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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

The Horses of Markon I
The Horses of Markon II
The Horses of Markon II
The Ballad of the Tragic Hero, Thanatael Shalonost - prelude
The Ballad of the Tragic Hero, Thanatael Shalonost
The birth of a new generation
X Tolling of the Bell X
The Overlord Garrett Locke
Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor
Her soft white throat
News of a Birth
The Sandstorm and The Bard
Awaken, the sleepers...
The Gravedigger ( Part 1 of 5 )
The Gravedigger ( Part 2 of 5 )
The Gravedigger ( Part 3 of 5 )
The Gravedigger ( Part 4 of 5 )
A box of chocolate
The Gravedigger ( Part 5 of 5 )
fish out of water.
The Bard - Overlord, Ambassador... Council Member?
X Feeding Time X
A soapy tale.
Ladykillers (The Blade and The Bard II)
The Bloody Ice Queen
Blade practice
The Blade & The Bard fight
The Bard & The Blade get hammered
Time in Gateville
Assisting in Itholasia
The Stygian Guard
A Disturbance 02
A Disturbance 03
Amateur hour (The Blade and the Bard)
Legend of the Drunken Bastards (The Blade and the Bard)
Stay Awake
Death of a Hero
Be the broken or the breaker
Gomda am reborn
Slogging Forward
The Suffering
Forging Allies ( Part 1 of 2 )
Forging Allies ( Part 2 of 2 )
The birth of Suffering
Crushed 'neath the gait of her dance
Gallows humor
Freedom being
On Being
X Bloodstains X
Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 1 of 7 )
Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 2 of 7 )
Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 3 of 7 )
Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 4 of 7 )
Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 5 of 7 )
Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 6 of 7 )
Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 7 of 7 )
Ryim's Raid
Trophies from Skull Keep
The Marauder
The Raid
Trophies from Skull Keep pt 2
Suicide and other comforts
Am I beautiful, as I tear you to pieces...
Trophies from Skull Keep Pt 3
Moving on
Faded Essence
Essence of Suffering
Running Sands
Stay Awake
A Sermon to Vengeance
Trophies from Skull Keep pt 3
A Change
A change 2
A change 3
A change 4
X Descending into Darkness X
Elves. Dwarves. Change.
Sending Thoughts and Prayers
The Visit
-=Descent Into Darkness=- (Prologue)
Trophies from Skull Keep pt 4
His first dark sermon
His first dark sermon 2
The Garden of Death
Still Waiting....
Cupcake War, Interrupted
Step by Step
The Visit of Vershae
Return of the Cannibelf.
A Priest of Lord Dragoth
On the Hunt
Praises of Lord Dragoth
An Eve of Preaching
Vigil pt 2
Upon reading a missive...
An Awakening
Idiocy and Blindness
-=Descent Into Darkness=- (Prologue Part 2)
An Incessant Need Need
A Culling
Succumbing to cruelty
A Pathetic Attempt
X A Culling X
-=Descent Into Darkness=- (Prologue Part 3)
A Day of Deep Meditation
Fw: A Questioning

Writer: Corron
Date Sat Aug 20 19:04:01 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sat Aug 20 19:11:03 2016

Writer: Vahriah
Date Sun Aug 21 05:44:23 2016

Writer: Anathaelynn
Date Sun Aug 21 08:09:57 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Sun Aug 21 17:07:11 2016

Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Aug 21 17:07:23 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject The Horses of Markon I

"No- " Mathesan's refusal with cut-off by a small grunt as the strawberry
haired woman placed another ice sack to one of his many large bruises.

He looked less like a prince, and more like a newly acquired squire.
Bruises mottled his skin, each of them were small pockets of hate, and
each complained when he moved, some complained when he breathed, and
others pulsed in agony no matter what he was doing.

Clare Kylen kept her lips in a thin line as she retrieved yet another
ice sack. The sacks were made of a thin silk, they felt soft on the
skin and allowed the magical substance inside to shed its cold
comfortably and evenly.

A sense of grattitude swelled up in Mathesan. It was rare for him to
feel anything. Emotions were an elusive beast for Mathesan. He could feel
his blood pumping as his system flooded with adrenaline. The thrill of
the hunt was a very real feeling for him. Yet, he did not feel fear, he
did not even feel anticipation or excitement. A job well done was ismply
that, and pleasant surprises engendered nothing resembling feelings,
other than a mild curiosity at what surprised him.

Worrying her lip, Clare looked up at Mathesan as she held the ice sack
in her hand. Mathesan was struck by those green eyes. Lately they had
seemed wider than normal, more affectionate. Mathesan could see the
feeling they called love in Clare's eyes, though he could not explain
it, which was frustrating.

He knew he felt something similar. It was most certainly not the same,
he had never known what love felt like. Yet, there was an urge to protect
Clare in a way that exceeded reason. It was likely the closest he would
come to love.

The ice sack was placed against a particularly large bruise on Mathesan's
side. It was roughly the size of a grapefruit, but slightly misshapen, as
though the grapefruit had been squashed.

Mathesan ground his teeth and bore it. He may not have been the type for
combat, but he'd still been raised on the principles of strength. Don't
reveal weakness, such as pain, vulnerability, or ignorance, for one's
enemies would be sure to exploit it, and one's friends would begin to
question or doubt.

It was obvious that Clare knew the sort of pain Mathesan was in, her
face had been a mask of concern after he had been released from the arena.
The way Clare's brows knitted together was an endearing trait. Clare's
expressive emotions were something that he admired, she was unlike
Mathesan in many different ways. Her ability to feel, express, and read
emotion was staggering.

"I will be fine." Mathesan said to her once more.

Clare nodded, but she was distant, as if her mind were elsewhere. Mathesan
knew the look All too well. As a practitioner of the arcane, he was often
thinking about or designing experiments.


The strawberry haired woman turned her green gaze on him once more. There
was something in her eyes, a twinkle or sparkle, just looking at him
seemed to fill her with happiness.

"Mmm?" She replied.

"I'm not a fighter, I never have been. I know my limits." Letting out a
heavy sigh, Mathesan watched Clare for a reaction.

"You're one of the strongest men I know." Clare said with a smile, "Second
only to my father." There was a playful grin on her features now.

"Indeed?" Mathesan lifted his brows, but he recognized the cues, and he
played into the moment. Clare giggled.

"So... what are you going to do?" Clare asked, the sunny smile still
gracing her features.

"I will put a call out. For riders and heralds. House Madaur will be
a force to be reckoned with. I needn't sit in the saddle."

Clare nodded as she listened.

"I cannot fail again."

Clare caught his gaze again. Her eyes were so deep. The affection there...
How could a man feel like he lost looking into those eyes?

End of Part I-------------------------------------------------End of Part I

Writer: Catroina
Date Sun Aug 21 17:09:14 2016

Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Aug 21 17:09:37 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject The Horses of Markon II

The first change that had to begin was to ensure that Verminasians had
access to steeds from Markon.

The only people who would dare question the quality of a Markon steed were
Verminasia's enemies. Even then, it was simply jealousy, and, sometimes,
fear. The Madaur family had been developing the program ever since they
had come in to the province of Markon.

It was no secret that Marcaus, the patriarch of the family, and Crown of
Verminasia, was a grossly wealthy man. Rulers didn't tend to live in
poverty, but Marcaus had built up the Madaur-brand, and his enormous
wealth was admired as much as it mocked.

The war stallions of Markon were as fierce as a nightmare, a creature of
myth that was rumored to be so terrifying that weaker souls fled before
it. Such a creature was indomitable. Predators did not fear prey. They
were hardy and well-built, the perfect sort of horse for war.

There were also Markonian riding horses, some bred and trained for speed,
and others that were shaped into a hardier version of a mule.

A horse from Karon would be able to contend with the various beasts that
joust competitors took for their mounts. They would fear nothing, including
the dreaded and awful dracoliches summoned from corpses by necromancers.

Mathesan took out some parchment and quill and began to write,


I write to you with a request. I know that we have a
healthy supply of horses at this time. I need for you
to organize a reserve of horses specifically for the
use of Verminasia's champions.

Do NOT cut into the reserve for the Royal Army. We
can afford some losses from export until breeding is
ramped up to meet the new demand.

Below you will find my father's seal in addition to
my own. He has many things to see to, it will be me that
you will deal with if you have questions or need of
Madaur resources.

I expect ten solid war stallions to be prepared as
soon as you receive this letter. You may use the
attached note to procure funds from our family in the
province in order to see to this need.

Do not fail me, Riam. When last we spoke, I was but
a boy. Polite and deferrential. I am a man now, and I
remain a Madaur. You know the consequences of failure.

I have every confidence in your ability. If you have
questions or needs, you may use Tutor Ashlana to
contact me via spell.

I thank you for your cooperation,

De'Marcausan Mada M.M.Madaur
Crown of Verminasia Crown Prince of Verminasia
Owner of the Card Sharks Actuary of the VEU
Head of House Madaur

The note was written in beautifully flowing script. Unlike many of his
peers, Mathesan took pride in his handwriting. It had been tedious, at
first, to improve it from scrawling scratches on parchment, but now it
was second nature.

Mathesan wrote a quick note of allowance to go along with the letter,
and ensured that it also bore the seal of his father in addition to
his own. He also wrote out a copy for Cameran, his brother, and Count
of Markon.

With the steeds taken care of, there remained only one barrier to
End of Part II----------------------------------------------End of Part II

Writer: Mathesan
Date Sun Aug 21 17:13:52 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject The Horses of Markon II

Mathesan was no combatant. The attack on the Verminasian Bastille was
sure enough a sign of it. But Marcaus knew it in his heart as well.

Bloody, brutal fighting was not something he enjoyed. Mathesan scratched
his chin as he contemplated his next move. Everything that Mathesan did
was meticulous, designed to a specific purpose. If he knew he had a fight
coming, he did his best to find a way to deal with it that didn't include
physical combat.

As a Madaur, he had a wealth of resources to employ wet work when
necessary, and kidnapping if not. However, as a master of the arts of
a mentalist, he also had spells at his disposal that, when executed in
a proper plan of attack, ended any combat before it could begin.

Jousting didn't operate on those principles. If Mathesan used his magic
to dislodge an opponent, from their mount, he'd be disqualified. Nor was
there an honor to be gained in it.

Which meant that jousting was something that Mathesan was better suited
to finding another to support. He needed at least one jouster and one
herald. Mathesan could herald in a pinch if needed. He had already done
so for the infamous Kaisan Mitsuhara, and the energy from his audience
had given Lord Mitsuhara an enormous boost of confidence. Though he was
not fated to win that day.

Mathesan had already put out a missive in search, with a basic listing of
terms, so that any applicant knew what they were getting into.

Nothing had come in.

He shouldn't have been surprised. Mathesan had also been working on
gathering a raiding party of champions to meet on a regular basis and
take on Algoron's most formidable foes. To date, he'd had only one
formal response, and two informal responses that amounted to "maybe".

Yet the title of jouster and the title of herald were far from
demanding. Not only could Mathesan pull in back-ups if the jouster or
herald could not make it, the opportunities for jousting would be far
less frequent than raiding.

In the end, it came down to patience.

Patience was one of Mathesan's exceptional gifts. As a noble son, as
royalty, he had been trained not only to be patient, but to be patiently
impatient. It was a difficult skill, one that many nobles simply didn't
learn, leading to stereotypes of childishness, pettiness, and other
negative comments on the character of a noble.

Mathesan had attached to the training as readily as he had attached to
the stud.y of the arcane. In many ways, they went hand-in-hand. A
practitioner of the Art needed patience, but they also needed to be
able to identify when patience was no longer the answer. An improperly
constructed spell could be deadly if something went wrong, and many
advanced spells could often be cast in such a way that "nothing" as a
result of the spell didn't mean it had simply failed and sputtered out.

The right jouster and herald would present themselves to House Madaur
in due time. In the meantime, House Madaur would be ready.

A feeling of satisfaction, one of the few feelings Mathesan was capable
of, overtook him. Mathesan had been content to study abroad indefinitely,
but, being home, he was just as proud of his ability to serve his family
as he was serving his homeland.

With the matter of horse, jouster, and herald left to the responses of
others, Mathesan could turn his direction to two other projects: a home
and a wedding.
End of Part III--------------------------------------------End of Part III

Writer: Garrett
Date Mon Aug 22 14:43:20 2016

To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom Thanatael All Bloodlust

Subject The Ballad of the Tragic Hero, Thanatael Shalonost - prelude

Garrett approaches the Wayfarer's Inn's stage. A quiet location, nestled
in the norther part of Icewall. Within the oaken entryway, Garrett was not
the Bastard. The Ambassador. The Ward.

No. In here? He was a simple musician earning his dinner and a night's

A hush falls over the patrons. Garrett calmly undoes his cloak, and takes
his lute out from the ever present guitar case on his back.

Garrett sits on a small stool on the stage. The lights shine brightly. He
strums his lute, each note a gold coin left for the audience to follow.
Garrett inhales, breathing his tale.

I sing of a legend of Algoron. An elf who sacrificed everything. A brother
to me. Thanatael Shalonost.

Writer: Garrett

Date Mon Aug 22 15:16:30 2016

To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom Thanatael All Bloodlust

Subject The Ballad of the Tragic Hero, Thanatael Shalonost

Thanatael, the Son
Born of the most noble lineage of Pythia's line
Said birthed from Zandreya herself
The Hopes of Shalonesti to restore the divine
Paragon of the elf

Thanatael, the Speaker
Leader of the most excellent race
Wedded to the magnificent Amyth'lynn
Aratoamin, Champion of Zandreya's face
Dark of the world, his downfall begins

Thanatael, the Soldier
Forsaking home, family, and peace, he picks up the blade
Gorging on blood, he slays without end
Afforded no bliss, plunging his soul into the shade
Merciless and ruthless, death is his trend

Thanatael, the Demon
And so to protect the angels, he becomes the devil
Fighting for what he loves, he learns to love the fight
Gorging on murder, his soul finds revel
Piercing his very image, upholding his people in the light

Thanatael, the Pariah
The bloodied bulwark, no longer of his own kind
Too long has he battled, eating the elven sin
He is no longer pure, but beast and elf entwined
I welcome you brother. Murder. Killer. Wretch. Kin.

Writer: Aviandha

Date Tue Aug 23 11:20:04 2016

To Marauders ( Imm rp Raije All )

Subject The birth of a new generation

Avaindha knocks on the door, pulling her cloak tighter around her frame
to shut out the coldness of the mountain wind. Her blue highlighted hair
whipping around her causing a chill to race up her spine. The twins pick
that moment to startwhat must be an epic battle in her womb, making her all
the more cranky and uncomfortable. The door opens slowly, revealing a much
older Shalrienne. Her skin much more wrinkled and hanging off her bones
with age. 'Come in dear, I've been expecting this day for some time now. '
Walking into the kitchen she is given tea, a dark broth that quickly soothes
and dulls her mind. Her muscles relax as she is led into a back bedroom and
laid on the bed. 'The tea will work quickly dear, try to rest while you

It doesn't take long for the tea to do its work. Aviandha is awoken
suddenly as her water breaks and the contractions start. Small ones at
first, but each one getting a little longer, and little more painfull. For
the next ten hours she fights the growing pain until two children are born.
Twins, though not what she was expecting. The first born was a boy, the
second a few seconds behind him, a girl. Both came into the world healthy,
with ten fingers and ten toes, screaming at the injustice of this new, cold,
world they now call home.

Writer: Dreac

Date Tue Aug 23 20:03:32 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Tue Aug 23 21:28:07 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Tue Aug 23 21:43:17 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Tue Aug 23 21:44:47 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Tue Aug 23 21:46:34 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Tue Aug 23 21:47:08 2016

Writer: Garrett

Date Wed Aug 24 07:49:15 2016

Writer: Zola

Date Thu Aug 25 04:42:19 2016

To All Abaddon Bloodlust Verminasia Darkonin Immortals Fatale

Subject X Tolling of the Bell X

Ring, damn you, Zola thought.

Ripping the silver bell from his belt and holding it up, Zola glared from
the eye sockets of his mask at the tiny bell of silver, examining it
critically. It was of simple, yet undeniably fine craftsmanship. Perfectly
shaped, ideally forged, and in no way broken. The slightest motion should
have caused it to jingle and ring for All to hear, piercing the silence the
way a knife pierced an enemies heart.

Yet it made not a sound. Not throughout his many fights while it dangled
from his belt. Not in the countless hours of prayer and introspection in
the Dungeon, when he shook it from his gloved fingers. Nothing. Not a
tingle, not a jingle. Naught by silence.

When it rings again, the time had come, he'd been told. Had it been a lie?

Impossible. He dismissed the possibility before it was even fully formed in
his brain. It had been an Avatar of the Dark Lord of Murder. It had to
have been. The guise, while not wholly familiar, had the look and feel of
Fatale. The touch of divinity was unmistakable. None of His brethren in
the Darkness would dare to stoop so low, and none of the Light would have
the courage or intellect to pull off such a farce. It had to have been a
message from Him.

Resisting the urge to smash the small bell against the wall, for he did not
wish to see it ruined, Zola took in a deep breath. The mask's filters made
it sound almost metallic and ominous. Feeling his shaking muscles ease and
relax, Zola again tied the bell to his belt, listening All the while.

The bell remained silent. But one day... The day he waited for... It

And he would be ready for it.

Writer: Garrett

Date Thu Aug 25 18:02:57 2016

To Bloodlust New_Thalos All Kyri Alasdair RP Imm

Subject The Overlord Garrett Locke

The Bard never signed up for this. Wearing dusty dungarees and a broad
brimmed hat, Garrett wandered in the scorching desert sun. A theodolite in
one hand, a measuring stick in the other, the newly appointed Underlord was
doing the most exciting work of... Surveying. It was balls hot outside.

'Damn you, Ferg. Damn you, ' was All Garrett could mutter, every step
another step towards yet another boring, dull, and unexciting survey point.

Resigning himself to his fate, he continues into the shimmering horizon of
heat and sunlight. It was balls hot.

Writer: Garrett

Date Thu Aug 25 19:46:55 2016

Writer: Vibulus

Date Fri Aug 26 18:18:04 2016

To Arkane All ( Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor

I have finally had a chance to speak to a few of the military personnel
and try to get a feel for their sense in matters of duty and purpose.
Morale among them remains high, though I sense some lack of direction.
Quite understandable given the current situation and the fact that most were
guard units assigned to garrison the city. I have scrupulously avoided any
discussion or questioning of numbers or unit types currently fielded as
espionage is a real thing and it is not in the interest of either the FA or
Arkane to see such intelligence leaked through any means. I have not spoken
with their Marshal of Forces as it seemed a burden upon his time due to the
fact of forces currently afield, and also because the information we seek is
best uncovered within the ranks.

In searching through their histories to get a better understanding of
Arkane, I came across material I think may serve the common interest beyond
the usual emplacement of troops we have offered in the past. Arkane has
grown tremendously from what was once frontier territories and retains to
this day a remarkable latent ability in fieldcraft among many of it's
citizenry. That ability was once harnessed in a unit called the Skirmishers
which seems to fit very nicely into our light Infantry model. In fact their
current leader King Arthais Godwind once served as an officer of said unit.
I have come to believe that such a unit could be resurrected through the
assistance of our training cadre to tap and refine that hidden talent. For
a fee and the promise of provision and maintenance I believe we could make a
mutually profitable deal to provide what may be their only need, a sense of
quality and the pride which follows elite units. Querried upon the idea,
several of the current guards found favor in the idea of a specialized unit,
and zeal is always the first crucial ingredient. I hope to find an
available time to receive an audience with the king and present a finalized
offer sheet.

In personal matters, I have this very day received post from Tilly, he
indeed lives and I feel a great weight fall from my shoulders. I will take
the news to father and mother personally as other matters have required a
brief time away from Arkane proper. Following the advice of both a good
friend and a wise deacon I have stepped back to find bearing and balance.
Their advice has been fruitful in a strangely literal sense and I feel
clearer of mind even as I confront memories I had long avoided looking upon
the streets of the Althainian kingdom after these many years. With luck
father will content himself with the news of Antillicus and leave off the
usual urgings and wheedling he plies me with.

Writer: Vahriah

Date Fri Aug 26 20:53:13 2016

Writer: Clarissia
Date Sat Aug 27 20:40:04 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Aug 28 00:02:49 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Aug 28 00:10:03 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Sun Aug 28 18:31:08 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Sun Aug 28 18:35:21 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Aug 29 11:01:45 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Aug 29 11:04:31 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Aug 29 11:08:43 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Aug 29 11:14:16 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Aug 29 11:19:38 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Aug 29 11:22:27 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Aug 29 11:26:36 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Aug 29 11:30:15 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Aug 29 11:34:56 2016

Writer: Anathaelynn
Date Mon Aug 29 15:28:06 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Mon Aug 29 19:34:45 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Mon Aug 29 19:38:01 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Mon Aug 29 19:49:35 2016

Writer: Trahan
Date Tue Aug 30 14:05:30 2016

Writer: Trahan
Date Tue Aug 30 14:29:45 2016

Writer: Trahan
Date Tue Aug 30 14:49:57 2016

Writer: Arawn
Date Tue Aug 30 17:34:39 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Aug 30 23:29:44 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Aug 30 23:32:44 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Aug 30 23:36:04 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Aug 30 23:40:37 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Aug 30 23:42:56 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Aug 30 23:46:11 2016

Writer: Vaerus
Date Fri Sep 2 18:18:58 2016

To All Chaos (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Her soft white throat

'Vaerus' came the siren call of her voice, tearing the veil from grace.
Well, the grace of what was a few moments ago sleep. Not that it mattered
who it was calling out to him, sleep was something seldom had. It required
too much patience. But for her...

The crash of waves against the shore masked his footfalls. For once,
abiding his very nature, Vaerus rushed ahead dispensing with stealth.
Dispensing with any of his usual precautions. No, this was too important to
waste precious seconds caring about the usual techniques. Though, in truth,
walking in the shadows was so innate to his being that it would've required
little real effort. Sort of like breathing.

The honey-drenched venom of her scent reached his nostrils even before his
observant gaze caught sight of her slender frame. 'Not exactly safe out
' she whispered, her voice playful. All Algoron knew them as enemies,
thought them anathema to each other. Whatever others thought mattered
little to him. They were the ones damned, not this erudite pair blessed by
truth. But appearances must be maintained. 'Then let us relocate' came his
reply with a smirking grin. 'Can you get into.. ' A single beat might have
passed in the barless prison of his heart as he answered her query. 'I can
slip past any guards,
' he replied before unconsciously returning to the
methods of the ambush predator that whispered at his true nature as it
coursed through his veins.

Returned now to the Warp, he clung to the wraith of her scent. Grasping
tight their phantom tendrils, longing to wrap his arms around her... Place
his hands upon her, squeeze her...

He shook his head, unsure if he had dreamed it, had hallucinated yet again,
or if...

Writer: Mezlak

Date Fri Sep 2 20:53:47 2016

To Marauders Aviandha ( Imm RP Raije Religion All )

Subject News of a Birth

Mezlak straighten the pile of paperwork he'd just finished going over.
They were nothing more than minor orders and reports on day to day matters
such as availability of steel for horseshoes for the Army's calvary. He
sighed. The messenger had come days ago. Three or four days at least, he
thought. Most people seem to think he should be happy to receive the news
the messenger had brought. He just couldn't see the reason to be happy over
the news. His wife had given birth to their children. He couldn't see
reason to be happy over children. They had yet to accomplish anything.
It'd be years before they could do anything worth noting as an
accomplishment. Not that he'd indulge them. He certainly had never had
anyone even hint at indulging him. He had always had to earn everything he
had. His "children" would have to earn as well, and more than any trinkets
they wanted.

