someone to want a Crown Prince dead. Mathesan
knew of the danger he faced as soon as his father had bestowed that
title upon him.

The question was, who?

pg. 01
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Mon Jul 4 20:09:32 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject Funeral of One (2/2)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
FUNERAL OF ONE

There were plenty of suspects, and not All of them were foreigners. The
ambition for power, or simply to take a swing at the powerful, was a
traditional pasttime in Verminasia. It was a kingdom built on the
principle that only the strong survive, for only the strong were worthy
of the Master. And, while it was recognized that there was strength in
numbers, it also meant that if someone was weak enough to be killed, the
kingdom could bear it.

Mathesan gazed at his deceased servant. The mortuary had taken great
pains to make the man look lifelike, as though he were merely sleeping.
However, Mathesan, who had seen One nearly every day for years, wasn't
fooled by the facade.

Would it be he on the slab next? Arms folded across his chest, dressed
in the finest court wear, with makeup to hide the subtle signs of rot.
Perfume would hang heavy in the air, sickly sweet, unable to completely
mask the distinctive odor of death.

A man walked in then. Dressed in obsidian robes, he moved with purpose
as he made his way down the aisle. The man had long, flowing white hair
and thin, refined features. He held his nose in the air, chin tilted
back.

As the man passed the first pew, he inclined his head toward Mathesan
and gave a slight bow.

"Your Highness." The Priest said solemnly. "Shall I begin?"

Mathesan gave a curt nod.

Continuing to the altar, the priest placed his hands on either side
of the altar. "We gather here today to celebrate the passing of the
man simply known as One."

He paused. "We celebrate in the name of Fatale, but also in the name
of the Father, who guides All things. One served his purpose, and he
served it well. The Master requires that we All remain dutiful in our
lives."

So the service went on. Mathesan only barely paid attention to what
the priest was saying. His thoughts dwelled on Arkane, Doija, Clare,
and One. However, he couldn't keep his thoughts organized as he
usually did.

"Praise be to the Father. To His sons and His wife."

Mathesan stood up, took one last look at One, then turned and walked
from the church.

pg. 02
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 20:41:03 2016




Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 20:44:23 2016




Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 20:46:17 2016




Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 21:00:59 2016




Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 21:01:04 2016




Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 21:01:08 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Tue Jul 5 21:10:07 2016

To All Raije Imm Zandreya Shalonesti_Kingdom Shalonesti

Subject Wedding



The harsh winds of the Icewall northerngales whipped at Odin's raven
feather cloak, forcing him to grip the ends and pull it closer around his
body. He had just returned from Olli'viah and Shiyou's wedding in the
Vallenwoods, and marched back home to the frozen wastelands to once again
put saw to trunk. He knew he couldn't slow down, couldn't stop.

The wedding was a simple ceremony, set in a place too beautiful to be put
into words. Some of those in attendance he knew and talked to, others he
had met for the first time. Each made a lasting impression, and each had
their own spirits about them. Those who lump them All into single
categories clearly haven't spent All that much time with them.

He was happy for Olli'viah. Odin had fought beside the young half-elven
lass in his youth, which was not long ago in All actuality. She was kind,
but knew how to handle herself in battle. A pleasant companion to have
alongside in a good fight. He was also blessed to see her wedding presided
over by the Queen of the Elves herself, Andreyna. Surely she won over some
favor within their houses to allow for such a favor. One could not ask for
a more gracious turn out, than to be in the company of royalty.

Something Andreyna had said got his mind whirling though. She had talked
about how love is a lifebond, something that is committed to for the
entirety of their existence. Odin was not lovesick, but the thought of such
a lifelong committment, especially for the elven race, made him realize how
short his own life will be. Perhaps that is what drove him so hard, his own
mortality. The sense of loss of his family. It was hard to pin down.

A new icy blast of air ripped at Odin's face, ice crystals forming in his
beard. He decided to bunker down for the evening, finding a small cave off
the northwestern shore. A small animal skin rug lay on the ground, the
embers of a fire still lit from where he stayed the night before. He say
down on the animal skin rug and put a small handful of kindling on the fire.
One thing he was not short of these days was dry tinder. After some time,
the blaze started to grow again. It sent a thousand dancing shadows into
the walls of the crystal cavern. Odin was able to release his cloak,
folding it beside him as he put his hands to the fire, sitting crosslegged
on the rug.

All in all, the best Odin could figure it, he was already half dead. Now
time was funny here on Algoron, and he knew some who should have been
rotting corpses a long time ago still walk fresh faced on the earth. Others
aged but did not die. Old age was not the Viking way though. They did not
fade away, they burned out brightly in battle. As he sacrificed much of his
youth and his eye to gain knowledge and wisdom, he accelerated the years to
his death. That may be his sense of urgency to build the tavern and to get
Volsung up and going again. He felt the mortal coils of his life wrapped
around his neck. He would die, most likely sooner and later, and before he
could have accomplish anything great.

A rumbling noise came from the mouth of the cave, and Odin instinctively
reached for his axe to prepare himself. A large grizzly bear sauntered into
the cave, chuffing and growling low as it kept its head lowered as it moved
inside. Odin relaxed slightly, removing his hand from the axe as it
approached him.

"Ya nay need to be doing that Bjorn, I be dead enough as it is alvready
vithout ya trying to shake some more life out ov me"
he said, chuckling to
himself. The large wild bear laid down beside him, basking in the warmth of
the fire. Odin leaned back against Bjorn the bear, folded his arms across
his chest and drifted off asleep.

If his friend didn't eat him, he would at least wake to see the morning.




