home  |  dsl forums  |  equipment list  |  PLAY THE GAME  |  armor shops  |  DSL Wiki  |  maps/directions  ]

The World of Algoron

The Kingdoms
The Clans
The Races
Classes
History

Religion

Remorts
Manatonics
Crafting
Artifacts
The Underworld
Story Note Archive
History Notes Archive


Inside DSL

Contact Us
Players Online
The Immortals
Hall of Fame

Web Page Quests
Fan Links
Donations
Conventions
DSL Podcast
Submit a Con Card


Competition

Capture the Flag (ACFL)
Clan Wars
Algoron World Games
Kingdom Wars
Gladiator League
(AGL)
AGL Elite
Jousting Assoc. (AJA)
The Magma Cup


 
Helpful Links

DSL Wiki Page
Mudlet Client
Directions Google Doc

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

Preparations
Coming to Terms
The End is Near
Bloodwar Chronicles (1)
Down Below: {uHer Selenic Guard ( 2 )
Bloodwar Chronicles (2)
Bloodwar Chronicles (3)
Bloodwars - Company Plans
Preparations for War - Revelations in the Dark
Bloodwar Chronicles (4)
Bloodwar Chronicles (5)
BloodWars Allies Unite
Bloodwars Part 1 Wearwolves and Vampires Oh My!
The Ponderings of a Future Queen
Down Below: {uA Night In Abaddon ( 3 )
A fleeting memory, a new path (The Bloodwars)
Clearing the Dust - Temple of Fatale
Swamp Sacrifices
On mention of war
Call of the Void (1)
Call of the Void (2)
On mention of war (2)
On mention of war (3)
Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 1 ( Revised Recap!) 1/2
Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 1 ( Revised Recap!) 2/2
Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 2, 1/3
Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 2, 2/3
Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 2, 3/3
On mention of war (4)
On mention of war (4.5)
The Shadows of Arkane
Wintrine's start-up plan
The Penumbral Wynd
The Tidelands
The Firmament
Penumbral Genesis
Dark Beneficence
Contrasts - {oA Cottage Day
|A| Return of the Parrot |A|
A World of Color
A World of Color
A Familiar Afternoon
A Familiar Afternoon
A decision made
A decision made (2 of 2)
Bloodwar Chronicles (6)
Bloodwar Chronicles (7)
Bloodwar Chronicles (8)
Unwanted Slayer Visits
Bloodwar's Belstrad and the Elder
Bloodwar Chronicles (9)
Bloodwar Chronicles (10)
Lessons Learned
Lessons Learned
Quoth the Raven
A meeting of friends
The Veiled Maw of Levinox
The Veiled Maw of Levinox
School Subjects
School Subjects
In Pursuit of Research, Part 4: A disaster in the field
A strange summons
The chapel of Forlorn (1)
The chapel of Forlorn (2)
The chapel of Forlorn
The waiting game
A peculiar dream (I)
Down Below: {uFour Gnomes go "Spelunking". ( 4 )
Games In The Dead Of Night
{uFeed the Dream - Ascension
A peculiar Dream (II)
A peculiar Dream (III)
A peculiar Dream (IV)
A peculiar Dream (V)
A peculiar Dream (VI - End)
The End. The Beginning. The Thrall.
100 Days of Death: The Choices We Make
An excerpt from the journal of Jochi Takahashi
Mischief and Laughter!
Whisper and Tears of the Lake
{uStray Thoughts of a Nyx
Crypt Walking
Asrar...a mother?
A Prayer for the Sire of the Void
{uA Win With No Victory
Crystal Vision!
Grow your gardens: Transforming Tears
Waters of Purification!
The Countess's Impostered Warning





Writer: Thuken
Date Thu Apr 11 19:53:41 2024




Writer: Emmyth
Date Fri Apr 12 11:08:06 2024




Writer: Emmyth
Date Fri Apr 12 22:05:57 2024




Writer: Emmyth
Date Sat Apr 13 00:13:58 2024




Writer: Emmyth
Date Sat Apr 13 09:45:00 2024




Writer: Zaccur
Date Sat Apr 13 10:39:41 2024

To All ( RP )

Subject Preparations



He leaves the meeting with more questions than answers. Two rulers, one
with the final say, yet neither what he expected. Beyond surprised at the
rise of one, and the other a mystery. He had much to think on, and little
time to do it.

Back at the Haven he sits in the Council Chamber, looking over papers and
talking with his staff. He had said he would reveal little of the plan, yet
was finding it increasingly hard to get his council to understand how urgent
this was. He hated to do it, but he'd have to use his position for once to
demand they just do as he said and trust in his judgement.

"Enough! You will send the scouts where I have indicated, and their leader
has approval to have even more locations once they understand the situation.
I want All Home Guard and military leave cancelled for the next week.
Recall any training regimens and begin basic drills. All will be on high
alert for the coming days. No more questions. Do it.
"

He glares around the table, everyone staring at him in shock. He gave them
a few moments to collect themselves before adding, "No more questions on
why. You will do it, or I will find others who can. Every single scout
will be utilized, with relays between All posts so that if any meet and ill
fate, we will know by their failed arrival and we can enact our defenses.
This is no drill. Any scout missing will set off the rest of us. Do I make
that clear?
"

As he suspected, there was no further discussion on "why". Instead they all
started to finally look at his plan and offers suggestions for other
postings for the scouts, additional pockets of where the other soldiers
might stage, and how to not alert the whole kingdom and spread fear. The
wonderful excuse of a military exercise would be used. Which, thankfully,
is truth. Any such movement is an exercise. Leaving "training" off of it
would likely concern a few, but the majority wouldn't notice that.

He retires once the plan is prepared and the proper documents signed...
Always something to sign. With a sigh he falls onto the blankets, clothed
and uncaring as he passes out from exhaustion. His final thoughts turn to
the future of Arkane.




Writer: Zaccur

Date Sat Apr 13 10:40:42 2024

To All ( RP Croatoan Imm Religion Arkane )

Subject Coming to Terms



The King lay in the garden and stares up at nothing. His thoughts on his
rule, his life, and the future. He thought he had it All figured out until
recently. Oh how so very wrong he was. His trust broken by not one, but
three. His Kingdom becoming a deserted wasteland basically overnight. The
lack of interest in events. All of it just adding up to one simple
conclusion.

Change is what is needed.

He sighs, rolling over and fidgeting with the edges of the blanket,
remembering fondly times past. So many mistakes he's made. Trust. How he
keeps falling for the allure of giving his trust to others. No. Enough is
enough. Change is needed. The people demand it by their absence, the world
demands it by its dormancy, and his life demands it by its failures.

He rolls over again, sprawled out on the blanket and holding back his
emotions. He'd decided then. Now he just needs to work out the details and
hopefully Arkane will blossom again.




Writer: Vyasa
Date Sat Apr 13 17:59:26 2024




Writer: Asrar
Date Sat Apr 13 19:19:32 2024




Writer: Vyasa
Date Sun Apr 14 20:58:04 2024




Writer: Zaccur
Date Mon Apr 15 22:50:07 2024

To All ( RP Croatoan Imm Religion Arkane )

Subject The End is Near



He sat at his desk, staring down at the missive he'd written. It took
him several long moments, much more emotional ones than he expected, before
he handed it off to the scribes to disperse across the lands. He sat back
and sighed, reflecting.

Had he really just agreed to abdicate?

With no real doubts coming to him, he simply nodded to himself. The next
Queen was someone he respected and knew cared for Arkane deeply, and with
her might come the changes that his home needs to not just survive, but
thrive. Yes. This was the right path.

The soft scent of firewood reaches his nose and he turns to look out the
window, standing and moving to it. Soon he would be entrusting this to
another. Strange, how after only 6 months he was already this attached.

Did every King or Queen who steps down have these thoughts? Surely they
did. He'd like to think so at least. So few left from what he feels were
his glory day. So few, and yet he was about to step down and retire to a
quiet life and leave them one fewer. At least he'd be hidden from the lies,
the betrayals, and the heartaches.

His thoughts turn dark, brooding, and he steps back from the window and
stares at the hearth. How annoying it is to care. Such a weakness for a
king to be so easily attached. So easily broken. His youth had taught him
well, and he seemed to have forgotten that somewhere along the way.

Hours of brooding into the fire pass, and he grumbles, wiping at his face
and slapping his cheeks as he rises and heads to bed. His final thoughts
are of relief that the end is near.





Writer: Vyasa
Date Tue Apr 16 11:53:27 2024




Writer: Maccus
Date Wed Apr 17 04:03:21 2024




Writer: Maccus
Date Wed Apr 17 04:04:13 2024




Writer: Emmyth
Date Thu Apr 18 00:36:39 2024




Writer: Vershae
Date Thu Apr 18 00:58:45 2024




Writer: Maccus
Date Thu Apr 18 03:20:08 2024




Writer: Maccus
Date Thu Apr 18 03:20:44 2024




Writer: Maccus
Date Thu Apr 18 03:20:49 2024




Writer: Maccus
Date Thu Apr 18 03:20:53 2024




Writer: Jochi
Date Thu Apr 18 12:43:46 2024




Writer: Piknim
Date Thu Apr 18 12:46:27 2024

To Verminasia Shadow Abaddon Eevelline All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (1)



The cool night air and occasional screech of a bat provided wine and song
enough for Piknim Cracklespark. She stood on a palace terrace overlooking
the city, a parchment with a broken seal of scarlet wax in hand. He violet
eyes wandered restlessly, surveying both in turn.

The Bloodwar had begun and pieces were now in motion.

Piknim empathized with Abaddon's plight, even if her well of sympathy had
run dry. The Darkness faced many challenges beyond the Bloodlands, after
all. She turned her wide-eyed gaze to the Aurora blazing on Verminasia's
horizon, less a beacon of hope than a foreboding flame that threatened to
engulf All she had found in her journey - everything withheld from
Kender-kind by the gods of Light and Balance, or left to ruin through
neglect. Magic. Purpose. Homeland. Hope for a better future, much less
strength enough or the will to seize it for themselves.

The longer Piknim stared at the whorl of light and fire the more she
seethed, until the tainted dragonbone kris at her side began to throb with
Crimson Ire as it fed upon her hatred. Finally, the kender witch vented her
rancor with sigh, turning from the Aurora, and the fel heartbeat abated.

In the distance she could hear a faint echo of steel-toed footfalls and
iron-shod hoofbeats on Verminasian cobblestones alongside the call of
military cadence. Three companies of Verminasian troops marched forth in
support of Abaddon, with Captain Hege Vinter commanding one of them. The
bars pinned to her collar were shiny and new, but the shoulders that bore
the weight of responsibility were anything but young. The aging assassin
had a good head on her shoulders. Supernatural threats called for sound
judgment and sturdy mettle. Hege would represent the kingdom well. In that
the Darkfinder found no doubt.

She descended the terrace stairs and proceeded to Verminasia's palace war
room on a path marked with droplets of dried blood, a testament to unseen
events that sparked a memory of her recent meeting with Abaddon's leaders in
the Death Garden.

* A dulcet whisper breathed along the Darkfinder's ear and over her neck.
"The coveted streets of Verminasia lie between two powers. Do not forget."

* - * - * - * - * - * - *

"A particularly naughty vampire snuck into the War Room and painted spooky
eyes on All the mirrors in blood," Piknim declared with open amusement. The
kender witch's reflection dabbed dried blood from its glass portal and
grinned irrepressibly at Lavinah Nether'vyr. The dark elven Priestess of
Dragoth found little humor in the macabre find.

"..my. Are you not concerned, Advissor?"

Piknim ushered Lavinah from the war room with a beckoning hand and they met
in the hall. "Mildly concerned," the diminutive Advisor confessed. She
wore a grim smile, as a gardener dons gloves before moving rocks and pulling
weeds. "However, there's nothing to gain by fretting and little to be done
about it. Verminasia is well defended both within and without. The only
bastions Caustus can hope to breach are our spirits. Morale is of utmost
import. Let us institute a policy - nobody walks alone within the palace.
Don't call it the buddy system. That sounds lame. Call it - oh, I don't
know - shadowing. Don't go anywhere without a shadow!"

Lavinah smirked and shook her head. "Very well," the priestess acquiesced,
"That ssaid, I recommend desstroying the mirrorss, yess?"

"Agreed," Piknim replied, snapping her fingers to summon a pair of
attendants.

Destroy every mirror save one and place it in the vaults. When All is said
and done I'll hang it in my parlour. Caustus can watch from the Great
Beyond as All of his dreams fade to nothing and mine come true!




Writer: Eevelline

Date Thu Apr 18 16:49:06 2024

To Drakkara Symantha Emmyth Piknim Vyzander Abaddon Verminasia All ( Imm RP Cayenna )

Subject Down Below: {uHer Selenic Guard ( 2 )


There are five. Five acolytes at this point of the night, with their
lovely brooms and feather dusters roaming around Drakkara's Temple.
Naturally there are more, yet many are busy within the vast space that
constitutes this temple. Her Temple does indeed require a great deal of
upkeep, I mean- who keeps those luscious cushions stuffed properly? But it
is these five.. That we will look in on for this moment. If the five
figures present are a telltale sign of their skill with magic, their brooms
being animated and performing the work for them- then that is a true and
apparent thing to see. Of these five, two are re-igniting the torches and
lightwork about Her Temple, and another is indeed- suturing those lovely
cushions.

A sixth figure joins them, but this one is quite short- her black robe
rippling in her wake as she sprints into the temple. Eevelline jumps up
with a singular fist pumping up into the wondrous chasm that this gnome has
swept many times before.

'WE GO TO WAR ONCE MORE, ACOLYTES! By order of High Priestess Symantha
Schwartz, we're moving out over the weekend! '

One of the Acolytes stops in his sweeping tracks. He's rather skinny, of
alabaster skin- and this one has glasses. He smiles, perhaps out of
disbelief- or perhaps out of confusion. His teeth are brushed though, so
that's pretty great. 'Eevelline?! Where have you bee-'

'Larry that's a long story, we don't have time to talk now- but we do indeed
have work to do! '

Eevelline simply runs up to "Larry", and stares up at him.

Larry doesn't really seem to protest, but he does manage an interrupted
quip. 'Eeve, my name is Lawr-'

'Yes yes, I know- Lawrence of Verminasia. It's Larry, because it's a better
name. How soon can we muster the veteran attendants and magisters? '

Larry looks to the other four, and gives a nod. The other four take notice-
and depart with haste- their animated cleaning utensils in tow. 'We'll be
ready by end of week, and will begin making our way to.. Where exactly? '

---

'You haven't slept. You're falling into old habits, worm. '

'If they are preparing, so will I. Mine is more of a mental thing.
Veprecula is alive and well, or she will be soon. '

There are two gnomes in this place. One is real.. One is severely maimed,
yet a duplicate of the other. The maimed one appears to be missing her
eyes, as well.

'If you won't embrace -me-.. Then you'll simply perish. You think you're
alive because of.. YOU? ' The maimed one cackles- skipping around..
Appearing to avoid any obstacles sans being able to see.

Eevelline sighs, and looks off toward a space in this ruined temple. It is
a blank, empty spot.. Moss even grows on the stonework. It erupts into
fire after a moment, the flames climbing upward- pulling the air into a
typhoon of heat.

The gnome pulls out a folded up bit of parchment from a robe pocket. It's a
map of Althainia, the continent having a great deal of detail. A dark red
circle rounds about a single notation on this map. This place encircled- is
Abaddon.




Writer: Piknim

Date Thu Apr 18 16:51:20 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Eevelline All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (2)



Verminasia's Lunarium Academy, a dark bastion of higher learning, rivaled
the Conclave in breadth of study if not in depth. Piknim reminisced of days
gone by as she walked the mahogany-paneled halls, which stood eerily quiet
and still. Classes must be in session.

She halted before a long array of wooden lockers, one of which stood out
distinctly from the others. Its door hung crooked from a broken top hinge
and racial slurs were carved into the time-worn surface. However, a
pristine bronze plaque fastened to the wall above the locker bore a familiar
surname.

Cracklespark, P.

Piknim continued on her way, passing by MAMA - the Mirrors of Arcane Martial
Arts - where young dueling club memebers practiced wand techniques. A
cacophony of blasts, zaps, pops, and light-hearted curses resonated from
within the secure chamber, summoning a fond smile to her lips. Wand dueling
fell out of style long ago, or so she thought. Perhaps it had made
something of a comeback.

Wands were one of the only arcane disciplines the kender witch ever truly
excelled at during her time at the academy. After all, wand techniques
relied almost entirely upon speed of mouth and manual dexterity. She had
some serious skills. Even so, it only took a single ounce of
overconfidence, a short lapse in focus for one well-timed barrage of command
words in rapid-fire gnome-speak to zap a wand right out of your hand.

The fourth floor stairs felt longer and more demanding than her legs
remembered them. Piknim crested the landing with an exaggerated groan and
wandered from one office to another until she found the one belonging to
Winnifredanna Dafnedorra, Dean of Natural Arcana. The door stood slightly
ajar, and so the kender witch rapped upon it once politely before poking her
head inside with a wide grin.

"Hey ho, Winnie. Guess who!"

A tinker gnome looked up in surprise, blinking behind the wide lenses of
brass-rimmed glasses. The indigo-streaked black pigtails she remembered so
distinctly were bound up in prim space buns, but little else had changed in
the interim. "Cracklespark?" Winnie exclaimed, rising from her chair,
"Archduchess, rather. Wellwellwell. Whatasurprise! Come in.
Comecomecome!"

Vigorous handshakes, a warm embrace, and fond backpats were exchanged
amongst old chums. Piknim's gaze explored the Dean's office with customary
curiosity All the while, wandering across gilded book bindings, arcane
curios of All sorts, and exotic art pieces before settling upon a collection
of bronze trophies. One trophy in particular, a pair of crossed wands
afixed to a translucent chunk of black crystal, stood front and center.

"Our doubles trophy," Piknim cooed at the keepsake with delight, "You kept
it after All this time?"

"Yesofcourse," Winnie confirmed with an indignant sniff, "No one believes me
when I tell them I beat you in a sanctioned match. The doubles championship
must thereforesuffice!"

"I'm not sure that I even believe it," Piknim quipped playfully, hiding a
snicker behind her hand.

Winnie reached for a nearby wand of hornbeam and waggled it at the kender
witch. "Don't start with me! Don'tyoudoit!"

* - * - * - * - * - * - *

"So, you need moonsilver," Dean Dafnedorra queried brusquely, "And why's
that, I wonder?"

"It's a secret!"

"It's for fighting Ancient vampires. That's no secret."

Piknim folded her arms and adopted a scowl. "How'd you know about that?"

"I read the Countess of Abaddon's public notices."

The kender witch buried her face in both hands with a muffled groan of
consternation.

"Speakingofpublicnotices," Winnie transitioned smoothly with the hint of a
cunning smile that belied her scholarly disposition, "I've not heard from
Scholarch Orbra Darkstone in some time. Will his position be open any time
soon?"

Piknim parted her tiny fingers and peeked through them. "Winnie, I'll get
you a corner office on the Black Moon if you get me what we need to win this
thing!"




Writer: Piknim

Date Thu Apr 18 16:55:45 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Eevelline All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (3)



Winnie and Piknim swept into the Natural Arcana Department's vaults with
a purpose, followed by a gaggle of uniformed students. The mild-mannered
Dean, in the height of her element, possessed the ardent mien of a soldier
on a mission. Winnie passed off a hefty arcanium key-ring to her kender
compatriot. "Vault 87," she instructed, before turning to address the class
leader. "Arcane Geology of Algoron, page 273. Moonsilver."

The afore-mentioned student, a dour dark elf with spectacles, laid open his
copy of the text upon a table, turned to the numbered page, and read the
entry aloud over a rattle of keys:

"Moonsilver, rare chemical element. A soft, white, lustrous transition
metal associated with mundane silver deposits and warpstone crystal, both of
which form in abundance along leylines. Warpstone crystal occurs naturally
in three colors - white, black, and red. Light from the Moons filters
through natural crevasses and refracts off crystals of the appropriate hue;
over centuries, focused moonlight imbues veins of silver with qualities
germane to arcane application. Moonsilver exhibits among the highest arcane
conductivity, electrical conductivity, thermal conductivity, and
reflectivity of any metal with high amplification potential."

A series of clacks sounded as the tumblers fell into place, punctuating the
dark elf's words. Piknim pulled the vault door open with a creak, retrieved
an arcanium coffer, and hefted it onto the table with a dull boom. She
lifted the lid. A trio of moonsilver ingots rested within upon a bed of
black velvet, lustrous beyond belief, glimmering with faint hues of halcyon,
vermillion, and indigo. Pure arcane potential.

"What're ya gonna do with 'em," a particularly short goblin in rumpled
academy robes wondered aloud, bobbing higher with the aid of magical flight
to peer inside the coffer.

The Darkfinder's child-like features hardened into an expression of
grim determination.

"I've absolutely no idea."




Writer: Vyzander

Date Thu Apr 18 22:27:31 2024




Writer: Emmyth

Date Fri Apr 19 20:12:04 2024




Writer: Hege

Date Sat Apr 20 00:15:13 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwars - Company Plans



"Cap'n!" shouted an eager recruit with a barely master salute. "I am
to e.. Escort you to the parade grounds!
"

Hege quickly returned the salute to the relief of the fresh recruit and
followed the scampering goblin. Fortunately for Captain Vinter, the winds
were blowing away from her and towards the goblin as a large audible
flatulence erupted from the recruit in front of her.

Her company stood before her in formation. As she scanned the grounds, she
realized just how inexperienced many of the new recruits were, but as she
looked closer, she saw the hardened expressions upon the faces of the
veterans mixed in among the fresh meat. This was the type of company she
wanted: one with part youth and part brain.

In truth, she was used to more solo missions and not large expeditions, but
this was a new experience for her, and she relished the challenge. How
would she use her knowledge of stealth, deception, and surprise with so many
loud beings? It was then that she came upon the idea that she was not
leading one mass, but instead a collection of small mission driven parties.
As the gears of her mind were turning, she nodded to herself as she looked
upon her company and knew that her plan for mass small diversions,
disruptions, and sabotage would work.

With certainty of her plan, she addressed her company. "Soldiers of
Verminasia we are here to make sure the Tapestry of Infinite Night will not
be frayed. Let it not be said that we allowed our Dark Lady's mission to be
shredded. We are Verminasia. We are Her Kingdom. We are Her servants. We
are Her reckoning upon this world. For Honor! For Glory! For Drakkara!
For The Infinite Night!
"

In one chorus, her company answered back in unison, "FOR THE INFINATE NIGHT!"

As she dismissed her company from the parade grounds, she called for her
lieutenants and instructed them on the plan. These lieutenants would in
turn, divide the company further, eventually down to the small teams with
single goals of diversion, division, or deception to thwart the opponent's
coordinated lines. In addition to preparing the bodies of the soldiers,
each unit takes their remaining time to acquire supplies for their tasks
with these small cell incursions. These supplies came from toy makers,
tailors, weapon smiths, and All the other guilds of Verminasia.

For order to win, one must bring confusion to the opponent and that is what
she will do. Her subterfuge will weaken, and the other companies will use
their strength to advance.





Writer: Vyzander

Date Sat Apr 20 01:41:44 2024

To Emmyth Eevelline Abaddon All ( Imm RP )

Subject Preparations for War - Revelations in the Dark


The heat's intensity was matched only by the powerful aromas filling the
room. All along the walls many contraptions and glassware, magical and
mundane, were suspended over roaring flames. 'Pump me boys, pump 'er dry.
Down to hell and up to the sky. Bend your back and break your bones, we're
just a thousand miles from home.
' Vyzander, the room's sole occupant, sang
a tune as he moved from station to station, imbuing the various brews with a
touch of magic as he went.

He coughed lightly, seeming to just notice the buildup of smoke in the room
and made a note to look into the roof's central chimney. Yes, he was
running more of the furnaces than usual, but there shouldn't be this much
smoke gathered this quickly. His brews were progressing well, concoctions
of various potency for the needs he'd anticipated so far: some to steady the
hands of the healers, others to ease the pains of the wounded, more that
could be used to clean the wounds that could be weaponized in a pinch. He
glanced over to one corner where one particularly potent batch was being
made, the one to ease the passing of those too far gone.

He breathed a quick prayer that not much of that would be needed in the days
to come, before he stopped short. Why should he wish to forestall the hand
of his master? Was it not written that Death is absolute, that there can be
no removal, no separation from His reach? Once again the phantom thoughts
from the swamp returned to his mind. What weakness was within Abaddon that
needed to be culled? Over and over, that same question kept returning to
the forefront of his mind.

As he moved between the stills, making sure the distillates were flowing
properly a realization struck him like the last tumblers falling in place in
a lock. 'The Queens. ' The revelation paralyzed him where he stood, until
the flames licking at his hands snapped him back into motion. Wincing, he
returned to the various tasks at hand.

But now that the thought had finally coalesced, it would not leave him. The
whole premise of this war was that the Elders had sensed weakness in their
rulers. Were they not then enacting Fatale's divine will in their attempts
to strike them down? 'Blood and char... ' he muttered to the smoke filled
room around him. He suddenly found himself upon a damnable forked path with
one road leading to treason, the other to heresy.

He pulled a bottle of Fire Breather from his pouch and removed the stopper
with a lightly trembling hand. If he waited too long, the choices would
pass him by, for better or worse. He took a long pull from the bottle and
chased it with another. War was on the horizon, and Vyzander Miete had
never been less sure of his path.




Writer: Asrar

Date Sat Apr 20 18:51:36 2024




Writer: Piknim

Date Sat Apr 20 19:36:17 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Eevelline All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (4)



Another night fell on Verminasia, and Piknim had yet to find the solution
to a big problem.

By what means could she and her allies hope to slay an Ancient vampire?

A trio of moonsilver ingots rested upon the table, imbued only with the
glimmer of possibility. Her plan to forge a moonsilver hilt for the lucent
shard had fallen through completely, for Maccus declined to part with it.
The kender witch needed a new plan.