Grumbling loudly, he set the papers aside. It seems there would be no more
work to give him an excuse to stay away. It seems his aides and under
officers were doing their best to ensure he couldn't find an excuse to stay
away. Though Mezlak had to admit, he did look forward to seeing his wife
again. She always had a way of making him smile, and making him not be the
priest and second in command of Raije's Army.

Writer: Garrett
Date Sat Sep 3 12:54:36 2016

To D'arude All Bloodlust RP Alasdair

Subject The Sandstorm and The Bard

'You sell it, and it will be your head, ' hisses the Sandstorm of

The Bard kneels, humbled by the Firstborne's majesty. 'I will wear it as I
seek blood across the world's shores, Firstborne. What would you have me do
in return for this boon? I am humbled.
' The quiet trickle of an elaborate,
finely carved brown dragon fountain the only sound in the cavernous lair.

'Kill, Bard. Kill. '

A slow, broad grin makes its way to Garrett's lips.

Writer: Vaerus

Date Sat Sep 3 22:17:04 2016

To All Chaos Her (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Awaken, the sleepers...

The day started as had every day in memory: morning, the accursed rise of
the burning daystar again cast its light creating pools of shadow where it
could not touch. This day though, was to be different for Vaerus. The
usual hate and rage coursed through him, fed him, nurtured his black heart.
But today, the cavity where it beat was filled with ire even more vitriolic,
even more malevolent than usual.

'Wordbearer' he wrote, starting the report in the usual manner. 'Truly the
Redeemer, glory to him, has blessed my hatred..
A smile, one touched by
cruelty that he could do little to supress, even if he'd wished it spread
across his lips. The crimson spread across the page, each scratch of his
quill like the lick of carnivorous winds.

Finished at last, he cast a handful of ash upon the page. The words grasped
out and pulled in All that remained of the doomed, with their addition and
now dried, he sealed it and tucked it away. Rising, the intent of passing
it along to his most trusted of couriers, inadvertently knocking over the
vial of crimson he used to feed the thirst of his pen. A portent metaphor,
he thought, watching the sanguineous pool spread.

A portent metaphor, he thought, watching the sanguineous pool spread.

A sign. A vision gifted, of what was to come.

Writer: Corron

Date Sun Sep 4 01:32:13 2016

To Abaddon Forsaken All RP

Subject The Gravedigger ( Part 1 of 5 )

The sky roiled with brooding black clouds, whipped by fierce winds into
turbulent swirls that moved across the mass of thunderheads blanketing the
sky to horizon's edge. Between the gathering dusk and the density of the
cloud cover, darkness hung like an umbral cloak. A rising mist, growing
thicker from the chill in the air and moisture from the recent rainfall,
swirled through the dense foliage and growth that cloistered the winding
pathway into the cemetery of Abaddon. Save for the fluttering of raven
wings and shambling passage of the odd caretaker, silence dominated the
rain-slicked paths and tombstone dotted fields of grass and low rises.

A dull chopping sound echoed from the western reaches of the cemetery,
steady and occasionally replaced by a sharper note of metal striking stone.
A practiced ear could resolve the sound into a shovel cutting into heavy
soil with some deflection from striking stones hidden in the earth.
Standing ankle deep in the muddy water covering the bottom of a nearly
finished grave, Corron went through the repetitive cycle of digging:
stabbing the shovel into the earth, kicking to break through thicker clay,
shoving the blade deeper, twisting and lifting the muddy shovelful, pivoting
and tossing the dirt. Repeat.

The rain that had only stopped half a bell earlier had proven a mixed
blessing. A little rain loosened the hard-packed black soil while more
precipitation turned loam into clinging mud that stuck to the shovel and
grew heavier and harder to sling the longer it rained. It also mired the
unfinished plots, turning them into pits of sucking mud. A bank of red clay
ran through the rise on which he currently labored, staining the water and
resisting his excavation. Thunder rolled across the sky, foreboding and
lasting several heartbeats, and promised an eminent renewal to the rain.

The walls of the grave now stood some inches over Corron's head, showing he
was drawing ever closer to being finished with this one. The vain hope that
he might finish before the rain returned to flood the hole was fully
shattered as the first few drops fell across his cheek. The moisture
brought a slight sting, reminding him of the cut over his cheekbone from
where his shovel had earlier splintered a piece of shale. One of the flying
slivers had drawn a ragged line just below his eye. Grunting as he felt his
shovel chip from striking a large stone, Corron continued the routine that
had grown automatic over the last several days. Stab, kick, lift, fling.

Lightning began to pulse through the sky, brief flashes that illuminated the
graveyard for a few seconds at at time before the gloom reclaimed the night.
Nearing his last shovelful, Corron allowed himself a rueful smile as the few
patters of rain became a steady drizzle. One burst of lightning backlit a
shadow across the broad opening of the grave and an outline reflected in the
surface of the standing water.

"Found ya. " A rough voice boomed just before the thunder crashed.

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Sep 4 01:35:50 2016

To Abaddon Forsaken All RP

Subject The Gravedigger ( Part 2 of 5 )

Tension quickly knotted the already fatigued muscles in his shoulders as
Corron turned to look up at the speaker. Standing at the head of the plot
beside the pile of displaced soil was a half ogre garbed in grungy furs.
Scars crisscrossed the gristly frame of the half ogre and a chunk of his
nose was missing. Hair unevenly shorn in a vain attempt to rid himself of
fleas that teemed in the uncured furs he wore, the half breed grinned down
with mouthful of broken brown teeth.

"Yous remember me? " A hairy foot kicked a large chunk of muddy soil into
the hole, splattering Corron with water and dirt.

* * * * * *

He remembered. It had only been several hours since he had driven the
brigand from the city. While on his regular patrol of the Bloodlands, the
cacophony of a drunken brawl had sounded like a tempest in the normally
quiet streets. His footfalls silent on the bone laced cobblestones, Corron
quickened his stride down Gluttony Lane. The raucous violence was spilling
from the ajar doors of the Fall From Grave Tavern. Without hesitation,
Corron slipped into the building, ducking a flying patron and the leg of a
chair that flew after him.

The sight before him was more fitting to a boisterous port town than the
austere brooding the city normally exuded. One man writhed on the broad
mahogany bar amidst a pile of broken glass, holding a shattered hand to his
gut. The interlopers and apparent instigators of the disturbance stood out
clearly from the citizens of the city.

Dressed like brigands that had seen better days, their moldy leather was
coming apart at the seams. The raw fur hides they wore were stained and
ridden with pests. Their simple weapons consisting of wood axes and
skinning knives brittle with rust, the motley crew was in the thick of it.
One man with a garish tattoo over his scalp gurgled on the floor in a
growing pool of blood.

Two others that had the look of brothers traded ungainly punches, movements
slurred by heavy intoxication, with some of the locals, mugs and chairs
frequently coming into play. The last was the true threat. Brutish
countenance enhanced by a slopping overhanging brow, the half ogre stood
head and shoulders above everyone else in the tavern. Like a living
sledgehammer, he rampaged through All obstacles, throwing tables and patrons
with equal ease, howling like a wolf, a wolf that had tipped a few flagons
too many.

His grey-green eyes flickered over the interior of the tavern, gauging and
analyzing. Seeing no value in exchanging bravado with unkempt ruffians,
Corron wove his way through the landscape of broken bottles, tables and
people, silently drawing up behind one of the two brawling brothers, leaning
back at the last moment to avoid the backswing of a wild rabbit punch. With
hardly a whisper, he drew his blade. The jasper in the pommel caught the
low lantern light as it swung, striking the bandit in the temple and sending
him reeling to the floor.

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Sep 4 01:44:44 2016

To Abaddon Forsaken All RP

Subject The Gravedigger ( Part 3 of 5 )


The simple word was not spoken loudly. Corron did not like raising his
voice. The timbre, rather than the volume, of his voice cut through the
violence like a scalpel, bringing hostilities to a momentary pause. His
face drawn into a stolid, almost empty expression, the keenness of his gaze
was like a shard of ice as he turned his focus onto the remaining two
threats, after sparing a brief glance to keep one of the few citizens still
on their feet from falling over the man he had downed before he could rise.

The normal air of blood and ale with faint whiffs of sulfur that permeated
the inn was far sharper now with the coppery tang of freshly split blood and
violence. Isolating the half ogre with his stare, Corron almost missed the
approach of the second man.

"Yah kilt mah kin!" He bellowed in the moment before he attacked.

Shifting his weight back, Corron narrowly avoided that first swing, barely
aware of the jagged end of a bottle that led the attack. A single look was
all that was required to tell him there would be no reasoning with this one.
The set of his eyes, the compression of muscle in his hands, the tendons
straining in his neck. Very well. Corron thought.

Shoulders lowered and moved under the outstretched arm. Left hand snaking
up to seize the man's wrist, Corron rammed his hip forward and rolled the
drunken fool right over his back, slamming him into the ground. Still
holding the hand wielding the broken bottle, Corron drew himself up to his
full height and set a foot on the prostrated man's shoulder. Yanking the
arm to full extension, his knee crashed into the back of the locked elbow
bringing a brittle crackle of bone and a squeal of arcing pain. The bottle
fell from the the now limp grasp and Corron released his hold, letting the
brigand grab at the mangled joint and roll away, sobbing.

Brief as it was, the altercation had blinded Corron to the rise of the first
man he laid low. Blood streaming from his split scalp, eyes frenzied from
seeing his brother crippled, he hit Corron with a flying tackle, shoulder
spearing into his ribs and driving the air from him as they both crashed
into the debris-choked floor, grappling for position. The quarters were too
close for the traded punches to have much weight to them.

Expecting the half ogre to intervene at any minute, Corron brought the
wooden knuckles reinforcing his handguards to bear, splattering his
attacker's nose across his face. On his next swing, jagged rings extended
from the hollows between the knuckles tearing bloody furrows up the man's
neck. Left hand brought a small diamond shaped blade to bear, stabbing it
repeatedly into the man's side.

Shoving the brigand away, Corron saw foam was already bubbling from the
man's mouth with a bloody froth, the potent toxin that coated the rings
spreading virulently. Standing far more steadily than he truly felt with
his ribs aching, Corron swallowed a mouthful of blood and leveled his livid,
blood-streaked stare at the half-ogre who has even then advancing, a chipped
and notched hatchet drawn to take advantage of the moment.

Perhaps it was seeing the odds equalized or perhaps it was his state of
intoxication or perhaps it was something unsettling in that stare, but the
mix breed stopped several steps short, suddenly uncertain.

"Sufficient blood has been shed. Take yours and go." Corron said.

Writer: Corron

Date Sun Sep 4 01:50:01 2016

To Abaddon Forsaken All RP

Subject The Gravedigger ( Part 4 of 5 )

Something strange passed through the half ogre's alcohol addled gaze.
Stowing his weapon, he grabbed the brother with the broken arm, the only
member of group that still drew breath, by the collar and bodily hauled him
out of the tavern. Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, Corron
shadowed the pair out of the city until their forms were lost in the dense
fog that secreted the ancient kingdom. Just as they moved out of sight, the
half ogre called through the shrouding mists.

"Mez find you! Youz not see last of mez!"

Placing little stock of the bluster of those with nothing better to do with
their time, Corron returned to his duties without a backward glance.

* * * * * *

Knuckles whitened as his hand clenched around the haft of the shovel, the
sound of the wood creaking lost in the growing downpour. Corron silently
stared at his self-appointed adversary, painfully aware of his disadvantage.
Quite apart from being in the bottom of a six foot ditch that was slowly
filling with water, he had left most of equipment in a locker before
undertaking his grave digging assignment. No sense making a several hour
stint of overturning earth more difficult with bulky armaments that would
then require cleaning afterwards. He would have to reassess that later. If
he made it that far.

He could try reasoning with the half ogre. Doubtful. He might try to
intimidate him again. Unlikely. The half ogre began laughing and kicking
more mounds of dirt down on Corron.

"Youz dig good hole. Mez help."

Corron was not about to waste any words on this man. Right arm came up and
hurled the shovel like a javelin aimed for the half ogre's face. Not
expecting any true results out of the diversionary tactic, Corron turned and
leaped against the wall at the foot of the grave. Even as he feet touched
the soil, he turned and kicked back out, aiming for the right side. He
wasn't counting on how much the water weighted him down, how much the rain
had weakened the integrity of the dirt channel he had hewn into the ground.
He also wasn't counting a rock he had unearthed earlier to come flying in
the next load of dirt kicked at him.

Part of the grave collapsed, ruining All attempts at traction to gain more
height and clear the walls, dragging him downward even as the rock struck
his neck, twisting him around in his rapid descent. Corron found himself
laid out flat on his back in the bottom of the grave, dirty water clogging
his ears and nearly covering his face. Overhead, the half ogre roared with
laughter, not even caring about the new gash on his hand from intercepting
the shovel. Corron couldn't make out the next words, but the intention was
clear. Lightning crawled across the sky as the brigand jumped into the
hole, intending to crush the prone digger.

Feeling as though he was moving through mud, Corron brought up his hand and
uttered a few arcane syllables while his fingers moved through an intricate
pattern. A move of desperation, the lightning bolt would have made a proper
mage laugh at the middling potency. It proved sufficient for this instance,
catching the descended bulk of his attacker square in the chest and knocking
him back against the wall of the pit. The sharp smell of ozone filled
Corron's nose as his teeth chattered from the residual energy. Likely not
one of his best strategies, invoking electricity while laying in water.
Another thought for later.

Writer: Aethelwine

Date Sun Sep 4 01:52:46 2016

To Folt Zola Devion Abaddon All

Subject A box of chocolate

Tiny little hands light work a pan full of melted chocolate making sure
the recipe is just right. Several drops of Belladonna are added to complete
the task. Aethelwine smiles to herself as she picks up small chunks of
rotten cherries and dips them into the poisoned chocolate one by one they
are placed on the wax sheet to dry.

After letting her special treats dry the small pixie places the chocolate
back into the box, mixed with the untempered chocolates. Smiling down at
her work Aethelwine closes the box up and tops it with a purple ribbon.

It wasn't long until she found the perfect person to recive her special
gift. He was happy enough to accept the chocolates and very willing to
admit to having a very special someone to give them to. The pixie sent him
on his way. Reminding Folt not to let them melt. Now All she had to do was
wait... And wonder did her gift cause a tummy ache? Did it get tossed into
the trash? Or did the one given the wonderful gift die? Oh it was All too
exciting playing tricks and serving Devion!

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Sep 4 01:54:24 2016

To Abaddon Forsaken All RP

Subject The Gravedigger ( Part 5 of 5 )

Like an arrow released from a bow, he burst into movement, sloshing water
as he regained his feet and launched himself at the half ogre. His foe
roared defiance, smoke rising from the scorched flesh on his chest that
showed through the hole blasted into his layers of furs. The next several
breaths were mindless savagery. Corron knew he couldn't match the bulk and
raw strength, his opponent easily twice his own weight.

Ducking and weaving around most of the artless, heavy swings, Corron drove
knuckles repeatedly against the major blood vessels in the neck and the ribs
over the heart only to catch a huge knee in his gut. A slung handful of
watery sludge stole the larger man's vision. A ham-sized fist slipped by
Corron's guard in a hook that All but unhinged his jaw and loosened a few
teeth, sending a ribbon of bloody spittle into the air.

A few pronged metal discs, roughly the size of clamshells, slipped from the
bindings on his forearm. Hand pumping, he launched the shuriken in rapid
succession. His own blood was no longer the only one that stained the
water. Already sporting several quickly growing bruises, Corron matched
brawn with speed, tactical strikes and the occasional burst of the arcane.
Limited blasts of icy shards and scouring streams of acid kept the close
quarter brawl from being completely lopsided against him.

The brute was not going to die easily, suddenly tipping forward to crush and
drown his smaller foe. There was no room in the trench for Corron to evade,
all he could do was to brace for the impact. Joints screamed in protest as
they resisted the crushing force as the behemoth collapsed on top of him,
driving him into the growing pool of muddy water. Some of the jagged stars
still embedded in the half ogre dug into Corron, while others were pushed
deeper in his foe, tearing vital organs and severing blood vessels.

Stubbornly, the brigand continue to fight, unwilling to relent even as his
life pumped out. Outmatched in strength, Corron would never be outmatched
in stubbornness. Trapped beneath the choking bulk of his opponent and
unable to shove him away while the brute actively tried to crush him into
the muck, Corron did the only thing he could.

Minutes later, Corron scrabbled out of the grave, thoroughly soaked and
coated with mud and blood, a near feral light in his eyes. Almost as an
afterthought, he turned and spat a large mouthful of something back into the
pit. A flash of lightning revealed the lifeless body of the half ogre,
glassy eyed gaze looking skyward, horror in the last moments of life etched
on his face. A gaping hole was torn out of his throat, trachea laid open in
a bloody ring.

His jaw clicking and aching with the movement, a laugh bordering on unhinged
and devoid of any mirth spilled from Corron's scarred and blood slicked

{nHe was going to have to dig another grave

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Sep 4 17:53:31 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Sep 4 17:56:55 2016

Writer: Aethelwine
Date Mon Sep 5 00:13:00 2016

To All Devion Boof

Subject fish out of water.

Aethelwine stood on the deck of the Scythe pulling the net as hard as she
could back to the deck.. She grinned as she watched the fish flop around
dying as the air strangled them. Several hours later and hundreds of fish
later the pixie was done with the first step in todays prank. She knew she
could not carry them All on her own so with the help of a levitation spell
the nets full of fish began to well.. Levitate.

Aethelwine was very proud of herself for thinking up this prank, and she
sang a little tune as she headed off to Althania. The pixie was very
thankful for magic, it was a great gift and she needed to remember to thank
Devion for it more than she did. Finally arriving at the cross roads, the
pixie set down one of the nets and cast another spell that flung the dead
fish All over Althania Houndreds of fish went flying in different
direction.. It was a wonderful site.

The small pixie then headed to the deans office, a perfect spot for another
net to be disbursed. What a wonderful plan, Soon Althania would smell
wonderful! Aethelwine left the wretched city with a heart full of joy. Oh
what fun it is to be Devion's Pixie.

Writer: Garrett
Date Mon Sep 5 18:36:28 2016

To Abaddon Bloodlust All Alasdair Kyri RP

Subject The Bard - Overlord, Ambassador... Council Member?

Garrett leaned against the mural of the Abaddon meeting hall. Tipping
his fedora forward, he covered his eyes. He was honored to be invited, but
was content being a fly on the wall.

With a start, The Bard realized he was leaning on a picture of two girls
getting murdered? Odd tastes, to be sure. Who has this picture in their
Audience Chamber? Abaddon...

Turning his attention back to the Count, he was able catch him saying, 'We
will be expanding our new council to include a member of Bloodlust.

The Bard laughed. With a theatrical bow, he sweeps his fedora deeply below
his knees, 'At your service.'

Writer: Mercerion

Date Mon Sep 5 21:44:54 2016

Writer: Zola
Date Tue Sep 6 03:04:33 2016

To All Aethelwine Abaddon Bloodlust Verminasia Darkonin Immortals Fatale

Subject X Feeding Time X

Showing the insects to the Devionite Pixie (something about a new prank
planned) reminded Zola most keenly of the time. While he intended to keep
his 'pets' lean, he did still need to feed them every few days while he kept
them carefully contained in captivity.

Bidding Aethelwine an ominous farewell and displacing himself from his
current location, Zola re-emerged in the caverns deep below Abaddon. While
swampland made the region difficult to farm and build, dig deep enough into
the ground and you found solid rock. And deeper still, darker, more
terrible things.

Himself amongst them.

Finding his way down a deeper tunnel and pausing momentarily to conjure a
flame, he lit a black candle and held it above his head to illuminate his
way. While fully capable of seeing in the dark, the effort was annoying,
and in any case, the light was for their benefit as much as his. He needed
his project to be able to survive in the light. If they could not, they
would be utterly useless to him.

A number of cages lined the cavern he reached, hanging suspended from the
ceiling by a number of sturdy chains at waist level. Pausing by each and
every one, Zola saw their occupants were napping, or had been, though he saw
the occasional flash of light reflected from the candle, keen eyes studying
him as he moved amongst them.

"One... Two... " he counted, one by one, until he reached the end. "...
One thousand five hundred forty-two... One thousand five hundred
forty-three... One thousand five hundred fifty-three.
" Another twenty-one
must have perished or been devoured by their brethren in the interval
between their last feeding. Still acceptable losses, as Zola had only need
of thirteen hundred when the time came. More than enough.

Well, time to feed.

Finding a chest at the far end of the room, Zola pried it open and pulled
out its contents: carefully preserved hearts. He owed a necromancer for
this particular favor, but they were as fresh as the day they had been
ripped out of their owners chests. Taking the first red organ in his gloved
hand, he squeezed tightly between his fingers, letting its bloody contents
drip down into the first cage.

It would have made more sense to use a cow's heart, from a more practical
standpoint, it was a larger organ, and held a great deal more blood.
However, that wasn't the point. It wasn't wholly important that he just
feed the monsters. It was important to teach them the proper taste. When
the time came for them to fly, he did not want them attacking cattle. He
wanted them swarming down over the people.

Eager chittering emerged from the cage as its contents shifted, the
multitude of eyes shifting as fangs flashed in the dim light, thousands of
them fighting one another for the first taste, shoving their multitude of
brothers and sisters out of the way, each of them eager to feed.

It wasn't yet time, but it would be soon. Already the stars were aligning,
the moons coming into their proper orbits. Particularly the dark sphere
that was Drakkara's. The dead were starting to stir. Soon, the time would
be right. And then they would be free to feast.

"Soon, little ones... Soon," he promised.

Writer: Aliera

Date Tue Sep 6 15:41:02 2016

Writer: Clarissia

Date Wed Sep 7 15:17:43 2016

Writer: Ryim
Date Wed Sep 7 17:01:14 2016

Writer: Aethelwine
Date Wed Sep 7 20:21:38 2016

To All Devion

Subject A soapy tale.

Aethelwine sat staring at the boiling cauldron. Inside the ingredients
mixed and boiled. Poison ivy, mint and bars of soap All melting together
into a very aromatic mixture. The pixie sat stirring and stirring it was
taking a lot longer than she had liked. Aethelwine had spent days looking
through fields, asking everyone she could for some Lavender. Some people
where helpful, others were rude.. And then others where so mean they made
her growing list of people to get back at. It was late one night one of
Abaddon's citizens suggested she use mint instead, that perhaps it would be
easier to find. Two days later a very kind green person offered some to
her. Traveling to a place she called a mountain the pixie finally received
her final ingredient.

Some people didn't take her seriously, they thought she was anoying or even
a bit odd but Aethelwine didn't care she knew she had a job to do, after all
she is Devion's Pixie. These little pranks might seem childish, or silly to
many but to Aethelwine she had a grand plan.. And her supporter Boof
insisted she earn her money by continuing her efforts. Althania had
received her first prank, and now it was Shalonesti's turn. After careful
thought she had considered two options. One her very special soap. Poison
Ivy and Mint to cover up the plant that she hoped would leave several people
covered head to toe in a horrible itch rash!

Sneaking the soap into Shalonesti's shop was not as easy as Aethelwine had
hopped. Turns out they don't like her simply because of where she lives!
It made her trick play All the more worthy in her eyes. So she set out to
find just the right person, watching and listening as the traders swapped
supplies at the river. After some time, and several eggs the soap was
finally slipped into the supplies headed to market, beautifully wrapped and
mint scented her poison ivy soap was soon to be on sale.

The pixie was very proud of her work. This prank was one of her best yet.
She only hoped the 100 bars was enough to cause a nice itchy outbreak On to
her next plan.. A box full of bugs was only the start, she had many more to
gather and collect.