Writer: Arreana

Date Tue Jul 5 22:14:10 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-04


********************SERIES 'Ruins: The Way of the "Free"'
****************************'Peace in Conflict'
Arreana gazed down at the parchment delivered to her, as it had been so
many, and let the words quietly reflect in her head.

Peace is, in fact, the ability to cope with conflict - the ability
to overcome it without the use of violence.

She had always admired the Prophet. First, because he was the Prophet of
Taliena, but then because she came to understand why he had been given
such an honor by the lady of Love. He was wise in ways that many who
followed her were not.

In this letter, he shared her sentiment.

It had been awhile now, that she had made the ruins of her lady's temple her
temporary home. It was not easy to return every day, to remember what had
happened, to remember what had been lost. Those losses only reminded Arreana
of her own personal loss, of the loss of All Ariel kind. Such loss was what
had driven Arreana to the Wrath in the first place. She realized that simply
hoping the world would not be violent was vain at best.

Yet, what had brought her to Althainia, and now the shrine of Taliena on
Tropica, was the desire to get to know the enemy. Not so she could follow
their faith, but so that she could better understand it.

Books were... books, written by mortals. Even the tenets of the deities of
Algoron were words handed down to mortals, for the interpretation of
mortals.

If Arreana relied on words to tell her about Taliena, would she have truly
followed her? Yes, when she was a girl, words were enough. But when it was
time for Arreana to become a woman, she had more than enough experience
with not only Love, but the grace of Taliena, that she knew that love was
sorely needed in the world.

Folding the parchment neatly, Arreana felt a tear slide down her cheek.

Two roses lay at the base of the beheaded statue, the statue that had been
put there to honor Taliena, now defiled by agents of Chaos. They were
breathtakingly beautiful, as the statue itself had once been, as the
memory of the statue remained.

There was still beauty in the world. There was still love, and those who
believed in it. Those who believed in Taliena and what she stood for.

Kneeling to the ground, Arreana let her tears fall freely as she placed
her fingers on the soft stems of the roses. 'Zandreya, thank you for your
blessings of nature, that we might see its beauty at times. I pray these
will linger here as long as they are want, so that they might also
celebrate the lady of Love, the goddess to whom I serve, Taliena.'

Arreana let a little of her magic flow out into the roses, blessing them.
It mattered not who left them, even if they considered themselves an
enemy. In a small way, they celebrated beauty, and they celebrated love.
That was more than enough to bring peace to the conflict in Arreana's
heart.

Then, in that moment, a voice boomed within her thoughts. It was not a
roaring boom, as a thundrous cloud might echo after releasing a flash of
light. It was a gentle boom, deep and resonant, as Arreana imagined the
heavenly Father might sound to her if she ever had the chance to hear his
voice.

It was not the heavenly father though, she recognized the voice as the
frost giant Thaydius, 'There are a few Bishops to my Grandmother. It is
encouraging to see her teachings remain strong in a world that seems so
averse to love at times.'

--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------17




Writer: Arreana

Date Tue Jul 5 22:15:49 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-05


********************SERIES 'Ruins: The Way of the "Free"'
****************************'Peace in Conflict'
Arreana hesitated a moment.

'I agree.'

'But it is so essential. It is the fabric that creates everything that
is good-natured in this world. All of the other pillars are built upon
love.'

The Ariel mused on the giant's words. He was not one prone to speaking unless
there was something important to say.

However, she agreed. Aside from the Father's holiness itself, All of the gifts
of goodness, the virtues that Taliena's children reflected, were drawn from
the combined wisdom and love of Austinian and Taliena.

'It is my hope that the good example by my brothers and sisters will
lift other voices up.' Arreana wasn't sure what drove her to say those
words, only that they felt right. Yes, she worshiped Taliena, but she had
become a priestess, not to fight, but to bring more love into the world.

'I think that's something others struggle to notice. I'm not quite the
preacher that the cloth tend to be, but it is an attempt to follow in the
footsteps of our idols, our gods.' Thaydius' voice continued to
resonate, the soft, gentle tones reminding her of All that was good.

'Kantilles shaped White Magic out of his love for people, so that it
could enrich their lives. Siccara became the healer through her love of
people, and her aversion to see them suffering. Kadiya's peace, from her
love of people. Nadrik's honor, from his love of people.'

The giant paused, and Arreana reflected.

'So we preach. Not because we want ourselves to seem important, but
because we love others.'

Arreana smiled. It wouldn't have seemed that odd. Even though she was
surrounded in ruins, but it mattered not, for she heard a voice that no
one else could hear, a voice speaking to the deepest knowledge of her
heart.

'And by which we hope they will learn to do the same.'

'Yes, it requires an amount of faith. Austinian believes in us. He wants
to guide us. So we must do the same.'

It was not Austinian speaking to her, but, in her heart, Arreana knew it
might as well have been. She had struggled with finding a balance in her
heart for doing what was right, against what she considered violent. There
were times when violence was unavoidable. In All other places, violence
was a last resort.

'If we cannot stand behind his beliefs, if we cannot honor the things our
lords and ladies teach, then we aren't spreading goodness and no one is
under any obligation to think we are doing otherwise.'

'Agreed.'

'I do hope I have not interrupted you. I was simply reflecting on how long
it has been since I set out. I always feel as though I should be doing
more. Teaching, and working with other priests ... helps the message seem
more clear.'

Arreana waited a moment, then, 'you mirrored my thoughts, Siccara's son.'

And so he had. Elrei's missive to Algoron, an open letter of love. The
roses, and the words of a giant. These were the things that renewed her
flame like nothing else.