Perhaps they could forge a stake. Vampire hunters wielded wooden stakes
with good reason, after All - reasons, she assumed, must surely be grounded
in fact as well as fiction. However, a moonsilver stake in and of itself
would not be enough. It required an arcane font to leverage the metal's
exceptional conductivity and amplification properties.

And so, the Darkfinder put on a kettle of hot tea and brainstormed well into
the witching hour, pacing in circles as she waited for lightning to strike
her brain, thumbing through books and peeking into curio cabinets until
reaching her wit's end and slumping into an armchair with a weary sigh.

Her half-lidded gaze continued to wander restlessly even as fatigue wracked
her body before finally settling upon a familiar pair of crossed wands
afixed to a chunk of black crystal. The dueling club's doubles
championship; tournament trophy. That's when the spark struck, like a bolt
from the umbra, and Piknim sat upright with a start. She sprang to her feet
and pulled out the hornbeam wand that had fallen into her pocket during the
visit to Dean Winnifredanna's office.

Wands! Wands contained cores. Dragon bone, unicorn tails, troll whiskers,
braids of giant hair, demon horns, moonlily stalks. Black dragon bone
cores, for example, bolstered the effects of acid blast spells, among other
attributes. The moonsilver stake required a core!

The kender witch had an inkling of which sort it needed, but she had to be
sure.

Piknim retrieved a thick book from the shelf and carried it to the table.
The tome's well-worn cover identified it as "Giltoffer Grand Adventure: A;
Collection of Tall Tales." Indeed, she remembered a story of the legendary
Baliforian hero, Giltoffer Glimmerhand, and his encounter with an Ancient
vampiress. She thumbed through the pages and found the pertinent chapters
precisely as she recalled them from her youth.

Once upon a time, whilst exploring a dark castle in the far western marshes,
Giltoffer ran afoul of an Ancient vampiress. Arrogant and wicked to a
fault, she sought to seduce the kender hero and make him her plaything.
However, against All odds, Giltoffer destroyed the vampiress by tickling her
with a phoenix feather that had fallen into his pocket purely by
happenstance. He filled her black heart so full of laughter that the
demon-soul fled its mortal vessel. Her body crumbled to ashes, but from the
ashes arose a giant bat that joined Giltoffer as a companion on his Grand
Adventure.


Piknim traced a tiny fingertip across the flowery lettering absently. Could
it be true? Could a poweful undead monster be destroyed by a tuft of
phoenix down?

It almost sounded like cheating.

She turned back to the book's forward and recited the author's opening
sentiment aloud.

"The most colorful of yarns are spun with threads of truth.."





Writer: Piknim

Date Sat Apr 20 19:43:35 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Eevelline All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (5)



And so, Verminasia's finest smiths worked from sunrise to sunset to forge
a red moonsilver stake with a phoenix feather core. At last, Piknim held
the finished implement aloft, brandished it before in a fighting stance,
tested its weight and balance, and found perfection in its quality.

Maybe it would be enough to wound Caustus. Maybe not. Nonetheless, it
served as a symbol of Verminasia's dedication to unity and solidarity; the
lynchpin in a bridge built betwixt dark kingdoms; a promise that as long as
Piknim Cracklespark yet lived, an ally could be found in the Darkness.

Piknim spent her final hours engraving an inscription into the stake's
lustrous surface. Something she heard Count Sigmund von Reist say to
Caustus and Belstrad. Perhaps Fatale uttered it first. Regardless, it
sounded fitting - with an air of finality as sharp as the stake's pointy
end.

"In Death, All Serve."




Writer: Emmyth

Date Sat Apr 20 20:51:49 2024

To Verminasia Darkonin Abaddon Shadow Tobryck Eevelline All ( rp imm Fatale Croatoan Cayenna Admin )

Subject BloodWars Allies Unite



The night before the battle, Abaddon's castle bustled with activity.
Verminasia, Darkonin, Shadow, Bloodlust, and the Black Robes All allies
arrived within the shadowed walls. Their banners fluttered in the evening
breeze, their warriors ready for the impending clash.

Medical kits were assembled and strategically placed in four major areas for
quick access to the wounded. The garden, once a place of serenity,
transformed into a makeshift hospital. Cots lined the pathways, and healers
moved with purpose, their hands skilled in binding wounds and easing pain
waited in anticipation.

Tobryck, Overlord of Bloodlust, was one of the first to arrive. His silver
sword gleamed in the moonlight, ready to defend Abaddon. Advisor Piknim
Cracklespark, King Drogan, Chieftain of the Bear Tribe, they followed suit.
Their presence bolstered Abaddon's resolve.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Abaddon stood vigilant. They knew the
stakes the Elder Vampires threatened Abaddon, unity their greatest weapon.

Countess Emmyth, stood within the throne room, her silver-threaded gown
brushing the ground as she paced the floor, her vow to lead her people with
strength and determination pushed her to lenths she didn't even know she
had.

And so, as the sun painted the sky in hues of crimson, Abaddon stood united.
Allies from distant lands, citizens, and the very shadows that clung to the
realm were ready. The night was filled with anticipation, and the next dawn
would determine the fate of Abaddon.




Writer: Vyasa

Date Sat Apr 20 22:46:11 2024




Writer: Jochi

Date Sun Apr 21 09:13:36 2024




Writer: Vyasa

Date Sun Apr 21 09:55:00 2024




Writer: Emmyth

Date Sun Apr 21 13:08:16 2024




Writer: Emmyth

Date Mon Apr 22 00:38:57 2024

To All Abaddon Verminasia Shadow Black_Robes Bloodlust ( Imm Cayenna Xenophon Rhelic )

Subject Bloodwars Part 1 Wearwolves and Vampires Oh My!



Countess Emmyth lowered herself into the steaming bath, the water
soothing her aching muscles. As Emmyth soaked in the hot water, she
reflected on the brutal day the Bloodwar had erupted just as the sun dipped
below the horizon.

The darkness prevailed, but at a cost. Lives were lost, wounds ran deep,
yet Abaddon stood defiant. The walls of her chambers whispered secrets the
paintings, the rituals, the serrated dagger above the door All in praise of
Fatale, the silent witness to their struggle.

Four packs of werewolves descended upon Abaddon, their feral rage tearing
through the night. The walls trembled with the howls of the attackers.
Claws slashed, teeth gnashed, and crimson stained the cobblestones.
Abaddon's defenders fought valiantly: Firstborns, Verminasia, Darkonin,
Shadow, Bloodlust, and the Black Robes All allies united against the common
threat.

The werewolves were feral, relentless, their howls echoing through the
night. But amidst the chaos, another threat emerged: a sinister vampire an
emissary sent by Caustus himself.

Countess Emmyth remained vigilant, protecting the Queens and shielding them
from harm. However, the sinister vampire had other plans. Emmyth watched
as the shadows shifted and formed before her, its eyes lingering on hers as
the Sinister Vampire spoke.

"The distraction of the werewolves did not fool you," it hissed.

Emmyth's heart raced as she faced the vampire. Its eyes pierced her,
malevolence locked onto hers. She called for help, her voice echoing
through the chaos. Allies rallied Verminasia, Darkonin, Shadow, Bloodlust,
and the Black Robes fighting as one.

Together, they thwarted the vampire's attempt to steal the Queens'
lifeblood. The battle was fierce, the ground slick with blood. The
sinister vampire lay defeated, its heart still pulsing with malevolence a
gruesome trophy. Later that night, Piknim Cracklespark, the
ever-resourceful advisor, revealed her gift within the garden to Emmyth

The night wore on, the moon casting its pale light upon the wounded and the
weary. Abaddon's allies moved with purpose, tending to those who had
spilled their blood defending the shadowed kingdom. Emmyth, her
silver-threaded gown now stained with mud and sweat, finally allowed herself
to be treated. Eevelline, a skilled healer, worked diligently to cleanse
her wounds and stitch them closed. She sent Emmyth on her way to clean up
and get some rest.

But even after the long soak in the tub, sleep eluded Emmyth. The
adrenaline of battle still coursed through her veins. She tied her hair
into a messy bun, its silver strands escaping in disarray. Emmyth made her
way to the garden, where the wounded were tended to in a makeshift hospital
filled with cots. Healers moved with urgency. Emmyth kept herself busy
until dawn, exhausted. She finally made her way to her chambers.

Emmyths heart weighed heavy. The Queens were safe, their lifeblood
preserved. But the sinister vampires malevolence still echoed in her mind.
Caustuss emissary had been defeated, yet its presence lingered like a
shadow.




Writer: Nereza

Date Mon Apr 22 07:39:53 2024

To All Arkane ( Imm RP )

Subject The Ponderings of a Future Queen



For hours she had been sitting on a bench late at night, taking in the
cool night breeze and the clear star filled sky as her blue fingers deftly
sewed together thread and leather, piles of finished armor had been forming
around her but she hardly noticed. Nereza was thoroughly lost in thought,
her hands automatically working as she reflected on recent happenings and
pondered the future.

Mere months ago she had been a Professor, which was a position she very much
enjoyed. It allowed her to help with Arkanian recruitment efforts and gave
her an official vessel to provide education to others that sought to learn
about the art of enchanting which was her one true love in life. She would
have been happy to stay as a Professor, but not long ago the King had called
for those interested in the Chancellor position to step forward and despite
some hesitation on her part Nereza had felt compelled to rise to the call
and put her name into the pool of candidates. As it turns out, it was a
very small pool and she had quickly been selected for the position of
Chancellor much to her surprise.

"Well, this could be wonderful!" She had thought "This will be an excellent
way to educate myself on the inner workings of a kingdom, it will give me
a rare opportunity to not only see what it takes to run a nation but to be
a part of it and to provide the King a likely much needed second voice in
the decision making process".

The King had previously held the Chancellor position for quite some time
before ascending to the crown so she had assumed this would be a long-term
position and that she would have ample time to ease into these new
responsibilities and hopefully learn from someone that had been in the same
position for so long.

Nereza sighed deeply, oh how wrong she had been. The King had announced his
plans to abdicate the throne barely a month after her rise to Chancellor,
there would be no easing into anything, no learning from an experienced
predecessor, no understanding of her duties... No, she was to be thrown
straight into the storm, a veritable tsunami of the unknown rushing towards
her at ever-increasing speeds.

She thought to herself "It's too late to back out of this now, I can't let
my people down. Somehow, I will have to become worthy of the position
bestowed upon me. I have so very much to learn...."

Her focus turned to the Red Moon, it was nearly time to begin enchanting.
Nereza had never been an overly religious person, but as she stared up at
the giant red orb in the sky she couldn't help but wonder how Lord Sebatis
felt about All this. Did he approve? Did he even notice? She hoped so and
closed her eyes for a long moment to offer a prayer to Him, not to ask for
anything but to share the very thoughts she had been so lost in with someone
in the hopes of achieving catharsis.

Eventually she opened her eyes and became aware of the now considerable
mountain of armor she had created for herself. She sighed again and shook
her head while rubbing the bridge of her nose, "No more time to dwell it seems,
there is work to be done". So, she gathered up her mountain of armor and
headed towards the Haven to begin the enchanting process, it was going to be
a long night.




Writer: Eevelline

Date Mon Apr 22 18:40:52 2024

To Drakkara Fatale Piknim Emmyth Abaddon All ( Imm RP Religion )

Subject Down Below: {uA Night In Abaddon ( 3 )


'The Garden is compromised! ' Several robed attendants engage in combat
with one of the interlopers of this night- a hulk of a werewolf. An elite
of their kind, to be sure.

Eevelline floats about, assessing the situation- werewolves at the entry,
wounded soldiers and guards in the Garden. A rock and hard place, if ever
there was one. What to do.. What to do. A decision is then made.

'Move. ' The message rings out in the gnome's head, yet it travels
forward.. And the attendants do their best to disengage from the werewolf.
A gap forms, between gnome and werewolf as Eevelline finds footing in the
soils of the Garden. The very air and space between gnome and beast seems
to ripple, and then a great discharge of otherworldly power leaves the
gnome's figure and careens right into the werewolf!

The werewolf shudders as the psionic blast slams into it- the creature
bending forward slightly while cupping it's head with clawed hands. It
seems rather stuck in place, in a fashion of- it goes no further into the
Garden proper. Eevelline keeps her focus upon this werewolf, eyes narrowed
as further blasts keep going forward. Everything is going.. Normally.
Nothing super fantastic, until-

A very large, very spiked hammer, wielded by a very Biggen One makes impact
on the werewolf.. The stunned monster slamming the cobblestones of the
Garden's entry with quite a force. Then there were four more, All of them a
blur as they attacked this interloper. It was at this moment Eevelline
knew, these werewolves made a very bad decision.

The gnome turns from this encounter, content that the Biggen Hammer and Doom
Squad that just came in had this "quite handled". Her efforts returned to
her purpose of old- tending the wounded. She was keeping her end of this
deal, the Selenic Contingent holding fast to keep this rally point secure.
Now comes the grisly part... Tending to the wounded at this point of the
night.

She spies several lacerations upon the closest injured guard of Abaddon- and
decides to start here. They're All along this one's arm- a testament to
this guard's ability to dodge.. Or it was luck. Regardless- the gnome
knows what to do. She carefully peels back the shredded chainmail, and with
one small hand keeps one large lacerations closed. The other hand heats
up.. The fingers enveloped in fire.

With great consideration, Eevelline runs her thumb along this laceration-
the sheer heat of her thumb sealing this wound closed. The scar would not
look well at this time... But the goal is to keep the "red stuff" inside
the body, so that's how this will work. The guard lets out a yelp of pain-
and then grits their teeth.. Opting to just watch the gnome at work instead
of panic. In a few more successions, the lacerations are sealed as best
Eevelline can manage at this time. Time is indeed, of the essence this
night.

---

'That was only the -first night-, worm. Imagine what they can do on the
second. I can help this.. But -you- must let -me- out.
' This voice
echoes within the confines of a gnomish mind.. But there is no source to be
seen.

Eevelline shrugs, pushing her glasses up as she stretches out in a cavalcade
of Darkness. This expanse of time and space feels luxurious, or.. Maybe
looks luxurious- to be honest no one really knows what it looks like, it's
simply that dark.

'As I prayed to the Dark Lady, and to The Lord Of Death- I shall give you
the same words.. Yet when I say this to -you-, it's not a request. This is
a demand. ' As the gnome floats about in this expanse.. That invading
echo of emotion disappears with a growl of frustration. The true gnome
speaks aloud, and smiles.

'Not today.'




Writer: Emmyth

Date Wed Apr 24 11:32:10 2024




Writer: Thindyss

Date Fri Apr 26 15:49:34 2024

To All Eevelline Black_Robes Verminasia Abaddon Bloodlust Shadow - Drakkara Imm Xenophon Croatoan

Subject A fleeting memory, a new path (The Bloodwars)



Sweat dripped down Thindyss brow as the droplet ran off his forehead
plummeting to the ground a sudden memory jolted through his mind. A hot
muggy day, isolated deep within the Island of Shokono, a defeated battered
dark-elf moved with less enthusiasm than a corpse. Malnutrition, torture,
and humiliation sat upon him like a robe hiding All remnants of youth and
hope that once seeped from his very pores. As he fed the pigs in the
blistering heat his sweat dripped upon the soggy mud that served as his bed.
The scares upon his wrist from the years of shackled captivity had slowly
begun to fade, glancing up for a moment he looked up at his high elf prison
guards. The sun glistened off their overly polished armor blinding Thindyss
as he quickly turned his head back down. Little did he know that night in
the light of the Dark Moon a child of Drakkaras Black Tower, one born anew
of Abaddons queen, would deliver him from captivity.

As the sweat struck the thin water of the swap Thindyss quickly glimpsed the
claws of a werewolf, he quickly snapped back to the present moment and dodge
the blow with just a graze. Thindyss eyes searched the thick fog trying to
find his way back to the larger group that fought against Abaddons invaders.
The thick fog and mayham of the battle had already claimed the Dracolich he
had made for Tobryck, he had hoped it served him well, recalling fondly the
day the Ogre was claimed as Fatales servant. Dispelling the sanctuary and
protection of his target, Thindyss quickly recited an incatation to gate to
his Apprentice, Eevelline. Arriving in the blink of an eye Thindyss stood
there for a moment watching Eevelline in admiration. Although she may have
been his apprentice he knew that her years of experience as a servant of
Drakkara far outweighed his and her expert handling of the wounded made
evident her time as Drakkaras priestess. Thindyss stepped forward amongst
the many triaged, guards and defenders and requested her expertise to slip
the mind and body of the maledictions that plagued him. In a moment the
heavy weight and haze of his mind dissipated and the boils of scourge that
had began to cover his body vanished, magick never ceased to amaze him. Not
wasting a moment stepped into the city seeing the Advisor Piknim, the Count
Vershae and many others engaged with those wolves who had slipped through
the thick fog and breached the cities gates. As the beast fell Thindyss
heaved the corpse and remains of the wolves and embalmed their parts for
future research.

After a grueling fight finally All of the invaders were expelled from the
city, the Queens blood defended and the attack repelled. Thindyss returned
to the Ebony Tower to begin his research looking to the Dark Moon with love
and admiration. Drakkaras grace had delivered him from that prison so many
moons ago and now he had been gifted the chance to repay the Queens that
gave blood to his savior. He imagined that the remains of the Dracolich
lost in that fog would dwell within the earth waiting to serve Drakkara
again. Thindyss research was simple, and more of an inspection then actual
research upon the remains. Thindyss did not want to comprise the remains
and pieces that he had managed to keep intact and had hoped that the
Countess could utilize the knowledge she had already gained to gain a more
full picture with what Thindyss had collected.

The familiar scenery of Abaddons cemetery was short lived as the Countess
drifted from the shadows to retrieve the remains. Thindyss paid his
respects handing over the corpse, arm, and heart confident that this battle
was not over and hopeful that further research would give them a new
advantage.




Writer: Asrar

Date Mon Apr 29 13:53:31 2024

To All ( Verminasia Shadow Bloodlust Abaddon Imm rp Religion Ampersand Rhelic )

Subject Clearing the Dust - Temple of Fatale



Asrar walks through the gates of the temple, the disciples doing their
jobs by keeping the leaves and dirt outside. The wood All polished to a
shine. Asrar was only midly impressed as she heads toward the stairway
leading to the depths and the shrine below. It had been a long time since
she had last crossed the threshold and stood in the presence of her Lord.
Her duties in the Coven had kept her from any religious matters outside of
her daily prayers for far too long. Immediately as she stepped off the last
step of the spiral stairway the statue of Fatale looms above her and she
lowers herself to her knees. Silence filled the room, almost palpable, as
it embraces her. Her voice usually soft leaves her throat almost as a
whisper as she prays, 'My days have not always been spent with thoughts of
You, or even those that have not embraced Your power. As I join those that
seek Your Will, I dedicate what days you give to your service. 'I know well
what happens to those that fail you, those that fail your vision and that of
the Queen of Darkness. Give me the strength to face the advirsity that
comes with my new station as your Priestess. Your wisdom tp speak your
Truth to those that both see you as Lord and those that do not. In All I do
Lord, may it be for your Glory, and the glory of the Tapestry. Amen
'




Writer: Emmyth

Date Mon Apr 29 17:36:59 2024

To Abaddon Verminasia Shadow Black_Robes Bloodlust All ( Imm Cayenna Xenophon Rhelic )

Subject Swamp Sacrifices



The moon hung low over Abaddon, casting its silver glow upon the murky
waters. Emmyth stood at the edge of the swamp, her heart heavy with the
weight of their decision. Beside her, Count Vershae's eyes gleamed with the
hunger a predator scenting its prey.

They had found her an elven maiden, her skin pale as moonlight, her
innocence a stark contrast to the darkness that enveloped Abaddon. She
knelt, trembling, her eyes wide with fear. Her name was Lysandra's, and she
was a gift a sacrifice to the elder countess, Lady Bellaine Ives the one who
held dominion over the shadows.

Emmyth's fingers traced the crystal flask the vessel that would hold
Lysandra's lifeblood. It was a delicate thing, etched with ancient runes,
its surface shimmering like ice. The elven maiden's pulse fluttered beneath
Emmyth's touch, and she wondered if Lysandra knew her fate.

Count Vershae circled Lysandra, his fangs elongated, his eyes hungry. "A
gift," he murmured.
"A tribute to seal our alliance with the elders."

Emmyth's loyalty wavered. She had seen the hunger in Vershae's eyes the
same hunger that drove the elders. Lysandra was but a pawn, a pawn they
would sacrifice for answers needed.

"Countess Emmyth," Vershae said, his voice silk and steel. "Do the
honors."


Emmyth's heart clenched. She had served Abaddon her entire life, but this,
this was different. Lysandra's eyes pleaded with her, and Emmyth wondered
if the elven maiden knew the truth that her blood would aid Abaddon, that
her sacrifice would bring answers.

Emmyth raised the crystal flask, its facets catching the moonlight.
Lysandra's breath hitched, and Emmyth whispered a prayer a prayer for
strength.

"For Abddon," she murmured, and then she slit Lysandra's wrist. The elven
maiden gasped, her blood welling forth a crimson river into the flask.
Emmyth watched, her own pulse echoing Lysandra's, as the flask filled.

Count Vershae stepped forward, his lips brushing Lysandra's skin. He drank
the taste of innocence, of fear, of power. Emmyth looked away, her stomach
churning. The elven maiden's life force flowed into the crystal.

When it was done, Vershae looked down at Lysandra who was slumped over, her
eyes vacant, her sacrifice complete with a sated grin.

Emmyth held the flask, its weight heavy in her hand. She would present it
to the elder countess the one who hungered for Abaddon's magic. The swamp
whispered as they watched the pair walk off.

As they walked back, Emmyth glanced at Vershae. His eyes were no longer
hungry they were sated, satisfied. But Emmyth knew that Abaddon would
thrive or wither based on their choices. Something within her jabbing at
the anger that was swelling up inside her. The swamp watched, its shadows
shifting, its ancient magic pulsing.

Emmyth wondered if Lysandra's sacrifice would be enough if it would save
Abaddon from the darkness that encroached. She prayed it would for her
loyalty, her purpose, were bound to this kingdom, even if it meant dancing
on the edge of damnation.




Writer: Altacas

Date Tue Apr 30 15:19:18 2024

To Abaddon Verminasia Slayers Shadow Darkonin Black_Robes Bloodlust All ( Imm Cayenna Xenophon Raije RP )

Subject On mention of war



He stood near the center of highest room in the Tower of Diligence, the smoke
from the forges and furnace floating upwards towards the slits leading outside.
He had spent much time before this furnace, his large form slightly hunched over
as he tossed pieces of ore into a large crucible and set it into the furnace.
He stood to his full height, twisting slightly, in an effort to pop the bones
of his spine back into alignment, a small smile formed at his success but
quickly faded as his mind returned to the task at hand.

The news he had heard troubled him, troubled him for more than one reason.
A war is never calming, however, a war being fought so closely to the Manor
without his knowledge was the most troubling point. He scolded himself for
holding a narrow focus these past months as he used tongs to remove the
crucible holding molten silver from the furnace. He turned slightly and poured
the bubbling metal into the mold he had commissioned from Z'syztheis. The mold
was similar to a that of a strip ingot mold, however, it tapered to a point.
The shape of a perfect stake, only larger than the average. He knew his brother
would need to work on the weapon to achieve perfection although, even in it's
nearly finished state, it would be viable in the effort to come. He inhaled for
a long moment, then carefully set the mold down to let it cool while he headed
down the stairs, past the vaults, and greeted Terrcal warmly.

The vendor may have been blind, and older than he could guess, but the amazing
blind man knew everything, and more importantly, at this moment, had everything.
He placed the items acquired within a satchel, bid the vendor goodbye, and
took off up the stairs, thinking the metal should have cooled enough by now.
Almost, he thought. The silver was warm to the touch but not enough to burn him
or a hole in the cloth he wrapped it in. Strapping the bundled stake to the side
of his pack he made his way to the Great Hall of Greystoke, stopping to fill
his waterskins and do a final check on his pack.

As he was finishing his check, Lord Shrike walked into the room and greeted him
warmly. "And where, Underlord, might you be heading?" He grinned at the query,
almost winking, as he replied, "He has been made aware of activity in the
swamps just near the Manor. He does not doubt the source, however, must see it
with His own eyes.
" Lord Shrike nodded, though hesitantly. The two had grown
close over the last few months, and he was able to read the ariel far easier than
Lord Shrike would like. "He will not be gone long, however, on the chance He
does not return, He will draw the planned path on this map.
" Lord Shrike nodded,
"May the Underlord walk as swiftly as I might fly, or should I say Overlord?"
the ariel chirped playfully. Both men grinned at one another.

Content with the discussion, he hoisted the pack and set off towards the drawbridge,
his mind rolling over the thought of {nwerewolves
, vampires, and war.




Writer: Piknim

Date Tue Apr 30 20:55:43 2024

To All Verminasia Shadow Telthian Symantha Eevelline ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Call of the Void (1)



Piknim stood before the statue of Drakkara atop the Rip. Overhead, the
Black Moon loomed and at times seemed to throb like dark, beating heart that
would fit into the palm of a kender's hand as its underbelly hung low in the
sky.

Here the air felt thin and bone-chillingly cold yet heavy somehow with a
weight of palpable tension, as though the flickering stars that graced the
purple-inked night-sky were a thousand eyes blinking as a single dominant
pupil tracked one's every movement. Even the ground proved difficult to
navigate, tendrils of shadow slithering deceptively and coiling around
unsuspecting limbs to relentlessly capture and bind travelers for whatever
may be lingering in the void.

Atramentous ether gathered about the labradorite figure of the goddess
statue, an opalescent vision of moon-touched skin draped in a diaphanous
gown. Veils of tenebous and indigo-hued electricity shroud the graven
figure in an unholy confluence of untamed arcana, coiling along the
commanding hands of the Queen of Darkness. Flagstones of black marble
surrounded the statue and presented an altar with a single phrase written
upon its surface.

{u"All those who stand to be blessed, who seek power and purpose
{uwithin the exalted Dark, send forth your praises unto the
{uQueen of Darkness. Fear and Love Her, for within
{uHer Darkness All potential is revealed as
{uAlgoron awaits its transformation."