Writer: Mercerion
Date Thu Sep 8 00:41:05 2016

Writer: Mercerion
Date Fri Sep 9 01:15:28 2016

Writer: Mercerion
Date Fri Sep 9 01:23:40 2016

Writer: Garrett
Date Fri Sep 9 20:04:24 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 9 22:44:17 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 9 22:47:43 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 9 22:52:13 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 9 22:58:17 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 9 23:02:23 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 9 23:05:45 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 9 23:09:44 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 9 23:13:56 2016

Writer: Garrett
Date Sat Sep 10 06:00:33 2016

Writer: Vaerus
Date Sat Sep 10 10:08:02 2016

To All Bloodlust Chaos Garrett Kyri Alasdair (Imm RP) Malachive

Subject Ladykillers (The Blade and The Bard II)

'Matron! ' he heard Garrett the Bard, and his drinking partner, call out
while he lowered himself into the seat across from him. It had been quiet
here most of the evening, but with the performance ended, and the booze
about to flow that would All change. A lose-lose situation for the rest of
the Wayfarer, but not for this pair.

THUMP! Came the sound as the Matron set the mug down, in front of Vaerus,
stealing his attention away from the one sitting on the other side. His
target, his foe, and for the rest of tonight at least, his friend. For this
moment though, his eyes were on the Matron, unsure how he could've missed
her earlier, unsure why she was, instead of looking at him as All women were
wont to do, looking at Garrett.

'A toast! ' he intoned, holding up the large ale and extending it towards
Garrett, 'To brews! And to bo-' *CLINK* came the sound of the mugs slamming
against one another, drowning out the rest of his words, rest of his toast,
to anyone not at the table with them.

THUD! Followed by the distinct sound of coins hitting against one another.
A black coin purse, with a crimson drawstring, came to a stop in the center
of the table. Surrounded by the countless empty mugs, empty shot glasses,
and the half eaten food: Corpses of the night's partying.

'A wager... ' He belched, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and
continued, 'A bet. Which ever one of us getsh to.. ' went on, explaining.
'... And if you win, you get thish' as he patted the black and red purse
he'd flung, carelessly, onto the table.

Writer: Eadaoin

Date Sat Sep 10 14:38:48 2016

Writer: Garrett

Date Sun Sep 11 07:21:27 2016

To Nordmaar Malasand Kyri Alasdair Bloodlust All Eadaoin

Subject The Bloody Ice Queen

Princess Eadaoin MacCallum swung her axe with a vicious right backhand,
disemboweling the shocked gnome. She followed through with a pointed blade
thrust into the dying gnome's right orbital socket. Blood splattered
everywhere in a wide semicircle before the corpse, coating the Princess.

'Ah'll finish mae trainin' tuedae! ' she bellowed. The Viking Malasand
quietly follows Eadaoin, blades in hand. He nods in agreement.

With an overly theatrical bow, The Bard appears behind the pair. Eadaoin
turns around, and nods once to Garrett. 'Try this, perhaps? ' He tosses
over a two handed asterite lugged spear.

Effortlessly, the Princess grasps the spear, dropping her axe and dagger.
Without missing a beat, she runs towards the nearest gnome and impales him.
The wide eyed gnome screams as his spinal column is severed just below his
solar plexus from the blow. Eadaoin is ruthless, and jabs the lengthy shaft
over and over into the soft flesh. Carotid Artery. Liver. Left groin.
Right Shoulder. She finishes the gnome with a two handed scream, the spear
cleanly severing the gnome's head from his shoulders.

'This spear bae nae gude, ' Eadaoin tosses the spear back to Garrett without
even looking at him. She picks up her axe and dagger from the floor, and
charges into another group of gnomes.

The Princess Eadaoin MacCallum is covered in bright red blood.

Writer: Tayira

Date Sun Sep 11 19:26:48 2016

To Abaddon Bloodlust All Garrett { Immortal Rp )

Subject Blade practice

Tayira waited until Garrett had finished unloading the boards from his
vault and returned to the Dungeon before she reached into her vault and
pulled out a tattered parchment. She walked over to the far end of the
vaults and reached for a small blade tucked into the edge of her skirt.
Moments later the blade was protruding out of the wall as it held up a crude
drawing of the Overlord. The parchment was riddled with holes already but
moments later a loud 'thwack' was heard as a small throwing knife sunk into
the wall, slicing yet another hole in the parchment.

She snickered to herself and shrugged her shoulders at the Captain of the
guard when he looked at her questioningly. 'What? I'm just venting
frustration when I get stuck on a particularly difficult trinket. He talked
me into this after all!'

The Captain just laughed and shook his head, 'Aye, Executioner. I'm just
glad he finally learned his way around and stopped yelling 'The Bard is
lost! The Bard needs help!' The woman laughed and nodded,' Come now
Captain..I find him quite amusing. It's too damn quiet in this city most
of the time. At least it livens things up.' He nodded and then tipped his
head, mumbling something about rounds before he left the Executioner alone
with her trinkets and thoughts.

She had a lot of time to think lately considering the trinkets weren't all
that hard once you got the hang of it, after that it was merely repetition.
Most of her thoughts lately were on how well Abaddon was doing. She was
glad to see that things were progressing even if it was slowing just a bit.
They were gaining new members, getting things moving in guilds and getting
people involved. They had many working on crafts now and the Dungeon had
been a tremendous help in that.

As much as she liked to joke that Garrett was a slave driver or practice
throwing her knives at his picture, there was no denying that things were
looking up. The cooperation between the Dungeon and Abaddon was a
refreshing change, she hoped it would continue to grow. It made sense for
them to work together, Murder was a vital part of both organizations. The
Outpost would be good for both the Dungeon and Abaddon plus it would help
strengthen their bond.

Writer: Vahriah

Date Mon Sep 12 06:58:47 2016

Writer: Garrett

Date Mon Sep 12 10:07:12 2016

To Vaerus Chaos All Bloodlust Kyri Alasdair RP

Subject The Blade & The Bard fight

'Sir, please stop, you are hurting me! ' the Bar Matron cried out in the
back room. Garrett and Vaerus were well into their game of alcoholic
stamina ego endurance. But the shriek from their server snapped both of
their attention to to the commotion. A group of unsavory slave traders had
made their way into the Inn. And a singular surly man had his hands on the
Matron's wrists. He was pulling her close. 'Stop, please! '

The Bard and The Blade wordlessly looked from the scene, then to one another
for a brief second. In unison, they stood from their seats. The Bard
grabbed his half empty mug and the lit table candle, sauntering directly to
the Matron. The Blade stood and made his way around the crowd gathering,
flanking the scene.

'Come now, Sir. Leave the poor woman alone, ' Garrett slurred and took a
big swig of his mug. The accosting ruffian turned his dirty, crooked tooth
grin towards Garrett. His breath smelled like ass. Quickly, Garrett lifts
the candle to his face, spitting his mouth full of drink as a flaming
blaze unto the ruffian's eyes. Careful not to hurt the Matron.

Out of the crowd, Vaerus grabs the accoster's scalp with his left hand. In
one fluid motion, The Blade slams his opponents head unto the bar. His
right hand bringing down his dagger with superhuman precision. The tip
penetrating both caroid arteries and the windpipe cleanly at the same moment
the head slams on the surface. Vaerus stares deeply into the wide eyes of
his target, savoring the succulent and sumptuous view. Bubbling air through
spurting blood in the throat, the lights of his eyes facing. 'Delicious.'

The Matron is gently pushed into the arms of another serving girl by
Garrett. He and Vaerus turn from the corpse to face the remaining Slaver
Company at the far end of the Inn. The group of them stand, deadly serious
in their posture.

Vaerus stands on the balls of his feet, both daggers in hand. Garrett
raises his mug, to them, 'Come at us. ' He finishes the rest of his drink
then smiles.

Writer: Garrett

Date Mon Sep 12 10:50:38 2016

To Vaerus Bloodlust Chaos All Kyri RP Alasdair

Subject The Bard & The Blade get hammered

Honestly? I clearly recall the fighting that night. Vaerus was in rare
form. The group of Slavers were so incensed by my banter they chased me
around the room. I skitted around the tables avoiding their charges and
swipes. While Vaerus simply went from foe to foe. Stabbing them in the
back. By the time they realized what was going on? It was two on two. A
little roundhouse and stabbing and it was over.

I do also recall the Matron and the others happily cleaning up the corpses
and tossing them outside. I also remember her sitting on my lap. And then
the alcohol starting to flow freely. On the house, for services rendered.

That's where my memory gets hazy. There are some vague images I remember.
At one point I was holding Vaerus' waist long black hair back as he vomited
into a barrel. The usual braid undone by a serving girl. I also remember
riding around my dreadwood staff like a witches broom. And perhaps even
using it to violate a newly open keg hole. But wait, was I using the
dreadwood staff or my own staff at that point? It's pretty hazy.

I definitely work up with urine All over myself. I can't remember if it was
from laughing so hard. Or being unable to undo my trousers in time before I
had to pee. Maybe both?

Best part of the night? The black and red purse was mine.

Writer: Ayrora

Date Fri Sep 16 12:39:18 2016

To Verminasia All Roleplay Storyline Immortal

Subject Time in Gateville

Rora was off and running again as she gathered the guards to head to
Gateville. Life had gotten a bit busy with the lack of a Steward for
Sacnoth but it did not phase her. She mounted Braedan and decided Gateville
will be their next stop. She wished to check the bridge between Markon,
Sacnoth, and Iagothal to make sure it was taken care of properly.

Upon their arrival, she greeted the owner of the management company and
proceeded to inspect the bridge. She found a few things that had gone
unnoticed, a crack needed tending to and a few things replaced, but they
went over everything and proceeded to the locks. Everything seemed in order
and All the manifests up to date so she was quite happy with the trip

They returned to Sacnoth without incident and she tended to Braedan as she
always did. A warm bran mash, a wash down, a blanket to cover him, and some
fresh hay. She was glad the stable boy mucked the stall while they were out
so it made her day go much nicer. She returned to the Manor to bathe and
redress then left to Verminasia on the horse drawn carraige.

It would be a great day!

Writer: Ayrora

Date Fri Sep 16 14:09:24 2016

To Verminasia All Ezek Roleplay storyline Immortal

Subject Assisting in Itholasia

Ayrora entered Ithalosia as the Captain of the guard greeted her, "We
have been expecting you.
" She offered him a slight smile as she entered
the gates. "We were instructed to let you have the lead as the workers are
starting to clear some brush.
" She nodded to him as they continued up the
path leading to where the workers were. "Here you go, Lady Tenneal. " He
nodded as he introduced her to the team leader and left to start his rounds
of the lands.

Braedan was quite impatient being on new lands, stomping the ground as she
tried to speak. "Greetings, I am here to assist in All I can. The area
seems quite nice for the next greenhouse.
" He smiled at her as she
dismounted from the stallion. "A few more trees and we will have enough
" She showed him the dimensions of the greenhouse as he informed his
men where to go.

She spent most of the day in Itholasia. Quite a beautiful snow covered
land. She smiled as she observed how far they had come by the end of the
day. At this rate they would be able to build a greenhouse by beginning of
the next fortnight. She was used to hard work but was quite tired by the
time they had finished surveying the lands. She was quite satisfied once
they had finished and All was set.

Rora took Braedan's reins and mounted the stallion. "I shall return in the
beginning of the next fortnight and shall order the materials sent as soon
as possible.
" She looked down at the team leader offering him a small
smile. They both said their farewells as she rode off towards home.

Writer: Hrentun

Date Fri Sep 16 16:34:36 2016

To All Ganth Mencius Imm RP

Subject The Stygian Guard

Hrentun stood on Ganth's battlements overlooking his life's
accomplishment. Behind him the city rested quietly, the large temple to the
Minotaur patron Gods looming over the quiet city center. In stark contrast,
the scene below him buzzed with energy.

South of the main road, just south of the main gate, the field had been
completely leveled. An army of tents had sprung up around a chaotic
construction site. Since his ministry had begun, Mencian followers of all
races and backgrounds had made their way to hear the priest speak.
Frequently they stayed, forming an impromptu community between massive city
walls and the beginning of the Cathedral's construction.

Cook fires dotted the field surrounded by goblins, humans, minotaur and
representatives of All the races. Some shared their stories of loss and
mistreatment as they helped themselves to the simmering concotions of boiled
meat and vegetables. Others, too isolated even to find kindred spirits
among their own kind, sulked in silence. Each was here because the world
owed them something. The world had gifted countless blessings to others,
strength, wealth, success, while witholding it from them. Hrentun was
teaching them to channel their rage. To declare their worth through
strength of arms and strength of purpose.

Beyond the sea of tents, haphazard formations armed with training swords and
farming equipment participated in wargames. Two units of beggars, thieves,
fourth sons, farms and bandits circled each other slowly, gaps appearing at
too regular misteps and hesitations. But Hrentun recognized they were
improving from where they had been and allowed himself a moment of

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 16 17:08:51 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 16 17:13:05 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 16 17:16:05 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Sep 16 17:20:09 2016

Writer: Ashbie
Date Sat Sep 17 06:36:59 2016

To Verminasia All Aybel Ayrora Immortal Storyline Roleplay

Subject A Disturbance 02

Ashbie sat back in her chair.

The wooden chair was almost like a throne in its decadence. The
headboard was a ship, molded expertly so that, even though it was
certainly ostentatious, it was not tacky. The back and seat of the
chair were padded with velvet and lined with silk.

The desk was clearly an old captain's desk from a ship. Like such a
desk, it had been secured firmly to the floor, even though Ashbie's
office in Tenneal Manor was unlikely to move very much.

On the other side of the desk was a Gnome. A tinker Gnome to be

"Thereisa huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge demandforchocolate, maam. We would
liketohelp yougetitup andoperational asquicklyaspossible." Even
though the Gnome was seated, his rapid chattering made Ashbie feel
like she was running to keep up with him while they talked. It was

"And the bill for your services?" Ashbie asked.

The Gnome smiled slyly. Gnomes were cute, but they weren't Kender,
they were far more likely to be savvy in business. He passed over a
rolled parchment to Ashbie. She unrolled it and began to read.

"Youwillsee thatthesumisverymodest. Wewillmostly makemoneyoffof

Ashbie could see that. She could have paid for the charges out of
her own pocket, without needing to use funds from Sacnoth. But the
contract also included a hefty royalty fee for profits from the

Standing up, Ashbie smiled. "This is a lovely contract. I'll sign
it after at least /some/ proof that you can do what you're
promising. What will it cost for you to take a look, give an
estimate, and show me that you can get it running again?"

The Gnome looked slightly dismayed. Clearly he thought that Ashbie
would be an easy negotiator. The wealthy were so often such soft

The problem was, even spoiled as Ashbie had been when she was
younger, her parents had earned their wealth, and their title. The
only way Ashbie could understand where they came from had been to
run away. In that time, she learned what it was like to have nothing,
to have to negotiate in back alleyways. She'd been burned on many a
deal, and not just because she ended up paying more than something
was worth.

Ashbie closed her eyes for a moment, her smile faltering.

"I- well, it'smostunusual butIthinkwecancometoan agreement!" The
Gnome replied suddenly.

Opening her eyes, Ashbie saw that the Gnome had shifted from dismay
to outright fear. She must have let her composure slip enough to
show the Gnome her disquiet at... past memories. While it had been
unintentional, it had helped with her negotations.

Flashing one of her smiles, Ashbie put the Gnome at ease. "And how
much will that cost?"

The Gnome began to calculate on his hands.

----------------------------A DISTURBANCE--------------------------02

Writer: Ashbie
Date Sat Sep 17 06:44:20 2016

To Verminasia All Aybel Ayrora Immortal Storyline Roleplay

Subject A Disturbance 03

One thing always seemed to lead to another.

Pelwin hadn't shut up. Not in the slightest. The door being locked
was only a small barrier to getting inside. It was easy enough to
break one of the first-floor windows. Since the factory wasn't in
active use, there were no security features in place.

Ethan had suggested they go let the commander know. He was no coward,
but he hadn't survived being in the guard for as long as he had by
making rash decisions. Then again, the unit commander was younger
than him, maybe he didn't make enough rash decisions.

It was useless to protest, Pelwin had already cleared the remaining
glass and crawled in. Ethan had followed in after. It hadn't taken
them long to find the Gnomes.

Startled, the Gnomes All pulled out weapons, one of them running
over to a gun... a gun that looked as though it were some sort of
multi-barreled small-canon. Except, the barrels were far too small
for canonballs.

"Stop!" Pelwin had shouted, "In the name of the Tenneal family,
Lords and Ladies of Sacnoth."

One of the gnomed had laughed. LAUGHED. Ethan had never trusted
Gnomes, he had tried getting Pelwin to calm down. "It's fine, we'll
just tell the commander, right?" He had said, but Pelwin never

"We're herebyorderof MissTenneal" the Gnome behind the odd gun
said. He stepped down from behind it, holding out a hand.

"It's Viscountess Tenneal" Pelwin said, narrowing his eyes. He did
not take the Gnome's hand. "You have a note of writ?"

The Gnome had blinked. Ethan remembered that distinctly, because that
confusion told him there was something very wrong.

"Sorry to disturb you, we'll just head back now." Ethan had tried to
say, but he hadn't got past 'disturbed' before Pelwin had cut him

"Note of writ?" Pelwin demanded.

"Whatnote?" The Gnome still seemed confused.

"A signed and sealed contract would suffice." Pelwin had said. Ethan
had to hand it to the young man, he knew his law.

"Oh, wellwehaveacontra-" the Gnome stopped mid sentence. Ethan could
remember it clearly. Why hadn't Pelwin just let it go? Surely there
was a misunderstanding. "Oh, right." The Gnome had clucked his
tongue. Why? "Surelyyoucanask MissTenneal?"

"Viscountess Tenneal, Gnome." Pelwin had responded, "You and your
men must stand down. After your arrest, we can send for the
Viscountess to vouch for you." Ethan had to admit, Pelwin's stance
had been reasonable, but being placed under arrest in a foreign
country doesn't really look very reasonable to a foreigner.

"Wehavedonenothingwrong." The Gnome said, stepping back behind the
strange gun. "Youcangoask MissTen- the Viscountesswhateveryouwantto
callher. Wehavework todo."

Pelwin had drawn his blade. Why? Why had he done that? Ethan had
already retreated in the other direction. Self-preservation had kept
him alive before, and it would now.

"Where are you going!?" Pelwin had shouted, hesitating for a moment,
and then he screamed.

The small, multi-barreled "mini-cannon" gun roared into life, shot
coming out of each barrel faster than a man could load and reload a
gun. It was like a machine...

Now Ethan stood before the commander, who frowned. "Why did you

"They had- they had- .... are you crazy?" Ethan couldn't believe the

The commander shook his head. "You're under arrest for dereliction
of duty."

"We attack at dawn." The Commander instructed his men.

Dawn came and went. The Commander had returned, but half of his men
did not. "We cleared the infestation." He said simply.

A week later, Ethan hanged for abandoning his fellow soldier
Curiously, after the raid, blueprints for restoring the factory had
been recovered.

----------------------------A DISTURBANCE--------------------------03

Writer: Vaerus
Date Sat Sep 17 22:50:19 2016

To All Bloodlust Chaos Garrett Kyri Alasdair (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Amateur hour (The Blade and the Bard)

'Sir, please stop, you are hurting me! ' The panic in her voice, that
sweet sound, made only by those who were truly afriad, was what reached
Vaerus first. He and Garrett were deep into their game, and to any
observers, deeper still into their cups. That tortured scream from the Bar
Matron though, that dragged both of their attention to the scene playing
out. Slave traders. He knew them instantly. Scum. Doomed, just like the
False-Gods who were his most hated of enemies. One of their group had his
hands on the Matron's wrists, pulling, tugging, forcing her closer. 'Stop!
Please! '

The Blade and The Bard looked from the commotion, then to one another,
wordless, and for the briefest of moments. As one they rose from their
seats. The Blade making his way around the gathered crowds, using them as
cover, to flank the scene and the doomed. The Bard took his mug, half empty
though it was, and the candle with its flickering flame from their table.
He made his way towards the Matron and her tormentor, his movements a bit of
booze-fueled swagger to them.

He wasn't entirely sure his signal, the one intended to relay that he was in
position, and ready, had been caught. 'Come now, Sir. Leave the poor woman
' Garrett slurred, his words hanging in the air while he took a deep
pull from his mug. With a crooked tooth grin, the ruffian accosting the
Matron turned towards Garrett. Deceptive, was the speed with which Garrett
moved, lifting the candle to his face and, taking care to not hurt the
Matron, spitting his mouth full of drink at the man's eyes in, what Vaerus
would never admit if asked, was one of the move impressive, and inventive
things ever witnessed.

Accepting the unspoken challenge of one upsmanship, Vaerus grabbed the scalp
of the fool accoster. In what was a smooth, fluid motion, he slammed the
man's head into the bar even as, with his right hand, he brought his dagger
down with precision, and malice, into the man's neck. Taking the time, more
so even than it had taken to cause this, He looked into the widened eyes,
'Delicious. ' he couldn't help but say aloud, quite obviously enjoying the
fading light only he was near enough to see.

Gentle, and with the greatest of care, Garrett pushed the Matron into the
arms of one of the serving girls. Her safety, at least for the time being,
assured, Vaerus and he turned. Away from the corpse. Away from the bar.
Away from the girls. And towards the remaining Slaver company. That
unlucky group, who just happened to pick the wrong place on the wrong night.
They stood as a group, the language of their posture telling of their deadly
serious intent.

Poised on the balls of his feet, the comforting, and deadly, feel of a
dagger in either hand Vaerus stood silent, letting the man beside him, put
words to what they both were thinking. 'Come at us. '

Writer: Vaerus

Date Sun Sep 18 01:26:59 2016

To All Bloodlust Chaos Garrett Kyri Alasdair (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Legend of the Drunken Bastards (The Blade and the Bard)

Truthfully? The fighting I remember with absolute clarity. Garrett was
in the rarest of forms. I even remember a few of the lines he'd sung, to
incense that group of Slavers. To get them to chase him around the room. I
can even recall how it felt when I'd stabbed them, using Garrett's clever
ploy to strike from their blindspots and fell them one by one. Eventually
they realized what was going on. At that point, it was two on two. Some
more stabbing, a few of Garrett's signature roundhouses, and it was over.

The Matron and her girls, as well as a few of the other patrons, I can
recall cleaning up the mess. Seemed happy, even, as they tossed the corpses
outside. I can remember too the sight of her, the Matron, sitting upon
Garrett's lap. Remember the serving girls bringing us a bottle of the
house's special reserve. An obscenely expensive drink, one few knew of, let
along got to try. There was also more food, and, of course, even more
alcohol. It flowed freely, a gift, on the house, for services rendered.

It may have been the alcohol, the adrenaline, the urging of Garrett and the
girls, or some combination, but I gave in. Garrett managed what no other
had before. He got me to sing. To try to at least. I believe it is called
a duet. At least that is what one of the girls called it. Garrett, of
course, started us off.

'The Bards witty banter kept the eyes of their foes turned away. The Blade
and his daggers went hunting, flanking the prey. The unlikely heroes, this
is their tale. Gentlemen, Bastards, fueled mostly by ale!

'Listen you vermin! And listen up well!'
'Yes, listen to Garrett while I send you to hell!'
'Come now, come swiftly, kill me if you can!'
'And I'll drop the whole lot of you, down to a man!'

At that point, my memory grows fuzzy. Bits and pieces of images I can bring
to my mind's eye. One of the serving girls, the redhead, undoing my braid
and toying with my hair. Garrett riding around on his dreadwood staff.
Throwing up in a barrel, gentle, caring hands holding my hair back....

Writer: A'zrapi

Date Mon Sep 19 10:30:38 2016

To Arkane All Imm RP

Subject Stay Awake

Sleep was as always, a large room growing smaller and smaller as tendrils
of silken darkness worked over the floors, walls and closing in from the
ceilings. She tried to twist away from it. She tried to turn as the black
nothing pushed against her face trying to suffocate her, quell that spark of
life within her. Pressing, the sweat beaded over her forehead, trickling s
trail of tickling fear down her temple to her chin.