She would work with others of the light of Goodness to see the Bible of
Holiness to completion, and she would bring Taliena's holiness back to
this place of ruin, no matter what it took.

Rising, Arreana turned to face the sun, her wings spread out. It was a
new day, and that meant it was another day to do good.

--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------18




Writer: Eadaoin

Date Wed Jul 6 06:39:58 2016

To Nordmaar Imm All ( Roleplay Cliath )

Subject And so it begins



Eadaoin smoothed her hand over the polished Blackwood wheel of the
Draig'Brathu as her eyes traced the intricacies of the wood beneath her
palm. Her brow furrowed slightly as thoughts turned inward towards the
events of the last month. She hadnt the time to miss her father, or the
place she grew up. He had taught her much about the city, about customs and
history, about the gods, and some basic skills she would need. Of course,
she turned more towards the army due to the training she undertook in her
youth, but she could sail. A rare smile played at the sides of her mouth as
she reminisced about her first time out to sea.

This was also her first time aboard the Draig'Brathu, but she had already
felt her way along every inch of the ship and knew it would be a pleasure to
sail her. She admired the craftsmanship of the small vessel. It was
modest, but mighty, built to withstand the rough waters and face them
head-on. It had a lot to prove, and so did she.

Eadaoins frown returned as she considered this truth and her jaw set in a
resolute line. She did not balk at her duty, nor would she give up or make
excuses. She had never been the type to cry woe is me when a challenge was
set before her, and she sure as hell wasnt about to start now. She had
heard there were grown women who did this, and thought them cowards. Cliath
willing, it was time for her to grow and build upon that which her father
had started. It was time to begin her patrols. Princess or no, Eadaoin was
home.




Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Wed Jul 6 09:56:57 2016




Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Wed Jul 6 09:57:11 2016




Writer: Ruwen

Date Wed Jul 6 11:53:43 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jul 6 14:42:04 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject A New Journey ( Part 1 of 2 )



The setting sunshine reflected harshly off the waters of the Ishtar
river, shimmering like molten golden atop the muddy waters that flowed
through the southern district of New Thalos. Only a handful of river craft
graced the small, well-managed piers this day. Local river fishers trawling
the reedy shallows, a square sailed merchant cog, and a single galley
hosting a pleasure cruise for a pasha. The river ran low this summer,
discouraging coastal trade vessels with a deeper draft from sailing upstream
to the Desert Jewel. The sweltering heat combined with fewer ships meant
less work for the stevedores and dock hands normally bustling across the
boardwalk, loading and unloading cargo from ship to caravan to merchant
stalls.

Sitting among the idle and disgruntled haulers who were cursing over a lack
of coin for their ale after such a slow day, Corron reclined against a
warehouse wall, balancing an inkpot atop one leg and leather bound book on
the other. With measured strokes of a tattered quill, he carefully inked
out the design of a vessel he had once seen off the coast Icewall- a two
masted juggernaut with a forecastle mounted ballistae and a reinforced hull.
He had not been out to sea in several days and seeing the pasha's galley had
sparked his imagination. With so little traffic on the river, Corron had
begun taking courier work. The assignments were scarce as few trusted
menial laborers and vagrants with such things, yet Corron had slowly built a
reliable reputation as he became more familiar with the lay of the land.

If nothing else, the lull in work had provided him an opportunity to catalog
some of his recent travels. It still amazed him to be working on a foreign
riverside dock rather than the tiny coastal port of his birth. Instead of
brine in the air and rotten kelp, exotic spices wafted on the breeze
occasionally undercut by the the rank scent of river detritus churned to the
surface by the choppy waters. Thalosia was a prismatic burst of colorful
clothing, grand buildings, and folk of All walks of life, often with barely
coherent accents. Even from streets away, the din of the markets reached
the wharves- a cacophony of venders hawking their merchandise, prospective
buyers wheedling for better deals, and masses of people simply trying to
pass through the pressing crowds as they went about their daily routines.

No one looked twice at a half elf in such a place- yet another stark
difference from his former home. Corron had gone from being a near singular
oddity to blessedly unremarkable and forgettable. Even in the few other
cities he had visited so far, his heritage meant little in the grand scheme
of things. People seemed far more likely to take grievance at the passage
of a towering Yinnae or odoriferous goblinoids than to even notice Corron.
Before he had learned a portion of the politics and history surrounding the
many kingdoms, places that had been little more than fables for most of his
life, it had All seemed arbitrary, who was or was not welcome where. It
made his exploring difficult. Corron attempted to take constant care to not
to offer offense in the cultures of each new place he visited. For some, an
incorrect bow could be taken as askance as smiling during an introduction.
Growing up as he had among rough mannered sailors in a poor village had
offered little in the way of courtly schooling.




Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jul 6 14:47:01 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject A New Journey ( Part 2 of 2 )



Smiling faintly, Corron carefully put away his writing implements and
blew across the fine parchment of his book to dry the ink, even though the
pounding desert sun had already accomplished the task. Carefully running
his fingers along the spine of the book as he placed it into a pack that was
treated to keep out the elements, Corron marveled at owning a book himself.
Knowledge and learning of any kind had been a dearly won commodity in the
shanty town with few residents ever learning to read, much less touching on
the greater spheres of knowledge. A few days prior, he had been staggered
when he stumbled onto a library, freely accessible to any who happened by
and containing books and scrolls detailing the great histories of Algoron
and her people. It was far better than discovering a dragon's lost hoard!