Piknim splayed a small hand across the word 'Fear' and reflected somberly
upon the notion of transformation. Today marked the second year of her
petition to join Storm Keep. The dark road appeared no shorter now than
when she started, more a tangled snarl than any semblance of the discernible
path she hoped to find.

"A kender Knight, is it? You blanche at the sight of my blood."

The dragonbone kris at her hip smouldered in reply, as it did when hatred
kindled in her heart.

"You, Piknim Cracklespark, are afraid."

She knew better. Telthian was wrong. Kender were fearless. Piknim was no
different - at least not in that regard. She could stand side by side in
battle with Knights of Storm as an anchor rather than the weak link in a
chain.

"You are afraid that you will never
measure up, that no matter how hard you labor,
no matter how deeply you might feel it in your heart,
you will always be a mere kender - too soft and emotional to
do what it takes to become what you desperately hope to be."

The serpentine blade burst into f{olam{oes, only to be snuffed out in an instant
by practiced force of will. A kender could overcome thoughtless impetus and
temper reckless ambition with the rigid discipline of purpose, if only for a
short while. The Darkfinder had proven as much, yet perhaps not
consistently enough to satisfy the dark divines.

The Black Moon never faltered as it waxed and waned in turn. So too must a
Darkfinder's will become immutable.




Writer: Piknim

Date Tue Apr 30 21:12:36 2024

To All Verminasia Shadow Telthian Symantha Eevelline ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Call of the Void (2)



In her mind's eye, Piknim recalled Carrionmaw the Red's death and rebirth
in the Chamber of Pronouncement - the various aspects of Telthian arrayed
before an audience of allies, each a dark reflection of Necrucifer and the
Sons.

The Rite of Domination.

She remembered the Cunning Statesman. Had she given generously with one
hand and taken ruthlessly with the other; entertained with both silver
tongue and a venomous bite?

She remembered the Ruthless Killer. Had she displayed the will to cull the
weak, sacrifice the innocent, and destroy the enemy without mercy; had she
spilled enough blood sate the Dreadlord?

She remembered the Scarred Survivor. Had she withstood death and endured
against All odds; toiled tirelessly to find cracks in the Light's armor and
infect them with decay?

She remembered the {uImperious Ruler
. Had she cast a shadow across Algoron
and eclipsed her rivals; commanded respect and authority enough to bring
disparate factions together and lead them in higher purpose?

Stray thoughts threatened to distract from the focal points of dark destiny,
like rays of morning light cutting across the night sky. Clean hands.
Beckoning blue skies. Spring blossoms and carefree days. Baliforian
melons and sour lemon balls. An elderly priest standing vigil under a
willow tree. A kind of magic that need not be seized, but simply falls
into a kender's pocket by accident at birth.

Her thoughts wandered then in a circle, like a widening gyre, back to the
stygian sea that stretched before her eyes into oblivion. She day-dreamed
of stepping off the edge - of falling, plunging, swimming, sinking,
drowning. Death and rebirth. Would she hatch from an egg like Carrionmaw?
Or would she find the end of All things?

Piknim shuffled to the edge of the Rip, utterly fearless, peered into the
void - and felt its pull.

A subtle tug at the kender's arm brought her back from the brink. She
blinked in surprise and raised her hand to find an umbral thread wrapped
around her finger, so fine and thin as to elude the naked eye were it not
for an alluring shimmer of {umagic
.

The Darkfinder ventured forth after it, reeling herself in hand-over-hand,
down the Stairway of Obnubilation and into the Chamber of Pronouncement,
over the galvanized chair in standing water surrounded by crackling
lightning, through the guillotine posts under a wobbling blade, across the
pile of black stones with wailing visages, unto the pit of blood and hissing
vipers, to the foot of the golden throne, and finally to the Weaver.

The strange spider-like crone wagged a long, spindly finger at Piknim, as if
to say 'Not yet' and gestured to the Tapestry of Night. The kender witch
gazed upon the tapestry at length, struggling to find her desired place in
its grand design - yet the pattern escaped her ken.

A kender did not belong in Storm Keep - not yet.

Finally, with a solemn nod of understanding, she took up an adjacent
position, mimicked the crone's inscrutable motions, and began to weave the
pattern into reality herself.




Writer: Altacas

Date Thu May 2 21:51:11 2024

To Abaddon Verminasia Slayers Shadow Darkonin Black_Robes Bloodlust All ( Imm Cayenna Xenophon Raije RP )

Subject On mention of war (2)



It had been hours since Altacas had last seen the sun reflecting in the murky
pools of the bog. The suctioning and sloshing sounds of his armor-clad feet
puncturing the still surface of shimmering mud had long since faded in his
ears and had been replaced with the overwhelming sound of insects and frogs
croaking their offense at his presence.

Although the sun had not yet been replaced by the moon, the game of bright
glances through the overhanging branches and brush of the swamp had subsided
and a dull haze filled the space between branch and bog. The smell of the
swamp hung here, thick with aroma of mud and rot. Altacas had grown immune
to it, where initially the pungent smell was overbearing. On he trod, deeper
into the swamp, into an area that seemed to be night in the middle of day.

He had turned left, then turned right, passed an angled hanging branch this
way, fairly certain he passed the same branch hanging that way, and found
himself thoroughly lost. Having arrived at what seemed like a dead end he
stopped his movement and exhaled. This place within the swamp was exceedingly
dark, the trees blotting out the sun so the only light to be found was from the
glowing ember he had acquired during the hunt of the Phoenix.

"He knows a great effort was made to conceal His pursuer," Altacas said
loudly as he turned around, "Pursuers, He should say.." His eyes narrowed
as he stared, realizing time had passed without notice and night was surely
upon Him, the gaunt face and long fang of a man who was flanked by two
large werewolves stared back at him..




Writer: Altacas

Date Thu May 2 22:33:49 2024

To Abaddon Verminasia Slayers Shadow Darkonin Black_Robes Bloodlust All ( Imm Cayenna Xenophon Raije RP )

Subject On mention of war (3)



Altacas had not doubted the information he had received and here, before him,
stood the absolute truth of the matter. "He has not seen clothing of that
fashion on this continent.. He has seen it though,
" Altacas said loudly, his
thoughts racing as he tried to place where he had seen similar attire before.
His eyes flattened as it came to him and the word, "Gathna," softly slipped
forth from his tongue.

Altacas raised a pavise shield with his left arm, the crest of Greystoke
visible to his trio of assailants, a scarred glaive with an eerie blade in his
right hand, the tip of the blade aimed toward the werewolf on the right of the
vampire. He bellowed a warcry and leapt to a charge as the werewolf on the left
of the vampire darted forward, attempting to cover the ground between the
charging wemic and his target. Altacas adeptly swung his glaive, the blade arcing
upwards, severing the werewolves head in two. Altacas heard a familiar chirp as
he bashed his shield into the chest of the vampire, sending the demon reeling
backwards as Jahrial Shrike emerged from the darkness of the bog, the ariel's
wings pushing him closer. Jahrial charged forward, his dragonlance piercing the
vampire's chest and driving through the demon's heart.

The pair turned to face the remaining foe simultaneously, a skill acquired
from the many months spent alongside one another beneath the surface of the
world. The werewolf looked around with the panic of a mouse in a trap. There was
no alternate escape as those of Greystoke stood between it and the bog, a wall
of trees in every other direction. The pair converged on the werewolf together,
each striking out with life-ending blows.

Altacas smiled at Jahrial as the two worked together to pile the corpses together
on what dry surface the pair could find, "He was glad to hear Lord Shrike's a
rrival, the outcome from this may have been much different otherwise,
" Lord
Shrike dismissed the comment, knowing the wemic's capability in combat but smiled
knowing there was truth in the words of gratitude. Altacas watched as the ariel
piled up what debris was available and started a fire, the flames slowly flickering
until the clothing and fur on the bodies caught and the corpses were completely
engulfed.

"He finds the smell of the bog far less offensive than what now permeates the
thick brush of this area,
" Altacas said as he cleaned mud, blood, and fur,
from his platemail. "He goes now to the gates of Abaddon to ask the Countess
what truly transpired in this bog. He does not anticipate an honest answer, He
knows there is little reason to trust one of Greystoke at this time..
" Altacas
paused his polishing and assessed the work he had done, nodding, he belted the
sleeve back on.

Altacas watched as the ariel stood and stretched their wings widely. Altacas
stood as Jahrial said, "If the Unde..," the ariel's lips widened
into a smirk, "Overlord, travels to the gates of Abaddon then I will take to
the skies and see if there is not a vantage point.
" Smiling, Altacas placed
a hand on Jahrial's shoulder before the pair parted ways again. One seeking
the gates of the Kingdom of the dead and the other, a way through the brush
to the skies above.




Writer: Aksana

Date Sat May 4 15:49:07 2024

To All ( Unbelievers Heretics Aethists Agnostics Imm Roleplay )

Subject Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 1 ( Revised Recap!) 1/2



"{pThis is going badly
," Aksana grimly reflected as she pushed herself from
the sand covered ground and onto her hands and knees.

As if to punctuate her thought, blood splattered the sand beneath her,
trickling in a morbid stream from her split lip.

Her ears were ringing from the punch that had sent her sprawling. She
couldn't hear the jeers and taunts of the crowd. She couldn't hear the
lumbering approach of her opponent- but she could feel the ground shake with
his steps, the vibration like deep-bellied drums overwhelming the more
distant percussion of the stomping hooves and slamming fists of the crowd
against the rustic stone and timber tiers of the arena that surrounded the
pit.

"{pThey just couldn't let me win one
." The thought came with a surge of futile
angst, a dual-edged reminder of the pointlessness of everything, of the
immutable hopelessness of her lot in life.

The thought came with a surge of futile angst, a dual-edged reminder of the
pointlessness of everything, of the immutable hopelessness of her lot in
life.

The centaurs that oversaw the arena- that owned Aksana and All of the orcs
and the handful of other species that lived in the internment camp and
fought in the arena- were far from subtle. Starting her off against three
opponents had become the norm. Technically, there were no sides or teams to
the fights, but it was an open secret that they were always told to focus on
her first.

Today's match had started as a non-lethal contest and Aksana had subdued her
first opponent, a smaller orcish male, quickly enough. But then,
unexpectedly, a gong had been struck and a second opponent had emerged from
the gates. A couple minutes into that more evenly-matched contest, the gong
rang again and another fighter entered- only this time, he was armed with a
spiked club.

After an even shorter interval during which the rapidly-spilling sand within
a grand hourglass that marked time for the spectators, yet was hidden from
the combatants, another armed pit fighter entered the fray. In
ever-shortening intervals, two more emerged into the arena and then a final
three fighters charged into the pit!

Luckily- or perhaps unluckily, considering her present predicament!- the
growing number of fighters had splintered into a few small, separate battles
rather than attacking her en masse which left Aksana to face off alone
against the bulky brute who was now stalking her. Where the centaurs had
found a half ogre of such size- he could well have been a full blooded ogre
for All that she could tell!- she had no idea. How they had managed to
subdue it was even more of a mystery!

She had thrown everything she had at the veritable wall of muscle and bone
and he had simply grinned through it, unmoving and unyielding.

Upon initially being confronted by the behemoth, she had tried a daring,
head-on attack. Sprinting forward, her bare feet kicking sand in all
directions, she had jumped to plant one foot on his thigh and then launch
herself higher, whipping her other foot around to kick him across the face
with an echoing impact. Her step-up enzuigiri had added another crack to
the half ogre's tusks, but he had not flinched so much as an inch.

He just grinned at her with empty black eyes.

Landing lightly, her foot throbbing from the strike and a frustrated grimace
across her face, Aksana had launched herself into a springboard flip, her
long legs circling around the ogre's neck and shoulder.

Attempting to choke him with her scissor leg hold while straining to hyper
extend his arm and lock his wrist with her arms and body, Aksana had quickly
realized that she was making no impact whatsoever. The brutes neck was too
thick. His brawny arm and thick wrist were too dense for her to contort his
joints even with her leverage. Her foe had hammered that lesson home,
breaking her hold with a simple flex and sending her flying with a casual
swing of his huge arm!





Writer: Aksana

Date Sat May 4 15:51:30 2024

To All ( Unbelievers Heretics Aethists Agnostics Imm Roleplay )

Subject Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 1 ( Revised Recap!) 2/2




Landing awkwardly, Aksana had felt a twinge down her side where a poorly
healed wound from a previous fight was tearing open, eliciting a whimper and
fresh wave of exasperation. It was in the process of standing up- this time
Aksana was thinking to start working at the half ogre's legs- that he had
finally moved, stepping forward like an encroaching mountain to drop a fist
almost the size of her head into her shoulder, sending her rolling on the
sand and almost dislocating her arm from its socket!

Swaths of sand covered her body, crusting with blood and stinging her
injuries, both old and fresh. Her normally wild hair was in greater
disarray, half masking her face and wrapped around her chest as she gasped
for air through the pain, fighting off the gnawing weakness from the pain in
her side and the more debilitating rush of despair that tried to fill her
heart.

Scrambling awkwardly to the side and behind the half ogre, Aksana tried a
chop block, driving her shoulders into the backs of his knees. The ogre
scarcely reacted even to that brutal impact! It seemed she had done more to
bruise her shoulder than to damage his knee. Then his fist had struck her
face squarely, splitting her lip, rattling her brain, and dropping her to
the sand.

"{p...and now he's coming to finish me off
," she thought with a sense of
nihilistic detachment which threatened to overwhelm her instinct for
survival.

Looking up to see a huge and grimy foot poised to stomp her into the sand,
Aksana experienced a primal surge of adrenaline. Stubbornly refusing to
concede, she drew a deep breath and rolled onto her knees.

Grasping the brute's left hand, she pulled herself to her feet and threw
herself into a slide between his legs, dragging his arm down and through
with her. Still clinging desperately to his meaty arm, Aksana began to
strain with All of her strength, actually lifting the much larger fighter in
the beginning of a pump-handle slam.

Before she could completely lift her foe and finish the maneuver, a flash of
searing pain scored her shoulder! Inches from her face was a rusty blade
that had errantly struck from behind her to instead skewer the half ogre.

Releasing the half ogre's arm and staggering away from the blade, Aksana
felt no satisfaction in finally hearing him yelp in pain. Rather, the
attack from behind made her feel angry and hopeless in equal measure.

Spinning unsteadily to face the newest, scurrilous threat, Aksana felt
growing frustration upon recognizing that the blade-wielder was another
orcish woman, one whom she had beaten into submission in her last match.
The sneer of superiority on her face- to say nothing of the blood-dripping
blade now being directed towards Aksana- spoke of a desire for ultimate
vengeance!

Scrambling backwards, Aksana heard the gong boom once again. She had just
enough time to see two more fighters enter the pit, just enough time to
issue a bitter scream of denial at the futility of the situation which so
perfectly encapsulated the daily experience of her unfair existence- a life
of being forced to train, to labor, and to cause others pain, repeating over
and over again since her earliest memories- before that bloodied, rusty
blade flashed in pursuit of her!





Writer: Aksana

Date Sat May 4 16:01:43 2024

To All ( Unbelievers Heretics Aethists Agnostics Imm Roleplay )

Subject Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 2, 1/3



Red, searing pain arced through Aksana's side and caused her to stumble
into the wall of the grimy, dismal corridor. Crudely cut boards crunched
against the crumbling mudstone wall from the force of the unintended
collision. The shock of her shoulder against the wall tore a whimper of
pain from Aksana while tiny wood slivers and dust from the wall sprinkled
down on her and joined the still-fresh blood and sand-crusted sweat that was
splattered across her olive green skin.

Only a few minutes had passed since her last fight. Narrowly surviving the
armed onslaught of the other orcish woman, Aksana had managed to force her
into submission and had gone on to incapacitate the remaining fighters in
the battle royale before limping out of the pit.

Reinforcing how pointless and vain her accomplishments were, she could hear
the thundering cheers of the spectators as the fight subsequent to hers
continued- her victory already forgotten.

Now, finding herself slumped against a wall in the bleak hallway leading
from the combat pit with pain radiating up one side and down her leg on the
opposite side, Aksana wasn't certain whether she had truly won that fight-
or whether it even mattered.

The fights were getting nastier. Fewer pit fighters were walking out of the
arena after each fight. More of them were being dragged out to the kilns
for cremation. It was always that way before an auction and the next one
would be very soon.

The very best of the survivors would be sold. Of those who remained, most
would be disposed of while a handful would remain to give the next batch of
slaves that were brought in after every auction visible examples of their
new lives and to be strong opponents when the pit fights resumed.

Exhausted and beaten down- in every sense of the expression- Aksana decided
she didn't care into which of the categories she soon might fall. Was there
really any difference among three different types of deaths?

If her perilous situation continued to see her pitted against progressively
more opponents, All of whom were other slaves who foolishly believed that
punishing her would elevate themselves in the eyes of their captors and earn
them a better life and many of whom didn't share her aversion to using
weapons, employing them to cause genuine injury or else the intended fatal
consequence of the enforced bloodsport, then she knew that she likely
wouldn't even live long enough to reach the auction- much less live long
enough to see whatever might happen to her after.

Still gasping to recover her breath and lost in her bleak thoughts, Aksana
didn't realize that the guards who usually escorted her from the pit and
back to her pen weren't there to prod her along.

Only still on her feet thanks to the support of the crumbling wall and with
her legs shaking from fatigue and pain, she mistook what happened next for
her body giving up on her.

The entire structure around her shook- which to her was her body straining
against the pain.

The sparsely spaced torches flickered and wavered wildly from changes in the
air pressure- which her agonized mind believed was her vision dimming.

Dirt and wood dust rained down from the ceiling. Dry-rotting timbers and
shoddily-mortared stone blocks creaked and groaned- All of which she
believed was from her sliding further down the wall to the dirty soil floor.

Another tremor shook the complex surrounding the pit. Then another! The
torches continued to flicker. Dust and debris rained down which
extinguished some torches and pulled others from their crudely-bored holes
in the wall.

The already dim corridor being plunged into partial darkness and the sound
of something to which she had been trained to respond viscerally- voices
raised in screams that lusted for violence and bloodshed- pulled her out of
her stupor just in time to hear the tremendous crashing of a wooden palisade
being shattered and for the largest tremor yet to drop her onto her seat
with a pained moan that went unheard beneath the groaning of the support
beams overhead.

Had she known what ballistae were or about the vicious war beasts and siege
breakers employed by armies, then she might have understood the peril and
the doom that was befalling the encampment where she had lived her entire
life.

Never having been taught about anything as basic as an earthquake- or much
of anything that was unrelated to fighting- she had no idea what was
happening, but she immediately understood what came next: violence.





Writer: Aksana
Date Sat May 4 16:12:17 2024

To All ( Unbelievers Heretics Aethists Agnostics Imm Roleplay )

Subject Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 2, 2/3



Two of her owner's elite guards came galloping down the corridor. So
intent were they on what lay ahead that they didn't notice her slumped form
or that she failed to hunker and drop her gaze as they passed- a serious
infraction on a normal day!

Two men seemed to emerge from the darkness partway down the mildly curving
corridor as if they had stepped out of nothingness.

Aksana guessed they were men from their size and general shape, but she
couldn't be certain beneath All the black. Black platemail. Black cowls.
Black cloaks. Black masks. Black gauntlets. Black shields. Black blades.

Those black blades flashed and the elite guards erupted in red and crumbled
motionless into the dirt.

So swift had been the exchange that Aksana could only perceive the movements
in reflection, her brain replaying the perfect efficiency and deadly poise
in reverse.

Before she could even begin to wonder whether she would soon be an equally
lifeless mess in the dirt, the men disappeared between one blink and the
next.

Instinct overrode thought and Aksana rocked herself back and then onto her
feet. Using the surge of adrenaline to overcome her pain and fatigue for
the moment, she turned and raced back the way she had come!

The structure that housed the fighting pits and the slave pens may have been
badly built, but the design ensured there were only two ways in or out.
Choosing the exit that was in the opposite direction from where the
death-dealing strangers had come, she ran as fast as she could while the
sounds of combat, screams of pain, crumbling walls and crashing timbers, and
more ground-moving rumbles rose All around her.

Death confronted her along every passage and at every turn. The furious and
fearful assaults by the guards and slavers were met by the calmly detached
reprisals of the invaders. The results were unfailingly uniform: absolute
defeat for the denizens and flawless triumph for the invaders.

Aksana quickly realized that these hooded men were not there for the purpose
of liberation. She passed the cooling bodies of many of her fellow fighters
and captives in her frantic flight.

A few of those corpses she recognized from her last fight. She had subdued
them with her preferred, nonlethal style and had spared them in direct
disobedience to the shouts of the crowd and her own masters. The gruesome
proof of how futile her own respect for life had proven caused a surge of
compassion-fueled regret to fill her heart. Choking down bitter emotions,
Aksana realized that she was no savior, either.

Taking advantage of the confusion, many slaves had armed themselves.
Inexplicably, a few had continued to serve their master and turned their
weapons and honed skills toward the attackers to predictably gruesome
results. But most had turned against the guards- for what little cathartic
value that earned them.

The faceless invaders dispatched slaver and enslaved with equal
dispassionate efficiency. She witnessed them slay the ones who stood
against them and she saw them destroy the clusters of fighters who were
attacking the guards- killing All participants without hesitation.

Doing her best to keep herself small and out of the way- improbable as that
was for her size- Aksana continued to skirt around everyone she saw as she
fled to the higher levels and closer to the daylight. The images of horror
and brutality were fleeting flashes her fully flight-engaged mind pushed
away to be viewed later- or never!

Her own life had seemed on the precipice of loss when, while looking along
her back trail for pursuit, All the while expecting one of the attackers she
had just sprinted past to turn and slay her, she was knocked down by one of
the other pit fighters.

The hulking man had long antagonized her and would have killed her many
times over had the guards not prevented it for reasons she would never know.
Swinging a salvaged cleaver and laughing with a gory grin that promised her
a truly unpleasant end, Aksana had only started to scrabble away when a
black blade flashed.

The cleanly severed head of the man went flying and Aksana found herself
looking up at the cloaked and cowled slayer who seemed destined to both save
and slay her in the span of a breath. Yet between one blink and the next,
he was gone and she was alone in the passageway.

Not caring whether an unseen blade cut her down, Aksana sprang shakily to
her feet and continued her escape while the structure shook and started to
collapse around her!

Emerging into daylight unfettered with the building tumbling into final ruin
behind her, Aksana realized that the battle was over and that the dead
grossly outnumbered the living.





Writer: Aksana
Date Sat May 4 16:22:47 2024

To All ( Unbelievers Heretics Aethists Agnostics Imm Roleplay )

Subject Aksana - An Origin Story - Part 2, 3/3



Of the invaders, she realized that they numbered only twenty. Twenty
men whose actions had changed the course of local history and expunged a
terrible place from the world.

The palisade wall that had been the limit of her entire world was nothing
but scattered timbers which were even then being hauled into several growing
bonfires. The barracks and grander buildings for the guards and patrons of
the bloodsport arena and auction were shattered into indistinct humps of
rubble as was the structure of the fighting pit and slave pens from which
she had emerged.

Of her captors who had been responsible for every aspect of her entire life,
most were entombed in the rubble- rubble that was even then being ground
down and set aflame. How many of them there were, she had never been sure.
Several dozen, at least, she thought. The remaining handful or so were even
then being lined up and cut down on their knees.

Of the other fighters- slaves like her who she had known most of her life-
she saw only eight still breathing. Some looked on with fear, some with
satisfaction, some with nihilistic acceptance. It was only then, as she
stumbled out of the smoke and floating dust that Aksana's adrenaline-fueled
mind registered that the survivors were like herself: unarmed.

Not willing to risk gambling on how long that would protect them- if indeed
that had anything to do with why they had been spared so far!- Aksana
started to slink away from the gathering toward the ruins of the palisade
and the world beyond- a world about which she knew nearly nothing.

Glancing back at the sound of horses and jingling tack, Aksana realized that
the invaders were mounting up to depart on horses as black as their
shrouding apparel. Only in the light of day could she see the strange
emblem upon the cloaks and tabards and shields of the invaders: an inverted
white tree. Growing down instead of up, the tree's numerous barren branches
seemed to pierce deep into the blackness that was the only other color
present on their clothing.

One of those masked and cowled heads turned in her direction and Aksana
found herself forced to her hands and knees by some invisible, intangible,
overwhelming force. Only sheer stubbornness kept her from dropping her gaze
and being forced flat into the dirt. Her muscles stood out from the strain.
Her injuries from the pit fight reopened and resumed bleeding. Sweat
sheened over her green skin. Still she resisted!

Then, suddenly, the force levied upon her by the dark rider's gaze was
lifted when he turned away. Raising a gauntleted hand, he swung his dark
horse around and led the invaders silently away, taking away their strange
contraptions and hulking beasts from the fallen perimeter.

Completely confused, Aksana watched the riders depart until they were out of
sight. When she looked back at the now liberated- however incidentally,
dismissively, and tangentially- prisoners, Aksana felt an ever greater
distance between herself and the people she had lived and fought with for
years- whether against or alongside.

Some were sitting in the bloody dirt with hopeless, empty looks. Two were
even then turning on each other. Aksana couldn't tell whether it was to
settle old grudges or to determine a new dictator over the wretched
survivors, but she knew how it would end: badly. A couple were looting what
little hadn't been burned and buried under the ruins.

Their apparent saviors didn't care about them and had left them to live or
die forgotten- presuming they had ever been noticed in the first place!
Aksana realized suddenly that there was no reason why the
incidental-liberators should have noticed the consequently-freed slaves.
The dark riders weren't liberators. The events of the day were far larger
than Aksana and the other captives. Larger than the encampment that had
been destroyed. Larger than anything she knew or had previously imagined.
They were All insignificant to the world.

She also realized that her life and her fate was now entirely in her hands.
All of the survivors had the same chance now. They All had the same choice
as anyone else in the world- live or die.

Aksana knew what her choice would be.

Pushing herself to her feet, she was acutely aware of the weakness creeping
through her from the post-adrenaline surge and how it now compounded her
pain and wounds that it had temporarily allowed her to forget. None of that
could change her decision.