She awoke, gasping, clothing clinging to her, hot and sticky. There was no
sleep. There was only nightmares, only those demons that chased her over
generations and time, those devilish spirits that haunted only in dreaming.
She shivered herself, trying to focus on the moment, this moment.

After a while, she regained her even breathing and slowed the furious beat
of her heart. She moved across the temples floor and used her magic to see
beyond the room.

Nothing. She was safe.

Writer: Betha

Date Mon Sep 19 16:07:09 2016

To All Wargar Thaxanos Immortal Religion

Subject Death of a Hero

Silence surrounded the mountain.

It was a quiet that the dwarves had observed many times but it never got
easier. It was thick and choking, like a deep darkness that would block the
sun and still the air. Each grief has it's own imprint, as distinctive and
as unique as the dwarf who bears it. Some dwarves turn to their faith,
speaking of honor to Raije and being able to spend eternity beside Cliath.
Others turn to their memories. Some express understanding while others will
experience anger.

The grief is real because the loss is real.

Irmli was a hero on the Mountain, in Wargar and in Thaxanos. Not just for
his ability to fight but for his teachings, his training help and his
friendship. Many dwarves would feel his loss. Some owed him their lives,
some owed him for what they had become. Many would look up to him as they
trained, hoping to become as he had become. Seeing him die at the hands of
one who called himself friend to the mountain was devastating.

He was her Protector. He was her confidant. He was Betha's friend.

Betha never took the death of a comrade easily but this one would be much
harder. She owed him her life, many times over. They had fought side by
side through many wars, over many years. She understood the agreement of
the fight. She felt helpless when she heard what Irmli might lose and not
return to the mountain. She couldn't face that, so she would assume Irmli
would win or his opponent would find it in his heart to spare the dwarf, his

Betha was wrong.

Irmli would be remembered. Thoughts of him will surface in the gleam of a
newly sharpened axe, or in the shine of freshly cleaned armor. The twinkle
in his eyes after a good mug of ale will now join the bright stars in the
darkest night sky. Irmli's voice would be heard mixed in the joyous yells
of victory and his presence would help comfort when the losses occurred.
His memory would remain and be called up in many toasts in the taverns. The
dwarves would march on.

Eventually, acceptance will occur.

Writer: Vaerus

Date Tue Sep 20 02:11:49 2016

To All Chaos Erebaal Her (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Be the broken or the breaker

'Wordbearer. You've received my reports? ' Vaerus inquired. 'I have.
' Erebaal replies, nodding in the other's direction. Vaerus went on,
filling in the gaps between the reports and now. '.. Glory to him, that
has brought
' A smile forms on his face as he names her. '.. Back to me. '
Another nod from the Everchosen followed by what Vaerus would later look
back on as being, potentially at least, more dangerous.. More painful, than
any of the weapons arrayed on the walking armory standing before him. Or
any weapon he'd ever seen: His words. 'This, I have noticed. You will be
charged with bringing her to the fold, or else becoming her executioner.

Every muscle in his body tensed. His eyes, normally the lifeless color of
frozen sea water on a moonless night, lit up with the promise of cruelty.
Even his voice changed, the tone becoming harsh. Whether Erebaal noticed or
not, he gave no indication. 'Ernngh. She.. Vaerus pauses a moment,
taking in a deep breath. 'She is... We... Are naught but ash in the end.
Conciously or not, as he finishes speaking, his left hand strays to the
hilt of the dagger at his waist.

For a moment, seconds in actuality, but feeling an eternity to Vaerus, the
only response he gets is the flexing of an iron gauntlet. 'We are all
condemned to the flame, but our end is one of our own choosing. We have
earned that right to decide. All others merely abide by the consequences of
our choices.

Vaerus tilts his head forward, inclining the angle of his face ever so
slightly. The tips of his fingers tap a soundless rhythm on the grip of the
blade. 'She made her choice long ago. Even if circumstance has kept her
from my ar-
'He clears his throat, catching his mistake, perhaps too late,
and continues, 'from our side.. ' Erebaal flashes his teeth in a
short-lived snarl, 'We are not victims of circumstance. Fate is a lie.
There are merely the consequences of choices made by better souls. She will
become one of those souls or she will be cast aside in favor of another.
A few seconds of peaceful silence, as though passing through the eye of the
storm, before the onslaught continues. 'You shall master your wearisome
heart, Sicarii, or it will be your undoing. You have no need for such
paltry sentimentality. I have no need for those whose hearts bleed more
readily than their bodies.

Vaerus nods twice, the motion causing the few stray strands of hair freed of
the oppressive braid to pendulum infront of his face. 'Words... Anything I
could say, would prove little, and less. You will see, as I have, her
actions will ring out, to us, a blessing, to those damned, a curse. You
will hear them, as I have, and they will sound out: Death to the
' Nodding once emphatically, the bulk of his armor rasping
as Erebaal shifts in restlessness, 'Let it be so, and vindicate your
judgment. I have made my will known, and now you shall carry it out in
this. Ascension or destruction; there are no other options..

'There never was...'

Writer: Zola

Date Tue Sep 20 03:03:51 2016

Writer: Ryim

Date Tue Sep 20 09:36:48 2016

Writer: Gomda

Date Tue Sep 20 15:28:20 2016

To All Chaos Vaerus Dragoth Malachive ( Imm RP )

Subject Gomda am reborn

Gomda awoke to the trickle of stale water underneath the Mountain known
as Darkonin. It had been some time since he left his spears and snakes
behind him in the Dungeon and looked for a new path. Strength he was
looking for, and strength he would find. But the story of how he became a
Barbarian was not what was on his mind today, no.

{uGomda am want be feared.

His voice, gravelly and deep, surprised even him. Gomda growled and set
about wandering around Darkonin. Goblins everywhere. Gomda had grown tired
of goblins, and fought the strong urge to pick one up and break its neck.

{uNo, goblin not problem.

Quite right, goblins were not the problem. Something greater was bothering
him. Something that had been growing in the depths of his gut, in the
depths of his admittedly stunted brain.

{uGomda am slave. WE AM ALL SLAVES!
He roared, sending a few nearby goblin
children scattering. Two guards meandered over towards Gomda with weapons
raised and Gomda snarled.

{uNot worry goblins. Gomda am leaving.

And so he did. With Darkonin behind him, Gomda set off into the wilderness
to start a fire and to think. Give him time to process these thoughts, and
you may hear more of his tale.

Writer: Euterah

Date Tue Sep 20 16:20:25 2016

To All Darkonin Gomda Imm RP

Subject Slogging Forward

The Witch went to the underground, the lower levels, though it churned
her stomach to see her kith and kin reveling in such filth. The Witch
sighed, there were many things to change, but the path was filled with
adversary. She stepped over a stream a debris, making her way to the
disturbance her guard alerted her to. Something about food, always some
food shortage, or weapon shortage or coin shortage or warrior shortage,
shortages the Witch Queen understood. Not that she sympathized with the
complaint, inwardly she seethed, All the Mountain had to deal with

The giant Ogre guards met her and led the way to some corrals, the Witch

Yes? She practically hissed at the guard in charge. The giant Ogre set to
the tale, an beast of a animal took it in his head to charge off, like a
bull full of the lusts he tore through the guards and common folk like they
were fodder for his steps. She listened once, twice to the tale and looked
over the rest of the herd. How she despised the Ogres food sourcing.

"Follow up with a report. If you cannot care for your herd, they shall be
let go and you and your people can hunt once more for food.

She turned and stalked out of the lower caverns, every step forward she
achieved was pulled back three steps in muck.

The Witch fumed.

Writer: Gomda

Date Tue Sep 20 16:58:08 2016

To All Chaos Vaerus Dragoth Malachive ( Imm RP )

Subject The Suffering

You will Suffer

That is what the man had told Gomda. For a long time, Gomda felt he had
been suffering already. Boredom, frustration, inflicted by the stirrings of
apathy his mind could translate. He looked at All the creatures he had
known. The strong, the weak, always delighting in servitude, in dedication
to a divine cause.

{uAm think dem All slaves. Gomda slave. MAKES GOMDA ANGRY!
He roared to no
one in particular.

{uThem All use each other. Gods use servants, servants try to make new
servants. All slaves.

In truth, Gomda did not think he hated Dragoth. The poisons and plagues he
utilized while exploring the arts of shamanic lore pleased Gomda. But the
more Gomda thought, the more he began to question the world.

{uWhat am Gomda doing? What am any of us doing? We am making world for
Necrucifer? For happy peace in light? For keep balance? While dem gods
watch us serve them and die for them and fear them? And dem just want leg
up on other gods!

Gomda grumbled and stoked his fire, scratching idly at his spiky hair.
Gomda wanted freedom.

You will Suffer

Gomda shrugged, remembering the voice. What was life but constant suffering
in the name of hope for whatever world a particular ethos demanded?

{uDem will spit on Gomda. Am not care. Am show them what freedom really is.
Gomda growled and rose to his feet, staring into the sky.


He shouted until his voice was hoarse and his fire was but a few coals dying
in the wind. As he settled under a pile of animal furs for rest, the mans
voice echoed in his head once more.

Suffer well

Writer: Corron

Date Tue Sep 20 21:58:41 2016

To All Abaddon Bloodlust Garrett Tayira Ruwen Gragos Alasdair ( RP )

Subject Forging Allies ( Part 1 of 2 )

A steady, rhythmic tapping echoed down Depravity lane, disturbing the
almost oppressive shroud of silence that hung over the area. The sound
spilled out of the open double doors of the crafting lodge along with faint,
warm light from the banked coals of the smelting furnace. Corron stood
beside one of the larger anvils with a doming hammer in one hand and a
medium gauge sheet of steel in the other. With some minor degree of
proficiency, he moved the metal around the curving horn of the anvil. Each
strike of the hammer helped to form the metal around the curve, guiding it
into a shape suitable for a pauldron.

It still amazed him to find himself working with metal. The majority of his
time had been in a shipyard where his main occupation was manipulating
lumber. Stripping branches and bark from felled trees that were hauled into
the port, working the great saws to section out beams, running the lathes
for drawing out boards and planks, steaming the timber under pressure to
form shapes- All of that was intimately familiar to him. Now, whenever his
duties allowed, Corron found his days centered on learning how to shape
metal bars and tanned skins into an astonishing variety of forms. If there
were fewer than twenty unique types of hammers, each with a specific
function, he would be surprised.

Bringing the back of his hand across his forehead to keep the beading sweat
from falling into his eyes, careful with the angle of the hammer he held so
as to not club himself in the movement, Corron glanced around the cluttered
interior of the hall. In many ways, the crafting hall reminded him of a
barn with its long design and great vaulted stone and timber ceiling to keep
the fumes from the furnaces from growing too thick.

The tanning vats with their pungent chemical stew, drying racks and work
tables stood off to one side of the space. Much of the central space and
back wall was dominated by the massive furnace with its huge bellows, bins
of coal, and multiple outlets for the slag and refined metals to be disposed
of or poured into molds. The impressive mechanism of the enchanted sawmill
framed much of the side side of the lodge. An intricate blending of the
arcane and mechanical gears allowed one person to hew timbers of All sizes
into boards in considerably less time than a team with ordinary tools and
muscle could achieve.

The remaining floor space was largely occupied by a series of anvils in
varying sizes, more work benches, a few smaller forges for heating lesser
tools and quenching tubs to quickly cool and temper the metal. The walls
and corners were decorated with a remarkable array of tools and implements
for most any task. Saws, axes, drawblades, hammers, chisels, files, tongs,
mandrels, rasps, brushes, awls, clamps, hooks, gloves, and aprons. More
than a few of the pieces were beyond his fathoming for their use.

It was rare to find himself alone as he was this evening. The fires of
industry in the kingdom of Abaddon had been stoked high in recent days.
Many citizens, from the highest to the low, had taken up various trades and
established a reasonably coordinated and concerted effort to grow the
resources of the Bloodlands. No small part of that recent upswing in trade
and new artisans was due to the ever strengthening ties with the Dungeon.
The crafting lodge was refurbished and bustled with activity.

Tools were kept sharpened and repaired. He had actually assisted in
remortaring some of the stones of the furnace troughs. Taking up a
different hammer, Corron moved the sheet of metal onto the step of the anvil
and began using the edge to cut a groove for segmenting this piece into the
next. His thoughts turned to an earlier encountered with the formalized
Ambassador of the Dungeon to Abaddon, the Bard, Garrett Locke.

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Sep 20 22:02:22 2016

To All Abaddon Bloodlust [51] Garrett Tayira Ruwen Gragos Alasdair ( RP )

Subject Forging Allies ( Part 2 of 2 )

The call had come unexpectedly, drawing Corron from his present task of
digging a fresh grave. Swiftly making his way to the Abaddon Vault, still
splattered in mud, he was surprised to find the Bard in idle conversation
with the Minister Ruwen Miete and Executioner Tayira S'tarst. Not that the
Ambassador was an uncommon figure in the streets of late. In fact, the man
had been instrumental in the rapid advancements of most of the artisans with
his steady supply of raw materials.

A faint prickling of the flesh along the sides of Corron's neck at the
briefly caught snatch of conversation between the gathered trio made Corron
glad he had not heard the whole of the dialogue. Letting his grey-green
eyes fall over the Bard whose seemingly indolent stance belied a guileful
nature, he briefly wondered if there was not some ulterior motivation
beneath the banner of cooperation. There was no denying that the benefits
for the kingdom at large were real.

Though Corron was not aware of the particulars of the arrangement, an
impossibly favorable accord had been struck between the two powers and the
Dungeon's representative had been facilitating the recent influx in
production. Over the last few weeks, hundreds of bales tanned hides, untold
tons of ore, carts of metal bars, and thousands of boards of All type had
flown from the seemingly infinite stockpiles of the Ambassador into the
waiting hands and work stations of Abaddon's burgeoning ranks of artisans.

Even if a rough estimate of the value in goods could be calculated it was
only multiplied by the future benefits of having a near legion of trained
workers. It seemed the spirit of assistance for mutual gain was cementing
into something more. The profferance of aid had not been limited to raw
goods and materials. The Bard had also offered valuable information to some
of Abaddon's objectives, as well as aid to the citizenry at large.

Meeting the verdant gaze of the Ambassador, Corron soon found himself to be
the recipient of a staggering amount of wooden boards courtesy of Garrett's
work at the sawmill. The boon came at fortuitous time in his own work at
mastering the basic skills of an armorer. Though it did come with the
necessary task of manually hauling a few cartloads worth of timber.
Thankfully, carrying and stacking came more naturally to him than trying to
set metal studs into leather without compromising the integrity of the

Drawing his thoughts back to the task at hand, Corron took up a triangular
headed chisel and lined up the pauldron with the pritchel hole of the anvil
and began hammering out holes for the rivets and chains that would affix
this piece into the larger whole of the suit. Working with the leather and
the plates was still more challenging than it should be. At the least, he
seemed to have a talent for drawing the metal strips around the mandrel,
working it into small interconnecting rings and long chains without the need
to cut and heat each individual link. A sound from the doorway drew his
attention as another worker came in to resume their labors. With the aid of
their ally the Dungeon, the Bloodlands of Abaddon grew stronger.

Writer: Vaerus
Date Tue Sep 20 23:29:26 2016

To All Chaos Gomda Erebaal (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject The birth of Suffering

He sat tending to his weapons. Cleaning blood and other fluids from his
daggers. Chunks of brain, bits of bone, and other things from his precious
flails. Not because he cared about their appearance. No. This was more
practical. A dirty dagger, for instance, can get stuck in its sheath.
Could, perhaps worse, make a sound as he drew it, alerting a victim to what
was coming. Which simply would not do. So Vaerus sat there, within the
Warp, taking care that when the time came, his weapons, so very much an
extension of himself, would be as ready as he himself was.

'Human talk to Gomda? ' Came the voice. One which Vaerus did not
recognize. One to which he responded, if simply out of boredom. After all,
he'd tended to his weapons enough times he could do it in his sleep. If he
ever really slept that is. So he spoke with the Troll. The one known as
Gomda, only half bothering to pay attention.

'Am see everyone be slaves... '

That got his attention. Completely. It was not everyday, and Vaerus made
sure to tell the troll this, that one recognized they were enslaved. 'Rarer
still for them to admit it not just to themselves, but to another..
' They
continued conversing for a time, speaking mostly about Slavery, Freedom and,
amongst other things, Fear.

'Am not want save the world. Am want.. ' The troll's words brought the
faint hint of emotion to Vaerus's face. Even though it didn't completely
form, or come near to touching his eyes, it was there. Lurking...

'There is no hope. There never was...... Shatter your chains.. '

'Gomda ready.. '

Seizing its moment, the ghost that'd been lingering manifested itself. It
took form, whole and complete. Absolute in its posession: Vaerus smiled.

'Then Suffer well.'

Writer: Vaerus

Date Wed Sep 21 01:16:43 2016

To All Chaos Erebaal Her (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Crushed 'neath the gait of her dance

It was an odd sound. The only one, infact, to fill the air. All else
was silence within the Warp. All others sleeping, or tending to other
duties elsewhere. This sound, one few would ever know, one he himself
rarely made, were of his footfalls. Of each step the one known as Vaerus
Sicarii took, pacing with feral madness, randomly changing direction.

"Her executioner. " Again and again he heard it repetaed in his head. The
words, the malicious spectre of a discussion. One with the Wordbearer. One
about her. It was at least hours that had passed, though possibly days
since it had happened, yet still, it tore at him. Gnawed at him on the
inside. Filled him with confusion. With uncertainty. For even he himself
didn't know. Was it really her? Had she truly returned to him? So he
paced. One foot in front of the other, lost in his head. Not paying much
attention to where he was going.

His path took him almost dead center of the main hall. Almost directly into
the Wordbearer, who he hadn't even noticed return. Somehow, at the last
possible second, he deftly shifts his weight to avoid collision. One that
would've been painful. Not for Erebaal, who was so spike-and-blade laden as
to be more a danger for any other soul in his proximity. Painful, rather,
for Vaerus, who spares a nod in the direction of the monstrous other man.
Back and forth. Back and forth. He continues to pace.

'Speak, Sicarii. You will sooner or later regardless. ' The sound like
that of stones grinding. Reaching the end of his trajectory, he swivels
upon his heel and heads now in the opposite direction. Save for a few feet
off the center line he'd previously took. He mentions the girl from
Althainia. Speaks her name. '.. Gone for so long, then appears, out of
thin air... I..
' He shakes his head dismissively, All while continuing to

Erebaal responds with a grunt and the dragging of the armored claw of his
hand over something, splitting the erstwhile silence with a loud rasp.
'Your heart is still vulnerable for one who claims to have bled so much.
Family means nothing. Lovers mean nothing. We are cinders bound in
man-form, fit to burn bright or else merely fizzle in the heart of the
inferno. You hold too tightly to these attachments, and they shall
undermine you at the moment of choice.

A slight twitch and the squinting of his eyes are the only betrayal Vaerus
gives of being affected by the rasp. 'You misunderstand. It is not my
heart that troubles me. It's my mind. I cannot be certain it was actually
her... That we'd actually met up... That I wasn't drugged or dreaming.
'If it was she, then it shall go as we have spoken. If it was merely an
idle fancy of a fragile mind...

'.. Then your long journey has cost you more than most. '

Writer: Vaerus

Date Wed Sep 21 12:40:22 2016

To All Chaos Gomda Erebaal (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Gallows humor

End over end the dagger spun. Blackened as it was, it was barely
visible. It mattered little to the man sitting, a parchment before him.
End over end. The lethal kiss promised by its blade slicing through the air
before being snatched from the air and, with a quick flick of Vaerus' wrist,
launched above him once again. As if in answer to the blades promise, his
left hand works a quill meticuously, carving out crimson upon the page
before him.

'Wordbearer' He writes, starting the report as he always does. Scratch.
Snatch. Toss. Scratch. Snatch. Toss. On it goes, the dagger and quill
always in motion. 'The one known as Gomda.. ' Scratch. Snatch. Toss. On
and on, the only change the feeding of the quill from the vial of scarlet.
Scratch. Snatch. Toss.

'.. Cast them off.... Or be strung up and hung by them.. ' Scratch.
Snatch. Toss.


Writer: Gomda

Date Wed Sep 21 15:11:11 2016

To All Euterah Vaerus Darkonin Chaos Dragoth Malachive ( Imm RP )

Subject Waiting

It is hard to describe the smell of a place such as this if you are
speaking to someone who has never been there before. There are those who
serve in wartime, surrounded by rotting corpses and limbs growing flush with
gangrene. They may have the inklings of a concept of the smells inherent in
The temple of Dragoth in Darkonin. But once you have been, you do not

Gomda sat in the temple, surrounded by rotting corpses and decaying flesh.
The air, thick with locusts, seemed to grow more humid and oppressive,
declaring visiting life unwelcome. Gomda would be staying, would be
returning, until Dragoth heard his words.


The thunder in his voice sent roaches scattering and a cloud of locusts
swerving to one of the darkened corners. The noise had attracted several
guards, one of whom Gomda recognized as speaking to him when he left. The
ogre had a defiant look on his face as he approached the troll.

'Queen not happy you left. '

Gomda grunted and beckoned the ogre closer.

'{uCome join Gomda if want. Am think is Darkonin, Queen welcome to. Queen
come talk to Gomda if Queen want.

The ogre looked surprised but moreso exhibited the telltale signs of a visit
overstayed at this particular temple. He puffed up his chest and turned to
leave, grumbling something under his breath.

Gomda watched him go and then turned back to the statue and the swarm of
flies surrounding it.


Writer: Gomda

Date Wed Sep 21 15:45:09 2016

To All Vaerus Chaos Dragoth Malachive ( Imm RP )


Gomda stood stoic in the temple, flies and locusts buzzing past his face.
Suddenly, there was movement. Ooze from the bowl lashed out in two
tendrils, wrapping tightly about his wrists. Gomda grunted as the grip
tightened, but did not struggle against the ooze.

Pain begins to radiate through the tendrils, slowly spreading up the troll's
arms. As he tries to keep quiet, a wave of agony crosses his features until
he cannot bear it anymore and lets out a brief howl. Slowly, the flesh
beneath the ooze begins to rot, a vile stench filling the temple.

Gomda alternates between screams and deep laughter, breathing in deeply.

A voice echoes through his head. 'Your flesh is mine, your body shall rot
in the end and you will know you are mine.

'{uAlllll... Rots. Not make all.... Yours.

The troll flexes his muscles against the tendrils, only resulting in the
pain amplifying throughout his body.


'All rot in the end. '

With those words, Gomda felt an abrupt split, a vast emptiness filling up as
the rush of water over cliffs.

'{uGomda will rot. But will make world rot with him.

The tendrils release their hold on Gomda's wrists, leaving behind partially
rotting flesh bands. Gomda hisses audibly, staring at his wrists. The
suffering had begun.

Writer: Euterah

Date Wed Sep 21 20:17:23 2016

To All Darkonin Gomda Dragoth Imm RP

Subject Freedom being

The word came several guards later that the escaped food had been seen in
the temples, no word that they tried to recapture or detain the- whatever it
was. She did not have time to address Humbers complaint of lost food, nor
did she want to think further on it. The sustenance by flesh was one thing
the Witch could not abide. She had no understanding of what her Ogrekin
found so appealing of taking a sentient being and rendering it into back
straps, roasts and steaks. Ignorance? Show of power? Tradition?
Consumption, consumers, perhaps, the Witchs mind pondered over All this as
she sat at her desk in palace library. The long tapered fingers tip-tapped
over the wood, dark eyes focusing on nothing for a long.

So much to do and now this, perhaps she should ride the Mountains energy and
try to seek this thing out. The Witch paused. Being, she corrected
herself, person. She stood suddenly, wrapping herself in her ice wolf cloak
and tearing out of the library as if the Cat was herself.