In the failing light of the gathering dusk, Corron started away from the
river, thankful he no longer had to sleep amidst the crates beside the
warehouse. Abruptly, a strong hand hooked his elbow, nearly yanking him
from his feet as he was spun around to face the diminutive dock master. Not
even cresting five feet tall, Corron had foolishly mistaken the sun-baked
man for a dwarf in their first interaction- a mistake that had earned him a
brick-like fist in the gut and a string of invectives.

"'ere now, ye lazy sod! Run this to Harnan's caravan afore it leaves! He
didnae leave payment for the last lading an' forgot this asides. Get this
to him an' bring back his due. Follow him clear to the Bloodlands if'n he's
left already
!"

Having learned enough of the dock master's mannerisms, Corron found his
balance and quick stepped back to avoid the forth coming shove that would
have sent him tumbling. The man must have some dwarf in him to be so strong
for his size! Dutifully tucking the parcel that had been pressed into his
arms into his pack, Corron took off for the markets at a trot. It had been
hours since the last loading, so it was doubtful the caravan was still
within the city walls. Even worse, he had only a vague idea of where the
storied Bloodlands might actually be.

His pace slowed out of necessity as the Medina opened into the markets.
Navigating the crowd with a hard-won wariness of pickpockets, Corron quickly
learned the caravan had a considerable start on him down the western trade
route. He might still catch them before the road became mired in the forest
and bogs beyond Althainia. If not, he would have better luck finding them
at the gates of the shrouded city. With a broad smile for the adventure
ahead, Corron started down the road, keen to learn more of the world.




Writer: Elrei

Date Thu Jul 7 04:20:27 2016

To All Taliena Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Random Acts



"I have found two roses here..."

Not a day went by that Elrei did not feel the lack of community that came
from his chosen path. Not a day passed that he did not notice the lack of
convenience offered by city life. Habits that he had formed around such
convenience were the first to suffer and change by its lack, habits like his
constant visits to each of Her temples and shrines.

While a citizen in Althainia, he had taken to the practice of placing
roses in Her places, and also in the places of Those who had fallen, and He
who was captured. It was, at the time, such a small thing, and took less
effort even than the cards he would sometimes scatter to the winds.

Such a simple thing, yet it became so much more difficult to keep up with
after he left. Some might attribute that to age, some to laziness. Neither
would be wholly wrong, perhaps, but neither would be wholly right, either.
Regardless, he had felt a surge of energy, after reuniting with his
Bondmate, and so he had used it in simple acts.

Red and white...

Taliena knew why he chose the colors he did. She had come to him, once,
when he stood in the temple of Nadrik in Althainia, to acknowledge his work
and, as was often Her way, to encourage a greater understanding. He was
still humbled by the comment She had made of him that day.

So few understood the meaning and symbolism behind colored roses, in this
age. Most were satisfied in the knowledge that red roses had a correlation
to romantic love, if they had any care for the matter beyond using the
bouquet as a means to a lustful end. Like his decision to do most of his
sermons and religious writings on the Day of the Sun, his reasons could be
determined by those who cared to understand, but he had no great hope that
most had such a care, nor did he have any inclination to explain his reasons
unasked.

Given together, red and white roses signified an ideal - something those
of Goodness had spent countless years preaching about the importance of, but
also something which had seemingly gone unaccomplished, on the whole. It
had taken some time for Elrei to learn, himself, how best to approach the
goal of unity. It was regrettable that such knowledge had come at a time
when he no longer felt able to share in it.

"I wish to pay it forward..."

Elrei was glad that his efforts had produced a positive effect for
someone, at least. Likely, Arreana did not know it was he who had left the
roses, and if that was the case then telling her might diminish the effect,
might reduce her joy at this seemingly random act by an unknown. Elrei had
no desire to diminish that happiness. The world was dark enough, but how
much brighter it could appear when a passing stranger might be seen as a
mysterious spreader of random kindness, rather than of senseless violence.
If small acts of kindness and love could keep the darkness at bay, then he
was content to do them.




Writer: Andreyna

Date Fri Jul 8 10:51:49 2016




Writer: Andreyna

Date Fri Jul 8 11:06:45 2016




Writer: Celia

Date Fri Jul 8 14:45:27 2016




Writer: Todor

Date Fri Jul 8 23:04:38 2016




Writer: Ayrora

Date Wed Jul 13 09:10:58 2016

To All Verminasia Ezek Roleplay Storyline

Subject Moving the Prisoners



It was a dark and foggy evening when Ayrora, Saladorion, and the guards
with the two prisoners left Sacnoth to head to Itholasia. The long ride
ahead meant nothing but relief to her as she knew the plan Baron Ezek and
her had prepared for these two. Her eyes glinted with excitement as she
looked forward to their punishment, they would never bother another innocent
soul again.

Salodorion glanced at her often, a bit unnerved by her silence. She was
never this silent on their rides and it bothered him but he did not let on.
He could tell something was on her mind but could not read her this night,
as if a shroud had veiled her thoughts and emotions from him and that
bothered him. Ayrora glanced at him with a soft smile which seemed to ease
his tension.

As they reached the gates of Itholasia, she could see Baron Ezek and his
guards waiting at the gates. Upon reaching him she offered a warm smile,
"Baron, these are the two prisoners I spoke of. " He rode over and looked
them up and down, "Not much of anything are they. " He turned back to
Ayrora as she smiled at him, "Just two pitiful followers not worth much. "
Ezek looked to his guards and they immediately moved to take the prisoners.
"We will see this is taken care of very soon. "

Ayrora watched as the Barons guards took the prisoners then looked to him,
"Thank you Ezek, The sooner the better. " He smiled at her, "No thanks
needed Ayrora.
" They said their farewells and headed off in opposite
directions.