Smiling through the pain, she began to walk away from the ruined encampment-
away from All that she had ever known. Picking a horizon, not even knowing
which direction it was, her walk turned into a run- a run towards her
freedom and a tomorrow that she chose!





Writer: Altacas
Date Sun May 5 08:37:04 2024

To Abaddon Verminasia Slayers Shadow Darkonin Black_Robes Bloodlust All ( Imm Cayenna Xenophon Raije RP )

Subject On mention of war (4)



Altacas trudged through the muck of the swamp for what seemed like half a day,
the marsh seeming to grab and hold onto him with each step. He recalled the
earlier encounter and how Jahrial had arrived at the most opportune moment. He
knew though, it was not luck, Jahrial was one of the most decorated members of
Greystoke, and for good reason. Altacas knew the sky above the seas belonged to
the ariel and nodded proudly, as he believed, the dragons were aware of it too.
As he considered the ariel's triumphs, he began smiling with mirth at the
thought of what was to come for Greystoke, of the plans he had for the Manor's
future. He passed by an oddly shaped tree, scarred and twisted, as he veered
down firmer path.

Arriving before the iron gates of the city of Abaddon, home of the dead, he
stopped and wiped off what muck had dirtied his armor. He did not think
he would be received well by the city, however, Altacas knew that a first
impression only offers itself once. He went to knock on the gate but as he
raised his arm the gate opened and female, dressed in robes, passed him by
and stood in the center of bog just to the north. He had attempted to smile
at the demon but she had paid no mind so he turned to follow her.

Black pupiless eyes stared at him as he entered the center of the bog, the
female crossed her arms with conviction and said, through fang, "This is
as far as you go.
" Altacas nodded politely to the Priestess, Asrar Miete
Khamaseen, and in his low-toned manner said, "Priestess, He offers
greetings. His presence, though He understands might cause Alarm." The
Priestess seemed unmoved by his sentiment and replied, "A slayer in our
swamps, quite so. What is your business here?" Altacas recalled the
conversation he had where mention of the war, of werewolves and vampires, an
ancient vampire at that, had swarmed through the swamp and sought to assail
the gates of Abaddon. Altacas smiled kindly at Asrar as he began relaying his
thoughts, finding a tone that showed concern, "He had heard of a great
movement, of werewolves and of elder vampires.. matching against.. Abaddon.

During his exchange with the priestess, the Countess, Emmyth Sciatorius, walked
into the center of the bog, her displeasure at his presence could not be masked.
"He sought to find the reasoning, for the attack, from the source and not..
From others." he said truly, knowing that second hand information is
generally dilluted or enhanced. Information that would answer why he had been
attacked by two werewolves and a vampire wearing ancient garb, a tale her relayed
to the two before him. Emmyth leaned down as his story came to an end, her hand
running over a creature's head before she looked back at Altacas. In a raspy
voice, Emmyth said to him flatly, "{oPity you survived.
" She continued, in
what he thought seemed to be a hopeful tone, "{oNext time you might not be as
{olucky.
" Altacas chuckled jovially at the reminder, his gray eyes shining,
"He knows, every moment may be the last."




Writer: Altacas

Date Sun May 5 08:40:03 2024

To Abaddon Verminasia Slayers Shadow Darkonin Black_Robes Bloodlust All ( Imm Cayenna Xenophon Raije RP )

Subject On mention of war (4.5)



The trio stood in silence for a long moment until his low toned voice softly
broke the quiet, "He does not know what the battle was over, He knows it
happened." The Countess quickly denied the statement, her eyes darting
to Asrar she inquired, "{oDo you know of any battles?
" The priestess shook
her head and added, "The trolls got a bit rambunctious." Altacas smiled
and nodded, knowing full and well that trolls can get just that. The talk
continued, even if small, and littered with subtle threats of death towards
him or hopes of his death.

As the Countess dismissed him, her words like nails on a chalkboard, "{oI do
{ohope you enjoyed your walk, do be careful, however, on your way back home..
{oone can never tell whom or what is lurking in these shadows.
" Altacas
nodded his head respectfully, knowing that no further information would come
from the conversation, however, he had gained enough. {"He does know All
of those within Abaddon are not, as the Priestess said, gifted. However, if there
is no issue, if there is no peril facing Abaddon or those entities who stand
between the shores and the Kingdom, then He will find nothing, though he does s
eek to learn the truth and would prefer it come from this moment."

The three stood for a moment, looking from one another in honest silence until
the sun began to rise and the priestess and Countess returned to the city of
the dead.

Altacas mused on the conversation and events of the day as he trodged through
the marsh to the coast. He pondered how he would find the truth the women
sought so hard to conceal. It was only a matter of time before the information
came to him and he knew that. He changed his thought to Greystoke and wondered
if the vote had been tallied or if a challenge to his nomination to Overlord
had been issued. He wondered how the High Clerist, Mantoron was, thankful for
all of the conversations on faith, on helping him tame his soul for it surely
aided in the previous conversation.




Writer: Nereza

Date Sun May 5 14:32:30 2024

To All Arkane ( Croatoan Imm RP )

Subject The Shadows of Arkane



The time was midnight, the skies were clear and the red moon was at its
peak. It was in high sanction too, its brightness bathing the buildings of
Arkane in an eerie moonlight. Nereza adored nights like this and normally
she would either be out in the city enjoying it or in the middle of an
intense enchanting session, but she had business to attend to this eve.

She was alone in the throne room, waiting in her new throne. The room was
lit only by moonlight that shone through the skylights above, but her elven
eyes could clearly see the crown in her hands as her blue fingers slowly
traced along its exterior. Only now was she beginning to feel the weight
of the thing, both figuratively and literally.

"I would of much preferred a cute silver tiara with pretty little sapphires,
I wonder if I can have a new one made..." she pondered.

The slightest of motion at the edge of her peripheral vision drew her gaze,
though she did not move. He had not been there a moment ago, but she could
see him clearly now and this man well known to her. His garb was foreign to
Arkane : A hooded cowl, a cloth vest, baggy pants held tight at the waist by
a sash, two curved swords sheathed at his side with spiked tekkou on his
forearms and well-worn tabi instead of boots, All carrying the same dark
blue hue. He did not hide what he was tonight, there was no need.

Nereza watched him and waited, he silently knelt at the edge of the shadows
before speaking in a gruff, Shokonese accent.

"We are in place, We are ready"

She had rarely used her true voice in recent years, but it returned to her
quickly.

"Good. You know what you seek, observe and report. Do not fail me." she said
in a soft, monotone Shokonese accent. The man bowed his head before standing
and backing into the shadows in one smooth motion, his presence vanishing
the moment the darkness took him. There were many things lurking in the
shadows of Arkane these days, many dangerous things. Arkane must be protected,
favors had been called in.

A small sigh escaped her lips as her focus returned to the crown, her brow
furrowing at the sight of it. She placed it carefully in one of her bags
and instead opted to wear the tinted gnomish goggles she often wore while
enchanting. Nereza stood and made her way out of the Haven, there was still
time to enjoy the beautiful night and as she stepped out into the streets she
couldn't help but hum a soft tune to herself. She felt better already.




Writer: Thuken

Date Sun May 5 18:02:17 2024




Writer: Wintrine

Date Mon May 6 15:40:43 2024

To All Devion ( Imm RP )

Subject Wintrine's start-up plan



Things had been good lately. Overall, Wintrine Whiteweather's plan was
falling together just splendidly! Her talk with Arkane's newly crowned
queen had truly put her heart at ease; in fact, she felt more emboldened
than ever that she might really pull her business plan together into
something authentic. It'd be a boon for just about everyone involved if she
could pull it off; though the "just about" part remained a slight concern to
her.

When discussing the matter with the queen, Win had cleverly made sure to
avoid spilling *all* the beans of her plot. She'd made sure to espouse the
boons of her planned business model, though: that the kids from the
orphanage would be given activities to enhance their lives, that they'd be
compensated fairly, and even that the masterminding kender herself would
happily forego her own share of the business's proceeds just for the chance
to enrich Arkane's parentless youth. Having pulled out All the stops, she
even noted that having more eyes searching upon the streets might lead to a
decrease in crime! And so, as she sat with a group of kids in the alleyway,
the kender kept everything of that discussion in mind.

"What if we get caught?" An older boy sitting among the group wondered in
a nervous whisper.

"Simply don't," Win replied, with a reassuring smile. "It's less risk than
picking pockets, even!"

The children looked at each other, nearly All of them appearing somewhat
uncertain. Yet, Win could tell from the expressions upon their faces that
they weren't really dissuaded from the idea altogether.

"You simply fetch them, bring them back, play with them... You can even pet
them All you want," Win reassured the group, speaking in a benevolent tone.
"Even if you get caught carrying them back, nobody'll think anything of it.
You just have to be careful not to let any outsiders see the inside of our
little hideout!"

One young girl giggled, and nodded, seemingly agreeing with the kender.
"And we even get to split the money? Evenly?"

"Indeed so, indeed," Win reassured her. "You'll even get my share to
split, too. I'm doing this for other reasons."

"Won't someone notice All the pets missing?" As soon as the boy asked, Win
shook her head.

"You'll only be taking pets that wealthy people might own. Nobles love
fluffy poodles and furry, flurry cats. Easy to tell them apart; just pick
out the well-groomed animals and snatch them up, maybe only a few at a time.
As long as you spread the kit-nappings out..." Win gestured, vaguely,
leaving her statement nonchalantly open-ended.

"...Then we just wait for the reward posters to go up, then return them?"
An interested kid seemed to be perking up to the idea.

"Yep, yepper! Just pull it out of storage at the hideout, return it home,
get the reward... Owner gets the pet back, you get wealthier; good for us
all," the kender assuredly replied.

To the side, she spotted one other kid, with a hand raised in the air. Win
pointed to her with a smile. "Yes, you? Jess, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Jess. "Um, so... What's good about this for you
though?"

The kender grinned a bit. These kids were cute -and- easy to convince.
This was going to be great.

"For me, well, I enjoy seeing your smiling faces and helping you out. As
long as you remember Devion's blessing befalls these kinds of life-enhancing
things, then I'll get my reward from him, for sure. Oh, hey, anyone want
ice cream?"

Eager nods and soft laughter filled the alleyway as the kender earned the
alliance of her new employees.




Writer: Aturi

Date Mon May 6 19:15:43 2024




Writer: Telthian

Date Mon May 6 21:10:52 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject The Penumbral Wynd



Their eyes could not see it, not at first.

The shape of a ribbon twisted about itself again and again announced itself
with only the subtle absence of a reflection. The font of magma threw a
rich orange glow throughout the belly of the mountain, yet for All its
impossible heat, its illumination yielded to the presence of this fragile
gift.

But what leaked through that crack, a dark current seeping into Algoron like
unseen thermals, was a presence unmistakable to the Godhand. The boundaries
of worlds pressed in on another, distorting it in shape and form just enough
to become manifest here where the umbral egg had hatched.

A slender hand plucked at the ribbon, and it resonated brightly in answer,
as if Symanthas fingers had instead plucked the strings of a harp. Her
recognition was just as sudden as the clear vibrating note, and perhaps,
stemmed from the same source. 'This is not just a thinning of borders. It
is another threshold to the eventide, nothing less.' Symantha paused as the
pair looked to one another, 'It took a nearly a dozen of us from deep
within the Rip itself using both the temple and Storm as anchors.'

The question went unasked as the resonant note started to fade beyond the
limits of human perception. Telthian could taste blood on his tongue, and
with its arrival he sank to one knee, the exertion of the sending arriving
in a wave of inertia. The web-like cracks of umbra upon his flesh burnt
away at him as the residual power grounded out through him and was swallowed
by the mountain. '{uAnd that was before, High Priestess,
' he ventured, lifting
lifting
a hand to point to the sheathed blade at Symantha's side as the
umbra coursed through him, wafting in thin cirrus tendrils toward the Priestess.


'{uSee for yourself.
'

Despite their preparations, despite the exhausted supply of reagents,
infernal relics, enchantments, offerings, and no small amount of blood it
was the hilt of the black blade that held the answer to the question
unasked, its simple grip glowing with an echo of power.

A spark of recognition flashed in Symanthas eyes, a flicker of deep indigo
rising to their steely surface as she spoke with an ordained confidence.

'A world within a world. Ours to define, ours to shape.'

Beyond the littoral corridor, an estuary waited to take form.





Writer: Telthian

Date Mon May 6 21:17:39 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject The Tidelands



{u--=--_{u--=--_{u- -=--_{u--=--

Crushing waves of dark creation battered against the rocky firmament of
an island suspended at the threshold of absolute darkness. The island held
firm, its shores grasping and tearing at the wave as it fled back into the
black abandon, diminished as it yielded the past to both present and the
nascent future that refused to await its own time.

At the islands center, the air hung heavy with the heady aroma of incense,
the smoke rising on gentle plumes to reach only a foot or so above the
smoldering vessel. It accumulated there as if it were enclosed in glass,
rather than set upon a rise of black sandy earth. Unable to rise further,
the smoke would eventually tumble backwards along the lift of its own heat
into the bronze censer. The coals cooled rapidly where the smoldering tip
of the stick gathered its fallen ash, collecting its spent material bit by
bit, returning back to its original form before it was put to flame. This
ebb and flow continued, the incense never burning itself out nor escaping
the lick of the fire.

Beneath a void in the night sky where a dead gods star was extinguished, the
facets of an obelisk glistened wet with the conjoining of blood in ritual
offering that marked the space upon which they stood. As his fingers
painted the dark amethyst of the obelisk, a meteoric ring upon his finger
crackled with a momentary resonance before Telthians will subdued the
echoes, things now little more than the tattered memories of their former
master.

Opposite him, the currents rushed in chaotic whorls as Symatha broke the
errant crash of wild umbral swells that threatened to unmake the nascent
isle. With each cut of her runesword, the gibbous moon upon pommel flared
with life and creation yet to be. At times, the Umbra yielded, but at
others it resisted taking form. The expected was met with practiced grace
coaxing it to shape, and the unplanned met with the sure confidence that can
only come through experience and patience.

The isle revealed its shape slowly, strange and beautiful in its features.
It, and the life which it would nurture, was a promise... So long as they
could hold on and continue to build on the power they had accrued while the
steady forces of entropy and chaos eroded All things.

Dark annihilating currents surrounded and flowed past the island into the
black of the infinite night, now awake and full of new potential.

{u--=--_{u--=--_{u- -=--_{u--=--




Writer: Symantha

Date Tue May 7 00:16:15 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject The Firmament



The isle was encompassed by a twilit sky and fitful vortex of dark
purple, blue, and black. Over which presided the ever-present black moon,
reigning oh-so-near and never obscured in the immaculate dark heavens above.

The umbral sanctuary itself was beauty incarnate. A pocket of pure dark
creation, harnessed by their very hands, and in the vein of this concept
Symantha panned her gaze slowly over its expanse.

This. She let herself bask. This was the future.

A land cast anew - no longer broken or divided. A firmament that held
promise and destiny. A dusky haven awaiting legacy and the power to shape
it.

The process of dark creation, of pulling on the deceptively intricate
strands of umbra from All its varied and abundant sources around them, had
grown easier with each application though it required no less control and a
firmness of will that took its toll over time.

She could see it work through Telthian's umbral-cracked flesh as he drew on
the dynamic flux, reigning and shaping it.

Behind them the estuary had taken form, flowing eagerly now within its
embankment. The scene reminded her of a place they had visited once, deep
in the Verdant Forest. The channel flowed, bound to its gentle banks, a
manifest river of umbra that fed the lands even as it cut through as any
natural element might.

The High Priestess stood beside the Draco Dei and employed much the same
purpose to the strands of umbra. She had never wielded this much power, or
in such unique ways, but as the scars along her arms lit, burning with it
even as his flesh did, it felt correct - as if their blessings had been
intended for such a purpose.

By steady increments, as if forming from the land itself, the shrine and the
manse took form - the former on a rise overlooking the flow of the umbral
channel below while the latter lifted from the black sands of a plateau
nearby.

Simple concepts of creation were left behind for the strange wonder of
forming a thing from thought and will and the raw elements that could only
be found here. A mental image became carven spiral pillars of crystal that
formed and supported a lunar crescent above while below, a floor of hardened
black sparkling sand with a low railing and lavender-marbled benches
encircled a shrine of pure blackened moonsilver.

Four perfect crystalline formations wove impossibly through an altar of
daedal design and with delicate artistry, glimmering runes in divine and
draconic script formed in unique symmetry.

Sweat had beaded along her brow and the burn of the umbra drove deep but
with each completed component, her own certainty in this place and what they
needed to do here set in more firmly.

A breath of destiny, a portent of what was to come. A certainty bound as
firmly in the dyad's covenant as in their aged bond that had weathered death
and rebirth. It was shadowy yet, this imminent genesis of their legacy, but
she had dreamed of it not once but twice over the full span of her years -
and again more recently.

A stairway formed that led down to a platform within the umbraway itself,
the swift channel obscuring its solid width and she turned to look on the
manse.

The conception of a dream, the dawn of a sanctuary within a land of eternal
twilight.

The black moon looked on as the work continued, as vision met with
architectural wonder, and the perennial nightsong of the Rip serenaded
umbral arete.




Writer: Symantha

Date Tue May 7 00:28:07 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject Penumbral Genesis



She ebbed and flowed, as if one with the currents of the Rip.

And the Umbra, like life's blood, crackled and wove - ever-becoming and
unraveling like the pure force it was beneath much of what moved in the
darkness.

Shadows rose and fell, breath filled and emptied, and through it All the
steady heartbeat th-thumped with an assured quality that grew haunting over
time.

Her hands roved over the swell of the child in her, acknowledging that the
time was ripe, and she laboriously withdrew from the umbral depths of the
moon in which she had so long basked. Speeding time and maturation as one.

Its rays had given more than they had taken but she still emerged changed.

But then, so had he.

The crimson-winged dragon, crowned by horn and cloaked in umbra, burned with
a new fire she could scarcely conceive but within which she relished.

Captured in the indigo, gripped by the exquisite agony of childbirth, the
amethyst palace that shielded them echoed her pain with crystalline purity
and drawing from it, an umbral storm took shape.

Lightning cracked and an umbral gale became as a maelstrom beyond the walls,
shielding the moment even as it was exalted between husband and wife.

The first newborn wail changed everything as it took the immaculate moment
and situated itself, shattering it - only to piece a new picture back
together with the fragments.

The storm grew in its intensity, the thunderous sound smothering the infant
cries until the child could be calmed but every thread that wove between
mother, father, and daughter fed it. Like a protective shroud, it closed in
on the three as the High Priestess settled in the aftermath and the Draco
Dei looked down on his progeny.

It was a moment marked, even if only between them, and a charged gaze was
shared. They could not waste the moment but she needed time - taxed as she
was by the birth.

Their daughter, who would not be named until the sanctification, calmed as
if sated by the umbra that was thick about their sanctuary and time slowed
for them once again as Symantha and Telthian took reprieve with their
newborn.




Writer: Symantha

Date Tue May 7 00:48:36 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject Dark Beneficence



The umbral waters whispered.

She had heard the term 'black winds' often throughout her life but never had
the concept met with explanation. She understood now, though it came in the
guise of a different manifestation.

The whispers, moirai and insistent, spoke the name before it ever left her
lips and she saw the threads of umbra reach out long before she and Telthian
had neared the estuary.

There was a telling movement of his eyes, a shift in his stride, that
bespoke his notice of it as well. Behind them, currents wavered as an
umbral cloak spread, and as if to usher their approach - umbral mists danced
like an otherworldly aurora before the face of the ever-present black moon.

Their newborn, asleep in the arms of her father, was hours old but it was
enough. He held the child over the altar as the Goddess was entreated, as
this rite of their own devising - yet infinitely ancient and conceived in
primordial beginnings - was begun.

The crescent was traced gently over the child's brow by the hand of her
father and as the umbrasign was performed above by her mother, dark rays
bled down from above to the will of the High Priestess.

"
{uInvoked, word and will carry on divine twilight, seeking the cimmerian
{ublessings of the dark celestial - Goddess of the Black Moon - from which we
{useek sanctification."

As divinity took hold around them, they turned to the waiting estuary. The
umbral flow was gentle, constant, washing along the banks it now cut through
and from it the whisper continued - becoming a low chant that filled the
isle.

They both descended to the platform within its channel and to that same dark
urging, the ceremonial beneficence played forth. As the parents were bound
to this fate, so too would be their child.

Fussing ensued until she was fully immersed in it, the umbra flowing not
only over the newborn flesh but through the soul, tethering, consecrating.

Astryn

"
{uThe threads of fate bind you to this, Her umbral promise, and in it you
{ushall become a conduit of Her Will - your umbral destiny to be writ within
{uthe tapestry. Our child, blessed thrice."

Symantha shared a glance with Telthian as the child was lifted again and
then All gazes looked upward as she spread her scarred hands and arms -
beseeching.

"
{uAs our paths tread this road beneath the Dark Shroud, carried by the Dark
{uTide, so shall yours - Astryn Schwartz."

And as Telthian wrapped the child back within the soft blanket they had
brought along, she offered quietly.

"Dream Tenebrarum. By umbral breath, the black winds continue to drift and
in their moirai whispers, we bind again this bloodline divine to the Will of
Darkness."




Writer: Symantha

Date Tue May 7 01:08:26 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject Contrasts - {oA Cottage Day



The scent of late-season flowers enveloped the garden, carried on a
cooling breeze. The sun had warmed the confines pleasantly though and the
laughter of a child permeated both walled enclosure and the forest that
surrounded it.

Astryn tottered about a clearing that surrounded the gazebo, hemmed into a
small area by the doting presence of mother and father on either sides of a
large blanket while a small herd of kittens ran about the flower beds and
batted at the fish in the narrow canals.

It was a moment rare in its fashion for their little family and treasured as
such, though a mere glance in any direction would have revealed the powerful
measures they had taken to protect this little slice of peace.

Only cusping toddler-hood, the child was cherubic yet - in behavior and
appearance. Dark beauty would follow her as she grew, as assuredly as
power. They both watched as she was drawn to an umbral ward, crawling or
wavering her way toward the wall of the garden, ignoring even the enticement
of the colorful flowers, the small gnomish statue within reach, and the
kitten that pounced at her, until she could place her small hands over its
arcane etching.

It was a quiet promise that would carry unique and weighty challenges for
the girl as she grew but - with a small, pleased smile - Symantha rose up to
guide the child back and from then on it was simpler considerations that
they entertained. The lay of the future was not so imminent that either she
or Telthian need rush the thoughts or the conversation that was sure to come
in just a few more years yet.

It was with easy subjects that they both engaged while Astryn paced between
them, growing ever more confident in her speedy steps. Dinner out back, to
watch the sunset over an early Autumn Verminasian landscape. A horse ride
in the mid-morning after breakfast - if the child was awake, otherwise a
nap.

The quiet of the lands - especially in the wake of the child's birth - had
become a boon, despite its assuredly ephemeral nature. Lasting peace was
not in the cards for any of them and the war from above threatened at any
time to spill back into the hands of the mortals who fought the battle on
the forefront of Algoron.

The potential before them had added a new chapter to their legacy, though
neither of them were unfamiliar with the hope and promise that it brought.

The sudden concerted herd of barn kittens did well to disrupt any further
depth of thought as they ran rampant into the clearing. It was to this
pleasant and furry distraction that they All succumbed until late in the
afternoon.

A simple day for an otherwise complicated family.




Writer: Fynix

Date Tue May 7 12:42:59 2024

To All Arkane

Subject |A| Return of the Parrot |A|


At first, Fynix had not been unduly worried. Pyrite, his faithful (if
dim-witted) parrot compatriot, had been known for going off on his own
little adventures from time to time. Sometimes for months on end. One time
he'd even come back with a rolled up treasure map (that had, naturally, lead
absolutely nowhere) and another he'd been spotted in the company of a sleek
green lady macaw, hopelessly in love. That hadn't lasted long, he
remembered. Something about commitment issues.

So when he'd been gone missing for a week or two, Fynix hadn't been worried.

But when one of the children from the orphanage had sent him word that they
had discovered his lost parrot, Fynix was at first confused. Lost?

Still, he dutifully made his way down to the orphanage to check with the
little yinn boy in question, who greeted him politely and beckoned him over
to the cage in the back of the room where a colorful red, blue and yellow
parrot perched, fluffing up his feathers and puffing up his chest, trying to
look proud and self- important and failing miserable. Fynix idly wondered
what he learned such behavior.

I mean, clearly he didn't learn it from him.

'Well, thanks there Junior, but I have to ask... There's no tag, and there
must be lots of parrots in the world. How do you know this is Pyrite? '

'Rawrk! Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight! Rawrk! '

Yup, that was definitely him.

'Ask a stupid question, ' Fynix remarked, rolling his eyes. He tugged a
shiny blue diamond from his money case and tossed it to the yinn boy, who's
dog-like ears stuck up as he caught it, grinning a mile a minute. Picking
up the cage, Fynix reached for the door as the parrot nipped at his fingers,
impatient to be out.

'Rawrk! Yo-ho-ho! Yo-ho-ho! Rawrk! '

Sighing, Fynix paused by the latch to open the cage, and glanced back at the
yinn boy. 'I don't suppose I could pay you double to keep him? '

The orphan yinn shook his head rapidly from side to side. 'Please don't,
duke sir. '




Writer: Astryn

Date Tue May 7 20:20:47 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject A World of Color



Reminiscent of a reoccurring dreamscape where details swirl like a
mysterious fog over the pathways of cognition and where elusive strands are
like trying to catch a jarful of flickering fireflies, the memories can
shine bright with awareness though more often, they remain faded and
obscure, nothing more than whispered fragments on the mind. She wills her
mind to expand like a celestial canvas, the stirring of that first
remembrance a familiar forming on repeat, always presenting as a myriad of
dancing colors that shimmer and fade, leaving her nothing but enigmatic
messages to decipher. Much like the intangible look through a shifting
kaleidoscope, first drawn is the shade of moonless night, mysterious and
mystifying as it sets the tone for the unexplored corners of her landscape.
Deep and timeless, the darkness knows no depth or width or breadth,
expandable and infinite. The slow twirl of fragile strands of luminescent
blue, translucent and phosphoric like the delicate wings of a tiny fae,
billow with airy whimsy upon the page, lackadaisical and carefree as they
drift across her mind from left to right like shimmering currents of breath.
In contrast, another splash crests and breaks across this introspection,
powerful and energetic as the liquid sapphire surges in with hurried frenzy
but quickly smoothes into a tranquil calm that settles into a quiet ebb and
flow of color.