She ran to palaver with a certain person, now such a bright spark on
ethereal plane. Out of the palace she stopped, extended her aura and tried
to feel for the seeming tangle of mind, emotion and rage. She gave a sigh,
the Fathers temple. She screwed her courage and made her way there. There
could be nothing wrong in palaver.

Writer: Euterah
Date Wed Sep 21 21:03:33 2016

To All Darkonin Gomda Dragoth IMM RP

Subject On Being

In the temple she waited amid the putrid corpses, almost bubbling with
pus and the ever present fountain over flowing with clods of stringy slime.
The Witch did not mind in the least, she had seen Dragoths vision before,
gaining enlightenment into the hallowed god. She sat amidst the decay and
putrescence, letting her aura spark to life, concentrating on what happened
here in the Fathers house. She took a deep breath, inhaling the motes that
held All sorts of deadly detriments to those of Fathers displeasure. Yet,
the Witch was Gobliness first most, always, her skin might have been
permanently paled by the Deep where she was raised she still had lovely
sharp teeth and a bite that sickened even the staunchest of warriors.

She exhaled and listened and prayed.

Father, give me words of wisdom to speak and a mighty hand to quell the
anger. You made a wonder of me, let All in the Mountain be yet blessed.

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Sep 22 00:53:29 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Sep 22 00:56:11 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Sep 22 00:58:11 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Thu Sep 22 09:26:43 2016

Writer: Xhyr'ryhx
Date Thu Sep 22 19:38:54 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Sep 22 22:45:26 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Sep 22 22:47:55 2016

Writer: Zola
Date Sat Sep 24 20:30:10 2016

To All Abaddon Bloodlust Verminasia Darkonin Immortals Fatale

Subject X Bloodstains X

Sweeping into the Dungeon past the sentries at the gate, Zola made his
way to the hollowed chamber and prepared to kneel down before the statue of
the Lord of Murder, giving proper homage as he always did following a trip
to the battlefield. However, before he could do so, he paused as something
came to his attention.

He was absolutely filthy. His dark robes, not quite black, were stained
crimson. How much of it was his own blood and how much of it had been
spilled by his enemies, Zola couldn't fathom. In either case, he was in no
condition to appear before his dread lord. He needed a moment to clean
himself off and change his robes.

Red would have been a much better color for someone constantly covered in
blood, but black was better for the sort of work he conducted under cover of
darkness. And as it was, he was due soon enough to add some red to his
vestments. He simply needed to be patient.

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Sep 24 21:36:22 2016

To All Abaddon Forsaken RP

Subject Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 1 of 7 )

An impenetrable wall of fog masked the terrain to All sides and limited
his vision to a few scant feet in any direction. The muddy ground, covered
with moss and fringes of algae, grabbed at his feet with every step, trying
to wrench off his boots. Corron wove a careful path along the border of the
trackless swamp, keeping his step on the rocks and mossy ground as much as
possible. At any time, the ground could prove less solid than it appeared
and sink beneath his weight, pulling him into a miring pit.

The stagnant pools of water that streaked and dotted the terrain was even
more treacherous. Shallow enough to barely reach his ankles at one step,
the next could find him hip deep in the dark water. The submerged ground
might abruptly crumble or slide out from under him and send him plunging
into deep pools whose bottom he had no interest in gauging. Thankfully, the
phenomenon of quicksand seemed to be one natural threat that was lacking
here. Either that, or he had been fortunate enough to not come anywhere
near to such a pitfall. Not yet, his thoughts echoed in warning.

Without any obvious diminishment, the fog bank simply fell away with his
next step. Corron emerged from the heavy mists to find himself moved far
from the swamp's edge into the heart of the fetid wetlands. The air was
heavy with moisture and trapped heat, a cloying sweat-inducing humidity that
only amplified the heat of the afternoon sun that radiated through the hazy
sky. Swamp fumes, the results of the decaying vegetation and wildlife,
trapped beneath the muddy waters bubbled to the surface in both noxious
bursts and steady burbling as nature reclaimed itself. The low buzzing of
insects was a constant companion when journeying through the bogs and
marshes. Stinging, biting pests of All sort were always ready to infest any

Without the cover provided by the fog, Corron moved with greater care.
Moving in small, quick bursts, hunkering low to the spongy ground as he
attempted to make use of the available cover, scant as it was. Except for a
few stubborn copses of bald cypress, this stretch had little growth or
underbrush. He was still adapting to moving through such challenging
terrain. Beneath the verdant shroud of a true forest or in the back alleys
and rooftops of a city, Corron was fairly confident in his ability to move
covertly. In the swamp lands, the trick seemed to be to hope one's quarry
was more concerned with their own passage than watching for pursuit.

Drawing up hard against the moss covered trunk of a cypress, he surveyed the
immediate vicinity. The bogs were opening up to waterways and channels
between the stands of trees with fewer closed pools the further he
progressed. Corron knew from previous excursions that a river was not far
off. Taking a moment to plot his relative position against the reported
incident that had drawn him out in the first place. The scar over the left
side of his lips stood out sharply as his mouth drew into brief frown. It
would help if he knew exactly what he was hunting.

All of his efforts at stealth would be wasted if an animal was the culprit.
The swamp was home to more than its fair share of predators. Beasts that
could catch his scent even behind a veil of invisibility. Reptiles that
could feel the vibrations of even the quietest step. At any given moment,
the water could erupt as some hunter waited just beneath the surface of any
pool saw an opportunity to strike. Any sentient being that chose to make
its home in such an environment would have to possess an uncommon degree of
cunning or power.

Writer: Corron
Date Sat Sep 24 21:40:02 2016

To All Abaddon Forsaken RP

Subject Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 2 of 7 )

Resuming his careful advance, Corron drew near to the location he had
been given- a stretch of the road that wound a curving trail through the
marshes. "Road" was a more than generous appellation. Even in the forest
beyond the dark river, the beaten path could not be called a road. Scarcely
wide enough for a single wagon, the trail was a rutted track of dirt packed
just hard enough to prevent it from being washed away in the next rain.

He could have saved considerable time if he had followed the road from its
terminating point instead of cutting cross country as he did. However,
Corron did not think it wise to take the same course as the waylaid merchant
convoy. Only one man had limped into town to relate the tale. His small
team of drovers had been attacked by something. The merchant was not even
certain what, his recounting a torrent of exaggerated guesses and vague

Something had risen out of the swamp, or the swamp itself had attacked them,
except it had huge claws and tusks, it had dragged off the horses, or eaten
them whole. Neither a dram of bourbon nor a few ringing slaps had cleared
the delirium from the fellow's mind. Conversely, when asked about the
contents of the wagons and the transports themselves, the man had been
explicit to the last spindle of thread and ounce of grain. Merchants.

And so the westering sun found Corron tramping through the inhospitable
landscape with little idea of what he faced. Only a child's description of
a nightmare and a categorical ledger of lost merchandise that would make any
money lender proud. The fate of the other teamsters and guards hired for
the trek seemed unimportant to the man. Corron had gotten only rough
descriptions of them. Not that he expected to return any survivors to the
city. Fleeing blindly into the swamp tended to leave one either in a
bottomless bog or in the stomach of one of the ever-hungry predators. That
was assuming that the perpetrator of the attack had allowed them to flee.

Corron's nose twitched as a new scent filtered into the tepid air. The
coppery tang of blood not long spilled and the gory odor of spilled bowels
and viscera. The air grew deathly still, heavy with the reside of violence.
His grey-green eyes rapidly flickering for any potential threat, Corron came
upon the scene of the ambush. Two wagons, of markedly worse quality than
described, lay overturned and broken on a stretch of the road that was
partially submerged in shallow puddles.

The ground was torn, mossy divots scattered, deep sweeping troughs hewn out
of the mud. Blood and entrails darkened the ground, already drying into a
crusted brown. Two bodies, dressed in simple home-spun clothing befitting
low-heeled traders, lay across the road, swarmed with flies and already
beginning to bloat in the heat.

For a few minutes, Corron remained crouched beside a cypress knee,
committing the scene to memory, studying every detail for any clue of
lingering danger. With a hand on the hilt of a blade, he descended the low
rise and sloshed through the standing water to the road. He begin a slow
inspection. What remained of the bodies matched the description of the two

Whatever had befallen the caravan had come from the west, roughly the
direction of the heart of the swamp. The swath of destruction began from
that side of the road. Judging from the muddy tracks, one horse had bolted
into the marshes to the east. Another had been dragged away. A single pair
of booted feet had fled down the road towards the distant city. Of the two
hired guards there was no sign.

Writer: Corron
Date Sat Sep 24 21:43:59 2016

To All Abaddon Forsaken RP

Subject Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 3 of 7 )

Several things bothered him about the scene. A cursory glance suggested
some sort of swamp fiend had brazenly attacked the caravan, sent the guards
and head merchant fleeing in terror, killed those that could not escape and
drug off a horse to devour. However, a second glance revealed the glaring
fact that not a single crate of cargo remained. Wild beasts did not lug

Then there was the matter of the bodies. The evisceration had All the
appearance of being gored by an animal, but apart from some gnawing of the
faces, the bodies and entrails were largely in tact. Notably, no scavengers
had yet dared approach the free offering of food.

With nothing left to glean and no cargo to salvage, Corron set himself to
the task of retrieving the bodies. It promised to be tediously unpleasant
and laborious. Perhaps if he could find that escaped horse and repair one
of the carts sufficiently...

* * * * * *

Hours later, two of the moons cast wavering reflections across the brackish
water as Corron waded hip deep through the swamp. All of his senses were
turned outward as he tried to sense anything else in the water with him.
Leeches were a foregone conclusion, as were the snakes. Should his passage
invite the attention of anything larger though...

The meeting with Abaddon's head mortician had not gone well. Befitting his
profession, the man looked half a corpse himself and was prone to making far
too many culinary jokes while elbow deep in cadavers. The trip had been of
some benefit, thankfully. As suspected, the merchants were not the first to
die to similar wounds in recent days. The noxious saliva that had fouled
the flesh also explained the lack of scavengers. Now he had some idea of
what he was facing. That, if nothing else, had made the addition steps of
the journey worthwhile beyond the fulfillment of his duties.

On the other hand, Corron would much preferred to not revisit the swamp in
the dead of night. Most of the wetland predators were nocturnal. A few
miles back, he had found the remains of the other horse. The head, hooves
and little else. The trail had not been easier to follow. Corron was no
ranger and out of his element besides. Intuition and instinct had been his
guides for most of the trek as the signs of passage were few and far
between. While he might be only a middling tracker, Corron knew the pattern
of covert attack and the mindset of raiders.

Low hills rose out of the quagmire this deep into the wetlands. Elms and
ash pushed aside the cypress on the firmer ground and tangles of briar
bushes made moving over the dry ground as irksome as slogging through the
muddy waters. The night thrummed with the croak of frogs and chirping of
insects. Not as far away as Corron would have liked, an alligator's raspy
bellow sounded, signaling the hunter was on the move.

Through a break in the underbrush, he sighted his destination ahead.
Partially hidden beneath hanging moss and exposed tree roots, the mouth of a
cave opened into the side of one of the low hills, descending at a sharp
angle into the ground. Rancid, oily smoke thinly streamed from the entrance
above the flickering light of a fire deeper inside. While Corron was
studying the entrance for how to best set an ambush- and avoid one himself-
part of the hill moved. A hulking mass of vines and dirt simply seemed to
separate itself from obscuring part of the cave's mouth.

Writer: Sierus
Date Sun Sep 25 12:54:27 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Sep 25 14:12:54 2016

To All Abaddon Forsaken RP

Subject Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 4 of 7 )

Or so it appeared. A crease formed between Corron's eyebrows as he
narrowed his gaze in study. The form was covered in such a way to make it
appear far larger than it truly was. The true shape was indeed large,
easily cresting seven feet tall and almost half again as wide. Garbed with
confusing layers filthy skins with vines draped around it and the tusks of a
boar lashed around its underslung jaw, the bugbear made a convincing swamp
beast. Easily strong enough to carry off a horse and rend the ground
appropriately to mask the attack, it seemed Corron had found his quarry.
Except, the detail of the planning and the depth of the disguising natural
materials did not fit. Bugbears were undeniably cunning, but this
arrangement seemed too clever.

As he contemplated the discrepancy, a large wolf emerged from the cave,
heeling close behind the bugbear. A throaty call came from deeper inside
the hole, to which the goblinoid responded with a rude gesture thrown over
its shoulder. A glint in the gaze of the wolf caught Corron's attention.
The look was far too intelligent as it surveyed the swamp around its
apparent master. Clearly it was not just a pet... A companion or a
Whatever the case, an animal sentry vastly complicated his
chance of a stealthy approach.

* * * * * *

The night was almost over at the point when Corron, laying flat out on his
stomach, inched through the sere grass to look over the edge of the hill
that housed the cave. As he had hoped, the bushy tail of the wolf was
disappearing into a stand of trees, lured by the scent of fresh blood from
the bird Corron had downed and left as bait. With any luck, the blood and
entrails would conceal the scent of the poison he had laced into the

There was no time for further planning. The bugbear was just about to pass
beneath him. Counting the seconds against his racing pulse, Corron drew
both blades as he rose, the motion turning into a leap. As he descended,
his whole body snapped forward, slamming his weapons into the side of the
neck and down into the shoulder of the huge goblinoid as he dropped onto its
back. The resounding roar of pain shook the night, stilling the sounds of
nature in the vicinity.

Huge hands swatted at him in his untenable position on the bugbear's back.
Wrenching his blades free of the flesh of his foe, Corron slid further down
its back, stabbing repeatedly as he went. He had no inclination to face
this foe directly and suffer the bite of those broken, jagged teeth. Just
as he was preparing to leap clear, a large hand enveloped his right arm.
Corron found himself yanked viciously around, his back slammed into the side
of the hill and his arm nearly wrenched from its socket. Spots danced
before his eyes and his lungs were temporarily unable to draw in breath from
the numbing impact along his spine. Corron's free arm looped around,
stabbing a blade through the wrist of the paw that held him up.

Sinking to the ground on unsteady, wobbling feet, the only warning was a
husky growl and vague blur of motion in the corner of his vision. Falling,
as much as dropping, Corron sank into a crouch and rolled forward, passing
beneath the jaws of the leaping wolf. Beast and master tumbled together in
a confused heap. Bloody froth leaked from the wolf's mouth, pain and fury
making it near feral, biting at random. The bugbear was faring little
better, dark blood bubbling freely from the numerous holes and tears down
its back. More blood flowed steadily from its mouth. Despite the severity
of the injuries, there was far too much fight left in both of them.

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Sep 25 14:17:53 2016

To All Abaddon Forsaken RP

Subject Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 5 of 7 )

Mastering fine control of his extremities again, lungs heaving in deep
gulps of air, Corron drew a pair of small ceramic orbs from his sash.
Cracking them together in his palm, he let the volatile contents seep
together, mixing with each other and the air. With a precise count, he
flung both orbs into the jumbled pile of his foes.

A brief sucking of air heralded the sudden spiking jet of flame that spilled
over both wolf and bugbear, searing flames and an obscuring billow of smoke
covering the combatants. Setting himself to flee and find a more
advantageous standing, the lack of movement within the smoke gave Corron
pause. As the smoke cleared, both bodies lay quite still, flames spreading
over the matted fur of the wolf and the hides worn by the bugbear. Well, I
won't have to bury these two at the least
. The spreading frames revealed a
peculiar detail. The bugbear was female.

Briefly wondering whether other bugbears he had seen had also been female
without him noticing, Corron crouched by the cave's mouth to see whether the
sounds of conflict might draw anyone else out in his waiting blades. When
no one appeared to investigate, he quietly slipped beneath the hanging moss
and into the dimly lit tunnel. Working the feeling back into his arm and
shoulder, Corron descended the slopping throat of the cave, picking his way
over a trench of water that reeked of excrement. The passage rose again on
the other side of the water. The light of the fire increased as did the
pungent smoke.

Crates lines the entrance of the chamber ahead. Some precariously stacked,
others split open with contents scattered haphazardly. A few seemed to have
been flung against the wall in frustration. Centering the roughly circular
room was a rust covered cauldron boiling away, stewing some vile concoction
over the dung and peat fueled flames. Dressed in a moth-eaten patchwork of
cloth and leather, a smallish hobgoblin rattled clay pots in a corner,
muttering to himself.

Corron's first instinct was to use the element of surprise and make a
peremptory strike. Trade was critical at this time in Abaddon's growth with
new artisans advancing their crafts and supplies more needed than ever. The
road had to be kept clear. Any threat had to be answered harshly. On the
other hand, perhaps this could be turned to their advantage. Having a set
of eyes and ears in the swamp, someone intimately familiar with the terrain,
could prove beneficial for passing along information. Still, it never hurt
to enter a negotiation from a point of strength.

Drawing his diamond shaped kunai dagger into his left hand, Corron emerged
from the shadows behind the crates, letting a pair of shuriken fall into his
palm from their sheath on his forearm. The broad planes of his face turned
into a stolid mask as he launched the jagged metal stars. One tore across
the back of the hobgoblin's hand and the other embedded shallowly just
beneath a shoulder blade. Hollowing in pain as a jar fell from the stung
hand to shatter on the floor, the goblinoid turned a hateful glare at the
half elf striding towards him. The light of the cook fire glinting off the
silver-edged blade held loosely in Corron's hand and his eyes were hard
beneath his headguard.

"Yuz not Gruellecka!"

The hobgoblin howled while bringing his bleeding hand to his mouth, stringy
saliva coating the wound.

"I fear your associate met with an untimely accident and will not be joining
us. I offer you one chance to parlay and walk away from this in one piece

Writer: Corron

Date Sun Sep 25 14:23:21 2016

To All Abaddon Forsaken RP

Subject Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 6 of 7 )

Corron's hand came up in a rapid twitch, on the verge of loosing another
attack as the hobgoblin made a fumbling reach for something on the other
side of the cauldron. The sudden flash of darksteel made him think worse of
the notion and jerk to a stop. Licking cracked lips, the hobgoblin

"Yuz kill her... What yuz want?"

Something passed through the jaundiced gaze of the goblinoid, a brief
convulsion of his scabrous features. Corron suddenly realized he had slain
the mate of this one. Loyalty was not a vaunted trait in many species, but
that could potentially make this much more difficult. Well, there is no
unringing that particular bell
. His objective remained unchanged. Exact an
arrangement or sever the threat.

"You are hunting within the demesne of the Bloodlands. Rather than take
your life, I offer you a deal. Do not harry the merchants that pass
through. Keep a watch over who comes and goes in the swamps. In exchange,
I will pay you for the information, far more than you could ever earn with

Body tensed to snap into motion at the first sign of reluctance, Corron
began edging around the cauldron. The hobgoblin chewed on its lip, a long
yellow fingernail clawing at one of the many scabs over its body.

"Yuz no kill, Mez look an' yuz give eggers?"

Close enough, Corron decided. Without taking his eyes off the goblinoid,
Corron turned his head and spat into his right hand, extending it to seal
the arrangement. That seemed to tickle the hobgoblin, bringing forth a
riotous bout of laughter. Corron narrowed his gaze, expecting to receive a
wad of spit in his eyes at any moment, his dagger angling up at his side as
he was close enough to strike now.

Entertaining the idea himself, or merely toying with Corron, the hobgoblin
rolled his mouth and only at the last moment spat down into his own hand
instead of forward. Grasping the half elf's hand in a surprisingly strong
grip, the hobgoblin began to shake only to suddenly jerk forward and bring
up his free hand that suddenly held a gourd which he promptly smashed across
the restricted arm. The thin shell shattered and sliced through Corron's
tekko bracers, cutting gouges into his arms into which the contents of the
gourd quickly seeped.

"Yuz kill Gruellecka!"

Growling, more at himself for his botched attempt at diplomacy than at his
adversary, Corron kicked the hobgoblin in the knee, jarring it with a faint
crunching sound as the leg hyperextended against the direction of the joint.
Before the first syllable of a howl could slip from the hobgoblin, Corron's
dagger flashed forward, stabbing into his gut, piercing flesh and fabric
with ease. As the hobgoblin began to double over from the pain of the stab,
Corron's forehead snapped down, colliding heavily with the descending face
of his taller foe, breaking the hold on his arm and buying him some space as
the goblinoid dropped down to a knee.

Writer: Corron

Date Sun Sep 25 14:29:54 2016

To All Abaddon Forsaken RP

Subject Who Guards the Guardian? ( Part 7 of 7 )

The threat ended for the moment, Corron turned his attention to his
bleeding forearm. Whatever had been in the gourd had coated his arm and the
jagged cuts. He was loosing feeling in the fingers of his right hand. No
stranger to a variety of toxins, he knew he had been poisoned. Seizing the
hobgoblin by the back of the head, Corron drew his kneeling foe's head
painfully back to look up at him.

"Where is the anti-venom?"

With a wheezing laugh, the hobgoblin lifted hands stained with blood from
trying to staunch the tear in his gut.

"Yuz dumb. Wez no need'um. Poisuns make'um stronger. It be mother's

Tossing the hobgoblin aside, Corron began rummaging in the stores of jars
and pots lining the back wall of the cave. The deep gut wound would give
the fool the long and agonizing death he had earned. Corron needed to find
a sample of the venom, or else find a truly gifted healer, very soon. The
vision in his right eye was starting to fog. Containers crashed to the
floor without care as his movements grew slurred and his search careless.
Wait. His eyes tracked back to a small jar of leaded glass that had rough
goblinoid script for milk on it. In another situation, he would have
laughed. Naturally.

A shambling sound drew Corron's attention. He whipped around, hurling his
dagger into the departing back of the hobgoblin as he tried to make a break
for it a damaged leg with both hands pushed hard to his gut. The blade sank
hilt deep into the goblinoid's back. At the same moment that the hobgoblin
spun around to the ground, wheezing out blood with each ragged breath from
the puncture in his lung, Corron also sank to the ground, All the strength
going out of his legs.

He could not even feel the jar that he clutched in his hand. The whole of
the right side of his body was trying to clench in a paralyzing rictus as
the venom attacked his nerves. Through his torn armor, Corron could see the
blood vessels in his arm turning black, the torn flesh looking on the verge
of festering already.

Dragging his gaze up, Corron's grey-green eyes met the sickly orange gaze of
the hobgoblin who lay crumpled on his side, slowly drowning in his own
blood. A glimmer of understanding passed between the pair. They both
shared a laugh. The sound was equal parts mirth and madness. {nThe laugh of
the dying...

Writer: Corron

Date Sun Sep 25 21:27:28 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sun Sep 25 21:30:03 2016

Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Sep 26 10:48:59 2016

Writer: Ryim
Date Mon Sep 26 18:31:01 2016

To Marauders Verminasia All ( Tashio )

Subject Ryim's Raid

This might have been a bad idea. The words flew through Ryim's mind as
he ducked behind a tree and narrowly avoiding an arrow. Catching the eye of
one of his squad members, a grey bearded veteran, he signalled "Wait for my
lead". In return a grimace and a rude gesture. A wry smile on Ryim's lips,
such behaviour would be unthinkable in the Fort and amongst most Marauders.
But these were Blades, a bit more leeway was accepted for those who had to
operate behind enemy lines or amongst the enemy. And these eight men had
served with him for more years than he could remember, from back when the
Blades were a battalion, from when he led them.

Rounding them up and convincing them for a trip inside Verminasian borders
had been easy. Despite having been spread out amongst the other battalions,
then old soldiers tended to keep to old habits, in this case specific bars.
Not that many of "his" old soldiers remained, but a handful were still keen
to get into trouble despite the silver creeping into their hair. Nearly to
a man they had remarked jokingly that it'd get them killed but had then
drunk to that.