Writer: Celia

Date Wed Jul 13 10:00:10 2016




Writer: Celia

Date Wed Jul 13 10:01:40 2016




Writer: Celia

Date Wed Jul 13 18:03:34 2016

To Abaddon Marauders ( Imm rp storyline All )

Subject The price of killing



Celia woke in the same strange maelstrom that she had passed out in.
Pomacanthuus, or Rolus, or whoever it was, was gone. The details eluded
her, but the blood had been washed away, and her shirt was shredded and tied
around her. She didn't trust the see elf as far as she could throw her, and
with her always changing forms, that was more often more than a chore. Her
whole body hurt. With a groan, she tries to sit up and screams out in
agony. Something was very wrong. Looking down at her legs, her hip is
grossly swolen and dissproportionate. That kick had been harder than she
thought. Furiously she starts to pray until finally she finds herself back
in Abaddon. With every movement she screams as fresh pain shoots up her
spine and into her mind. It takes what seems like hours of agony to reach
the mats and as soon as she is sprawled, she passes out..... Waking, the
first thing she notices is the pain. Excrutiating pain, and she can't move
her legs. Panicing she tries to focus enough to see but she is blindfolded.
Was she captured? She tries to think but her brain is fuddled with clouded
memories. Ogres and water demons, pain and injuries. A soft voice reaches
her ears 'Easy child, you will tear your wounds open. Calm, you are in the
city of Fatale, and it's clear that you still have more work to do'
She had
made it home and she was alive. The last thing she knew before the
blackness took her again was this isn't over, it had just begun.




Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 14 15:27:05 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 14 15:33:55 2016




Writer: Vahriah

Date Fri Jul 15 07:24:01 2016




Writer: Durst

Date Fri Jul 15 18:29:38 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Dainty Delicate's of Desiring Damsels



The mist was cool against the small amounts of exposed flesh and a scent
of pine filled the air. The vapor around Durst almost made him look surreal
as he trudged through the mud. The forest was calm and eerily quiet. Not
one happy creature gathering its fill of food. Not one sound of a falling
pinecone or nut landing upon the ground that lay before his fur-lined boots.
With some magic (or luck) a slight amount of sunshine stabbed through the
air and upon the ground before him. A very faint smile started to form upon
the corners of his face, but faded back into a slight frown. Tricked again
he thought to himself. The mist gobbled up the light just as soon as it had
shown through. A lone "caw" sound echoed out as Kai sat upon the shoulder
of Dursts' worn robe.

"Well at least someone is up in spirits," Durst said out loud.

Kai gave another "caw" sound in response and shuffled his taloned feet a
bit.

"Oh and in the mood for dancing!?" Durst let out a cackle and shimmied his
feet a bit.

The experiments he had been concocting did this. First that blasted guard
and then turned into a bloodae frog, thought Durst. Intentions have taken a
bit of a toll on the man as he slipped a bit in the mud, but regained his
footing. Durst let his ever shifting gaze probe deeper within the forest
before him and headed towards the Fort. Oh a home, yes yes, a home. Mud
covered and a bit more cheerful he made his way for the new venture or
ordeals. Time would tell of course.

Several fires crackled around him. New friends he thought and comrades in
arms. Durst stretched out his limbs and looked over at the bubbling mess he
was brewing. The smell was putrid and several unidentifiable items came up
to the surface, only to be sucked back down into the mass of greenish
liquid. He glanced at someone sleeping and thought maybe just a drop of
hair would do it. He quickly shook his head and peered deeper into the
cesspool.

"Alright! Lets see what the cook made today."

A child like grin came upon his face and he vanished into a {ppin{pk haze.




Writer: Mc'murty

Date Fri Jul 15 18:32:38 2016




Writer: Catroina

Date Fri Jul 15 22:23:02 2016




Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Sun Jul 17 02:20:44 2016




Writer: Vahriah

Date Sun Jul 17 03:31:14 2016




Writer: Todor

Date Sun Jul 17 15:29:42 2016




Writer: Vibulus

Date Sun Jul 17 17:57:21 2016

To Arkane All ( Cayenna Imm Rp )

Subject Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor


Having spent the past few weeks in casual encounters I have come to
marvel at the economic potential of the Mystic Kingdom as Arkane is oft
called. Along with the usual shops and commerce one usually finds in large
cities, they are also home to many skilled and successful craftsmen and a
thriving market for their goods. To see master craftsman of legendary
status on the streets is a common occurance as well as the owners of not
one, but three of the Algoran Capture the Flag League owners. The personal
affluence of a majority of it's citizens can be seen in the quality of goods
cast off to charity. Taxes rest at levels below most other kingdoms, yet
one can assume the large tax base makes up for this with few complaints from
it's citizenry. Public declaration of large sum donations are few, but
whether that is due to rarity or discretion of the crown is unknown. It
remains to be seen whether this economic might could be harnessed in time of
need, but certainly the potential exists if the crown set on that course.
In summation, any arrangement arrived upon for delivery of contractual
service most certainly could be met and honored, and fears of another
Imperial situation appear unfounded.