A deeper delve into the depths of her consciousness reveals more layers with
the blues draining and dissipating and the tones shift as the emergence of
rich, earthy browns breathe life into this newly formed phantasmagoria, a
grounding force that embodies the essence of a forested floor teaming with
woodland creatures. Random spots of dappled light materialize to shimmer
like diamonds against natures magic, a soft glow radiating warmth as it
bursts forth and illuminates the ever-shifting panorama. In the shadows
behind them, a dark tangle of viridian twists and coils in and around the
other hues, deceptively enchanting as its noxious blight creeps across this
metaphorical tapestry, consuming it like a stealthy serpent whose venom
inflicts a lethal bite upon its prey. And still the colorwheel spins and
where the blighted fauna passes over the incandescent luster, wisps of
necrotic teal slowly manifest, intangible phantoms that transcend with
otherworldly grace.

Like the turning of a page, the perpetual motions of color remain and
everything fades away but a shade of yellow that is a slow roll across her
mind. Not a bright or brilliant hue but one faded, like a page crinkled and
delicate from a favorite story that has been continually read in the attempt
to reclaim the forgotten depths of youthful memories. Glimpses of cognitive
recognition tease the corners of the mind, more feelings than images,
creating a reminiscent comfort from a nostalgic scent that fills the senses,
one that is vibrant yet still elusive. Her narrative becomes more lucid
upon the fabric of existence as the remaining strands of color are
dominating prominence, like the pulsating heartbeat behind her creation.
Bright explosions of fiery oranges and deep reds blaze like ethereal flames,
a burn upon her brain in a show of primordial raw power that is a montage of
her body in tempest. While molten intensity burns behind ashen orbs, it is
as if her blood boils with liquid fire to the tip of each digit, much like a
weaponed forge whose purposeful maelstrom of destruction and rebirth can be
both mesmerizing and terrifying to behold. Her firestorm is like a euphoric
switch that triggers another display of vivid tints as the reds fall away
like blazing embers and electrifying currents of violets and amethysts
become her new revelation. Like smoke clearing from ones gaze, lightning
streaks across her cognitive canvas with crackling clarity, her mind opening
and turning in to attune to the wild and untamed spirit of this vibrant
energy.


-continued




Writer: Astryn

Date Tue May 7 20:22:31 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject A World of Color



-continued


As the familiar warmth of her infernoed pneuma weaves into the
luminescent force of shaping inspiration, anticipation morphs into a complex
interplay of colored emotions. All the colors resurge like a canvas splat
with paints, stationary yet distorted from their initial surfacing as each
one has been caressed by a whisper of pink, the tint wrapping around them
like a tender embrace. The vision should be one of clashing, chaotic
abstract but to her, it is a disciplined symphony, its orchestration a
mystical allure. A quiet unlike any other stills her mind as interlaced
around All of it, are the tinted shades of varying pinks. Soft and subtle
pinks. Dusty rose pinks. Hot, neon pinks. Each shade as clear as a
starless night upon a cloudless sky, casting their rosy glow across the
palette as if the hued aura were an embedded quality that was always part of
the arrangement, the culmination creating a poetic magic that speaks to her
soul.

Lashes lift from their soft cushion of flawless flesh and unlike waking from
a dream that can be an immersive yet disorienting experience, hers is a
surreal actuality as the vibrant pulse of colors are the tangible aspects of
waking life. A single blink does not clear the harmonized amalgamation of
her psyche and as the polychromatic array remains an ambiguous puzzle, she
knew one thing with absolute clarity. In the beginning, there was always
magic.




Writer: Astryn

Date Tue May 7 20:34:31 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject A Familiar Afternoon



Skies of the clearest blue stretched for as far as the eye could see,
marred only by the brilliance of the sun as it sat high in the sky,
radiating its warmth to the land below. The air seems to shimmer with the
heat, creating a dreamlike haze that envelops the scene. A soft breeze blew
in from the south, its gentle hand ruffling the landscape like a swell
coming in on a slow rolling tide. The soft petals that surround the
upturned faces of wildflowers, wave in response while bees and butterflies
flit about in a ballet-like performance to the song of the birds that fly
high overhead. While welcomed, the whispered current does little to quell
the heat, except to stir it with its teasing touch.

A rhythmic hum sounded from the deep grass as the garden was in full bloom,
its fragrance a subtle yet intoxicating blend of All her surroundings as the
puff of air swirled the sweet smells of summer together to tickle her nose.
She barely registered that her parents say nearby as she lay upon the
blanket, belly down with bent knees and bare feet kicking upward, lost in
her own child world as she colored quietly on the parchment before her. Her
experienced summers were still few, five now in total and for her birthday,
she had been gifted a wide array of colored wax which was now one of her
favorite ways to pass time. Thick, bold lines, caked wax from too much
pressure and crooked block letters that spelled out her name were standard
upon each finished drawing. She was far from being a prodigy artist, as at
the tender age of five, her parents were still nothing more than stick
figures on the page. But she enjoyed it and sometimes found it easier to
express herself in the art, rather than with the words she didnt yet know.
Since getting the gift, at times, her parents would ask her to draw and
color something specific, which always brought about a bubble of childish
delight. She often thought it was just their way to get her to practice her
letters and spelling her name but she didnt care. She was able to bring
something to life with her coloring wax, the way that she saw it.

A motion out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and her hand
paused in its coloring as her curly mopped head turned to see the newest
batch of kittens that were recently born, just now stirring from their
afternoon nap. One kitten that had been sleeping in the middle of the pack
was now the cause of disrupting its six other siblings, oblivious to the
upset it was causing as it tried to climb out, first with a step on a still
sleeping black and white head before slipping off to then fall and use one
paw to catch itself against the ribs of tiny feline body covered with black
and tawny stripes. Mews and yawns followed in its wake as brothers and
sisters stretch and roll out into their own space before each wander away
from where their mother continues to lounge with one eye open to their
antics.

Paper and crayons were now forgotten as she drew herself up too to move
closer, an excited grin upon her cherub face as she watched enraptured by
their wild and reckless energy, circling around her as they romped and
pounced on one another or swatted at one flicking tail until the kittened
owner of that tail turned to attack, both sent rolling before they broke
free and ran off in a new game of chase. If she wiggled her bare toes, they
would engage her too, drawing out a giggle as they leaped in to attack
before running off, their attention already on some new that was moving,
typically another kitten or some random blade of grass.

-continued




Writer: Astryn

Date Tue May 7 20:44:36 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject A Familiar Afternoon



-continued

With bare toes a forgotten toy for the moment, she turned to keep the
kittens play in her gaze, eager to run to them and reengage herself but
behind their spirited exploitations, one sole kitten had separated itself
from the pack as fearless curiosity drew it beyond the flower beds to where
the protective runes guarded this garden sanctuary. The tantalizing allure
of the runes was something she knew All too well but for a kitten, this
posed a perplexing thought. The rune did not move, it did not wiggle or
roll. It could zap, something she knew first hand but truth be told, she
had liked it. It made her fingers All tingly and funny feeling.

The grass was a warm cushion as she drew near, silvered eyes wide with her
own curious wonder at what drew the kitten here. She recognized it as the
one who stepped and pushed this afternoon wave of tabby frenzy to life, its
color almost All black, except for a single spot of white upon its chest
that looked a lot like a stretched out spider or octopus. As she stepped
closer, she could see that it also had stripes but they were black on black
with only a slight shade difference between them. While she pondered, it
turned its head to look at her, a deep violet reflecting in eyes that pinned
her in place, as if taking in her measure, while in turn, she did the same.
With a flicker of one ear, the moment passed and the kitten turned to press
its face against the nearby rune, nudging and rubbing at it with its cheek.
She did not realize she was holding her breath until it released, and not
wanting it to experience a similar zap that had once caught her unaware, one
that would have it run off and hide to lick at its wounds, she started to
move forward with childlike bravery to grab the soft feline with her tiny
hands to keep it safe. Too late the crackling sound reached her ears and
the hair upon the kitten stood at attention, making it appear twice its
normal size. Her face started to melt and she could feel a quiver to her
lower lip as she expect the now poofed ball of fur to run from her but
instead, its slid its whole body against the rune, ear to tip of its tail
before coming over to where she stood still, a loud purr sounding as it
smoothed its soft baby fur against her ankles and legs as it twined between
them. Her eyes sparkled at the surprise victory and delighted laughter
filled the air as the force of the purrs from the rhythmic figure eights
around her legs threatened to knock her off balance. She leaned forward to
scoop the kitten into her arms but with thoughts of its own, it backed away
to sit upon its haunches, the tiny creature tilting its head slightly to the
side as a gaze passed between them in unspoken communication that
transcended words. She turned to run back to where her parents sat in the
sun, her fine chestnut curls bleached from the summer sun with its ribbons
of cherry highlights, cast out behind her. Over her shoulder, she is
overjoyed to see that the kitten runs after her.

Reaching the blanket, she points to the kitten that, like her, has stopped
its run and sits a short distance away, eyeing the group. "Can I keep him?

It is her mothers lips that curve into a smile but it is her father that
asks the question. "Why this one, Astryn? "

With eyes that grow into large, round orbs, their silver depths a mirrored
lens into the open innocence that only comes with untarnished experience,
she blinks at him and then states, as if stating the obvious. "Because hes
pink!
"

In her still evolving landscape, she either missed or didnt understand the
quiet look that exchanged between her parents. Not one of concern or
confusion but of analytical contemplation, oblivious to the truths she
shared with enthusiastic candor. And in that oblivion, more words rushed
from her mouth in justification, a stream of youthful babble that tried to
sway them to see her reason. "And he talks to me. His name is Axwell. "




Writer: Altacas

Date Thu May 9 08:53:39 2024

To All Knighthood Slayers

Subject A decision made



Altacas seemed to have been pacing the holy room within Greystoke for hours,
his armored feet eerily quiet amongst the noise within his head. The battle
between his thoughts had raged for days, the darkness fighting against the
decisions he knew were right in the eyes of Raije, leaving him weary and all
but mentally exhausted. He sighed heavily, hoping the interal debate would
end with his emptying lungs. It didn't.

Altacas walked towards the locked door of the Sanctum of the Dragon Slayer,
stopping a few feet from the door he stared blankly at the heavy wooden door,
the iron knob and lock cold and without movement. He could hear Gundaron
Thorunson just beyond, Altacas longed to speak with him and learn from
Gundarson's years of training. To send the wyrms back to their hills, holes,
and caverns, as the Dragonslayers of old once did. Childishly, he reached
his hand forward in an effort to open the door but it would not budge.

Smiling, Altacas turned around to face the statue of Raije in the center
of the room, "This is a matter of faith anyways, a conversation with
the Master Slayer may on serve to dilute His thoughts.
" He looked for
a long moment at the statue, the gigantic minotaur held a massive battle
axe in his hand, the eyes ever-watchful. Altacas had always admired the
craftsmanship, how the artist had achieved such a level of understanding
in the statue's eyes escaped the barbarian. Altacas studied the stance
of the statue for a moment, it was perfect, Raije looked as though, at
any moment, the statue leap out of it's frozen state and into battle.

"Ah, He believes there lies my solution." He had been so caught up
in thought that Altacas had neglected the consideration of honorable
battle to assist in coming to the solution he sought. With that, Altacas
took to the stairs and out of the Manor, heading towards the Keep of the
Knighthood where he knew Captain Pardo Tilsinii resided.

Altacas arrived before Gareth, the guards watching him cautiously. "He
comes for the Captain of this Keep and seeks battle,
" he called out to
the two men, clad in fine armor and shield, guarding the gate of the Keep.
The Captain arrived not long thereafter, the man and the wemic saluting
one another in turn. Altacas looked the striking form directly in the eyes,
and requested combat. The Captain did not know he struggled with debate and
hoped to find resolve amidst the combat.




Writer: Altacas

Date Thu May 9 08:54:19 2024

To All Knighthood Slayers

Subject A decision made (2 of 2)



The pair squared off, agreeing the Captain should strike first, the battle
began. The pair exchanged blows, Altacas wounding the human with thrusts
and arcs of lightning, the human mauling the wemic with the same. The
Captain fought honorably, and with vast skill, besting the barbarian in the
field. Altacas saluted the Captain and congratulated him on the victory.
Pardo returned the salute and said, "A very unfortunate timing, my best
flurry when you were least protected..." Altacas appreciated the words,
knowing his mistake, but was glad the Captain knew it also.

The pair stood in the fields talking for what seemed like hours, the topics
ranged from the gladiator league, caffeine, and the Sanctum within the Manor.
When the news of Gundaron Thorunson having returned to Greystoke the Knight
said, "That is good. Stagnation doesn't do Algoron any good." Altacas
smiled, nodding his head and uttering, "He agrees, wholeheartedly. Greystoke
has purpose and life again. He knows it will ebb and flow, as All things do,
however, there is joy in it." The conversation continued, fueled by
comraderie gained through combat. In truth, Altacas enjoyed it. He respected
the Captain and the conversation aided his training in diplomacy - something
that had not come easily.

At the conclusion of the conversation, Pardon extended his hand to Altacas.
Altacas took Pardo's hand in his, shook it firmly, and smiled broadly at the
human. In that last look, Altacas knew the road forward. The respect shown
to him helping push the answer forth from the shadows of dark faith. His
path towards neutrality was a lesson learned everyday and he had Pardo to
thank for this lesson.




Writer: Piknim

Date Fri May 10 01:26:43 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Vyasa Altacas All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (6)



The black onyx stone walls of Verminasia's war room echoed with more
activity than usual in the wake of the Bloodwar's first battle.

A group of four army captains in palace duty uniform, Hege Vinter among
them, gathered at the foot of the black-stained table discussing troop
dispositions and small unit tactics. Lord Riordan Atennim and the battalion
commander, a dignified human with a graying moustache, stood apart from the
junior officers sharing a glass of Gogothathan single-malt and deeper
insights into the ongoing conflict with Lords Belstrad and Caustus.

Viscount Vyasa Miete of Abaddon stood at the head of the table cradling a
snifter of cinnabar-colored brandy and watching the unlikely Queen-Regent of
Verminasia with a bemused smile as she flitted about like a bat in a belfry.
The afore-mentioned would-be ruler, Piknim Cracklespark, landed atop the
seat of a high-backed chair which promptly waddled up to the table's edge
for its vertically-challenged occupant to better survey a map of Arkania
spread across the tabletop. The diminutive Darkfinder tapped the point of a
silver-handled ebony wand upon Verminasia's position and conjured a magical
red line that lingered in the air, tracing a path to the Heroes' Graveyard.
There, she spun the tip in a circle to mark the spot with a whorl of
glimmering gray.

The Heroes' Graveyard. Beneath granite headstones and manicured turfgrass
lay a maze of Cursed Caverns, and deep within the caverns a mysterious gray
mist that functioned as a portal to Belstrad's lair - precisely where King
Drogan claimed it would be found. Had ancient spirits interred within the
graveyard whispered the portal's existence into the ogre shaman's ear?
Regardless, Verminasia need not betray the barest hint of impetus by
marching across the continent or sailing around it, but could appear upon
the Ancient vampire's very doorstep in the blink of an eye with a force
hand-picked for occupying the Temple of Undead rather than sieging it.

Piknim added another whorl of gray to mark the Temple of Undead in the Great
Forest with a succession of thoughtful taps as she organized the assault in
her mind's eye. The narrow temple corridors and cramped alcoves afforded
little room with which to maneuver effectively, employ reach weapons, or
find angles for conventional projectiles. Therefore, heavily armored
templar knights with sword, mace, and shield would clear the temple halls,
secure choke-points, cut off reinforcements from the catacombs, and serve as
a living bulwark for support elements - the battle clerists with whom the
templar trained from season to season, certainly, but witches of Piknim's
coven, the Moonlily Circle, as well.

The Moonlily Circle alone could never hope to provide enough gourds for an
army's needs in open warfare, but for a small strike force, in a controlled
environment, lobbing gourds over allied heads against an undead enemy?
Perfection! Gourds of turn undead, ray of truth, chain lightning, slow,
heal - anything and everything Hege Vinter and her fellow captains may
require. "Boom! Bam! Pow," Piknim murmured aloud as she scribbled arcane
notations in the margins with her wand.

"Truly an inspired strategem, little one," Vyasa remarked sardonically at
the weird kender noises. He aligned a slender finger with the tip of her
wand and traced a path northeast to Gathna. "But have you considered my
advice with regard to Gathna's werewolf hunters?"




Writer: Piknim

Date Fri May 10 01:47:54 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Vyasa Altacas All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (7)



Piknim tracked the path of Vyasa's finger northeast with her wand,
painting it red, and blinked rapidly as she recalled meeting in secret with
Underlord Altacas Warcloud of the Slayers. She stole a glance at the
Viscount. Allegedly, the faction of allied Ancient vampires - Bellaine,
Lilthra, and dearest Sigmund - threatened to abandon the slumbering Queens
outright if Abaddon dare treat with Greystoke Manor.

However, that ultimatum did not explicitly apply to Verminasia or its
Queen-Regent.

Altacas had a number of crucial decisions to make, as did the Darkfinder;
decisions which ultimately harkened back to a fundamental truth imparted to
an afflicted kender by Dark Lord Telthian at the Rip's apex years ago; a
truth intrinsic to surviving, thriving, and finding one's destiny upon the
dark and shattered lands of Algoron.

The ends justified the means. Always.

"I like your thinking," Piknim enthused in reply, drawing a gleaming gold
star on the back of Vyasa's hand as a royal award for exemplary cunning.
"We can make use of them if All goes well!"

"Shall I accompany you to Gathna then, Darkfinder?"

"Not this time, Viscount! I've a funny feeling that bringing a paragon of
Abaddon to negotiate with partisans long oppressed by an Ancient vampire
Lord will turn out badly. Call it a hunch!"

Vyasa swirled the dwindling spirit at the bottom of his snifter and filled
the glass bowl with a dry chuckle. "And negotiating with a Verminasian
kender is the better alternative?"

"Not much better, but enough to get a foot in the door! Besides, I think
I've found an angle," the Darkfinder said with a wink, a grin, and a pat of
her hip-pocket.

* - * - * - * - * - * - *

Piknim trekked alone through the Great Forest on the long trail to Gathna.
No retinue, no attendants, no companions but the nostalgic spirit of
adventure at her side and a misshapen black gourd on her hip.

Her thoughts fluttered above worry and woe in favor of settling upon the
wide variety of spring wildflowers along the path: red buckeye blossoms,
orange butterfly weed, yellow puccoons, green violets, blue dayflowers,
purple spiderwort, and white crownbeard. The myriad hues painted memories
of her adolescent days in the Topknotch Scouts back to life.

By the time she neared the village, however, waning rays of sunlight were
fading fast and shadow had begun to spread across every nook and cranny of
the forest. Suddenly, Piknim found herself in the middle of a dark clearing
and felt profoundly lonesome - a rare happenstance for the kender who
professed to having found everything.

Her old chums in the Topknotch Scouts were long gone. Would it even matter
if they were not - if they returned from their final Wanderlust and came
knocking on her door? No other with a red aura existed. No other
kender could understand what Piknim had become - a Darkfinder.

The audible crunch of dead leaves and snap of a branch brought Piknim's
focus back to the present - not the rustle of a lizard scuttling under leaf
litter or a frightened squirrel scampering for cover, but something much
bigger. Something out of place.

The Darkfinder wasn't alone anymore.




Writer: Piknim

Date Fri May 10 01:53:36 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Vyasa Altacas All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (8)



Quickly yet casually, the kender witch lifted a gourd to her lips as
though simply taking a drink of water. Her eyes flared bright with magic as
a soulsight spell took immediate effect. Every creature in the vicinity
with an aura, large or small, bloomed with hues of red and gold. The
outline of two figures in cowled capes perched in the boughs of a tree at
the far end of the glade, each armed with a shortbow, drew her attention at
once.

Piknim grinned irrepressibly and waved up at them.

Both promptly nocked arrow to bow-string in retort.

"..awhh dang," she muttered. So much for playing nice.

A series of dull thumps sounded, like the pounding of a heartbeat in her
chest, and for a split-second Piknim entertained the possibility of finally
feeling fear - but alas, no. One silver-tipped arrow after another whistled
past her ear in rapid succession and struck the werewolf charging into the
glade from behind with a feral howl.

The Darkfinder whirled around with alacrity and swung for the fences with
her hoopak, its crescent-shaped fork describing a wide arc of arcane
electricity through the air. The lycan's knees were blown apart with a
shower of blood and bone. She sidestepped nimbly as its thick-furred body
tumbled awkwardly to the forest floor, twirled her hoopak high, and thrust
the starmetal-shod spear-tip deep into the lycan's skull. A long moment
passed as the thunderclap echoed into silence. The fallen werewolf
shuddered, sighed, and finally slipped into eternal rest.

Piknim planted a foot atop its muzzle, pulled the spear-tip free with a
splurt, and turned to face the cowled figures. She grinned ever more widely
than before and waved a second time.




Writer: Emmyth

Date Fri May 10 13:41:37 2024

To Abaddon Verminasia Slayers ( Imm Rp Fatale All )

Subject Unwanted Slayer Visits



In the shadowy realm of the Bloodlands, where the air was thick with
whispers and the ground seeped with ancient magic, a tale of intrigue and
veiled truths unfolded. It began with Countess Emmyth, her presence as
ethereal as the mist that clung to the twisted trees, and Eidolon Asrar, the
ogre whose silence spoke volumes. They ventured deep into the heart of the
swamp, a place where secrets were currency and trust was a rare commodity.









On the periphery of this enigmatic world stood Altacas, a knight whose armor
bore the stains of the swamp and whose eyes betrayed a vigilance born of
necessity. Sent by the manor to uncover the mysteries of the Bloodwar, he
found himself at the threshold of answers he was not sure he wished to find.









Their encounter was a dance of words and wills, with Emmyth's gaze piercing
through the veil of night, her voice a silent challenge to the intruder in
her domain. "Greystoke's lapdog," she thought, her disdain for the manor's
emissary as clear as the moonlit swamp.

Altacas, resolute and unyielding, sought the truth behind the rumors of a
clash between werewolves and ancient vampires, a battle that whispered of a
war that could engulf their world. His request was simple, yet it carried
the weight of centuries of conflict. "I seek the truth," he declared, his
voice echoing through the stillness of the swamp.

The swamp itself seemed to respond, its hidden denizens stirring beneath the
murky waters, spectral serpents ready to defend their domain. Emmyth's
warning was as cold as the swamp's embrace, "Remove yourself from my swamp,"
she hissed, her words a clear dismissal of the knight's quest.

Yet Altacas stood firm, his nod to Emmyth a gesture of respect, not
submission. "He offers no threat to the Countess or the Priestess," he
stated, his unarmed stance a testament to his peaceful intentions.

The conversation that followed was a tapestry of veiled threats and cryptic
messages, with Emmyth's stern gaze and Asrar's quiet strength forming a
barrier against Altacas's inquiries. The knight spoke of ambushes and
battles, of the Manor's long-standing feud with the Kingdom of the Queens,
and of his own role in a conflict that spanned lifetimes.

Emmyth and Asrar, bound by the secrets of the Bloodlands, offered little in
the way of answers. The mention of trolls and rambunctious pets served only
to deepen the mystery, their nonchalant dismissal of any recent battle a
stark contrast to the knight's conviction.

As the exchange drew to a close, the swamp echoed with strange sounds, a
chorus of the unseen and the unknown. Altacas, his armor soiled by the muck
of the bog, offered a final nod to Asrar and a respectful fist to his chest
in acknowledgment of Emmyth's authority.

With a last look at the shadowed creatures that lurked within the swamp,
Altacas retreated, his departure marked by the slithering retreat of
Emmyth's unseen pets. The Countess herself whispered to Asrar, a quiet
affirmation of the Bloodlands' ability to guard its secrets.

And so, Altacas returned to Greystoke Manor, his quest for truth yielding
only more questions, his path forever entwined with the enigmatic figures of
the Bloodlands. The story of their encounter, a tale of shadows and
whispers, remained etched in the annals of the swamp, a reminder that some
secrets are never meant to be unearthed.




Writer: Emmyth

Date Fri May 10 14:23:31 2024

To Abaddon Verminasia Darkonin Shadow Blood Lust Black Robes ( Imm Rp Fatale All )

Subject Bloodwar's Belstrad and the Elder



In the shadowed halls of Abaddon's ancient council chambers, Countess
Emmyth and Count Vershae stood before the stunning figure of Elder Countess
Bellaine. Her eyes, ancient as the moonlit night, held wisdom and secrets
of centuries past. She spoke to them in hushed tones, her voice echoing off
the stone walls.

"Emmyth, Vershae," she began, her gaze piercing through the dim light, "the
bloodwar with Belstrad threatens the very fabric of our realm. But fear
not, for I bring counsel that shall turn the tides in our favor."
"In one
week's time, I shall return to hear your strategy. But heed my words; we
must strike with precision and unity."


The elder vampire detailed her plan, a triad of teams, each with a crucial
role in the impending siege. The first, led by Emmyth and Vershae, would
rally Abaddon's allies, forging a force mighty enough to challenge
Belstrad's legions.

The second team, guided by the cunning of the other two elders, would engage
Caustus, Belstrad's loyal enforcer, in a ruse to distract and divide their
enemy's attention.

Lastly, Bellaine herself would lead an elite squad through the veiled
defenses of Belstrad's stronghold. Their mission: to capture the renegade
elder and bring him before the queens of Abaddon for judgment.