Now it seemed a bit more prophetic. Two had been killed and a third was
bleeding out with life rapidly leaving his eyes. And it has begun so
promising with scouting near the coastal villages and cities, gaining
valuable information of the area. But whether rusty skills or bad luck, his
group had been discovered by a patrol. It had been the first death with the
Blade soldier on watch having gotten complacent and been too late in hiding
himself from the chance patrol coming across him. From there on the squad
had been in full retreat, making their way through woods as much as possible
to make it difficult for the pursuing patrol on horses.

Again Ryim's fingers flashed the other Blade his instructions, this time
receiving a terse nod. Counting to three under his breath to then fling the
flash bomb that he'd been holding onto, waiting until the patrol had come
close enough. Distraction and signal in one action, blinding the nearby
pursuers while giving his remaining squad a chance to scatter in different

His own hasty escape led to the coast but with little respite as the patrol
had picked up his trail. Eyeing a fishing village and quickly deciding that
his best option would be to take to the sea. A wry grin appearing on his
face as he made that life and death run for the village, the sound of hooves
thundering closer.

Knocking over a fisherman and giving him a jab in the neck wasted precious
seconds as the hunters loaded their bows, having realized that he was about
to slip out into the ocean. The small sail is raised as the first few
arrows hit the water, a single arrow managing to hit the boat. Hardly the
most experienced of sailors, he still managed to get the vessel sailing away
from danger.

That is until the leader of the patrol brought about their bow. Ryim's eyes
narrowed as he tried to make out the figure, watching as the arrow was
readied and aim was taken at him. A gust of wind caused the sail to
momentarily flap between him and the figure on the beach.. Then an arrow
cut through the sail and into him.

Exhaustion and Pain soon replaced by darkness as the riders on the beach
watch the boat drift out to sea.

Writer: Paxx
Date Tue Sep 27 11:04:07 2016

Writer: Paxx
Date Tue Sep 27 11:15:42 2016

Writer: Paxx
Date Tue Sep 27 11:32:37 2016

Writer: Talrenvor
Date Tue Sep 27 15:38:15 2016

Writer: Talrenvor
Date Tue Sep 27 15:42:35 2016

Writer: Ryim
Date Tue Sep 27 17:01:58 2016

Writer: Sierus
Date Tue Sep 27 20:56:58 2016

Writer: Sierus
Date Tue Sep 27 20:59:57 2016

Writer: Sierus
Date Tue Sep 27 21:00:10 2016

Writer: Arcadimus
Date Wed Sep 28 09:59:36 2016

Writer: Talrenvor
Date Thu Sep 29 12:49:23 2016

Writer: Talrenvor
Date Thu Sep 29 12:56:03 2016

Writer: Sierus
Date Thu Sep 29 17:37:02 2016

Writer: Sierus
Date Thu Sep 29 17:37:16 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Sep 29 19:11:05 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Sep 29 19:13:44 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Sep 29 19:17:53 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Sep 29 19:21:29 2016

Writer: Fyahy'll
Date Fri Sep 30 10:09:42 2016

To All Shadow IMM ( RP Necrucifer )

Subject Trophies from Skull Keep

-- the sucking mud pulled upon her weight form inexorably. An unavoidable void,
swallowed by the ground like so many corpses before. Yet she was not dead, the
horror of it clawed at her soul and elicited a desperate primal scream. A mixture
of rage, despair, disbelief and fear it was lost against the sounds of battle.

Struggling for a hand hold in the slippery terrain yet another long dead corpse fell
upon her. Its eyes staring at her dismay with cold lifeless orbs as its rusted short
sword found a home in her side, forcing her to gasp in pain. The other decaying
hand found purchase around her throat and squeezed --

Fyahyll sat upright violently in her bed, breathing heavily. Touching her clammy
forehead and then running her hands through the short stubble where once she had
a thick mane of red hair. She found the long raw scar along the side, touching it
gingerly before looking down to the wet bandages around her midsection.

A widening stain of red, stared back at her from the left side of her abdomen. It
was cold to the touch and strangely did not hurt as much as she had imagined, yet
the fever was undeniable. The trophies of the battle before Skull Keep, a small
price to pay for the chance of salvation.

Writer: Ryim
Date Fri Sep 30 17:09:12 2016

To Marauders All ( Tashio )

Subject The Marauder

Parched and weary, every bit of movement causing pain. Not unlike his
days in training as a recruit. Laying in the boat, Ryim breathed in the
dawn. It had been times like these, All those years ago, which he had been
roughly awoken to. Out of the bunks at the earliest hints of light and out
marching, practicing with swords and learning the more subtle arts of war.
The latter he had talent for, often utilizing the skills he attained in
stealth, underhandness and diplomacy to avoid the former.

It had been a good time, growing and learning. Not just for him but for the
Fort. Highlady Adrina Silvertongue, the first leader he ever had followed
and in a way the only leader he had ever followed. It had been a time where
the Marauders were rebuilding themselves. As the young rogue began to
settle and become part of the army, it had attracted a new generation of

A screech of a seagull and eyes seeking the clouds. The sound of the wind
and waves flashes memories of a long gone past of his earliest time in the
army. Soldiers he had served with, Blades he trained as he rose through the
ranks, the first woman that was more than a single flirt, the kingdommers
and clanners he encountered as he was sent out to "mingle" and gather
information. More than one flirt in between darker missions, yet All was
with a wry smile on his lips and little care other than living on the edge
of success and disaster. Soon All that led to promotions, leadership of the
Blades, learning to see that leading was about serving the army.

Memories in the skies float by as the feverish man whispers the words of
healing, fumbling through the motions to keep his wound at bay. It had been
a good time, a time of adventure, careless affairs, friendship and
camaraderie. As the sunrise began to brighten the sky, the clouds form
shapes of the events and people who had shaped him, each shape fading into
the next until two remained. The Crown of leadership and the Lady.

Writer: Sabien
Date Fri Sep 30 18:17:05 2016

Writer: Mezlak
Date Fri Sep 30 20:12:09 2016

To Marauders All Verminasia Arkane Ryim Odin ( Raije Imm RP Tashio )

Subject The Raid

Mezlak strode into his office rather early that morning. He had agreed
with his wife that today was the time to stop by the acadamy and check in on
their son, and the other young men and women training to be a part of the
Army. It was more to watch their son though. That was the argument he had
lost anyway.

He took up the stack of reports he had requested last night. For the most
part they were simple supply reports. Which companies need new boots. This
cavalry company was slow getting their horses reshod. That food store was
running low. Pretty boring stuff, but things those in charge needed to look
in on from time to time, just to reassure the men that their commanders did
care about them.

The one report he was hoping to see though was not there. It was several
days since Ryim should have sent some kind of word. Normally Mezlak
wouldn't be too worried. Missions raiding in enemy territory didn't always
allow messages to be sent back out.

It was likely nothing, but he couldn't help this feeling that something had
gone seriously wrong. Steps had to be taken. If something had gone wrong,
time would be of an essance, and he'd rather have things in place before,
than rush something and cost more lives.

Quickly he called for his aides. Orders had to be issued. He wanted a team
of knights and two companies of cavalry to ride out imeadiatly to set up a
forward command. A friend of the Fort had offered his lodge west of the
city of Arkane to the Army's use and it would make a perfect staging point
and supply depot. Orders after orders were sent out.

Quickly Mezlak realised his trip to the Acadamy, and his son, would have to
wait. Wouldn't be the first time, though. Mezlak doubted it'd be the last
time, either.

Writer: Fyahy'll
Date Sat Oct 1 05:46:01 2016

To All Shadow IMM ( RP Necrucifer )

Subject Trophies from Skull Keep pt 2

-- the fleshless hand squeezed impossibly tight, her eyes rolled up skyward...the
stars were falling, fireballs of bright light cutting paths through the dark rain
clouds. Was it peace that she felt? A twist of the blade in her side brought
Fyahyll to reality. Her sword arm trapped, bastard sword still in her grip...she
raked her fingers along the dead arms in a futile effort to free herself. Thunder
shook the very ground and suddenly the corpse flew back and away as if yanked
by a chain --

Fyahyll startled awake and groaned in pain. The scar on her head had closed, but
snarled angrily as a reminder of her trespass on hallowed ground. The wound in
her side seeped still, and showed no signs of closing...she would have to seek out
Telthian, perhaps he would know the reason. Bereft of God, her ability to heal
was limited. She would need strength to make the ride to Storm Keep.

Writer: Vaerus
Date Sat Oct 1 11:13:02 2016

To All Chaos Erebaal (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Suicide and other comforts

The faintest hint of love...

Vaerus knew what love was. But he knew far better how to manipulate it.
Turn it into a dagger and twist it after plunging it deep.

He knew full well what he was doing. Knew that she would either continue to
send him secrets. Perhaps delve deeper in order to please him. Or end up a
stain on his blade.

Words like razors..

Such is how it is. Such is how it ever was with him. No weapon off limits
in this, the most righteous of wars. And he was ever ready to wield them...

Writer: Vaerus
Date Sat Oct 1 14:53:24 2016

To All Chaos Erebaal Her (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Intoxication

A blur of motion. She comes at me like a sandstorm in an hourglass. Her
eyes full of glee and the promise of pain. Addicted to her utterly I fail
to take the opening in her defenses and instead feel the blunted edge of the
practice sword cut into my thigh, mere hairs, precious hairs, beneath the

'Distratcted again love? ' her sweet words come, toying with me. I nod, a
grin forming on my face as my thoughts shift to other things we could be
doing. 'You were ever my better with swords... ' I concede, hoping,
longing, yearning for her to take the hint and fold to my arms. Instead she
answers me with a twin bladed assault, one I can barely fend off. She had
me beat with swords, we both knew it, but in terms of sheer speed we were
matched. Utter ruthlessness however....

I tripped her, whether she let me or not I care not to know. I was on her
before she hit the padded floor of the western tower. I came at her without
mercy, without the practice swords we'd been using. No, instead it was my
lips that now found the weakness of her armor, of her defense. Tearing at
her. Ripping at her. My teeth digging into her bottom lip. That juciest
of meat.

She half-heartedly tries to bat me away with her hands, with the pommel of
her two weapons. It is futile. We are to close now for that, and she knows
it. Even if she doesn't really want me to stop anyway. My hands find her
hair, and I faintly hear the sound of her dropping the training weapons. I
do, however, distinctly hear the sound of her muffled moans and her calling
out, breathless, 'Vaerus... ' even as her own hands find my face and my
braid and pull, hard, upon the latter. I inhaled her scent, each panting
breath an opiate.



The overwhelming desire to kill consumes me as I hear the foot steps of
another enter.



'THIS TIME IS OURS! ' I silently scream. For it is one of only two things
that make me feel whole. Being with her, in this moment....

Writer: Py'nan

Date Sat Oct 1 16:16:04 2016

Writer: Vaerus

Date Sat Oct 1 20:38:03 2016

To All Chaos Erebaal Her (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Am I beautiful, as I tear you to pieces...

THUNK The sound of her weapon meeting my own. This time its swords vs
daggers. This time it will be closer. This time I'll take her. Once again
comes the sound as she parries my right handed thrust. The blades meet
again as surprise overtakes me, lights up my face as she not only catches my
spinning backhanded stab, but also knocks the blade from my left hand. I
quickly toss the other dagger to it, intending to switch the shield from my
back to my arm. This time however, she is too quick. Too fast for me.

'ERRNGH! ' comes my grunt, and along with it my breath as she kicks me,
with both feet in the chest. I hit the ground, rolling with the momentum.
Shes on me, faster than I would've thought possible. 'Hmm... ' I say
aloud, meanwhile realizing that she's cheating and using the haste spell
despite our earlier agreement. Its fine though, I love a good surprise.
Especially from her...

The bitter, acrid taste of the white pills fill my mouth, pleasure, and a
clarity of thought filling me. Matching her speed now I dive between her
shapely legs, come up behind her and in one movement, no motion lost, drop
the dagger, and lock my arms around her neck. Quickly I jump up locking my
legs around her waist and bringing her down atop me. I take care not to
actually hurt her, or make her lose conciousness. As to the impact, well,
its a padded floor and I'd long ago let my hate harden me to the barbs of
this world. I barely feel anything, except her. Her pulse, beating faster,
her throat moving, struggling for what little air I allow her. No escape.
She belongs to me. Belongs with me. At my side.

'Vae... Rus..... I... Can't... ' I ease up, and as I feel her suck in
the air, I shift her around in my grasp, releasing her neck, and instead
assaulting her sweat soaked, hot, air deprived body with my hands, keeping
her locked with my legs. My forearm against her carotid, I feel her heart
beating. Faster. Faster. Faster still. My own begins to match it. That
hunger inside me growing. The longing. The yearning. Finally, the time
comes. I let her take that one breath, then my lips are upon hers. I
stumble. I'm falling. Faster. Deeper. For her....

She is mine.

All mine.


No one.

Not a damned thing on this doomed world would tear us apart!

Writer: Talrenvor

Date Sat Oct 1 23:14:25 2016

Writer: Talrenvor
Date Sat Oct 1 23:23:01 2016

Writer: Kudlow
Date Sat Oct 1 23:31:05 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Oct 2 11:18:34 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Oct 2 11:24:43 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Oct 2 11:27:20 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Oct 2 11:30:21 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Oct 2 11:33:13 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Sun Oct 2 11:38:23 2016

Writer: Fyahy'll
Date Mon Oct 3 11:24:33 2016

To All Shadow IMM ( Roleplay Necrucifer )

Subject Trophies from Skull Keep Pt 3

Fyahyll slung her lightly packed saddlebags over the back of the Thalosian
stallion with a grimace. Moving her core sent icy tendrils of pain radiating
outward from the wound in her side.

Pausing a moment to regain her composure, she prepared herself for the worst
part. Settling her foot into the stirrup and grasping the pommel tightly, Fyahyll
stepped up in what shouldve been a practiced smooth motion. In reality it was an
ungraceful lunge followed by a few moments of swimming vision. Steeling her
nerves, she nudged the horse forward and through the courtyard gates. She only
had a few hours to make it through the city before the midday sun.

Writer: Euterah
Date Mon Oct 3 17:27:38 2016

To Darkonin All Imm ( Sunny Cayenna RP )

Subject Moving on

She sat in the Juju Tower, on her old perch, the tower window looking
over the city proper. The Witch took her finger and squished a small spider
making its way up the iron frame and flicked the detriment off. Adventures,
she thought, are so treacherous. Darkonin lay still in the pre-dawn hours,
the streets sparkling with the new fall of snow. The Witch turned her dark
brackish gaze to the table, the books other various instruments of trade
that taught All magi everywhere, what can I do to give rise to our peoples
natural powers? The Witch Queen wondered for what seemed the hundredth
time. The Hollows sustains its growth, as does Fort Ghyt, but the Mountains
people are still quiet. What more can I do?

Her absent husband would have had some insight, but alas she had not seen
him for many weeks and no one reported to her of any insight as to where he
had gone. She wished him well, but deep down in her heart she feared. She
had no luck with marriage. The Witch placed her brow against the leaded
glass warming a spot as she moped. The ice melting to water and dripping to
the pane caught her attention and she settled back.

The Mountain called her and motivated her. The Witch turned from the window
and walked to the table. A black cat jumped up upon the table, looking at
The Witch keenly.

It never is easy, is it Cat? The Witch put out her fingers scratching the
Cats cheeks.

No. The Cat answered. It never is.

Writer: Corron

Date Mon Oct 3 18:05:00 2016

Writer: Talrenvor
Date Mon Oct 3 23:11:39 2016

Writer: Talrenvor
Date Mon Oct 3 23:16:53 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Oct 4 16:35:32 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Oct 4 16:38:17 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Oct 4 16:40:34 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Oct 4 16:42:45 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Tue Oct 4 16:49:47 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Wed Oct 5 10:08:32 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Wed Oct 5 10:32:39 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Wed Oct 5 10:41:00 2016

Writer: Gomda
Date Wed Oct 5 17:47:58 2016

To All Erebaal Vaerus Malachive ( Imm RP )

Subject Faded Essence

The troll's heart thumped heavily in his chest as he navigated the dark
streets, chasing the muted scents of brimstone. His last encounter with one
of the children had not gone as planned, accursed magicka.

'{uAm coming for you,
' a whispered troll snarl into the darkness.

The fire giant either did not sense the troll coming, or did not expect the
ferocious onslaught that was to come.

Gomda stood over the sizzling corpse, awash with the departing essence of
the giant. He stared into the sky and shouted,

'{uBurn, world, burn! TROLL COMING FOR YOU.

Writer: Corron
Date Wed Oct 5 21:00:12 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Wed Oct 5 21:03:47 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Wed Oct 5 21:05:39 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Wed Oct 5 21:08:08 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Wed Oct 5 21:10:37 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Wed Oct 5 21:12:57 2016

Writer: Vaerus
Date Thu Oct 6 17:25:22 2016

To All Chaos Gomda Erebaal (Imm Rp) Malachive

Subject Essence of Suffering

'... Am giant killer.. '

Vaerus was keenly aware how strong trolls were. How much pain they could
inflict. How much suffering they could cause. Even still he'd not
expected, at least this day, to hear such a thing. He responded, discussing
various things as well as asking the details.

'Them will know what it is to truly fear. '

'Does it make you smile? ' Lips curled upwards into that most unique and
cruel of expressions as he continued: That of Vaerus smiling. 'I know it
does for me. The knowledge that the last things the False-Pantheon shall
know are fear and pain.

'Troll can say maybe him smiled a little.'

Writer: Rouxelle

Date Thu Oct 6 18:08:16 2016

To All Abaddon Immortal (RP)

Subject Running Sands

Perform a Sacrifice and Explain their Importance. Simple, right?

Except Rouxelle Renard had never been particularly big on Sacrifice. She'd
been taught it was a Tenet of her Lord and Master, of course, but it had
never been her favorite compared to so many others. Ruthlessness.
Ambition. Patience. Compared to some of them, which brought her gains,
this one seemed to do the opposite and leave her with less than what she

Oh she wasn't some greedy witch, Rouxelle prided herself on what her mother
had called "good pack instincts"

And therein lay an idea.

No more precious commodity existed anywhere in the world but time, but she
had the resource in abundance, and she could give up some of hers in order
to find and collect things for the citizenry of Abaddon. Weapons, armor,
tools. She wasn't quite yet ready to begin a craft, but it could do until
she was. And her sacrifice would make All of them stronger for it. That
was at the heart of Fatale's Tenet.

Writer: Paxx
Date Thu Oct 6 18:47:48 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Thu Oct 6 21:24:38 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Thu Oct 6 21:39:28 2016

Writer: Benthic
Date Thu Oct 6 23:05:38 2016

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Thu Oct 6 23:09:18 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Oct 7 10:30:12 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Oct 7 10:32:32 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Oct 7 10:35:20 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Oct 7 10:38:38 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Oct 7 10:40:44 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Oct 7 10:43:03 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Fri Oct 7 10:45:24 2016

Writer: A'zrapi
Date Fri Oct 7 19:08:04 2016

To Arkane All Zandreya RP

Subject Stay Awake

She kept to the taverns for they seemed populated day and night, easier
to keep from drifting off. She was so tired though. She sipped the black
coffee she had ordered and listened to the murmurs of the conversations
around her. The murmur became a buzz, her head felt so heavy.

She must have dozed, for once again the shadows sought her. The thick inky
blackness wrapped around her almost immediately as she struggled to awake.
The Unmaker had her within hold and she would have to listen to All the
destruction and chaos it spewed as tendrils of darkness pressed into her

She came to wakefulness, screaming, concerned patrons over her and felt
horrifically weak. She fled the place, leaving the spilled cup of coffee
and bemused people.

Writer: Catroina

Date Fri Oct 7 20:21:46 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Fri Oct 7 20:23:53 2016

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Fri Oct 7 21:48:57 2016

Writer: Hrentun
Date Sat Oct 8 10:18:57 2016

To All ( Imm Mencius RP ) Stygian Guard

Subject A Sermon to Vengeance

Hrentun stood with his back to the bonfire in the middle of the
encampment. He paced slowly, his shadow dancing on the faces of those
assembled to hear him speak. They were the unwashed, the ridiculed, the
forgotten, the angry. Humans, goblin, minotaur and dwarf represented the
majority of his following but All races were present. From All across
Algoron they had come to hear the priest of Rage speak and they had stayed
for weeks, some for months, in a field outside the Minotaur city of Ganth.
An impromptu camp of strangers bonded by their faith and ambition. It was
an army. His army.

"Rage," Hrentun began "is widely misunderstood. Rage is a tool, no
different than a sword nor a plowshare
. In the same manner as a sword or a
plowshare, it is only as useful as its ability to facilitate the
accomplishment of its purpose. Rage's divine purpose is Vengeance

"A blind rage leads to a failed vengeance. This displeases the lord. "

He paused to let the nuance sink in though expected it would land largely on
deaf ears. Leaning heavily on his walking staff, Hrentun turned to a dark,
bloody mass of fur that accompanied him at the head of the gathering and
gave it a swift kick. The form uncurled itself revealing an impossibly
scrawny juvenile yinn.

"This devious creature," Hrentun spat, "Killed one of our own. Knifed your
cook in the back as he slept last night

Hrentun knew there had been stirrings in the camp. Rations were meager and
their promised campaign, where they were to make their fortune and fame
appeared no closer. The field had been trampled with repeated military
drills. Mud caked every surface of the camp including its inhabitants. The
yinn may have been the first to act, but he was hardly the first to curse
his portion of gruel after a long day marching and fighting. He must be
made an example.

"His lack of faith dressed up his weakness as "vengeance" and corrupted his
"rage" as deceit

The yinn let out a small, capituling whimper as Hrentun struck him viciously
with his weighted staff.

"This displeases the lord," he repeated, his low-toned voice carrying
further than one would imagine.

Hrentun thrust the butt of his stuff down in to the yinn's stomach. Bones
snapped and flesh tore. The yinn did not move.

"Hunger, exhaustion, envy, greed... These are selfish emotions that can
lead astray the most dedicated of His faithful under the guise of Rage or
. Luckily, I am here to bear that burden. I have dedicated my
life to our Lord's work, to the meaning of his Truths
. I will guide you to
his favor and you will be the Chosen among All mortals
. Your rage shall be
my rage and my vengeance shall be your vengeance and the Lord... The Lord
will be pleased

The Rage Priest concluded his sermon by lifting the motionless form in a
single hand, holding it aloft for a moment and tossing it effortlessly on to
the raging bonfire.

His flock cheered.

Writer: Mercerion

Date Sat Oct 8 14:08:00 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Oct 8 18:24:40 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Oct 8 18:31:06 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Oct 8 18:37:49 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Oct 8 18:40:49 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Oct 8 18:43:53 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Oct 8 18:50:41 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Oct 8 18:53:29 2016

Writer: Paxx
Date Sat Oct 8 22:59:18 2016

Writer: Paxx
Date Sat Oct 8 23:03:15 2016

Writer: Anathaelynn
Date Sun Oct 9 00:42:58 2016

Writer: Fyahy'll
Date Sun Oct 9 08:42:35 2016

To All Shadow IMM ( RP Necrucifer )

Subject Trophies from Skull Keep pt 3

The market bustled with activity, a flurry of necessity before the sun reached its
angry perch of authority. Fyahylls passing did not go unnoticed, the usual
suspects of market square knew of her and therefore did not give much pause. Yet
still they noted her comings and goings with a watchful eye. Or was it pity? In
either case, she had neither patience nor time to be bothered with knowing which.

With each lurching step of her mount, the pain in her side roared in protest. The
circle of crimson seeping through the bandages around her midsection grew
larger, spotting against other clothing and items that brushed it.

In the past no wound was beyond her means of healing. Her faith expunged All
contaminants and wounds, and therefore shed never paused to learn. Now
without the grace of God she was ill equipped to deal with an injury of this nature.

She could not get to Storm Keep fast enough.