On the subject of morale, I would have to call it good even if not in a
nationalistic or militaristic sense. The people simply seem to enjoy the
unrestrained ability to engage in personal pursuits unfettered by demands of
state. The very notion makes it somewhat difficult to define what it is to
be Arkanian. Despite this, inspiring example continues from the Leonine
community here as displayed in the undertaking of a mission to clear an
outbreak of the Scourge before its virulent spread could assault the world
at large. They took it upon themselves to root it out at the source abroad.
I find it noble yet curious. I have been informed of an upcoming festival
in celebration of a kingdom holiday which may offer a chance to further
observe the moods and attitudes of the common citizenry. They do have a
crown endorsed guild pertaining directly to matters of morale called the
Gypsies. For my part, I consider it a wise and worthy investment by the
crown in light of previous experiences with what follows a break in morale.
The head of this guild seems quite motivated in duty and purpose which
speaks well of them and the group as a whole.

In personal matters, I continue my search for any sign of Tilly although I
fear for All it's wonders, Arkane may lack the aggresive nature which I feel
may be a draw to his current state of mind. When one's beliefs have been
unsettled, rigid structure would certainly hold appeal. A chance invitation
to a small gathering led me to come across one of Algoran's noted authors
and I had discussions with him about writing and the subjects which compel
us to do so. The conversation was enjoyable although it has left me
unsettled as I think once more upon my chosen subject. Write about what you
know is certainly a worthy guideline, but in my case it takes a toll and has
left me looking to distractions from the endless ponderings quiet moments
bring.

I shall continue to evaluate All assigned subjects and finalize my summary
report soon. I I imagine Command Staff grows impatient for it's conclusions
although I have yet to receive the stipend I requested some time ago. In
fact I've had no news at all. A curious point, but duty remains.




Writer: Todor

Date Sun Jul 17 20:37:54 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Mon Jul 18 10:48:04 2016




Writer: Janko

Date Mon Jul 18 18:39:22 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jul 18 22:28:17 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jul 18 22:32:39 2016




Writer: Andreyna

Date Fri Jul 22 03:05:15 2016




Writer: Dreac

Date Fri Jul 22 19:14:48 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Fri Jul 22 21:35:16 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Fri Jul 22 21:40:15 2016




Writer: Arreana

Date Sat Jul 23 08:53:56 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-06


********************SERIES 'Ruins: The Way of the "Free"'
****************************'Resolution'
Arreana was free.

She always had been. That was something she knew in her heart, something the
followers of Malachive had abandoned in their quest for power. What the
followers of Malachive would never truly admit was that, in their hearts,
they aspired to god-hood, even if that meant tearing every god down until the
only things left were ruins and ash. They would then be gods, gods of a world
far more broken than the one they lived in now.

It was true that Arreana was bound to Taliena, her Mistress. Yet, if she wore
a collar and chain, then she wore it willingly.

The path to peace was through love, not war, but if one let the violence of
the world rush over them, then peace would never be achieved.

As much as Arreana detested bloodshed, as much as she condemned reckless
violence... it was indeed Malachive who had shown her the truth, though not
in the way that he and his followers would hope.

They destroyed the home of her people, dooming what was left of them to
wander the world of Algoron until, when there no children left to grow into
adulthood, the Ariel would be little more than a memory, a legend.

Their violence had shattered the shrine of her youth, where she had first
truly come to understand Taliena. Arreana's world had been shattered, broken,
but not discarded.

The truth was that nothing would ever be easy.

It took a different sort of love to recognize when one was as much a danger
to themselves as they were tp others. To fight, in the name of love, was not
easy, but it was sometimes necessary.

Arreana brushed back at her hair, tucking strands of it behind her ear. She
had never liked putting her hair up, even as a child. Many of the other Ariel
women despaired at that fact, for binding one's hair was practical for those
who wished to fly. The wind already whipped at one's hair enough when they
stood with two feet on the ground. To face the wind head-on...

However, even as a child, Arreana had never accepted what 'should' be. It was
a quality that, while tiresome to some of the tribe's elders, was also one
that gave them, her parents, and many of the village much pride.

Looking out over the rocky shoreline, Arreana stood side-by-side with the
desecrated statue of Taliena. Waves broke against the rocks, but they
continued to come, as if determined to reach the ruins of Taliena's shrine.

Petal on the Wind.

The name she had been given upon coming of age. Her people had marveled at
Arreana's determination to fly without putting up her hair. It had never been
easy, and she would never be one of the tribe's fiercest Awks, aerial warriors
that melded the beauty of flight with the fury of battle. Her father had been
one, and, as his heir, he had hoped that Arreana would one day take up the
mantle as well.

She didn't, but he had been no less proud of her. When Arreana flew up into
the sky, her hair flying wildly behind her, sometimes whipping her face, she
felt the most free. Her radiant joy was evident to all. It was beautiful, and
so she was Petal on the Wind.

Arreana looked away from the ocean, back at the ash of the ruins. She had
done her best to clear the ruins away from Taliena's statue, to make a place
for those who desired to worship there.

It wasn't much, but she felt a warmth in her heart. Flowers were still placed
there often, tokens of visitors who remembered.

Forgotten, not dead. Perhaps, one day, the shrine would be rebuilt. However,
Arreana knew now what she had to do, and reviving a single shrine paled in
comparison to it.
--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------19




Writer: Catroina

Date Sat Jul 23 17:35:29 2016




Writer: Catroina

Date Sat Jul 23 17:39:33 2016




Writer: Catroina

Date Sat Jul 23 17:43:21 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Sat Jul 23 23:27:13 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Sat Jul 23 23:30:02 2016




Writer: Catroina

Date Sun Jul 24 00:58:13 2016




Writer: Durst

Date Sun Jul 24 17:19:50 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject So a Golden Koi walks into a bar...