The elder had one very strongly worded warning, "To dispatch the slayer at
once, otherwise risk the aid of All elder vampires"


As the meeting concluded, the countess vanished into the night, leaving
Emmyth and Vershae to their monumental task. They turned to each other,
determination set upon their faces.

"We have much to prepare," Emmyth stated, her voice resolute.

Vershae nodded, adding, "Let us begin by assembling our allies. We shall
scour the lands for those who hold our cause dear."


The following days were a blur of activity. Messengers were dispatched on
swift wings, carrying calls to arms across the darkened skies. Warriors,
mages, and creatures of the night pledged their swords and spells to the
cause.

In the depths of Abaddon, the second team was chosen. Each member was a
master of deception, capable of weaving illusions to confound and mislead
Caustus.

Meanwhile, Bellaine's team trained in secret, honing their skills to breach
the impenetrable veil. They practiced ancient rites and blood magics,
ensuring their success in capturing Belstrad.

And within the heart of the castle, the final team stood guard over the
slumbering queens. Their vigil was unwavering, for they knew the safety of
the queens was paramount to the survival of Abaddon.

As the week drew to a close, the castle brimmed with a tense anticipation.
Plans were set, alliances forged, and the fate of their world hung in the
balance. The bloodwar was upon them, and they were ready.




Writer: Piknim

Date Fri May 10 15:03:18 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Vyasa Altacas All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (9)



The duo of cowled werewolf hunters led Piknim to a secret chapel in the
Great Forest. Nature itself seemed to bend and distort around the small
square building, hiding it prying eyes until a welcome guest set foot inside
the modest courtyard. She paused to admire the Gothic-style architecture:
pierced rosette windows and lancet portals deocrated with wrought-iron
lacework and ornate parapets. Her escorts opened the wooden double-doors in
tandem and bid her enter before closing them shut behind. The kender witch
found herself in a dimly-lit hall with an intricately-carved wooden altar.
Before her were two human men.

The first stood tall and noble of bearing, with a dire wolf pelt draped
about his broad shoulders as a mantle. Candlelight flickered off his
gothic-style half-plate armor and the pommel of a flamberge greatsword. His
eyes were amber-hued and fierce, framed by a well-trimmed sable beard and
shoulder-length hair. He reminded her of a wolf in some respects.

The second stood far shorter and slighter, and bore All the telltale signs
of common blood. His blue eyes, however, were clear and calm as a spring
day. He wore a leather bracer on his left forearm and an empty quiver on
his back, but carried no bow. Graying hair streaked with dark gold, cut
short and well-kept, betrayed his age. She likened him more to a falcon -
or no, not an animal. Something in his eyes reminded her of Geirhart.

The older man spoke first, gesturing to his companion. "This is Sir Brandt.
I am Sir Elric. And you can only be Piknim Cracklespark. Welcome to the
Chapel of Forlorn Hope, Advisor."

Piknim beamed brightly and dipped her topknotted head in acknowledgment.
Sir Brandt folded his arms, sharp eyes set upon the kender intently. She
recognized the glint of enmity and contempt in his gaze, like flint sparking
against steel.

"We know why you've come to Gathna. Now, kindly tell us what it is you
want," Elric entreated, his tone warm and measured.

The kender witch spread her robed arms wide in earnest reply. "I want you
and your hunters to aid us against Lord Caustus."

"Us," Brandt nearly spat with disdain, his lip curling. "Abbadon sends a
kender to carry out its bidding. Is that it? You're not the first monster
we've seen who wears the face of a child! Do you take us for fools?"

"You're no fools," Piknim responded evenly with a shake of her head, "You
know as well as I do what will happen if Caustus wins the Bloodwar and
absorbs the Queens' power. The Great Forest is doomed." She turned to
address Elric, struggling internally to remain resolute, focused, and
dignified despite her contrary nature. "On my honor as a petitioner of
Storm Keep, I want to bring order, peace, prosperity, and security to
Arkania - as should we all."

"Actions speak louder than words," Brandt retorted, All but baring his teeth
in a snarl. "And you only speak little white lies! Why should we trust
you?"

"Because I'm more than a monster!" Piknim shot back, her voice rising in
pitch. She reached into a pouch at her hip, pulled forth a perfectly-shaped
golden oak leaf, and slammed it atop the wooden altar more emphatically than
intended. Both men cast their gaze upon the leaf as one. In the paltry
flicker of candle-light, an inscription upon the back shone bright.

Savior of the Great Forest

Brandt glared balefully at the kender witch as though the wolf within him
had howled. "And whose pocket did you find that in?" he growled.

"Enough, Sir Brandt," Elric commanded firmly, taking a single step closer to
the Darkfinder. "Take leave and cool your temper. The full moon has
eclipsed your better nature."





Writer: Piknim

Date Fri May 10 15:07:36 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Vyasa Altacas All ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject Bloodwar Chronicles (10)



The taller knight fell abruptly silent, as though a gap in his armor had
been pierced through. Piknim could almost feel the savage heat seething
from him. Then, like a wounded dog, Brandt simply departed without another
word. The double-doors shut behind him with a dull boom and a gust of chill
wind made the candle-flames shiver. Silence reigned in the Chapel of
Forlorn Hope.

"Forgive Sir Brandt. Civility is least of All that Lord Caustus took from
him. Despair makes monsters of us all, sooner or later," Elric stated
solemnly. He studied Piknim at length, the ghost of a grim smile upon his
lips. "You were there that day, fighting alongside King Zaccur in the Great
Forest. I remember it."

"I hoped he and I might build a bridge betwixt Arkane and Verminasia. A
forlorn hope, perhaps," Piknim confessed, lifting her gaze to the rafters
briefly. "But wanderlust has taken me farther afield than many and taught
me that great bridges, the ones you remember crossing, were built to span
the most treacherous of divides."

Elric nodded in assent. "I grant you that chance. Tell me what you want
from us. Today we lay a foundation."

Piknim nearly hopped out of her boots. She deposited a velvet bag upon the
wooden altar. Hundreds of sparkling blue diamonds, each enough to arm,
provision, and pay a soldier one year's wage, spilled from its open mouth.

"Caustus is on the back-foot now. He's licking his wounds. I want you to
harry him at every turn! Pick off as many werewolves as you can! Cut off
supply lines! Harass the keep! Make him think twice about opening his
bathroom window! Enemy minds must be made to think a counter-attack against
him is imminent. We'll do the rest!"




Writer: Astryn

Date Fri May 10 19:25:48 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject Lessons Learned



In the back corner of the home, up stairs and down a wide hallway, a
playroom is part of the small suite of rooms that has been decorated for the
child that inhabits them. Opposite the door of this inner sanctuary, a dark
stoned hearth and fireplace stand, the Schwartz crest hung with centered
prominence upon the wall. The mantle itself is covered with many photos and
family heirlooms, high enough to be out of reach of young hands while
beneath, a fire sparks and crackles in merry greeting, its comfortable
warmth radiating outward. Its cream walls are edged in elegant crown
molding and adorned with vivid silks and whimsical tapestries that tell
tales of knights and dragons, assorted creatures and beautiful, secret
gardens. Unlike her bed chamber, this one is windowless but well lit with
enchanted sconces that float along the ceiling, illuminating the space below
for which, each part has been furnished with purpose.

Within the depths of the far left corner, a small reading nook has been
arranged, with shelving lining each side of the corner from floor to
ceiling, the lower shelves holding picture or early reading books so they
can be easily grabbed by its small occupant while higher are the tomes and
texts that are often the more difficult lessons or simply a good storybook
to be shared. Placed in front of the shelves, with a footrest near the
fires warmth and a soft blanket draped across the back, an oversized, plush
chair stands ready to be used, holding lots of fun and fluffy pillows that
can be quickly tossed to one side when a parent joins her to read. Further
along that same stretch of wall is a miniature writing desk that is her
size, the woodcraft of vintage design and filled with parchment, empty books
and an assortment of quills, inks and colored waxes. On the opposite wall
is a box of toys, the size of it deceiving as it appears far smaller then
what is taken up by the objects contained within while neatly stacked around
it is an assortment of games and plush animals, each one ready for a childs
cuddle. Just above container is a glass shelf that has been affixed to the
wall, holding a row of dolls with each one a beautiful masterpiece in its
porcelain creation. At its center, there is an empty place where one doll
has been removed. The floor itself is polished with a large round rug at
its heart, covering most of the space with a soft cushion while a round
table and chairs, which stunted legs rests upon it. Decorative tables flank
either side of the door, each contained with an interesting array of items -
crystals, a feather, a fish bowl, and other small mementos and treasures.
Finally, in the far right corner, opposite the nook, is what appears to be
an L shaped bench table with an assortment of jars, bowls and stoppered
flasks covering it, some bugs and oddities but mostly filled with herbs,
leaves and water - nothing harmful, nothing toxic, nothing lethal. There is
a large spot that is clear, perhaps a work space with a mortar and pestle to
its left and a mini cauldron to its right. It is in this corner that the
child currently sits.

She plucks a single leaf from several of the jars, her nose wrinkling
slightly at some of the smells as she casts a skeptical glance in the
direction of her kitten. "Are you sure? " All doubt washed from her face
as she received his affirmative response and carefully placed each leaf in
the mortar to begin the task of grinding them. After a minute, the child
grunts softly and a disgruntled look settles upon her features. "I dont
want to crush it more, Axwell. My hand is hurting.
" She looked down at
the partially crumbled leaves, large pieces still intact and with an over
dramatic sigh, continues to press the pestle into the mortar, her tiny hand
rolling it over the items as she had been taught. After several minutes,
the first markings of a smile alight on her face as the mixture is close
enough to the perfect consistency.

-continued




Writer: Astryn

Date Fri May 10 19:38:04 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject Lessons Learned



-continued

"Alright Axwell, tea time now. You go over and sit at the table with
Drakkara and the others while I get our tea ready.
" The child barely
registers the kitten jumping down from the bench as her plump little fingers
work to scoop a small amount of the ground contents onto a small cheesecloth
square and tie it up with a bit of string before repeating two more times.
This would be easier if one finger didn't still have a bandage covering on
it, a blister earned from her eagerness to reach for a glass beaker still
too hot from the fire. She had howled in response and immediately grabbed
it back but the damage was done as fat tears rolled down her cherub face,
flushed high with color from the emotion. Her mother had 'tsked' softly as
she drew a salve from one of her ampoules, slathering it on the wound before
dressing it with soft cloth. The lesson was a painful one, and doubly so by
her mothers quiet admonishment as she attended the injury.

Knotting the last bit of string, Astryn pulls a trayed tea set minus the
teapot toward her and places three bundles into each glass cup before
reaching with two hands for a pitchered flask of clear liquid, room
temperature and not hot as her throbbing finger reminded her, and after a
moment of balancing the heavier weight precariously, finally tipped it up to
pour a small bit over the tea bags, only sloshing a little on the tray.
With her back still to the rest of the room as she arranges everything just
so, her melodic little girl voice answers her kittens question rather
loudly. "Of -course- she likes tea, Axwell. -Everyone- likes tea. "

With a slow turn, very careful steps and the utmost concentration that
scrunches her whole face with effort, the child makes her way to the table
at the center of the room, placing the tea set down before lifting a proud
head and grinning face to her 'gathered' crowd of plush beings, her black
kitten and one porcelain doll whose features look much like Astryn's own.
The grin does not last long as she notices the kitten has taken his place
next to the doll and is now gnawing happily on a thick strand of its hair.
Her hands immediately ball into tiny fists that find her hips and in her
most authoritative voice that is several octaves higher than the one her
father uses, and one laced with a bit of indignant matter-of-factness, she
speaks directly to the kitten, trying to take on an air of worldly
knowledge.

"Axwell Mogdor Schwartz, dont eat Drakkara's hair! She is a goddess and
goddesses dont like that!
"

The cat looks at her and blinks, the hair dangling from its mouth as one ear
cocks in her direction before releasing the dolls hair to trill softly at
her. She takes a moment to smooth the doll's hair back in place before
curling her fingers as she reaches over to give a loving scratch behind her
kittens ear, her voice a gentle croon of affection. "Its ok, Axwell, since
youre teaching me about All of this...
", she pauses, her hands spreading
wide to encompass the full display of tea before them, "... I will teach
you All about Drakkara, ok?
" With an apologetic look and a curtsey to the
doll, the child finally takes a seat at the table, after also handing her a
cup of cold tea. Another cup is placed before the kitten as her own is
forgotten for the moment, on the tray. "I leave for school in three days,
Axwell and since youll be here with Drakkara, we need to make sure that you
know stuff so she doesnt smite you.
" With the childs full attention on her
precious kitten and their upcoming lessons, she does not notice the slight
grin that curves upon the doll's porcelain lips brought on by the emphatic
and endearing commitment to her pet from the slight wisp of a girl only six
summers old.




Writer: Agnokh

Date Fri May 10 22:00:56 2024

To All Ogut Drogan ( Imm RP Religion Kwainin )

Subject Quoth the Raven



It was a cold night, even by Darkonin standards. A biting chill hung in
the air, the type of cold that needs no wind to sting. The orc seemed
unbothered.

Agnokh passed through the imposing gate, marvelling as usual at the
meticulous craftsmanship of stone within stone. Rumbling grunts greeted the
orc as blessings of nourishment coursed through the bodies of the giant ogre
guardsmen.

Outside the city, clouds stretched for miles, obscuring large swaths of the
mountainous terrain beneath. Agnokh was unsure exactly where to go, but
then, rather preferred when that was the case. There must be some mystery
to it, the cascading journeys of life.

Snapped back into the moment by a distant howl, Agnokh considered the
options. Eventually deciding it was more prudent to let the mystery grow
weary and be prodded into action, the orc sat calmly on a protruding rock,
and waited.

Open your eyes

Agnokh looked around questioningly, eyes too busy bathing in nature to have
shut. The orc was content to continue waiting.

Open your mind

This time it was clear, a voice
scratching
itching at the corners of the mind

Agnokh took a deep breath and steeled against the unknown, watching with
eyes open as bidden.

To know you must see

Agnokh closed his eyes this time and then saw, in full splendor, a jet
black raven floating suspended in the inky mottled projection of a minds
vision.

The raven said no more
Had it said anything at all
Was it even there

Breathe

Clouds rushing by
Mountain receding into the ether
At once Icewall, next the blue sea
Then a campfire
Burning
Remembering the tree

SEE

It was urgent now, not a voice heard but a voice felt deep within
Visions of memories past and memories yet to be
You must see

-----

Just as suddenly as its onset, the vision receded. Agnokh looked around
and saw nothing out of place, no rock unturned, no soul to be seen.

The message though, was clear. Agnokh wanted to see. The raven would
help Agnokh learn how to see beyond sight.




Writer: Altacas

Date Sun May 12 09:21:57 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Shadow Slayers Piknim All ( rp imm Raije Cayenna Admin )

Subject A meeting of friends



The night's air felt alive, invisible tendrils of energy touching and tugging
at his senses. His lips parting in a faint smile as his breath exited his lungs,
he felt weightless in that moment as his memories raced backwards to his childhood,
a much simpler time. The grass, muck, and trees before him fading and the scenery of
the open plains of a Tropican Savannah, his home, erupting before him in vibrant
color. He stopped moving in that moment, the muck he actually stood in swallowing
his armor covered feet, as he inhaled deeply in an effort to hold onto that moment,
that youthful and carefree feeling that fades near the end of youth. Letting his
smile fade, he softly shook his head, jarring him back to the current moment as he
began the short trek between the Kingdom of Arkane and the Kingdom of Verminasia.

He passed the temple of evil on his left, glancing through the brush he saw that
pilgrims still covered the steps just as they did when he trained there years ago.
He knew that he would need to follow the fork soon, it was where the earth finally
felt firm again. As he approached he lifted the hood from the robe he wore over
his head and pulled it forward just enough to cast most of his features in shadow.
He did not doubt the guards would know it was a wemic beneath it, however, he
hoped the guards would not have reason to suspect that he, Altacas Warcloud,
would be so bold as to try and gain entry into the dark Kingdom.

The gateguard was dressed in black armor, it's surface almost as reflective as
a still pond. Altacas saw himself in the tinted reflection the armor cast,
nodding politely in an effort to offset the gateguard's vehement glare, the man's
eyes sparkling with a hint of malice. The gateguard's voice echoed within the
southern gates of the city, "State your business." The city seemed to be
more alert, Altacas thought to himself as he stood stoically, his low toned
voice rumbling loud enough for All gathered at the gates, and those near with
curious ears to hear, "He seeks the Darkfinder. He will wait here."




Writer: Telthian

Date Wed May 15 13:34:57 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject The Veiled Maw of Levinox



The imposing figure of the mountain loomed on the distant horizon from
Verminasia, its jagged peaks gripped in snow and punished by a storm that
had not relented since its birth. Levinox cut a familiar silhouette visible
across the provinces like a resolute sentinel of Pharthati, a comforting
presence to the young spellbinder. Throughout the short years of her life,
the small family had traveled to the lair concealed within the mountain by
magical means - though the child was forbidden from so much as peering
beyond the hidden curtain of fire that led... Somewhere else.

But this year, Astryn's eighth, she had been given the gift of a moonsilver
locket and permission to learn to navigate the arcane waymarkers on her own.
Umbral runes marked the passage through the physical world, serving as a
guide for her to follow from cottage to lair, but also proved a test of her
abilities. The first challenge posed was mundane: simply that the distance
between waymarkers was far too great to traverse by foot, and thus she would
have to rely on her spellcraft, managing her magical reserves.

But the second proved the true obstacle: the path was never the same twice,
and each configuration of markings only gave a hint as to where the next
waymarker lay, requiring the young girl to divine the way ahead. The locket
offered an element of protection and concealment within an umbral shroud,
but also with each misstep, each mistaken gate that might lead her astray,
its magicks bound and returned her to the academy dormitory.

Astryn was met with her share of frustrations and failures. Words like
'unfair', 'too hard', and 'unkind' were used in frustration directed at her
parents, and commiseration sought with her sister the Duchess.

'Child, ' Telthian had chided her, 'The world is unfair, the world is
unkind, and your family are worse still. If you believe something is too
hard, that speaks a hidden truth: your will is inferior to the challenge.'
The admonishment was delivered flatly, matter-of-fact, before her father
placed a departing kiss upon Astryn's brow at their last parting.

She knew well the boundaries of her parent's patience, for the same blood of
fire and umbra ran through her veins, a thing that burned hot and volatile
if unmastered. Emotion itself was not an enemy, love, fury, and attachment
no sin of themselves, but when unchecked, unmastered, and undisciplined,
they each paved their own path to ruin.

Memory resurfaced the word of her Father in the late hours, 'When confronted
with difficulty, those who dwell in Light search their heart believe what is
gentle is the answer. But for us, we search our minds. Reach beyond the
obvious, beyond that which is easy, and instead find answers to questions
others have not even thought to ask. Do what others cannot, what others will not.'

Her power was still a nascent thing and only under the full of the black
moon could she access a flickering wisp of the umbra. Astryn was eager for
more, knowing her parents held the keys she could not yet reach. Keys that
the academy did not have. And so, each full moon, the young girl slipped
from her dormitory beneath a shroud and made her trek toward Levinox where
her parents waited.

The storm continued on, the rain an unnatural cold even for this time of
year. Skipping from waymarker to waymarker, she made her way through the
rain and storm. Each jump left her exposed to the elements as Astryn
paused, letting her senses expand to reach out like roots searching for a
source of water. Finding the next umbral markings, she wove a gate to the
next location, and the one after, again, and again until her magical stores
were nearly depleted before arriving at the familiar entrance to the hidden
cavity opened deep within the mountain.

{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--




Writer: Telthian

Date Wed May 15 13:43:06 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject The Veiled Maw of Levinox



Rain dripped from the young girl's garments, each small footstep
squishing with water as Astryn entered the quiet haven sheltered from the
storm. Crystallized veins of quartz sparkled, reflecting the orange glow of
the magma that gathered at the cavern's center, filling the space with a
warm, dry heat. The coarse, natural terrain of the cavern branched and the
passage she trod gradually gave way to refinement, where the sound of music
and the voices of her parents called her on towards more hospitable
quarters.

Each reunion was a warm affair, carried in equal parts by the young girl's
satisfaction and her parent's satisfaction at the accomplishment of a
challenge overcome. Drenched clothes were exchanged for the comfort of
fresh vestments, Nimiane arriving late and inexplicably dry from the rain,
and the family shared in the indulgence of various delicacies curated from
distant lands, a departure from the typical Verminasian fare of the academy.

As was their tradition, Astryn would share news of her schooling, followed
by an interlude. Mother and daughter sat side-by-side upon the lacquered
bench before the smooth white keys of a grand piano, its resonant notes
filling the sheltered air of the parlor. The strings of her father's cello
vibrated a bassy undertone to join the elegant dance of fingers upon the
ivory keys as the slant of dark luminescence glimmered upon the quartet,
shining down from the translucent canopy above.

Together they wove the melody, a composition of Symantha's choosing as
Astryn learned it, transitioning easily through various steady movements,
the tone rising and falling dynamically as the Darkmoon charted its course
through the infinite night. The evening would draw to a close as those
before it, and those that would come after, with a telling of tales as the
young girl settled to rest for the remainder of the evening upon a chaise
lounge.

Often, though not always, it was her father who began the tale with
assistance throughout by her mother woven in umbral figures of shadow and at
times, her elder sister visiting to play a part in the story. The subjects
varied, but even as the young girl's eyes grew heavy, baroque word and the
interplay of shadow revealed to Astryn not only her familial history, the
exploits of her namesake, parents, and family both, but the troubled and
fraught lessons of the world. Stories of dragons, knights, powerful mages,
political forces shaped by priests, kings, queens, and unanswered mysteries
ushered her to sleep.

{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--_{u--=--

Their arrangements with the academy had been a simple affair from even
before the beginnings of Astryn's tutelage. The preceptor required no
convincing, knowing there would be no denying either the High Priestess or
Draco Dei, much less both. The uncompromising slate and steel matched eyes
evoked a chill in the aged dark elf's spine, but the heavy iron-bound chest
of gold and jewels made any potential concerns far more pleasant to swallow.

A new standard of decorum, instruction, and protection was set and a
meticulous sense of detail extended to the child's classmates - each hand
picked and curated to provide the young girl camaraderie and challenge in
just measure: for there was no tutor more valuable than failure.

The heavy arched doors sealed themselves and the umbral wards crackled as
the dyad disappeared into the first hour of dawn. Astryn would awake the
next day in the academy dormitory as she always did amid her peers, the
exploits of the night written in memory as she awaited the next full moon.





Writer: Astryn

Date Wed May 15 21:19:59 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject School Subjects



Her head turned, silver meeting dreary gray as she looked out the window
at the rain that fell just beyond the glass, a steady and soothing sound of
splats and patters lending to a lethargic melancholy that easily pulled her
attention from the lesson at hand. This mood was not a common one as
typically her enthusiasm for learning was met with an eager craving much
like a vampire drawn to the taste of blood. But this year she had started a
new class on elemental basics and unlike All her other curriculum of which
she excelled, she found a hollowness to these lesson plans and her focus was
not as it should be. And with it, she felt irritation start to build.

A subtle movement of her hand found the silver links on her opposite wrist
and as was customary when she felt the need to slip into herself for a
moment and get away, one fingertip caressed over the surface of a shaped
charm, the familiar action drawing a voice to her. "You are alright? "

She glanced back at the teacher who was droning on about the traits and
characteristics of the four primary elements, and without moving her lips,
she formed her reply albeit with a sigh. "I am. "

A dry chuckle sounds, and the response is laced with a bit of admonishment.
"I do not have to tell you that your focus should be on your class and not
what is outside the window.
"

She no longer marveled at her cat's uncanny ability to know exactly what she
was doing but her nose wrinkled just the same and to anyone observing, it
looked much like one feeling the first tickle of a sneeze rather than a
small scowl to the gentle rebuke of her actions. "I know Axwell, but I
cannot focus."


"There are bound to be some topics that your mind will not hasten to or even
enjoy. You should still concentrate."


"The words feel empty. '

"It is the teachings of the framework and nothing more. Once you start
applying magic to the class, it will improve."


"That is still several years off."

"Dont sound so disgruntled. It is a dangerous subject and one, even for the
basics that you, of All people, should be centered to. Focus now. The moon
will be full in two days time and you will be home then and find reprieve.

The faint stirring of a smile graced her lips and in the several seconds of
silent break in their conversation, her mind drifted to think of home and
her parents who would be waiting for her. She enjoyed these regular breaks
from school, a time when she could truly be herself among those who really
knew her. Oh, she had friends aplenty, there were those that were genuine
and that she counted as true friends, those that knew what association with
her would bring them and their families and then those, who were more casual
acquaintances with them both running in the same social circles and neither
needing the prestige that the other could bring, just simply understanding
same circumstances and relating to the pressures and expectations. But as
close as some were, none were as close to her as her parents, or Axwell.
Axwell was her confidant. He tolerated her scooping him into her arms to
nuzzle her nose against the side of his neck when she was overcome with
emotion or doubt, he was her guardian, a pseudo parent who helped to mentor
and shape her, and whether she was home and he was curled up on a pillow by
her head as she slept or she was at school and could call on him by charm,
he was her protector.

"You should be here with me. "

"Had you not tried to use All my lives with your watery missteps, I might
be. But I rather enjoy the warmth of the fire and my fur not stuck like a
second skin to my body. And your bed All to myself."
The sarcastic humor
eased as a more practical tone took over. "You need to learn to be
independent, to make decisions. I will guide you, safeguard you, but do not
become reliant on others and forget that you have a mind of your own."


-continued




Writer: Astryn

Date Wed May 15 21:22:52 2024

To Shadow Verminasia ( All Imm Religion Storyline Scorn Cayenna )

Subject School Subjects



-continued

"I do hope the rain stops before then."

"It won't. And just think, in three years hence once you pass this class if
you pay attention now, you'll be able to manipulate the elements and simply
blow the rain away with a bit of hot air.
" Laughter follows his whimsical
words though from the sound of it fading away, she could tell she had been
dismissed.