Writer: Paxx
Date Sun Oct 9 10:27:43 2016

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Sun Oct 9 21:45:41 2016

To All Zola ( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject A Change

Kahlyn walked into the gardens of Althiania and found the man he called
his brother, Benthic, waiting there. He had wanted to speak with him for
many moons but it always seemed they missed each other due to slumber. His
idea was correct in waking this evening.

For so long, he had been walking on egg shells. His family thought him
insane, his own father threatened him, his sister vied for power the entire
time he was the Emperor of Althainia. His own wife had moved against him
and he was tired. He knew Benthic, his brother in faith and arms, was tired
of fighting the rage within himself as well... So with his help, he would
help Benthic stop blocking rage and embrace it.

And Kahlyn would find solace in the opposite of the lies he had been fed all
his life. Decay and disease would be his following. He would find solace
in Dragoth, he would show everyone howcrazed he was not.

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Sun Oct 9 21:47:30 2016

To All Zola ( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject A change 2

Kahlyn had been waiting patiently All his life to be shown his true path.
He never questioned, never faltered, perhaps he should have.

He was in a constant state of wonder these days, not wonderment... Wonder.
He wondered why Kantilles would call someone a whore based on the color of
her aura, why he bore such anger and hatred. Hatred is not the way, Kahlyn
had always preached love and understanding in the past. He had taught
compassion, but clearly he was wrong in his teachings, Kantilles had shown
him that. His own father had shown him that with kicking out everyone out
of the House of Snowdragon that had an original thought or dared to disagree
with him. This is not of goodness. He would no longer be a part of a
religion that taught hatred and lied.

No longer. Never again. Another would hear his prayers now...Dragoth.

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Sun Oct 9 21:49:18 2016

To All Zola Azheri ( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject A change 3

Kahlyn had waited four days with no word from Kantilles, furthering his
resolve. Kantilles had been silent for so long and he wondered why He had
ever come to him to begin with. He would continue praying to Lord Dragoth
and await His presence. In the meantime, he would seek out the High Priest
Dunnikin, as Azheri had advised.

Azheri, he had been a long time family friend until he changed his faith...
Now Kahlyn understood the past a bit better. He proceeded to make
arrangements and it was getting late.

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Sun Oct 9 21:50:53 2016

To All Zola ( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject A change 4

The meeting was set. He was to speak with Bishop Zola about the pantheon
opposite the light. They talked on many matters and it All came back to the
arrogance, the willful use of vengeance, the hatred that many of the "light"
was. He knew he was seeing more clearly and would not fear this awakening.
He would still be Kahlyn, but a stronger version. The Bishop Zola promised
to aid in the changing as much he could and would help find a priest of
Dragoth. But All good things must find patient people surrounding such a
time. 'And I shall bear such patience' Kahlyn half whispered.

Writer: Zola
Date Sun Oct 9 23:20:11 2016

To All Kahlyn Benthic Abaddon Bloodlust Darkonin Verminasia Immortals Fatale

Subject X Descending into Darkness X

The Deathscythe observed quietly as the two men departed, silent as a
shadow, deep in thought. They too had much to think on, their conversation
had been a fruitful one. He had needed to ask little to know the truth of
the matter, only a few subtle nudges to steer their talk down the proper

They could not be faulted for their ignorance. They had been lied to all
their life, brought up on the delusions of righteousness and honor. Spoon
fed it by their family until they choked on the words that were more hollow
than their empty souls.

But in their hollowness they had found the Dark... And it had given way to
the Truth.

Now they were seeking to understand the truth they knew, renouncing their
false deities for the ones they truly carried in their hearts. Zola was no
Dragothian, or Mencian, but he was a servant of the Lord Fatale and thus, a
servant of the Darkness. They were his pack, for if the Light was naught
but weak-willed and mindless sheep... Then they were the wolves. Oh they
knew well of hate, of vengeance, of destruction. The difference was they
were honest and forward with such, not hiding behind false platitudes and
empty promises.

And soon, the two young men he'd just met would no longer have to hide
either. The whole world would see them for who they really were.

Chuckling darkly to himself, Zola faded into the shadows and disappeared
into the darkness, vanishing back from when he had come. He had much to do.
Especially now.

Writer: Corron

Date Mon Oct 10 13:02:24 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Oct 10 13:05:55 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Oct 10 13:08:26 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Oct 10 13:10:40 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Oct 10 13:15:55 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Mon Oct 10 13:18:24 2016

Writer: Betha
Date Mon Oct 10 17:41:55 2016

To Wargar Thaxanos All Immortal RP Cliath

Subject Elves. Dwarves. Change.

The floor around Betha's feet was littered in diamond shards and pieces.
A craft she had performed effortlessly for so many years, even with scarred
hands, but in these moments her cuts were off. She was distracted and the
cracked or broken gems tumbled from her fingers and had to be replaced with
the next uncut specimen.

Over her life, she had enjoyed many conversations with others from outside
the mountain clan hall. Most with friends but on occasion she would be
approached by those at war with the dwarves. Taunts weren't as numbered as
they once were, now there were more gem questions, inquiries about dwarven
issues, runesmith abilities, and attempts to find other dwarves.

This time was different.

The voice floated like a whisper to Betha's ears. She could tell it was
elven. He inquired as to why she had left the Thaneship and then
disappeared for a time. And why she felt a need to return to the mountain.
She knew the voice from years ago, though she didn't remember having ever
spoken directly to him. She had spoken to others, even developed a sense of
respect for them. She knew they fought for what they believed, just like
she had.

He asked Betha if she thought the times had changed. Had she seen a
difference in her fellow dwarves? Did the realms seem to have developed a
different state of existence. Betha was forced to admit, to him and to
herself, that it All was true. What the dwarves once stood for, what they
strove hardest at, was now different. Those who actively fought were more
interested in gaining their own strength than staying invested in more
important wars of past years.

The biggest thing to suffer was the war with the elves.

When Betha made her way to the mountain, the war with the elves was the
mainstay of dwarven existence. Making sure the elves were kept at bay from
the mountain, and unable to cause havoc as they once did with Cliath.
Dwarves stood at the elven homestone, chopped down their trees and demanded
they come and fight. Elves did the same near Wargar hall, leaving trees to
grow as their own calling cards. It was a glorious time and the wars had a
purpose other than who would be known as the strongest.


Betha could only guess it was after affects of many things. Unity in the
God wars. Unity against Chaos. Unity in fighting down the stronger
clans. Hard to have a killing vengeance for those you stand beside in life
endangering situations. And other wars tended to influence the fighting
between dwarf and elf. Common allies. Games. Contests.

Betha secretly blamed Raije. Maybe someday soon, Cliath would get things set back right.

Writer: Elrei
Date Tue Oct 11 17:27:48 2016

To All Taliena Imm RP Religion

Subject Sending Thoughts and Prayers

He could not claim to be surprised by recent revelations, but Elrei
was still saddened by them. He had been hopeful that Kahlyn and Benthic
would emerge from the darkness that had seemed to take hold in their minds -
indeed, the last time Elrei had seen Kahlyn, the former Emperor had been far
more reasonable - but their announcements to the world proved otherwise.

Benthic had spoken, before, of how he feared the Evil of Rage, how he
believed he would not escape it again if it overtook him. And Elrei had
seen how, despite that fear, Benthic had slipped further and further into
the shadows. Elrei had tried to warn him, to warn them both, and to guide
even in the height of their transgressions, but as was always the case the
Elf's words were dismissed. Not for the first time, he wondered what curse
he was under that he should be considered so respected, yet never heeded.

Resting within the Sanctuary he had built, Elrei did the only thing he
seemed capable of doing: praying for a return to sanity, and safety upon
their hearts' paths. He did not expect it would have any result, but he had
to hope it was better than nothing at all.

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Tue Oct 11 18:48:05 2016

To All Zola ( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject The Visit

Kahlyn heard the loud steps of a rather large knight and turned around to
see a knight coming towards him, interrupting his conversation. Back and
forth they spoke, each trying to get the other to understand. He was a
knight of the Lance, deliverer of Justice to those whom turned their backs
on the gods of light. Kahlyn explained without emotion why he was doing
such and he felt like a broken record: he would no longer follow a pantheon
that allowed thier mortals to seek vengeance, hold grudges, be supremely
selfish and more. No. Kahlyn held his ground and at the end of it all, was
shunned. The world became grayer, the shadows were no longer ominous and an
enchantor was no longer able to enchant.

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Wed Oct 12 01:44:57 2016

To All Zola ( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject Anticipation

Kahlyn glanced about the Obsidian Altar with anticipation. He was
halfway home and felt the weight of the day melt away into the shadows. He
paused his prayers to Lord Dragoth to reflect on the day's events. Since
his connection to Kantilles had been severed, he had felt a calmness as
never before. It was as if a blindfold had been lifted from his eyes and he
was almost giddy. He was certain his prayers would be heard, his patience
would be rewarded. 'Soon, ' he whispered.

Writer: Mercerion
Date Wed Oct 12 02:05:46 2016

Writer: Zorreau
Date Wed Oct 12 04:18:41 2016

To Shadow Fyahy'll All ( Imm RP Kyri Necrucifer )

Subject -=Descent Into Darkness=- (Prologue)

An energetic buzz filled the hallowed hallways of Storm Keep. An
excellent presence within the halls led to victory over the Dwarves of
Wargar. Taking himself from the celebrations; Zorreau returned to the
sanctuary of the Council Chambers and rested at the head of the table. His
absence didn't go unnoticed for long, the familiar presence of Crelius
Atennim silently entered the Chambers and ghosted across to his own chair.
The victory would turn to be hollow in the long term, but this is the shot
in the arm Keep morale required.

'Well done, Dark Lord. A victory upon the board. '

A short nod was All Zorreau offered in response, his hand rubbing
thoughtfully at his goatee. 'We shall let the men celebrate this night; but
we have to push on with our endeavours. Namely, Dame Gunn.

'I am in agreement, the Apostate does sterling work within her weakened
state, more so than some of His own keep.
' Crelius responded, also deep in

Resting his arms upon the grand meeting table, Zorreau glanced around at the
empty seats with a frown setting upon his features. 'The lack of Eraden or
Telthian to guide will have hindered her progress, the lack of Council as a
whole is hindering progress.

Celebrations continued to echo from down the hallways. Silence had dropped
and lingered over the pair, both consumed within their own thoughts.
Potential scenarios played through the mind of the Dark Lord, each ending
with another frown etching across his face. Not good enough.

'There is one option... ' began Crelius, waiting for Zorreau's attention.

'Let me hear it, Crelius'

'We descend into Darkness. We take the Apostate into the Reliaquary. '
announced the Chancellor, his face remained plain, waiting for a reaction or

'The Reliaquary? That place will kill her in such a weakened state. '
Zorreau continued, 'That has always been used for the fully-trained,
fully-prepared Knight to prove himself worthy of being one of God's chosen.

Crelius expression didn't change, the stalwart remained firmly behind his
thought process. Shifting slightly within his chair to lean forward,
Crelius spoke once more 'We must do something, Zorreau. We must allow the
Apostate to sink or swim. We will guide her through the Reliaquary and she
will prove her worth to God.

Leaning back into his chair, Zorreau focused his gaze upon his
brother-in-arms. Zorreau had trusted his comrade thus far, in All matters,
but this seemed to risky. Most are lucky to return with their own lives,
let alone save another.

'Speak with her. It must be her choice... '

A deft nod was the response and Crelius was gone.

Writer: Fyahy'll

Date Wed Oct 12 11:08:15 2016

To All shadow imm ( necrucifer rp )

Subject Trophies from Skull Keep pt 4

Fyahyll sat up in her saddle, peering at the wavering horizon from beneath
the protective cloth of her scarf. A fine coating of sand had already coated
everything. Such is the way when traveling the desert.

Not quite midday, she wasnt far from Storm Keep. The commotion and
shelter of the city left far behind, her destination and future lay just ahead.
With a gentle nudge, she prodded her mount forward.

The ride had given her time to reflect. The fever and pain opened doors and
windows within her mind. They allowed her thoughts to drift and approach
things from different angles. An almost delirious focus on the path before her
gave her purpose, strength.

The Dark Father would see her, heal her, and give her the chance to prove
herself worthy. Fyahyll grimaced as the saddle jarred slightly with the
uneven terrain, bring her back to reality. She would prove her worth or die in
the effort.

Writer: Kahlyn

Date Wed Oct 12 16:37:22 2016

To All Zola Vulgrim ( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject His first dark sermon

Kahlyn heard the call of the priest Vulgrim asking the world if anyone
wanted to know more of the Dark Father Necrucifer and so he answered.

He had never heard any of the tenets of Necrucifer and found himself
reaffirming he had made the right decision to turn to darkness. There was
honor in Darkness that he had never heard of. There was unity, and never
once had he been treated as a less than.

At the end of the sermon, he was given The Book of Evil, which he read
through from cover to cover while at the obsidian altar and he was inspired.
His resolve in his change of faith unfaltered, he continued his prayers.

Writer: Kahlyn

Date Wed Oct 12 17:57:28 2016

To All Zola Vulgrim Azheri( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject His first dark sermon 2

Azheri entered the obsidian altar moments after Vulgrim had introduced
himself to Kahlyn. Kahlyn glanced over with a smile, remembering how in the
past he had stood on a pedastool and tried to fault Azheri for leaving the
light. He had never understood why until his own awakening. During the
sermon he noticed Azheri was very focused, moreso than he had ever seen him.
He rarely spoke, but when he did it was in confirmation. Then he asked
about the chosen. Vulgrim and Azheri spoke a long while on what it meant to
be chosen and after, Azheri seemed even more driven. Kahlyn tried to
remember a time when even one person was so moved during a sermon of the
light and could not remember one time. Kahlyn smiled.

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Wed Oct 12 19:38:06 2016

To All Kreel Tayira ( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject The Garden of Death

Kahlyn felt the familiar whoosh of the magic portal as he magically
transitioned from Arkane to Abaddon and for a brief moment missed his own
magicks greatly. Kreel and his wife Tayira welcomed him at the Garden of
Death and what Kahlyn saw made his breath catch in his throat.

The gardens were alive and rotting at the same time and for the first time
in his life he saw a strange beauty in such. There was no sadness in the
decay, for he somehow knew that the gardens would survive and flourish out
of the rot. The dragon statue was masterfully created and he could not take
his eyes off it for the longest time.

Kahlyn spent time with Kreel as he scribed the codex. One person with the
tenets of All the dark gods so he could learn. He chatted with Tayira for a
time as well, learning that she once was of Austinian and had changed her
religion to a dark god as well after a similar awakening. He was inspired
again. After a wonderful visit he returned back to the Obsidian Altar and
back to his prayers.

Writer: Paxx
Date Wed Oct 12 21:14:00 2016

Writer: Cassidy
Date Thu Oct 13 07:57:22 2016

To All New_Thalos (Imm RP)

Subject Still Waiting....

She sighed as she sat on a crate at the harbor, staring out at the sea,
the sun beginning to rise. Another missive sent throughout the Realm,
touching every possible corner of the world. Holding on to threads of hope,
of possibility, of wishing it would be answered, that some word would reach
her, that a ship would be spotted in the horizon and he would be on it. He
was the best at the wheel, knew his way in the waters like a fish, there was
a reason why he was the Admiral. So... Where was he? Why hadn't he
returned? She had seen him some months before she had given birth to their
daughter, had received messages from him after her birth, but had never seen
him again. He's shop had closed down, his shopkeeper Felix had left to find
work elsewhere.

No one had heard word from him, but everyone hoped and prayed for his
return. She sighs again as she looks around at the busy harbor, she had
come there so many times to sit and watch the sea whenever her daughter
slept or attended school, and when she didn't need to attend to her many
duties of Headmaster and Jaddah of Nall Aruh. She walked her land and spoke
with the many citizens that were her responsibility, saw to the care of
crops and livestock, and often visited the stables to check on the prized
horses Nall Aruh was known for.

Day after day went much the same way in routines, but her heart grew heavy
and uncertain with doubts just a little more, and every time she would cast
such thoughts away, 'He will return, he has to. ' she would tell herself
firmly, but some times the doubts would resurface 'Will he return? Is he
alive? Is he well? Did he find someone else? Will he return?
' The words
circled in her mind, like a vicious snake biting it's tail. She shifts on
the crate and rises to her feet, the sun up in this clear and bright
morning, it was time to return to the Manor and see to the day's duties, and
the bright beautiful smile of the five year old who was her life, her joy,
her everything.

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Oct 13 10:38:21 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Oct 13 10:40:47 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Oct 13 10:42:33 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Oct 13 10:45:55 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Oct 13 10:48:16 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Oct 13 10:50:59 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Oct 13 10:52:30 2016

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Thu Oct 13 12:41:17 2016

To All Zola Ashtiel ( Kantilles Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject Cupcake War, Interrupted

Kahlyn was watching a cupcake war happen when he heard Ashtiel's voice
calling for him. At first he thought he was hearing things out of the
commotion of the cupcake war, until he realized someone afar was trying to
speak with him. He let his mind return the greeting and then excused
himself from the impending doom of frosting.

Kahlyn met Ashtiel several steps north of Arkane's northern gate and saw
her. Ashtiel had a book for him she wanted him to read. She explained she
was no priest and he was to make his decision of faith on his own but if she
could nudge him, then she had done her duty.

Kahlyn returned to the cupcake war, keeping the book close to him, wondering
what dark god would the book be about, she had never stated and he had never
asked. After everyone went to slumber he returned to the Obsidian Altar to
finally read the book, hoping it was a book about Lord Dragoth.

After hours of reading, he closed the book with a slight tilt of his head,
powerful words, he thought to himself. The book was about Necrucifer with
some writings from His followers and it was quite the interesting read.
Kahlyn put the book inside a robe and continued his prayers to Lord Dragoth.

Writer: Paxx
Date Thu Oct 13 13:26:35 2016

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Thu Oct 13 18:00:44 2016

To All Zola Vyasa ( Dragoth Kantilles imm rp religion )

Subject Step by Step

Kahlyn was still searching for a temple of Dragoth when he realized the
Count of Abaddon, Vyasa, was awake. He decided to chat with Vyasa for a bit
and Vyasa brought to his attention that he knew where a temple of Dragoth
was. Kahlyn had never seen such a temple and though the route was almost
too close to Verminasia for his comfort, he found himself in a beautifully
decayed temple of the dark god he was to follow. He smiled broadly and
inhaled the scent of decay deeply, enjoying the fragrance.

The two talked for a while, Kahlyn answering why, out of All the dark gods,
would he favor Lord Dragoth. Kahlyn smiled when he answered the question.
He considered Lady Drakkara but only to spite Kantilles-not enough reason to
pray to her. He would not be half hearted about such a decision. No, he
ultimately chose Lord Dragoth because he would follow the direct opposite of
the light: Decay, disease. He remembered one of the tenets he was learning:
--Look not to the heavens, ye who would follow me, look to the earth. My
domain is your own, not ethereal, not untouchable. -- He and his will were
all around and Kahlyn was already begining to understand and feel such a

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Fri Oct 14 01:22:33 2016

To All Zola Vershae ( Dragoth Kantilles imm rp religion )

Subject The Visit of Vershae

Kahlyn's prayers were interrupted by someone invisible looking about the
Temple of Dragoth and for a moment he tried to cast detect invisible before
he realized he had no access to magic. In less than a moment, he was
staring up at Vershae. He stood and tipped his head in respect to the Giant
Ogre. Then the conversation began.

Throughout the conversation, Kahlyn realized a great many things, much to
his embarrassment. Why was he holed up in a Temple instead of praising and
walking through life? Why had he not realized that devotion is merely a
word if he did not give his life to Lord Dragoth? For once in his life,
Kahlyn would listen intently and not speak, but learn. He had a great many
things to do and holing up in a temple never to see a soul was not what Lord
Dragoth deserved. He would have to do better... And he would.

Writer: Nehteak
Date Fri Oct 14 12:33:53 2016

To All Shalonesti RP

Subject Return of the Cannibelf.

"Well well, look who we have here." Lanac Sha'falas, unwavering
bladesinger of the Shalonesti woods, beamed widely with arms folded.

"It seems I cannot sneak past you, never could, never will." Nehteak

Four generations of elves had passed since the last time this elf had walked
the woods. He had left for reasons unknown, leaving rumours amongst the
fray for a little while speculating his absence and intent. It is unknown
to what extent he was missed, aside from the sniffing, which was apparently
all the rage in Algoron then. Now aged and with a slightly more stern
demeanour, he makes a quiet entry through the path of the Vallens.

"The warden of All Shalonesti surely knows his brothers." Lanac grinned.
Unfolding and stretching his arms out, he approached the plainly clothed
elf. "Welcome home, Cannibelf".

Nehteak stepped forward to receive Lanac's embrace. It had been a long
time, and memories of his youth in the Vallens flowed through his mind.
Most vivid of All were his fellow elves, most of whom departed with him.
His heart ached for them, not knowing their whereabouts or what they were
up to. In this short time of reconnaissance about the changed lands of
Algoron, he had seen much to strike fear for their safety, too.

"Thank you, Lanac. I've missed you dearly, too." Nehteak replied.

A few moments of silence passed, and now at arm's length, Lanac's
chainmailed hand upon his shoulder, Nehteak frowned. "Have you seen the

Lanac's face straightened. "You speak of the then-young elves who roamed
the fray with you?"

Nehteak nodded. A surge of emotions welled up as tears in his eyes, a huge
representation of brotherly affection that would move even an aged elf's
heart. "Drondon, Ronilas, Talyariel, Saio, Hyru, Vanil - the bunch of them,
and more."

The bladesinger heaved a sigh. "Yes, I remember them. They were as
energetic as you were, tossing dwarven heads as you strolled from the bind
to greet me, riddled with All kinds of etching and wounds and gores of
battle. No, they haven't been around."

A long pause followed. The face of the eldritch turned downcast, as his
grip upon his staff tightened.

"Then I must search for them."

Lanac looked on, allowing the returning elf to continue.

"The old guard of Shalonesti shall rise again." Whispered the Cannibelf, as
his frown gave way to a cunning grin.

Writer: Vaerus
Date Fri Oct 14 16:54:03 2016

To All Chaos Erebaal Her (Imm rp) Malachive

Subject Fractured

'Vaerus..... Vaerus...... VAERUS! '

That voice.

He knew that voice.

Knew who it belonged to. Knew it better than even his own. Knew he
shouldn't be hearing it here. It was her voice. But why was he hearing it
now? More importantly, how? It wasn't from outside. Wasn't in the manner
people privately communicated with one another. No. It was here.

Within the Warp.

How though? He knew from experience that it was impossible to break in.
Hell, he himself had tried on countless occasions. He had always been the
better of the two at getting into where they shouldn't be. Yet...

'Love? Are you still mad at me? '

Again, her voice. Echoing off the walls and other objects within. Maybe
while he was away... Yes. That was it. Had to be. The Wordbearer must
have granted her entry. That made perfect sense. It must've been recent
too. Not enough time for the notice to have reached him. Or maybe it was a
surprise? A reward? For All he had been doing. Yes! Of course! She and
Erebaal wanted to surprise him! Wanted to reward him!

'VAERUS!!! Why aren't you saying anything??! You ARE still mad! I knew

Shaken from his reverie he calls out her name. Listens to it bounce around
the chamber and split off down the halls. '.. My dear. I was never mad at
you. Could never be mad at you... When did you arrive? And where are you
hiding? Could it be that you want me to look for you? Want me to find you?

Awaiting her response, he closes his eyes, tuning his sense of hearing to
pinpoint her by sound. Hoping more so to catch even the faintest hint of
her scent. Already imagining what he'd do to her. What she would do to

'You and your games, love.. ' She chides, teasing him and being playful as

'I'm right here! '

He feels the impact, a familiar one, on his left arm. Just below the
shoulder. The same spot she's punched him for as long as he could remember.
It was always a prelude. Always the start of something else. Another sort
of "game" that would leave him marked by more than just the already forming
bruise. Near to salivating with hunger, he breathes deep to take in her

His eyes open to look upon her.