An odd scroll, bound in a bottle:

{p@---,---'--- {n/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ ---'---,---@

To whom it may concern
This latest task has proven to be most difficult in nature. Though I have journied
far into this land, I have yet to find the root of this..*(heavy blot ink from a pause)
...well lets just call it a puzzle. Yes, yes a puzzle that is it. The local villagers are little
help to me. I have tried several tongue's and they All give me the dullest expression. I have considered
some form of torture at first. This, of course, would not lighten the mood around the campfire.
Several peaks or mountains were within walking distance from each other. The elevation does not dishearten
the spirits at all. What does seem to vex upon my very soul is the fruitless nature of this journey.
There has been some guidance along my path. Several people have listened to my random babbling of the place
I seek, yet none have really given any cold hard facts. I am beginning to grow impatient with every splash
of salt water upon my brow. I swear even the seagull's are mocking me in the distance. I hear the voices again
and they are not happy with what is transpi
co... ...... deat.....
. A mockery of...
....madness upon....


Sinc..

Haunt.


{p@---,---'--- {n/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\




Writer: Odin

Date Sun Jul 24 21:11:28 2016

To All Raije Imm Kyri

Subject Thoughts



Odin sat on the fallen log of a mighty oak, and chewed mindlessly on a
peppered beef stick he had found on a street cart somewhere in the Vallens.
He was still both confused and enchanted by the layout of the place. Voices
from everywhere told him where he could or could not go, and even his keen
eye could not see where the speakers originated from. He had friends within
the Vallens, but then again he had friends elsewhere in the world as well.
It wasn't his life goal to be liked. It was his mission to find those
worthy of kingship, those who could help Volsung grow and to bring back the
honor of his family. It was his goal to explore the world and to understand
it better. He was doing just that.

He had just returned from a ceremony in honor of the God Fatale. It wasn't
his God. In truth, he knew little about him, save his followers tend to be
deeply committed, unlike many of the Gods he had seen. The ritual contained
a lot of blood, moreso than he expected to see. As a warrior skilled in the
art of war, and a Viking who had fought many battles, blood was nothing new
to Odin. He spilled it on a number of occassions, but it was always in the
heat of battle. He watched as a sister drew the blade against her own
brother in sacrifice in such a calm manner it was almost unnerving.

A viking spills blood in either conquest to enhance their people through
raids when testing their mettle, or through the protection of its lands and
kinsmen. Some took to the the bloodlust easily enough and lavished in it,
but there was always a struggle of someway or another. It was never so
passive or casual. There was always a battle which drew the blood, a form
of conflict. To see it used as an offering so passively spoke against what
his upbringing had taught him. Only the bold and brave went to Valhalla, to
be given the chance to ride in battle each night only to rise again.
Offering one for the sake of offering would have been frowned upon.

The bloodied man did not cry out, which was brave in its own right, but the
setting was not what he was used to. It was not wrong, it was just not him.
The lure of the dark was something many of his kin, when he still had them,
had felt. The raiding and plundering of his people allowed for battle more
often than many cultures. Some longed for it, gloried in the kills while
they tested their mettle. Some looked forward to the carnage and preying on
the weak, others just wanted the opportunity to die in battle so the Gods
would be honored. But they did this while fighting, not kneeling. No
viking would kneel unless beaten. This was something he couldnt' quite
comprehend. Perhaps one day, but he didn't feel embracing the darkness
would be where his life was headed. That being said, he was the last
Volsung. At this point, whatever he does greatly influence the course of
future generations, if there were any to be influenced.

The thought of him being the last weighed on him heavily.

What was he going to do about that?

He had no bloody clue.




Writer: Corron

Date Sun Jul 24 22:56:24 2016




Writer: Skylla

Date Tue Jul 26 15:46:08 2016




Writer: Dreac

Date Tue Jul 26 23:34:25 2016




Writer: Vahriah

Date Thu Jul 28 16:26:03 2016

To All ( Zandreya )

Subject Close to You



Deep inside the Vallens it had remained. Centuries had passed and what was once a
hunter's blind hidden away in the large branches of a tree was merely a few boards
that mounted a useless resistance against nature reclaiming them. This was a place
where lessons were taught, where a father spent time with his two sons, tucked away
in some of the most deepest thick of the Vallens.

Small marks remained where wooden practice swords thunked into the trunk, marking
moments of youth that were centuries old, almost impossible to distinguish now.
The gates of Shalonesti had closed, and along with it, most of the hope for those
left outside. This had been a place of happiness, something that was rare to find,
with Vahriah's family. His mother and father taught Vahriah and his older brother
the basics of hunting, and shared stories of a place that was absolutely mystical,
Shalonesti. The children were born out in the wild, they never knew it, and so
for many years imagination of what it must be like was kindled here, in this place.

When mother died, they buried her near the base. Thus continued an idea of someone
or some place being close, but far away. The stories stopped, the harmony ended,
and hunting gave way to training to become a soldier. Vahriah's father, Ideco,
spoke perhaps once or twice a year after. Instructions or commands were issued with
nods and gestures, for the most part. Silence became common.

From then to now life became barracks and guard houses. Something had been abandoned
, something precious. It was something he could feel missing, ever present, always
on the precipice, to faint to understand, to loud to ignore, threatening madness. It
was easy to feel the absence of divinity, and incredibly painful. The gap was felt,
even if it had become a dull pain, rather than a stabbing one, eased by success in
other areas.

This is where that disconnect began. Vahriah pushed aside a fallen board, then some
vines, finding the remains of what were once steps on a ladder, the ones not crumbling
were used to ascend. There, where the floor was not rotting, was a small altar that
at one point had heard many prayers, and hymns sung by a family. Where a reflection
was hidden by centuries of dust, he placed his hand, clearing the surface of a mithril
symbol with a thumb, only to have a blurred image of himself, alone, facing him.
Yet something remained, buried by time, a warmth that called out through memories
regret and mourning had suppressed. He decided then this would be home for the next
few weeks. Repairs on more than just an altar had to be made.




Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:16:59 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:21:44 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:33:36 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:39:45 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:48:32 2016




Writer: Catroina

Date Thu Jul 28 21:33:48 2016




Writer: Durst

Date Thu Jul 28 23:44:51 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Hrm.... Check please!!



The frost{ clung to Dursts' red hued beard, blessing upon him a look of a
nobleman. His fur lined boots trudged upwards and his chest heaved with
every aching step. How much further up this mountain did he have to travel
he wondered. Another thought fluttered through his mind like a kender in
wonderment. How much further up this mountain did he have to travel he
wondered. With a echo in the distance his laughter came back to him, almost
in a mocking tone, "HA HA HA HA". Even the mountains were laughing back at
him. How dare they! Grubby gloves pawed away some of the ice and snow from
his face and he chuckled to himself again. He could see a pack of creatures
further up and they did not look like the friendly sort. He gazed further
up towards the approaching objects and shouted, "NOT TODAY I AM AFRAID! ".
With a {phaze and puff
, he was gone.

The diner was warm and bones began to feel normal again. The bitter cold
was not that bad. It was the lack of fur that drove him insane. The
waitress was bubbly and a bit dim witted, Durst observed quietly in his
little booth. He poured heaping amounts of sugar into the brewed cup of
coffee, inhaling the rich flavor and warmth happily. A near sadistic grin
started to play upon his lips and stretched ear to ear. Pulling off his
gloves he cupped the mug for a bit more warmth and started to take slow sips
of the near magical {nbrew. Along the inseam of his right pointer finger and
towards his thumb was a scrawling of a tattoo that simply read: Haunt.
Durst blew some more steam from his coffee and took another gulp. A
passerby and his pal noticed the hunched warlock. The looked tough,
probably thieves or gladiator types... Why are they staring at me?! The
weary warlock slunk a bit more into his booth to avoid contact, but the men
approached anyways.

"Hey Paul! Look at this guy? Looks like someone transmorphed a pile of
Camel dung. {" Paul as he was apparently called chuckled and they both stood
over the shrinking man within the small booth. "Yeah Thomas, he looks like
an Orc and an Ogre had some odd bastard child
". Both of the uninvited
guests started to laugh out loud and no other patron seemed to care about
the harassment that was taking place.

"OH! OH! Yes yes! I am ugly and made of dung, but of course I am" Durst
smiled up at the two fellows as politely as he could make himself do. His
odd shaped pupil seemed to pulsate for a moment. "Hey... What sort of bag
is that?! That looks odd... Lemme see that you pile of filth. {"X Paul
grabbed at bag that was in Dursts' possession and Thomas quickly followed
suit, both thieves gripping at it and grinned in victory. "The hell is this
made out of Tom? Some sort of pig?
" Thomas looked at Paul in afraid
amusement and shrugged his shoulders just before Durst chimed in. "OH! Yes
skin... Of what well this and that sure yes no human... No kender.. Ummm
elephant!!
".

Both men looked in horror at each other then back at the Warlock in the
booth. With a teeth showing Paul looked down at Durst, "OH YEAH?! I BET!!!
" Both laughed again and opened up the sack of flesh. It only took a
moment... Maybe two. Durst saw it coming, but did not warn the vile
creatures. The reflections of the flam{oes were in their eyes and the sack
hit the floor along with two sets of boots and a heap of dark ash.

"CHECK PLEASE!"




Writer: Vahriah

Date Fri Jul 29 22:56:48 2016

To All ( Zandreya )

Subject Close to You (Harmony)



"We will not be returning, All that remains here is bitter sadness."

Vahriah worked to secure a webbed hammock between two sturdy branches,
while his mind focused on the words his father spoke the last time they
left the blind. It was the closing of a chapter, sealed away and over
years, All it's lessons erased to follow a new philosophy.

Ideco trained his two sons to let go of the past from that point forward,
and to focus strictly on discipline a dedication through the martial.
There was no room for the spiritual, everything became about strength,
speed, focus, sparing, and then rest so that the process would repeat
itself the next day.

The hammock held his weight, swinging gently to a stop. It felt
so strange not to be preparing the practice yard back at the barracks.
His cloud colored eyes lingered on the repaired and polished mithril
symbol sitting on the altar. Everything else he tore down. This was
the heart of it, exposed and raw, droplets of dew rolling down it.
The chapter was reopened.

He assumed for so long that by viritue of his race he was more connected,
to nature. Nature would not be ignored without consequence, and the acute
awareness of it's absence accumulated. It resulted in several centuries
lost, chasing after something meaningful that he forgot how to find.
Now, those precious memories, bonds that had been forgotten, began to
rise to the surface. Dew drops from the forest moisture marked each step
back, another page turned into memory by the echo made as they collected in
tiny pools where they splashed. A time when there was more to life than
being a soldier.

The words to a hymn sung by a family.

Celebrations devoted to something other than rites of passage or successful
raids.

Lessons imparted by a mother to her sons about the importance of understanding
the unity shared with the elements.

A gift of cord and wood left to him to remind him the importance of balance.

Soon drops of dew became a shower of rain. As it did, the void created by
loss and began a discord that persisted four centuries began to fill. It
would rain for two days.





Writer: Corron

Date Sat Jul 30 20:27:26 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Sat Jul 30 20:32:45 2016



 


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