She grunted in response. Apparently out loud. As All eyes from around the
classroom turned to look at her, including her instructor's, she groaned
inward. "Astryn, did you have something you would like to add to this? "

The tug of a forced a smile formed upon her lips with her focus now
completely on her class and the subject at hand as she quickly tried to
figure out what they had been talking about. And for a child of ten, even
one as favored as Astryn, she was mortified and wanted nothing more than to
sink beneath the floor and out of sight.




Writer: Delsaran

Date Wed May 15 23:23:19 2024

To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom All ( Imm RP )

Subject In Pursuit of Research, Part 4: A disaster in the field



In the vast expanse of the desert of Kabir Abyad, Delsaran stood on a sand dune
overlooking the sands stretched under the scorching sun. His research brought
him to this desert.

Delsaran's current focus was on the monsoon spell, a Wujen spell that calls
forth a rainstorm. The desert was the perfect place to test the limits of the
monsoon spell due to the harsh environment. The area's opposing affinity to
fire and wind offers a great test for the water magic in the monsoon. Setting
up his camp atop the sand dune, Delsaran prepared his experiment.

As the sun reached its peak, Delsaran set aside his notebook and focused his
magic on the sky. He raised his dagger to the air as he felt the magic course
through his veins. The air crackled around him and dark clouds began to gather
in the clear blue sky.

An intense rain with torrential winds suddenly consumed the area. Then, the sky
parted and the storm was gone as fast as it came. Delsaran, happy with the
success of the spell, picked up his notebook and started jotting down notes.
However, in his concentration, he failed to notice the water left by the monsoon
pooling on the previously arid ground. The dry riverbeds, long dormant, began to
fill and overflow.

Suddenly, a distant sound caught Delsaran's attention. Peering into the horizon,
he saw a caravan of merchants making their way across the sands, directly in
front of the rapidly forming floodwaters. Panic gripped the caravan as the waters
surged towards them.

Realizing the dire consequences of his actions, Delsaran knew he had to act
swiftly. Drawing upon his water magic again, he invoked the wave spell. With a
swift motion of his dagger, he summoned a massive wave, not to destroy, but to
redirect the floodwaters.

The wave rose from the ground and surged towards the flood. Guiding it with
precision, Delsaran directed the wave to intersect the floodwaters. The wave
crashed against the water, sparing the caravan from disaster.

As the floodwaters receded, Delsaran let out a sigh of relief. He approached the
caravan, who greeted him with gratitude. The leader of the caravan thanked
Delsaran, "you saved us! Your magic is a blessing to us. We thank you."

Delsaran nodded humbly, "I am glad I could avert the danger. But, the cause of
your trouble was mine to start with. This has taught be a valuable lesson about
the power I wield. I must strive to understand not only the spells themselves,
but the their impact on the world around me."

With the caravan safe and the desert calm once more, Delsaran returned to his
studies, more determined than ever to master the elements responsibly. This
incident served as a reminder that true mastery of magic is not just in growing
its power, but also in wisdom and foresight.




Writer: Balixx

Date Fri May 17 13:46:27 2024

To Verminasia All ( rp imm Admin )

Subject A strange summons



Sergeant Balixx flinched away from the gem he was concentrating on
shaping as movement flickered in the corner of his eye. He turned quickly
only to freeze in shock as he spotted a kunai, trailing a blood red ribbon
flying at him.

Adrenaline spiked through his body, driving away the momentary shock and
time seemed to slow to a crawl. Reflexively the Sergeant moved in a sliding
glide-step to the side, wings flexing to maintain his balance. As the
dangerous projectile passed through the space he'd occupied a moment before,
his hand flashed out grabbing the kunai by it's hilt.

As time resumed it's normal flow, he caught a vague glimpse of a shadow
slipping out the door and vanishing. He spent several moments studying the
kunai and the ribbon. The weapon was of decent quality but otherwise
unremarkable. The ribbon was made of good quality Shokono silk and bore a
Shokonoese marking of some sort. A calling card of some kind perhaps?

Closing his eyes, Balixx searched his memory of his time training in
Shokono. The symbol stirred vague recollections of something he couldn't
quite place. And yet...

"I do believe a trip to Shokono is in order," the Sergeant mused in a low
voice.

* * * * *

The arrangements were made quickly. He reported directly to Steward
Cracklespark, asking them to place the home guard on alert in case this was
something more than just a personal summons. Granted permission to pursue
the trip, he made his way to Althainian port and boarded the Golden Koi.

It seemed the mysteries of that strange land were pulling him in once more
and he was curious to see where it would it take him...




Writer: Altacas

Date Sat May 18 09:08:26 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Piknim Slayers All ( rp imm Raije Xenophon Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject The chapel of Forlorn (1)



The small fire Orynic Tremere had built burnt brightly, the flames licking the
air above with curling and coiling fingers. The grasping tendrils of flame shone
with a heightened brightness as the sun slowly faded out of sight, plummeting All
but the very center of the ravine into shadow. The firelight in the ravine
occassionally brightened enough to show the five sleeping pads beyond the seven
faces sitting in a circle around the fire. Two of the men, seemed new and
unfamiliar in their company, the look of uncertainty clear upon their faces.

It had been just a day earlier, the sun-filled forest east of Arkane was alive
with activity. Each animal enveloped in their own campaign as they prepared
for the cold Winter that surely followed the warmth of Summer. Squirrels and
birds alike, ducked and dodged, as they gathered and stored what food their
families would need. One squirrel in particular, a gray squirrel, pot-bellied
with flabby cheeks, stood still as it stared at a figure resting with its
back against a tree. The figure's hood was pulled down, resting neatly on
their shoulders. Stark white fur covered this man's face, his jaw was hidden
by a thick mane of longer fur that continued from chin to forehead, framing
his face with a jetblack border. Altacas Warcloud noticed the comically fat
squirrel and grinned as he reached towards it, rubbing his fingertips together
in an attempt to attract it, but the squirrel quickly darted off with an
uncertain look, as two men entered.

The first man was tall, and walked with somehwat of a regal gait,a dire wolf
pelt hung from his broad shoulders. The midday's sun danced off his
gothic-style half-plate armor. His amber-hued eyes locked on the wemic who
leaned against the tree with a carefreeness the man had not encountered. An
uneasy feeling entered him in that moment as the older of the two men
extended his arm across the chest of his companion and both men stopped
their advance. The shorter of the pair, his arm still outstretched, a fine
leather bracer adorning his wrist. Behind this man, a quiver full of feathered
arrows was visible just over his shoulder. Altacas craned his neck towards
the approaching duo of men, a smile creeping over his lips, {"yHe wonders
why the pair stand in uncertainty," during his sentence Altacas raises his
hand and motions, beckoning them forward as he continues, surely the telling
of His arrival, along with those of the famed Hunting Formation of Greystoke
was foretold." Sir Brandt and Sir Elric turned to look around them, realizing
the gesture was not for them, as four men entered the scene.

Altacas rose gracefully to his feet, his armor tinking together softly, like
silverware being gathered after a feast. Standing to his full-height of
seven feet, Altacas spoke to the two men in a low-toned manner, "Allow Him
to introduce His companions," Altacas motioned to each man as he said
their names, "Captain Orynic Tremere, Lord Jahrial Strike, Unproven Daburds,
and he believes All know the Slayer, Z'szytheis.". Altacas smiled towards
Sir Elric and Sir Brandt, his gray eyes twinkling, "Do not be fooled by the
rank of that one, prowess will be proven in this venture and a true place
within the Manor will be found." Sir Elric spoke first, his voice steady
and ripe with respect, "And you then, I presume, would be Altacas Warcloud,
Overlord of Greystoke.
" Altacas nodded in response as Sir Elric continued, "There
has been much chatter about the woods, and the forest of Gantha regarding you
and your effort, Overlord." Both men dipped their head respectfully towards
Altacas, the motion coming far easier to Sir Elric than Sir Brandt. That one,
he thought, must be high born and ripe with pride.




Writer: Altacas

Date Sat May 18 09:09:03 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Piknim Slayers All ( rp imm Raije Xenophon Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject The chapel of Forlorn (2)



The group conversed in that fashion for a short time before Sir Elric said,
through some mirth as Jahrial mockingly chirped back at an Arkanian swallow who
dove through their party, "If you would All would please follow us, we can
continue this conversation in private. The Chapel of Forlorn is not far."
After a brief discussion, Jahrial and Daburds leapt into the air and set sail
on the current created from one another's wings. Sir Elric and Sir Brandt lead
the remaining three through the woods, Orynic and Altacas walking in stride
with one another, while Z'szytheis carried up the rear, the bakali's footsteps
falling silently on the padded earth.

The quintet of Slayers followed the two men, by land and sky, to the secret chapel in
the Great Forest. The trees, brush, and light seemed to bend and distort around the small
square building, preventing All but those in the know from locating it. Candlelight
danced on the other side of the pierced rosette windows. Jahrial and Daburds landed
near Orynic, Jahrial, Z'szytheis, and Altacas. The escorts opened the double-doors to
the chapel in tandem, the ancient iron hinges softly crying out in protest. Once the
five men of Greystoke had entered the small hall they stood before a intricately-carved
altar, dust covering the wood surface in heavy fashion. Sir Brandt beckoned the
group forward and led them down the hallway to a large room, a chestnut-colored table
sit at it's center. A map had been strewn out across it's surface and on the map were
small figures. Captain Orynic said loudly to his companions, "It would appear our
arrival had been foretold, are these the plans you both had been conjuring?" Orynic's
eyes searched the faces of Brandt and Elric before turning his attention to the map. The
Captain had led many successful compaigns, and even more successful hunts. His effort,
as of late, had left the dragons of Algoron in concern and mostly in hiding. Orynic and
Z'szytheis approached the table and began moving the figures around.

The seven men debated, planned, and joked throughout the night. Even Sir Brandt's stoic
and pompous attitude began changing for the better at the well-timed chirps from Jahrial.
The hours had escaped the men as they planned but finally, felt confident in the decisions
laid out on the table. Altacas interrupted a rare moment of silence, "The hour is late,
it would be best to return to the ravine, where the Manor's forces have made camp so
the plan might be shared and deliberated over." With that All of them, Brandt and Elric
included, left the chapel and set out westward to the northern part of the forest.




Writer: Wintrine

Date Sun May 19 02:59:57 2024




Writer: Wintrine

Date Sun May 19 03:17:57 2024




Writer: Wintrine

Date Sun May 19 03:19:03 2024




Writer: Wintrine

Date Sun May 19 03:19:07 2024




Writer: Wintrine

Date Sun May 19 03:55:22 2024




Writer: Daburds

Date Sun May 19 14:09:05 2024

To Verminasia Abaddon Piknim Slayers All ( rp imm Raije Xenophon Drakkara Cayenna Admin )

Subject The chapel of Forlorn



The small fire crackled softly, its warm glow casting dancing shadows
upon the faces of the gathered warriors, who sat in a circle around it.
Daburds, the Ariel of the Jongleur, stood among them, his bull elephant
leather armor gleaming faintly in the firelight as he clutched his prized
possession: a finely crafted lute, its strings whispering tales of distant
lands and epic adventures. Altacas Warcloud rose gracefully to his feet,
his presence commanding attention. His voice, like the rumble of distant
thunder, cut through the quiet night air. "My esteemed allies," he began,
his gaze sweeping over each of them in turn, "tonight marks the beginning of
our journey, a journey that will test our strength, our courage, and our
unity." Daburds felt a swell of pride at being counted among such
illustrious company. Beside him, Lord Jahrial Strike stretched his wings,
the colorful feathers catching the firelight as they shimmered in the night.
"Shall we take to the skies, my feathered friend?" Jahrial said with a
mischievous twinkle in his eye. Daburds grinned in response, his heart
soaring as he spread his wings wide. With a powerful leap, they launched
themselves into the air, their forms silhouetted against the backdrop of the
moonlit sky. Their flight was interrupted briefly by the sudden appearance
of a swallow, darting protectively around its nest hidden among the
branches. Daburds and Jahrial exchanged a glance, silently agreeing to give
the small creature a wide berth as they continued on their journey. As they
soared above the treetops, Daburds couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of
the forest below. The cool night air rushed past them, carrying with it the
scent of pine and earth. Below them, their companions trudged onward
towards the chapel, their light sources vanishing and reappearing with each
passing moment. Once in the Chapel, Altacas and everyone debated and
planned throughout the night, their voices mingling with the crackling of
the fire and the faint strains of Daburds' lute. Altacas spoke with
authority, outlining their mission and the challenges they would face along
the way. His words carried weight, instilling confidence in his allies and
reaffirming their commitment to the task at hand. Despite the seriousness
of their mission, there were moments of levity, thanks in part to Jahrial's
playful banter and Daburds' jovial melodies. Altacas himself even joined in
the merriment, his laughter ringing out like the toll of a bell in the
stillness of the night. As the hour grew late, Altacas declared that it was
time to return to camp, where their plans could be shared with the rest of
the Manor's forces. With Altacas leading the way, Daburds and his
companions set off into the night, their spirits buoyed by the knowledge
that they were united in purpose and bound for glory. As they disappeared
into the darkness of the forest, the faint strains of Daburds' lute echoed
through the trees, a melody of hope and determination that seemed to promise
victory on the horizon. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay
ahead and emerge victorious, their names forever etched in the annals of
history.




Writer: Vershae

Date Sun May 19 15:28:13 2024




Writer: Emmyth

Date Sun May 19 17:46:26 2024

To Vershae Abaddon Shadow Verminasia Black Robe Darkonin Telthian Symantha Aymer Eevelline Piknim Drogan Orutix Viszathyk ( Imm Rp All )

Subject The waiting game



As dawn broke over the Great Forest, a sense of urgency stirred within
the encampment. Countess Emmyth and Count Vershae received an urgent report
from General Tharion, whose keen eyes had spotted a slayers camp nestled
deep within the forest's dark embrace.

"The slayers are here, within our reach, " General Tharion's voice was
grave, his message delivered with a swift precision that bespoke the gravity
of the situation. "We must act with caution, for they are not to be
underestimated.
"

Count Vershae nodded, his strategic mind already weaving through the
possibilities. "We shall observe them first. Knowledge is our sharpest
weapon.
"

Countess Emmyth agreed, her voice a whisper amongst the cold night air "A
smaller team, swift and silent as the night, will scout their movements. We
must know their strength and their intent.
"

The chosen scouts, a blend of shadowy figures adept in the art of stealth,
vanished into the forest, their presence as fleeting as a wisp of fog. They
were the eyes and ears of Abaddon, tasked with a mission that could sway the
course of the bloodwar.

Meanwhile, the armies of Abaddon's and her Allies stood at the ready, their
ranks an imposing sight. They awaited the return of Countess Ives, whose
wisdom and guidance were as vital as the blood that trickles down to feed
the queens.

In preparation for her arrival, a young elven lass was chosen, her life's
essence a gift of blood, a sacred offering to strengthen the bonds between
allies. Her gaze was serene, understanding the honor bestowed upon her, and
the role she played in the greater design.

The hours passed, the forest holding its breath as the scouts returned with
their reports. The slayers' camp was active, their numbers formidable, but
not invincible. Plans were quickly drawn, strategies formed in the hushed
tones of those who have danced with death and emerged victorious.

Countess Emmyth and Count Vershae stood before their people, their voices
carrying the weight of impending battle. "The time draws near," Emmyth
declared, her eyes alight with a fierce determination. "We shall meet our
foes with a might that will echo through the ages.
"

Vershae raised his hand, silencing the murmurs of anticipation. "Patience,
for Countess Ives will soon grace us with her presence. Then, we shall move
as one, a force united by darkness and purpose.
"

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the swamp in a twilight glow, and
as the stars emerged to bear witness, Abaddon's and her allies readied
themselves for the trials to come.




Writer: Vyasa

Date Mon May 20 13:45:41 2024




Writer: Aturi

Date Mon May 20 20:32:32 2024




Writer: Lenore

Date Mon May 20 22:32:55 2024

To All ( Fatale Religion )

Subject A peculiar dream (I)



In the dim light of the deserted temple, Lenore sat in a pew at the back
of the room, her slender porcelain fingers stained with ink. The inner
sanctum, once dedicated to Mencius, the god of Rage and Vengeance, now bore
offerings and tapestries of Fatale. A majestic chandelier dangled from the
ceiling, casting a somber glow over the room. Exemplary silk tapestries
adorned the walls, their dark patterns reflecting the shift in divine
patronage. To her left, a pile of tightly rolled missives stacked on the
scarred, scratched hardwood pew, to her right, a small trough collected the
unholy offering of blood a symbol of life usually, but her exsanguinated a
reminder of power used to exert control. The temple's former glory was
everywhere. Lenore was often struck by the latent posture of power that the
teachings of Mencius homed.

A red carpet led a path through a row of pews to a jewel-encrusted altar,
now dedicated to the sinister worship of Fatale. Lenore continued offering
to Fatale here, modeling some of her benedictions after Cardinals Z'quarus
writings, salt and all! A series of shadows danced on the stone walls,
struggling against the encroaching darkness and performing an erratic dance
with the flickering candles shed lit.

Earlier, Lenore had been sweeping around the offerings to Fatalebodies of
those murdered in sacrifice, their lifeless forms arranged as grim tributes.
The scent of death lingered in the air, mingling with the cold, damp smell
of the ancient stones. Now, her sapphire eyes were fixed on the parchment
before her, her hand moving deftly as she sketched the serpent from her
dreamits emerald scales shimmering as it consumed its tail. Each stroke of
the quill brought the image to life, capturing the grotesque beauty of the
self-devouring snake. As she worked, memories of the dream lingered in her
mind, the vivid image of the serpent striking out at her. The serpent, a
perfect emblem of the cycle of destruction and rebirth, seemed to pulse with
a dark energy on the page, its meaning just out of reach. Lenore paused,
her hand trembling slightly as she set the quill down. She gazed at the
completed drawing, the ouroboros a grave symbol of the doctrine she was only
to grapple with. She felt a compulsion, an undeniable pull to delve deeper
into the dream's meaning, to uncover what was meant for her.




Writer: Eevelline

Date Tue May 21 05:59:02 2024

To Drakkara All ( Imm RP Religion Storyline )

Subject Down Below: {uFour Gnomes go "Spelunking". ( 4 )


'{uWe stopped bleeding finally. That or we stopped picking at it.
' A
soft voice echoes throughout this darkened cavern- being heard in full
before a rumbling of thunder echoes along the stone floor. The owner of
this voice has a visage, and this visage smirks- a thin red line being upon
her left cheek.

'I do not pick at warnings from Their Avatars. Praise and direction came in
one hand, correction the other. Picking at it does nothing but keep me
focused on the past. ' Another gnomish visage is within the darkened
cavern, the pair of figures sitting across from each other- a replica Black
Moon betwixt the pair. It pulses here and there, emitting arcs of lightning
that illuminate the stones.

'{uHah! Wise indeed, we are of late. Seems as though you ripped me right up
{uto the surface once more. We are pleased, sister.
' The gnome laughs with
mirth, though this one is different. She has short black hair, and no
glasses- eyes fully dilated to Deep quality to drink in what lighting can be
found.

'You are never far away, Ambition. You just like to hide and watch me play
games.
' This gnome, with her long hair.. Glasses, and a strikingly
similar red line upon her left cheek smirks. The telltale pushing-up of her
glasses occurs, and then Eevie looks about the cavern.

"Ambition" also looks about the cavern, mirroring Eevelline. She cants her
head, studying the stonework. '{uDo you truly think it can be done?
'
Ambition points with her head toward a distant feature in the darkened
cavern- it's not fully illuminated by the replica.. But it is present
indeed.

'Doubt. Doubt. Doubt. ' A third persona has joined the conversation..
Though this one is hunched over, clambering about the distant feature within
the cavern. She does not stand up fully, preferring to clamber about in a
bestial fashion. Her eyes are bloodshot, sunken- and the hair unkempt.
'Douuuubt. '

'The theories are sound, sisters. If She did such upon the mortal plane,
that means the power exists and can be wielded. ' A -fourth-.. Joins in.
This one is quite normal-looking for a persona, though this one is carrying
a "tome" of which she flicks through rapidly. 'Questions remain-.. Where
does one go to learn more? Or is this where we study? '

'It doesn't just -exist-, Logic.. It is here, though likely hidden. The
font was made through powerful magic- this is a site of several things to
glean.
' Eevelline sighs, standing up. She paces lightly, walking through
"Logic" only once.. Which forces this persona to reform at the side of
"Ambition".

'She will punish you. It is Her's. Her's. Her's. We cannot have. ' The
bestial persona hunches forward, resting on her knees while sitting atop the
veiled feature of this cavern.

'{uNow now, let her cook sister. The Mistress knows our heart. She knows our
{umind. She has perhaps shown us a way to something more..
' Ambition smiles
wide, watching Eevelline pace about.

'Is it.. Truly of -that-? Or is it more indeed.. More questions.. Not
enough answers. Magic is of the three.. But only She grants the true
power. But is She -granting- this.. Or showing us this for use. '

Eevelline paces about some more, and looks to the replica Black Moon. '...
I need to speak with him again. That, or raid the Trinity's archives.
There -has- to be a lead.. Ancient spells, fonts.. She used this place as
an anvil. She needed -this specific place-. It has to be on record
somewhere.
'





Writer: Emmyth

Date Tue May 21 15:48:10 2024

To Vershae Abaddon Shadow Verminasia Black Robe Darkonin Slayer Telthian Symantha Aymer Eevelline Piknim Drogan Orutix Viszathyk ( Imm Rp All )

Subject Games In The Dead Of Night



Under the cloak of night, Count Vershae led the chosen warriors through
the dense underbrush of the Great Forest a combined army from their allies
and their own undead warriors. The moon, a slender crescent, provided scant
illumination, but their eyes, accustomed to the dark, missed nothing.

The slayer's camp lay ahead, a sprawl of tents and flickering torches. The
air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the low murmur of voices.
Vershae raised his hand, signaling for silence as they drew nearer.

Vershae whispered to his team, a mixture of vampires and shadowy figures,
"Remember, we strike swiftly and leave no trace. Our goal is to disorient,
not to engage in a prolonged battle.
"

The soldiers nodded in agreement, as Vershae's eyes scanned the camp's
layout. "There, " he pointed to a cluster of tents on the far side, "that
is where their leaders convene. We disrupt their command, and the rest will
fall into chaos.
"

With a silent nod, the raiding party split into three groups, each moving
like a wraith through the shadows. They converged upon the camp from
different angles, unseen and unheard.

Vershae, leading the central group, reached the leaders' tents. With a
burst of preternatural speed, they tore through the canvas, Tents collapsed,
supplies scattered, and confusion reigned as the camp scrambled to make
sense of the sudden disturbance.

Back at their home, Emmyth received the reports of their success. The raid
had been executed flawlessly, with no casualties on their side and maximum
disruption inflicted upon the enemy.

"The first blow is struck," Emmyth declared, her voice filled with a quiet
triumph. And many more will follow until victory is ours. "

As the first light of dawn began to touch the tips of the trees, the count
and countess knew that this raid was but the opening move in a much larger
game. The bloodwar was far from over.




Writer: Orutix

Date Tue May 21 21:03:30 2024

To Drakkara Bloodlust All ( Imm RP Religion )

Subject {uFeed the Dream - Ascension


In subterranean depths, where light is a rare and precious commodity, the
deep gnome known only as Orutix had lived a life of obscurity. A humble
miner and jeweler by trade, his existence revolved around the delicate
crafting and shaping of gemstones, his days filled with the glittering dance
of light on precious stones. Yet, his nights were consumed by darker
pursuits.

Orutix, a devout follower of the Goddess of Dark Magic, his prayers
whispered in the blackest hours, his heart a vessel for her arcane power.

Orutix's toils had led him deep into the complex underdark tunnels of the
mines. Deeper than most veins of ore in the ground go, where strange things
dwell. In these shadowed recesses of the underdark, whispers of prophecy
first began to invade his dreams. Visions of conquest and glory soon
plagued Ortuix in his slumber, perhaps the Goddess herself whispering
promises of greatness and urging him to rise above his station.

Soon the Deep gnome's ambitions would extend beyond mere survival and
dominance; he sought to reshape the very fabric of the underdark, All it
would take is to rise as a dark champion. Orutix knew that he had to
continue digging the hole, and mining, searching for the lost relic which
would grant him the power his Mistress whispered to him during his dreams,
the Deep gnome would always obey his Goddess.




Writer: Ghenji

Date Tue May 21 21:04:57 2024




Writer: Lenore

Date Tue May 21 23:30:19 2024

To All (Fatale Religion)

Subject A peculiar Dream (II)



Weeks before her meeting with Drogan, Lenore had first entered the gates
of Darkonin, feeling the icy embrace of the kingdom high atop Mt. Darkonin.
The capital city rested within a split in the middle of the peak, its unique
architecture blending seamlessly with the rugged mountain landscape. The
climate was brutally cold, and the air was more frigid than anything Lenore
had ever experienced. She could feel the cold seeping through her clothes,
biting at her skin, and sending chills down her spine as she made her way
along the mountain path.

The trail to Darkonin wrapped sharply to the east, marked by a pair of
ominous obelisks leading up to a forbidding basilica cut into the mountain's
summit. The path was treacherous, with clouds parting occasionally to
reveal a frozen crater in the distance. She had to navigate carefully, each
step a reminder of the inhospitable nature of this place. The cold was
relentless, a constant companion on her journey, making every breath a
visible puff of mist.

Upon reaching the gates, Lenore paused to take in the sight of Darkonin.
The city was a marvel of defensive design and resilient adaptation. A
merger of goblinoids and ogre-kin seeking refuge and a new home had
purchased it from the ice goblins of Icewall. These hardy residents had
transformed this split peak into a bustling capital, their unique
architecture reflecting their diverse backgrounds and determination to
thrive in such an unforgiving environment.