To gaze upon her.

To feast upon her.


Nothing but an empty room

Writer: Kahlyn

Date Fri Oct 14 19:22:31 2016

To All Zola Kefkamasu ( Dragoth Kantilles imm rp religion )

Subject A Priest of Lord Dragoth

Kahlyn was walking to get food, trying to decide what exactly he was
hungry for, when he heard the voice. By the grace of Lord Dragoth, the
missive he sent to Deacon Kefkamasu was delivered! Kahlyn was instructed to
meet at the Temple of Dragoth and he set off, immediately, ignoring his

Kahlyn arrived first and was filled with anticipation when he saw the tall
figure walk slowly into the temple. They had their pleasantries and then
Kahlyn was asked why Lord Dragoth. Kahlyn gave his answer and smiled
pensively. He had explained this to many people, as of late, but never to a
priest of Lord Dragoth-and for a short moment wondered if it was enough.
They continued to talk for a longer bit and again, Kahlyn merely listened
and learnt from the Deacon.

Kefkamasu told Kahlyn he would accept Kahlyn if Lord Dragoth would accept
him. He gave kahlyn a bunch of worms, stating it was his way of accepting
him, and he welcomed the new maggot to the swarm. Kefkamasu asked Kahlyn to
leave him be so he could pray to the Father of the swarm. Kahlyn nodded
once and thanked the Deacon gratefully before making his way back to Arkane.

Writer: Anathaelynn
Date Fri Oct 14 23:34:03 2016

Writer: Damerus
Date Sat Oct 15 03:47:10 2016

To All Mercerion Zorreau ( Imm RP Religion Nadrik )

Subject On the Hunt

'No. This is MY battle. I do not want anyone else fighting my battles
for me.

The temple chamber was quiet save for the sound of rushing water coming from
the forest just beyond its entrance doors. Natural light filtered in
through the chamber's windows, which were decorated in beautiful stained
glass. Evenly dispersed through the chamber were two columns of tall
pillars, row after row upon which the images made from the stained glass
were broken apart. Spaced evenly between each row of pillars were pews,
sturdy in their construction and made of polished maple.

Upon one of those pews sat a solitary figure, his deep blue eyes staring
intently up at the altar set at the front of the chamber. His thought were
many, and the pensive expression on his face reflected that reality. He has
set himself a task and things had progressed smoothly the first few days
after determining it, but things had slowed and he wasn't sure of what else
he could do save to be patient and wait. That was the difficult part, the
waiting. He could not stop his mind from imagining anything and everything
it could.

'I'm being blunt and I apologize for it, but that is vengeance, my friend.

'That place... Is not somewhere you can go with an intent that is impure,
for it will magnify the sin, and wholly corrupt you.

His mind kept coming back to those words, spoken to him not long ago now.
Damerus reached down and lifted his canteen from its place at his belt,
carefully removed the lid, lifted it to his lips then took a deep drink of
the cool, clean water contained within. As he withdrew his canteen, a
little water dribbled down his cheek. He quickly wiped his cheek with the
back of his hand, put the lid back on his canteen and set it aside, then

'Hah, had you of visited the Void you would wish its location was lost. '

Set in a depression upon the altar in front of Damerus burned the eternal
flame, as pure white as the snow-capped peaks of Icewall. Its tongues of
fire licked at the air around it as they danced and undulated, almost as if
they were actually taking in that air the same way a normal fire might.
There was nothing sinful about those flames, nobody would question their
purity should someone reach a hand out to them and find out they could, and
would, burn flesh. That was never the case with people though. No matter
how much you proved, there was still more that needed proving. All around
him the servants of the light were falling to darkness, yet still his
commitment was being questioned.

'No one will outlast me my friend. I promise you that. Only death will
truly separate me from Our Lord.

Damerus cupped his hands together and brought them up to his chin. Closing
his eyes, he began to pray. All he could think to do now was to wait. He
had already made one thing clear.

He'd find a way into the Void. No matter what.

Writer: Fyahy'll

Date Sat Oct 15 05:38:56 2016

To All Shadow IMM ( RP Necrucifer )

Subject Vigil

Fyahyll looked up at the ominous structure before. A monument to Prophecy
and the staging point for the domination of Algoron. Storm Keep stood as a
symbol of perseverance. The history of this monument and its occupants was
riddled with adversity, challenge, broken and forged anew. Not an antiquated
assumption of righteousness, but a single minded focus on one objective
tested and tried over and over.

And now here she stood, before this hallowed ground which had represented
the very antithesis of her life before. Now awoken she sought forgiveness,
acceptance and the opportunity to make things right.

Her hand travelled to the satchel at her side, finding comfort in the bulky
occupant within. The Book of Evil the title itself brought a slight smile to
the corner of her mouth, a rare visitor in recent times. Too often had men
concerned themselves with labeling things as good or evil and then aligning
themselves accordingly. There was only God.

The simplicity and completeness of that thought served to harden her resolve.
Fyahylls vigil had begun. The desert sands would be her home until that
quiet and imposing home of salvation opened its doors to her.

Wincing as she took a seat in the blowing sand, she sought out the book in her
satchel and began reading.

Writer: Paxx
Date Sat Oct 15 18:09:22 2016

Writer: Anathaelynn
Date Sat Oct 15 21:12:15 2016

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Sun Oct 16 02:25:38 2016

To All Zola Kefkamasu Yaark ( Dragoth imm rp religion )

Subject Praises of Lord Dragoth

In Kahlyn's weakness, he had never publicly sang of Lord Dragoth's
praises until he remembered a Tenet: (I AM HE) WHO CULLS THE WEAK, WHO
VALIDATES THE STRONG. He would not be culled, he would be validated and
thus he shouted for the world to hear, 'Prases to Lord Dragoth', to which
Azheri repeated as well. Then the sound of ignorance filled the world from
another, spouting 'youz praisez is weak and youz faithz as wellz'. He
opened his mouth to respond to such idiocy and then closed it. I shall not
give them reason to continue, for I know the truth. Lord Dragoth is not
weak, he culls the weak and at one point All feel his hand, he thought to

So he would not stop his praises and he would not be silent.

Writer: Elijah
Date Sun Oct 16 08:49:42 2016

Writer: Elijah
Date Sun Oct 16 08:49:55 2016

Writer: Elijah
Date Sun Oct 16 08:49:59 2016

Writer: Elijah
Date Sun Oct 16 08:50:21 2016

Writer: Keinan
Date Sun Oct 16 16:56:44 2016

Writer: Keinan
Date Sun Oct 16 17:00:40 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Sun Oct 16 21:40:30 2016

Writer: Catroina
Date Sun Oct 16 21:41:29 2016

Writer: Thasgerd
Date Sun Oct 16 21:51:48 2016

Writer: Paxx
Date Sun Oct 16 22:34:34 2016

Writer: Laleina
Date Tue Oct 18 08:56:49 2016

To All Immortal Roleplay Storyline ( Necrucifer )

Subject An Eve of Preaching

Laleina arrived in Arkane excited about the nights plans, it had been a
while since she thought of preaching and looked forward to the encounters.
She and Vulgrim reached the center of town and they called upon any who had
questions on the Master and slowly people appeared. She had an especially
long talk with a child that was a bit saddened over those of the light
turning him away.

Some were receptive and others a bit stubborn or impatient but she took her
time to explain to them the Master's will and ways. It was quite a good
night and many questions were answered as well as friendships forged in the
nights of adversity.

She smiled to Vulgrim as the night was coming to a close, "I truly enjoyed
bringing His word to; Algoron.
" She continued her walk towards home with
her beloved husband at her side. Damian greeted her at the door, as usual,
with his tail wagging at his devoted master. She scratched the wolf between
the ears before heading up the stairs.

Writer: Fyahy'll
Date Tue Oct 18 16:39:44 2016

To All Shadow IMM ( Necrucifer RP )

Subject Vigil pt 2

Thunder rolled across the darkened horizon. The storm clouds darkening the
afternoon like an artificial night. A welcome respite to the normal heat, large
heavy droplets pelted the barren ground with heavy audible thuds.

From her seated position, Fyahyll looked up into the sky watching the
individual raindrops streak downward to their inevitable collision with the
ground. The rain fell upon her sunburnt face, stinging slightly but alleviating
the the oppressive temperature. Her parched lips parted slightly to allow the
stray drop into her mouth.

Her delirious and fevered eyes searched the skies for some sign, some hope. Her
prayers fell on deaf ears. Her sins against the Dark Father too great. She was
forsaken and it appeared that no amount of submission would satisfy.

Salted rivulets of tears mixed with the rain on her faces. She screamed her
frustration at the dark clouds and no one heard.

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Tue Oct 18 16:54:34 2016

To All Zola Kefkamasu Elrie (Dragoth Imm RP Religion )

Subject Upon reading a missive...

Kahlyn finished reading Elrie's missive to the world about the tenets of
Lord Dragoth before putting the parchment into the flames of the candle in
front of him. Some things never change, he still loves to hear himself in
any format, be it voice or the written word. Once again, the light shows
the arrogance of incomplete knowledge, the pride laced with venomous,
ignorant speech. He dipped his quill into the inkwell and with a sly smile,
began writing a response.

Writer: Benthic
Date Tue Oct 18 22:00:30 2016

To All ( IMM RP Taliena Mencius )

Subject An Awakening

Benthic awoke after a long slumber of pondering. Awoken to the sound of
the one he calls "Brother," Kahlyn. It seemed like a fated day upon his
awakening, as Benthic had been seeking Kahlyn for a time and seemed to have
missed him every time. After much catching up, Kahlyn asked a simple
question. "Are you not tired, Brother?

After All the years of peoples resentment, hostility, and loathing of him.
He was truly tired, so his response was a simple, "Yes. "

After so many years of his life, trying to repent, trying to seek the
approval of others, to prove himself that he was not the man from past...
Tired. Tired of All the hoops he had to jump through, tired of All the
stares, All the mistrust, All the .... Light.

Kahlyn said something very simple and yet powerful to Benthic, "Embrace
yourself, Brother.
" So Benthic did just that. Embraced the one thing he
fought so hard to keep buried and at bay. The Rage. The transformation was
quite hostile as it usually was, a bit of a squabble between two brothers
before things calmed down. After such, the two agreed and then slumbered
until the next meeting

Writer: Benthic

Date Tue Oct 18 22:16:13 2016

To All Elrei ( Imm RP Taliena Mencius )

Subject Idiocy and Blindness

Benthic opens the missive from Elrei regarding Whispers of the Heart, his
eyes rolling and a chuckle rumbling. He reads the missive quickly yet
thoroughly before crumbling it up in a ball and channeling lightning through
his hand. He empties his hand to the floor as the missive erupts into
flames and disintegrates.

What Elrei forgets about Love is thus: Love is blind.

In that blindness, Love can be a poison. Consider this, a man loves a woman
so harshly that no one can have her so he slays her... Or he beats her and
she still stays with him. Out of Love.

Writer: Crelius
Date Tue Oct 18 22:45:11 2016

To All Necrucifer Shadow ( IMM RP )

Subject -=Descent Into Darkness=- (Prologue Part 2)

His gaze had been affixed on the small shadow of an essence that harrowed
itself upon the desert sands for hours. From atop his horse he could see
clearly the supplicant writhing in some sort of, rejected anguish. Crelius
noted the storm in the sky, rare indeed within these territories. With the
pelting of precious rain the wasteful sands gobbled them up like a rare
delicacy. The winds blew, and with that the sands blew with them.

"Hrmmmmm," Crelius muttered to himself as he considered the subject at a
distance. Could this one truly survive the trial of the depths? None
before his own knights have ever survived such an endeavor.

As he considered a stark claw of lightning rippled through the upward
grey-scape with a foretelling cadence.

Through his ashen hood the knight clenched his jaw at the sight of the
strike and coming storm. He began to gallop.

Many things had changed over the years. His purpose, his existence, had
been snuffed back into being for a single purpose. His tether to a place
known as the Reliquary was his object to bear. This though. This still
would be a thing that he had never considered.

The winds howled wildly over the Ivory wastes as Crelius approached the
feeble form of a knight bereft of a place. Approaching her from behind, he
stopped his steed aloft her and stirred it with a whinny. Before she could
perceive his presence he spoke.

"This is no place to travel unguided. Legend beholds that if thirst does
not take you, then the Wyverns sting, or the sands themselves shall," the
old knight spoke.

Quickly her glance turned upwards upon him, revealing ravaged and harsh
features. Tears wept from her windswept eyes not unlike the disarray of her

Crelius looked down. The howling winds whipping the frails of his robed
countenance as he spoke.

"If it is acceptance you seek, youve merely had a taste of what you will
endure," Crelius reached beneath the fold of his robe, producing a tied
scroll. He considered its implications for a moment.

He tossed it down towards the fallen paladin, who reached towards it in some
desperation. Grasping it she clenched her jaw and gazed up towards the
mounted Shadowknight in resilience.

Crelius did not regard her but reared his horse and rode back into the sand
storm, abandoning Fyahyll to the tempest.

Writer: Benthic

Date Tue Oct 18 23:09:22 2016

To All ( IMM RP Taliena Mencius )

Subject An Incessant Need Need

Knelt in prayer for what seems like days in the Lords Temple. The heat,
beating down relentlessly, and a cold sweat dripping down his face. The
hottest place, he is knelt, at the center of the room.

He suddenly opens his eyes, always blood shot now. With no control or
guidance he lets the full flow of the rage flow through him. He spins
quickly to turn toward his companion of what seems forever, Nessy. He rears
a leg back and kicks the horse in the leg, forcing backwards in with a wet
snap. The horse whines in pain and in a fluid motion, strikes true at the
other leg severing tendons. He stands slowly as the horse whines, his back
turned, hearing the thud of the falling over.

With his back turned he says "An honorable man would put you out of your
misery. Darkness Bless.

He turn and walks over to kneel next to the chargers head, placing hands at
opposite sides of its head before quickly snapping its neck.

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Tue Oct 18 23:52:13 2016

To All Zola Kefkamasu (Dragoth Imm RP Religion )

Subject A Culling

Kahlyn had taken to walking, now that he was with no magic. Slowly he
remembered All the places he used to explore as a child on Althainia. He
took turns meditating, praying, and writing in his journal while marveling
in the sunshine.

In one of his robes, he carried an assortment of picnic foods. He passed a
small clearing filled with five small houses and his lips curled into a
smile. What have we here? He thought to himself. He pulled out a map
and looked it over, realizing what he had found was not a city, nor town
found on any map. This shall be perfect.

Kahlyn walked through the clearing and smiled warmly at All the adults in
the immediate area, giving out bread and cheeses and cold cuts to them all,
bidding them a fond day. At each of the houses, there was a sign of one of
the gods of light and Kahlyn made sure he visited each house, never leaving
one without donating food of some kind. None of the houses had children,
which relieved Kahlyn, for he would not do harm to those not of the adult

He walked halfway down the hill and looked back up grinning. They were so
happy to get such simple food. They were so happy, not knowing their fate
had been sealed once their little clearing was in his sights. Why choose
them? They were cut off from the rest of the world, they were weak. Lord
Dragoth culls the weak, and through Kahlyn's hand, His will had been done.
After they had eaten the poisoned food and died in fits of screams, Kahlyn
grinned and nodded, "Their bodies will rot for a long time, my gift to Lord

Writer: Corron

Date Wed Oct 19 00:15:22 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Wed Oct 19 00:17:08 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Wed Oct 19 00:18:49 2016

Writer: Vaerus
Date Wed Oct 19 01:14:19 2016

To All Chaos Erebaal Her (Imm rp) Malachive

Subject Succumbing to cruelty

He is here. I keep my posture and gait the same. Regardless, I know. I
can sense it. Can feel it. Can feel him...

There is no perceptible change to her movements. Regardless, he knows. She
can sense him. He can feel it. Can feel her...

I take care that I don't let on. Don't give away that I know. I could
always sense it somehow. We were ever linked, he and I. Always connected.
Each of us a smoldering inferno at either end of the same candle. For all
his skill at remaining hidden, I always could tell whenever he was near.
Even if I was unable to tell where he was exactly. Still, I knew he was
close. I could feel his hunger...

Vaerus watches her from nearby. Obsfucated by the shadows cast, he is
invisible to All but the most acute of eyes. So long as he remains
motionless. She draws closer with each silent step. With each bated breath
he takes. Close. So close. Every predatory nerve electric within him.
Alive with excitement. Anticipation. Hunger...

I can feel his gaze. Feel his eyes traversing the length and breadth of my
body. Feel him studying me. My every movement. He is stalking me. Toying
with me. Playing with me. Wanting me... Needing me... To make a mistake.
To slip up and leave myself exposed. To leave an opening. Watching.

She was so close to him now. So very close. He could discern the rise and
fall of her breast. Could hear her breathing. Closer and closer. She was
almost in range. Almost within reach. Just a few more steps. A few more
torturous feet. He catches her scent now. It would be mere seconds. He
just had to endure a bit longer. Had to stay still. Had to remain

Writer: Benthic
Date Wed Oct 19 02:19:40 2016

To All ( IMM RP Taliena Mencius )

Subject A Pathetic Attempt

Benthic's ears perk up at the sound of a warhorse and the jingle of
chainmail. He remains knelt in prayer as Kahlyn walks in. Benthic throws a
knife at the approaching company, which Kahlyn deftly dodges saying, "You
are gonna have to do better than that.

Benthic smirks and asks "Did you hear the jingle.? Kahlyn shakes his head.
Eethan, crusader of the Lance strides through the door with a deep frown on
his face. It seemed Kahlyn had seen this Knight before as he said, "You
. With a simple response in return, Kahlyn left the room to the
Knight and Benthic.

Benthic unsheathed his sword in preparation for a fight which was quelled
when the Knight said "`Sheath thine sword, I am not here to kill you
" So he did, reluctantly

This Knight had come to confront Benthic for disowning Taliena. The same
Knight that came to Kahlyn.

How pathetic

The Knight asked why, Benthic returned an answer.

"The Light is not what "Light" should be. Fractured, hateful, jealouse,
honorless, Hypocrits."

The only claim this Knight mentioned is that the Light are mortals. That is
no excuse when those gods and godesses of Light allow such things.

Benthic persisted. In the end, his words fell on deaf ears per the usual
with the Light. They are All and unhindered. Yet, in his mind, that is
exactly why the Light is losing yet another one of their fold.

Writer: Zola

Date Wed Oct 19 03:35:04 2016

To All Kahlyn Kefkamasau Abaddon Bloodlust Verminasia Darkonin Immortals Fatale Dragoth

Subject X A Culling X

As dusk settled on the horizon, a shadowy figure slipped into the quiet
little hamlet, observing the comforts of home. The food at the table had
long since grown cold, as had the bodies on the floor, splain out in a
variety of uncomfortable poses. Mouths filled with foam left little down
how they had died. Poison.

Nodding thoughtfully to himself, Zola stepped inside to observe Kahlyn's
work, noting as he did the absence of children amongst the bodies.

How very interesting, he mused quietly.

Satisfied with what he had found, he swept from the house like the spectre
of death itself, leaving behind the bodies to rot until their neighbors
would inevitably discover them. He would not interfere with Dragoth's
faithful. No, they were united in their purpose.

Darkness descended on the hamlets as night fell.

Writer: Fyahy'll

Date Wed Oct 19 06:17:00 2016

To All Shadow Crelius Zorreau IMM ( Necrucifer RP )

Subject -=Descent Into Darkness=- (Prologue Part 3)

"This is no place to travel unguided. Legend beholds that if thirst does
not take you, then the Wyverns sting, or the sands themselves shall,"

Immune to surprise, Fyahyll turned to face the somber voice. Angry to be
disturbed in such a vulnerable state, she squinted against the driven rain and
sand. A dark mounted figure towered over her. An absence of light, the dark
silhouette was inconstant as if some crackling figure made of void.

If it is acceptance you seek, youve merely had a taste of what you will endure

A short flickering movement and a scroll bounced and rolled over the wet
sand towards her. Fyahyll reached desperately for the tightly bound cylinder,
grasping it tightly with both hands before looking back up. the void figure
reared its mount and disappeared as quickly as it had come. The thumping of
galloping hooves was quickly lost in the cacophony of rain striking hard and
wet packed sand.

Pulling her cloak around her, holding the scroll tightly within, she resumed
her vigil. There would be time to read once the storm passed.

Writer: Corron

Date Wed Oct 19 23:08:42 2016

Writer: Kahlyn

Date Thu Oct 20 04:33:42 2016

Writer: Laniath
Date Thu Oct 20 08:00:00 2016

To All Immortal Storyline Religion ( Taliena )

Subject A Day of Deep Meditation

Lani had spent the days walking about and observing the ways people could
show love to one another. People helping people yet in Althainia she
wondered why such a hatred towards those of the darkness? Why turn many
away for whom they wish to serve? Love is love and transcends All pantheons
for even in the darkness one can find love.

Laniath had a heart full of love, even for those who were not of the light.
When one wishes to join a war, one must leave their animosities aside and
open their hands to what they will encounter. The word of a friend turning
to darkness reached her and, although All others disowned him and hated him,
she felt nothing but love and concern for her friend.

She sat in deep thought wondering why so much hate is spread from those who
follow the light. One cannot win a heart over if you offer them the same
attitude you expect from evil. She had gotten to work with a gentleman who
followed the darkness yet he was kind, caring, and respectful of her being
of the light.

How can anyone speak of love with hatred in their heart, show honor when one
is shaming others, speak with respect to others without showing respect for
the other person, or even convert someone to the light by showing any
negative attributes.

Taliena is love and love knows no boundaries. She had made her decision,
one accepts her with an open and honest love, darkness or light, she will
show the same love towards all. Lady Taliena will see her as thorn possibly
but she will shine with love as Lady Taliena would expect from her. She
walked into Her Temple with a new outlook, a life of true love.

Writer: Kahlyn
Date Thu Oct 20 13:56:30 2016

To All ( Dragoth Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Fw: A Questioning

| -----Original Message-----
| From: Kahlyn
| To: Narsh Zola Kefkamasu ( Dragoth Imm RP Religion )
| Subject: A Questioning
| Date: Thu Oct 20 04:33:42 2016

Kahlyn was out wandering and found himself trapped in quicksand and then
in an infernal room beneath it. With no magic and no way to return back to
his home city, he waited. Luckily Zola found him and was able to get him
safely home. As he was walking back to his newly favored Grayclaw's
Srumptious Delights, he nodded at a passing Yinn. He then heard the voice
in his head a few moments later:

".. Hrn. Wait. Are you the one constantly gossiping of Dragoth?"

Kahlyn responded with a simple yes.

The Yinn had questions so they decided to meet and discuss them face to
face. After the normal pleasantries, Kahlyn found the Yinn's name to be
Narsh of the Marauders... And then came the question of why follow a god of
pestilence, what could it offer a person?

Kahlyn went over a few of Lord Dragoth's tenets, explaining to the best of
his ability how He brings forth life from death, who culls the weak and
validates the strong. He explained if a person survived a poisoning, they
could possibly be imune to that poison in the future, they were made
stronger, the same with disease. They spoke a bit longer and Narsh simply

"A more reasonable answer than I would've thought. I was sincere when I
said I didn't understand why you would follow such a God."

Kahlyn replied with "It is not for many and always for those whom see His

Narsh said, "I will admit I was expecting some hint of lunacy. I've noticed
a certain trend of.. Hrn.. Sanity.. Among those who chose to follow the
dark gods, however."

Kahlyn smiled at this with a nod. They parted ways and Kahlyn called him
back after a few moments, presenting Narsh with the Tenets of Dragoth so he
could always remember.

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Oct 20 22:54:17 2016

Writer: Corron
Date Thu Oct 20 22:56:18 2016



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