As she entered the city, Lenore observed the goblinoids and ogre-kin going
about their daily lives, seemingly unaffected by the cold that gnawed at her
bones. Lenore recited her studies of Darkonin from her time in primary
education at the girl's school in Verminasia. The citizens of Darkonin were
a tough and resilient lot, their existence here is a testament to their
adaptability and strength. The city's monarchy ruled over a populace united
under the Darkonin flag, a symbol of balance despite the kingdom's dark
reputation. The Supreme General commanded the military with an iron fist,
ultimately answering to the monarchy, ensuring the kingdom remained secure
and orderly. Lenore's arrival in Darkonin was marked by awe and
trepidation. The cold was a constant challenge, her body shivering despite
the layers of fur and cloth she wore. She had come here to see the temples
and practice her language studies for herself, but she could not have fully
prepared for the reality of Darkonin's harsh climate. Every step she took
within the city tested her endurance, a battle against the numbing cold that
sought to sap her strength and resolve.

Lenore stood in the hall of temples after a series of questions and
wayfinding with locals. Her small form was wrapped in a brilliant white
fur, which only emphasized her pale complexion. The frigid air of Darkonin
bit at her exposed skin. She felt so cold she worried she would never feel
warmth again. Her first evening in Icewall shed had the most peculiar
dream. Constant since then was the vivid dream of the serpent. It had
become her companion in her travels, helping her during this last leg of the
the travel to the temples of Darkonin. The serpent had slithered through
her mind, whispering death, destruction, and finality. It had coiled around
her, its eyes gleaming with the promise of ruin and the weight of inevitable
end. The dream was unsettling. Shed not expected such a vivid dream doing
something that had at its onset seemed mostly academic. She was making a
simple pilgrimage to temples of the Dark Pantheon throughout the world.





Writer: Lenore

Date Tue May 21 23:35:41 2024

To All (Fatale Religion)

Subject A peculiar Dream (III)



The cold was almost unbearable, and Lenore felt goosebumps on her skin
beneath the thick fur. She tried hard not to shiver before Drogan, the
imposing Chieftain of the Bear Tribe. His coal-black eyes peered at her
from beneath his silver bangs, and in his hand, he held a shrunken head, a
token of faith and culture here. Despite the chills that racked her body,
she did not want to seem weak or frail before him. She clenched her
fingertips into the fur she had thrown over herself and tugged it closer to
herself.

"I am grateful youve decided to show me the temples yourself, Mountain King.
I come unannounced, brought no heralds or honorifics. I have heard of your
recent commitment to the faith of the Dreadlord. Would you care for a
benediction?" Lenore asked, her voice gentle yet firm, betraying none of
the discomfort she felt.

Drogan grunted, his gaze unwavering. "Me will take one if yus offering."

Lenore offered a polite curtsey before praying, her voice echoing through
the corridor. "Sire of the Void, deliver unto your servant, Drogan, the
blessings of your majesty, that he may stride forward and see Your salvation
offered to this world. Grant him favor, that he may raise Your banner for
the world to know. May the wake of his bannerman be destruction and death.
May their spoils be power and prestige."

Drogan bowed his head respectfully as Lenore's words flowed over him,
sensing the calm, and power of her blessings upon him. "The slain lord
Mencius is an example of the genuine threat of this battle for Eternal
Night," Lenore continued. "There is a small temple near Althania that once
belonged to Mencius. I've been praying over it and giving offerings because
the Dreadlord's purvey has expanded. Of course, an awesome deity that
embodies power in motion to exert control would use Rage and Vengeance."

Drogan nodded. "Some of Fatale have forgotten. Me had to remind them. His
Avatar come two nights ago to Tobryck. It was then me was anointed

Lenore acknowledged his words with a nod, her eyes thoughtful.

"Me wish to see many banners raised in time," Drogan said, a determined look
in his eyes. "Seem to be a few priests of Fatale awakes. This gud."

Lenore smiled sweetly, lowering her hand after the blessing. "It is
perfect. How long have you been king here?" She asked, her curiosity
piqued. "Now there are three months of the old calendar," Drogan grunted,
his expression stern. The old king was hit by falling rocks when the
Icewall shook."

"Sounds tragic," Lenore remarked somewhat disgenuinely. He should of moved
out of the way she thought to herself.

"The Mountain gives and takes. Icewall is a dangerous place," Drogan
replied with a resigned shrug. "Death is certain here."

"Death is certain everywhere," Lenore mused, her sapphire eyes making direct
contact with Drogans.

Drogan nodded in agreement, then asked, "Yus finding All temples to Fatale?"
"I am," Lenore replied. I had not traveled to the temples in Darkonin. My
research said there were none, but I wanted to see for myself." Lenore
switched to native Darkonin ogre-speak, an unnatural, guttural-sounding
voice for the dark elf to produce. She hated contorting her lips and face
to make the voice and accent convincing.

Drogan switched to his native tongue, impressed by Lenore's effort. "Your
accent is well done. I assume your teacher was Ogrekin. We get few
visitors here. The temples are only seen by Agnokh right now." "He is a
priest of Kwainin," Lenore acknowledged. In addition to these temples,
There are two temples to Necrucifer within our domain."






Writer: Lenore

Date Tue May 21 23:39:18 2024

To All (Fatale Religion)

Subject A peculiar Dream (IV)



Lenore nodded, continuing in Ogre. "And they've not been turned to the
Nightmothers?" "The Basilica of Telthian Schwartz remains as it was, and
the Temple of Taba also remains sealed below," Drogan said. There are two
Mencian Temples in the Ganth kingdom."

"I have not visited Ganth before," Lenore admitted. Drogan shared All he
knew about the official temples, and Lenore found his knowledge helpful.
"You said something happened to you after The Hand's anointment?" "I was
anointed by the Hand in blood. Fatales avatar was there in smoke and ash,
fitting for His Rage. I was then given Fatale's favor. Afterward, the Hand
asked me to learn and grow in the faith. Asrar has been aiding me." "Those
are good folks to surround yourself with as you grow in the faith," Lenore
said encouragingly. Drogan pondered momentarily, then said, "I am surprised
the tenets were not updated to reflect Rage and Vengeance. Asrar has been
using the older ones. It is fitting to amend them and ensure they are
spread to the world."

"I believe that is the work that the Cardinal was doing," Lenore noted.
"The Cardinal may not be returning, and someone must pick up where he left
off," Drogan said, determination in his voice. "However, that is a work for
his priests. I only wish it is seen to." "I will reflect on the issue,
Mountain King," Lenore promised. "I have been involved in the rituals in
the Mencian temple and meditated on these issues, but I do not speak from a
place of authority."

"Authority is given by some and taken by others," Drogan stated. Perhaps,
working with your fellow members of the cloth, you can reach an agreement on
all of your beliefs. It merely takes one person to organize it and see it
through. Drogan's imposing figure, wrapped in hides and furs and decorated
with small animal skulls and tattoos, added to the chill Lenore felt. His
long spear, almost the size of a small tree, and the leather shield with a
black bear's paw symbolized his strength and the harsh reality of life in
Darkonin. Despite the cold, Lenore straightened her posture, determined to
match his resolve. "I will do my best to see it through," Lenore said, her
voice steady despite the chill. Darkonin's frigid air reminded her of the
stalking, preying proximal threat of death. Lenore inhaled and exhaled, the
warmth of her breath visible in the tundra's air. Do you see many snakes
here, Mountain King? Lenore asked, laughing at her nonsequitur. Drogan
shrugged, "No, it's too cold."




Writer: Lenore

Date Sat May 25 23:20:37 2024

To All (Fatale Relgion)

Subject A peculiar Dream (V)



The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pallid light over the frigid,
mountainous terrain of Darkonin. The peaks, jagged and snow-capped, loomed
ominously under the celestial glow. Inside a modest room at a modest
tavern,, the air was cold and heavy with the scent of damp wood and stone.
Lenore lay nestled beneath thick blankets, her porcelain skin contrasting
sharply against the dark, coarse fabric. She was cold and the prospect of
adding another blanket didnt seem worth the discomfort of leaving the sheets
and blankets she had stacked over herself. Her fiery titian hair spilled
over the pillow evidence of the relief she felt to lay down after the trek
up Mt. Darkonin, shed not bothered to tie it up or wrap her hair as she
might have down in the comfort of home. Shed set out on this trip, sailing
from New Thalos to Icewall and pilgrimaging to the dark temples in Darkonin.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the
frosted window. The single pane of glass did little to keep the cold air
out, and less-cold air in. The furniture was sparse and functional: a
wooden chair in the corner, a small table beside the bed, and a wardrobe
that seemed to groan under the weight of its age. The cold was pervasive,
seeping through the walls and floor, making the modest fireplace's attempts
at warmth seem futile. Shadows danced menacingly across the room, blending
in with the natural gloom that pervaded Darkonin's nights.

Exhaustion was heavy over her. The arduous physicality of traversing this
terrain was a cruel reminder of her time spent in academia. She shivered
some, curling under the stack of blankets, and eventually found sleep. That
night, her dreams were vivid and unsettling. She found herself in a vast,
shadowy expanse, the air thick with an oppressive silence. The blackness
felt viscid, her mind's eye covered with a thick black ink. From darkness
undulated and slithered quickly at a flash of green. Weaving in and out of
the void was a brilliant emerald tube that wrapped and coiled around itself
and at other times possibly around herself. Coming in and out of focus was
a scaled emerald serpent. Suddenly, a green snake appeared before her, its
scales shimmering with an unnatural luminescence. Lenore watched in
horrified fascination as the serpent consumed itself, its jaws unhinged to
swallow its own tail. The image was mesmerizing and grotesque, the snake
desperate to consume itself and unable to avoid itself.

As the snake continued its self-devouring dance, a sense of impending doom
settled over Lenore. The snake turned its gaze to her, the deep crimson of
its eyes contrasted against the black inky darkness that threatened to snuff
everything out it. It lunged at her with terrifying speed. She awoke with
a start, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her heart pounding in her chest.
Her skin felt clammy, and she gripped the sheets tightly.

Lenore, her heart still racing from the vivid dream, sprang awake and
instinctively conjured a small, dark flame in her hand. The flame cast a
dull charcoal light over the room, its eerie glow barely illuminating the
shadows. Her sapphire eyes, wide with fear and determination, scanned the
modest inn room. Every corner, every crevice was scrutinized as the soft
flicker of the flame revealed the faint outlines of the sparse furniture.
Her breath steadied, and Lenore moved cautiously, the cold floor biting her
bare feet.


(continued)




Writer: Lenore

Date Sat May 25 23:22:08 2024

To All (Fatale Relgion)

Subject A peculiar Dream (VI - End)



Reveal yourself gifted, you are unwelcome here. Silence. No response,
the elder enjoyed their hauntings. Not yet convinced the snake was real,
she focused on the ebony flame in her palm, and the charcoal, dirtied light
intensified.

She leaned over the side of the bed, the dark flame revealing the glint of
something slithering in the shadows. The light reflected off the scales of
a green snake, its presence confusing her further. The snake was
unnaturally vibrant, its emerald scales glistening with an almost
otherworldly sheen. Like twin orbs of liquid jade, its eyes glowed faintly
in the dim light, watching her with a malevolent intelligence. The room,
though familiar, now felt foreign and threatening, a stark reminder of the
dark deity she served and the perilous path she had chosen.

Lenore's mind raced. The cold, thunderous climate of Darkonin was no place
for such a creature. Could it be a trick of the Gifted, shed crossed enough
of the elder ones who might disrupt her pilgrimage for sport. She dismissed
the thought as soon as it arose the flick of the snake's tail against her
skin had been unmistakably real. Skepticism gnawed at her. The work in
Abbadon to destabilize Krenath around the time of her exile had upset many.
Was this an attempt to rattle her resolve or involvement in the cloth of
Fatale, or more plainly, a cat playing with a trapped mouse? Lenores jaw
tightened as she considered the possibility. If this was a threat or a ploy
by the Gifted, she should prepare to defend herself. Steeling herself,
Lenore reached out with a trembling hand, ready to confront the snake. The
serpent remained motionless for a moment, then slowly began to slither away,
disappearing into the shadows. Lenore sat back on her heels, her mind
whirling with questions

The vividness of the dream struck her. The contrast of the bright emerald
snake devouring itself in front of the inky, black void. The serpent's
appearance was unusual. She wondered the depth of reality the Gifted could
truly convey to its prey. She sighed, finding her hand exploring her neck
and throat, she was surprised to find no evidence of puncture wounds. She
lunged forward, out of the room of the Snow Eagles inn and fruitlessly
searched for proof of the out-of-place serpent. She chewed the inside of
her cheek, stepping back to the bed, and contemplating the ouroborous.

(end)




Writer: Donimas

Date Sun May 26 15:39:31 2024

To All (RP Abaddon Shadow Verminasia Fatale IMM)

Subject The End. The Beginning. The Thrall.


Donimas looked over the pale corpses at the Demons feet, and felt no
fulfillment as before. Sure the prize are souls for Lord Fatale, but this
was a game done for centuries when it entered a dead Dark Elf. Never
faltered. Constant murder in All forms its was allowed to learn
Necromancer, Mentalist, Ninja. Donimas knew that the end was coming soon.


(It will return to the Abyss, its shell but ash. IIt must serve Fatale in
another way for now before it returns to the fray and continue its work. It
must turn a mortal. Perhaps it wishes a apprentice, someone who can
continue what it started.)

Donimas stepped away from the pile of dead and opened a hatch down to his
sanctuary only blocks from Abaddons Haven.

In the center of shelves and shelves of tomes some burnt beyond repair but
others, spell books and journals. Donimas Kavanth. A High Priest to Ursahs
House, now but a shell not worthy of his efforts but chosen just the same.


(Now its time to find one worthy to become Fatales Reaper.) Donimass voice
echoes through the charred library as he finds the coffin in the center of
the room. (Who will be worthy?)




Writer: Tobryck

Date Thu May 30 11:24:26 2024

To All RP IMM Religion Fatale

Subject 100 Days of Death: The Choices We Make


More.... More blood... More bodies.... Give me MORE!!!


This was the Dreadlord's demand to Tobryck, the murderous zealot sits in the
dungeon of Bloodlust and ponders his choices. Choices.... We All make
choices. This giant ogre made the choice to leave the path of barbarous
rage, leaving the god of war Raije in the process. He made the painful
choice to embark on a of life zealotry, astride a blackened steed. He went
forth and spread ruthless murder across the land, painting the roads red and
screaming at the top of his lungs in support of Fatale the god of murder.

Choices....

The choices we make affect the realm and so Tobryck has an idea that will
spread death across the land like no other. He smiles a wide grin and rides
out of the dungeon to carry out his mission, a mission of pain of death.
From Arkane to Icewall, Althainia to Tropica, and even to Shokono.... No
land was left dry. His wrath spread from sea to see, countless victims met
his spiked hammer. The ground wept with blood, the forests echoed with the
crack of bones. Broken skulls, twisted remains, sinew and crimson stained
the streets and paths across the land.

Choices...

The bodies.... 100 bodies.... Their corpses lay cold at Tobrycks' feet.
He smiles and laughs, his eyes widen, his body dripping with blood... He
knows what he must do. The god of death requires sacrifice, and the
ambition to pursue such things Each day for 100 days he drags his victims
through the river of blood that winds through Althainia. Their blood mixing
with the blood of death within the banks. Finally arriving at a secluded
spot in the ground. A spot where a monolith has been erected, a monolith of
darkness which radiates maleficence across the land. Tobryck raises scores
of blackened crosses and upon them nails the corpses of his victims. Bodies
in various states of decay, some burned beyond recognition, stand as symbols
to the darkness and the power of Fatale, the power of death. He continues
in this way for 100 days. Reaping across the land, screams of his victims
heard from town to town, fear spreads the world over. For the mark of death
is eternal and the pain is everlasting. He is the wrath, he is the death
which walks the earth.

Choices....

The vile crusader calls the dark pantheon together in this damp wet place
for a call to action, for the works of darkness are never done and our
instruments of death are never dry. A gathering of the Black Robes of the
Conclave, The Horde of Bloodlust, The Dark City of Verminasia, The Knights
of Shadow, and the City of Blood Abaddon sit in amazment of the arranged
sacrifices. They make a pact to continue their work towards hastening the
Infinite Night. Just then a figure of smoke, one of the avatars of Fatale,
rises behind Tobryck and the room fills with blood falling from the sky like
rain. The mist of blood in the air surrounds Tobryck and levitates him in
the air. A dagger is fashioned from the blood and is plunged in the ogre`s
neck. His blood sprays the gathered crowd as he falls to his knees. The
figure of smoke holds Tobryck between life and death and surrounds him in a
glow of darkness. Tobryck rises anew, as the shadow marks his forward with
the blood red crescent moon of Fatale and annoints him the Hand of Fatale,
and the Dark Queen Drakkara`s Sanguine Guard.

Choices.....

The giant ogre has made his choices.... And so the god of murder made his.
The Hand of Fatale, The Dark Queen`s Sanguine Guard, now has a seat at the
table of darkness. His task is simple.....


I expect that pile of bodies to grow more still....


..... Manical laughter echoes through the chamber...




Writer: Aethelwine

Date Thu May 30 13:26:13 2024




Writer: Aethelwine

Date Thu May 30 14:42:10 2024




Writer: Grackle

Date Thu May 30 21:49:10 2024




Writer: Jochi

Date Fri May 31 19:25:09 2024

To Abaddon All ( imm rp Croatoan Xenophon )

Subject An excerpt from the journal of Jochi Takahashi



It's been said Abaddon is a kingdom of death built of a foundation of
betrayal and lies. The former part is certainly true, however the latter
part is something I'm having more and more difficulty disagreeing with as
well. I look back at the many counts and countesses I've served in my
tenure in Abaddon and I can one think of one, perhaps two that I truly
respected. Some mean well and are utterly ineffective, others promote
division and use the honored office as a platform to promote their petty
behaviors. This would even include those related to me. For even my own
family has betrayed me in the past, yet I'm still to be under an obligation
to them for some reason. It is difficult to maintain service and honor to
those unworthy in every regard. Gone are the principles of higher evil and
we find ourselves deep within the muck of lower evil.

I look at our current situation in this Bloodwar we find ourselves embroiled
in and I see failure as the most likely outcome. I cannot even count myself
as surprised that these elder vampires of Belstrad and Caustus are
attempting to seize the Bloodlands given the weakness we project to the
world. We've changed courses in this conflict so many times, it's difficult
to keep up. We've even undermined our own allies in this conflict. And now
we have this vague plan from another elder countess that commits our forces
in a very vulnerable fashion, she will somehow weaken our foe, and just
ignore how vague this All is and go along? I've voiced my concerns to the
leadership, which I'm then reassured we have a backup plan to take the
queens and run away. At this point I feel as if I'm wasting my energies
trying to keep them from failing. What will be, shall be. Perhaps if I
survive All of this, there will be enough left to rebuild.




Writer: Penelopina

Date Sat Jun 1 15:59:30 2024

To All Aethelwine Azah Wintrine Nyxiva

Subject Mischief and Laughter!



{p'Well, I have work to do... Lots of work yes! I shall see you All very
soon!
' And with that, {pthe dark little pixie was off in a trail of
sparkling stardust.

{pPenny paused, glancing down at her blood orange tart, idly swallowing the
small bite she had already
{ptaken. Then, with a shrug, continued. It
certainly didn't taste like poison, and even if it was,
{pit was rude to
decline a gift. So she dutifully polished off the tart from Abaddon and
continued
{pabout her day like normal.

{pIf she was feeling a bit of indigestion the next day, she chalked it up
mostly to feeling a bit
{punder the weather. Perhaps a touch of the flu that
was going around. Her head did ache a little
{pas well, her thoughts caught
in a fine mist, and so she decided to take the day off and do...
{pSomething.

{pBlinking, Penny found herself a while later sitting on a tree stump in the
midst of the forest,
{pa piece of parchment in hand, and a rough map drawn
out, marking the various landmarks and a
{ppath from the Gates of Shalonesti,
through the vallenwoods, and around Thaxanos to the south.

{pWhy was she drawing a map? She had walked this path many times before, she
knew it by heart,
{pyet her hands continue to add little landmarks and
details, and even the odd doodle of a tree
{por two. Her artistic skill had
never been particularly good, but it felt... Right... To draw
{pthis.
Humming to herself, Penny went about her work, drawing a map she didn't
need. She even
{padded in colorful notes like "Elves here!" With a smiley
face.

{pShe had just dotted the eyes to her smiley face when she heard a purring
sound. Looking up,
{pthe half-elven priestess spotted a fluffy white cat,
with startling blue eyes and an elven
{pcollar around its neck, like a
necklace of ivy leaves. Someones pet, clearly.

{pA thought flittered through her mind: I must catch it{p. I can give it back
to its owner,
{pshe realized with a bright smile. And then everyone would be
happy!

{pStuffing her half-finished maps into her haversack, Penny grinned, showing
off her white teeth,
{pand crouched low, gave a little wiggle, and then took
off after the kitty, which gave a
{pstartled mrow-yelp and darted into the
underbrush. Penny unhesitantly dove into the thistles
{pafter it, trusting
her fur to keep her safe.

{pOnly she didn't have any fur.




Writer: Tillippillia

Date Sun Jun 2 21:55:17 2024

To All ( Kantilles Whiskey Imm RP )

Subject Whisper and Tears of the Lake



She sat upon the lakes edge, her feet tucked underneath her as she kept
her hands and white painted fingers folded together in her lap. Her eyes
were open as she silently prayed, peering about the expanse of the lake, the
luminosity of the waters lighting up her face. For many hours she kneeled
at the precipice of the Lake of Ethereal Tears. There were so many
questions. The heaviness of the air as it pulled in and out of her lungs,
thicker than air but lighter than fluid. Then there was the nature of the
lake itself, it smelled of such a somber essence. How had such a beautiful
place come to be so encumbered with sadness?

As she ruminated on these questions during her prayers her thoughts turned
to that of function. Clearly life can be sustained within the waters, as
the ikhthyes were proof of such. To what ends could this water be used for
Thalosia, or even better, the world at large. Deciding to take some samples
she traveled about the river, upstream and downstream, taking small vials of
the water and stopping them with a cork upon the vial, storing them away in
an orderly fashion. She hoped to learn more upon her apothecary table. For
now however, she sat in reverence and listened to the water. She would
likely spend quite some time here eking out the secrets of this phenomenon,
if at all. Ah well, some things are sometimes best left to mystery.
However, she felt in her core, that this was not one of them. This was a
place to be studied, blessed and to be used for the call of the Light.

Or its just some crazy river with a lake that cracked open in Thalosias
streets. I mean, stranger things have happened, right?

She laughed at her own outburst, and carried that laughter with her as she
left the banks of the lake to return to rest for the time being, always with
more questions than answers.




Writer: Nyxiva

Date Tue Jun 4 15:42:20 2024

To Aethelwine Azah Wintrine Penelopina ( Imm Devion Drakkara RP All )

Subject {uStray Thoughts of a Nyx



Sitting on a beach in a far off land, there is a Pixie. The sound of
fluttering wings and squeaky cackles can be heard seemingly at random, the
sounds rising up in small bubbles that burst with noise and then disappear.
The first wave to roll over her feet... Knocks her out of her footholes and
sprawls her along the tides wave, a flopping and flailing pixie sputtering
and coughing along the short journey that deposits her further up the beach.


She stands and looks around quickly, seeing no one, and quickly wipes at her
dress. She stretches out her luminous violet wings, the water dripping and
then spraying about as they dry quickly, and she flutters a few feet up.
She sighs, shoulders slumping, her attitude changing on a heartbeat, and she
lands just beyond the waters reach, walking slowly as though exhausted. She
finds her little perch, the closest thing she could find to resemble a
hoopak, and she flies up to sit on it, legs swaying and head resting on her
knuckles as she looks out over the waters. She asks the trees, "Why does
nothing feel right anymore?
", another deep pixie-sized sigh escaping her
lips as she pouts on the makeshift hoopak.

A short time later a turtle crawls onto the beach, which catches her eye,
and she is suddenly upbeat and darts from the perch to hover over the
turtle, poking its shell at first and then pouting at the hardness, then
testing her luck by trying to poke its cheek, pouting again at the feeling
of it. She lets out an exaggerated sigh, slumping again and slowly flying
to sit on her perch, once more looking out over the waves at nothing and
everything.

Several thoughts cross her mind, the first being why is so suddenly
interested in trees? She never disliked trees, but she never really thought
about them before either. She gives a little shrug, tossing it up to the
fact she had spoken with someone about trees earlier in the day and that she
was just finding excuses for not studying the tenets again.

Not two minutes later she lets out another heavy sigh, still seated on the
makeshift hoopak but now facing the other direction, and she pulls out the
scroll with the tenets written on them. She was trying to study the second
one today, but who cares about other kingdoms and clans? She is in the Fray
on her own. Her allies fight her as much as her enemies, no one caring
about anything out here. The Fray was like a bad joke, unless you
worshipped Raije or Fatale. Those two groups are well represented by
actions. The rest? Hypocrites. And for her to realize it and them not to,
well... How sad is that?

She shakes her head, one little hand moving to rub at her tiny temple and
she lets out a mighty huff of frustration. Why did she keep having so many
of these thoughts?! A week ago she didn't care about trees or why people
say one thing but do another. A week ago she knew her path was to gain
power, remove the worlds real enemy, and then maintain a proper order on the
world. Today though? Trees and a desire to leave the Fray.

With another little huff and pout, she tucks the tenets back in her pack,
mumbling about tapestries and Umbra, and then she stands on the stick (it
really is a pathetic looking try at a hoopak), and flies up and off... The
best cure for when her mood swings like this is always a nice tease and
poke. The thought bringing her quickly back to her excited self, trees
forgotten as her mind can think of only one thing: cheeks. The God's have
mercy on the first thing she finds, for there is no safe place to hide in a
world with Nyx.




Writer: Tash'a

Date Thu Jun 6 02:05:35 2024

To Philyra Mariana Imshael Ka'vanth Ka'tath Sha'katas All Drakkara Fatale

Subject Crypt Walking


Sepulcher of the Exiled

The demonic whisper of the Queen followed her down, down into unfathomable
hellish depths.

'Your ambitions will persist for eternity now. '

From that black pit pulsing with fiery promise, black claws had reached up.
Digging themselves into every part of her until it could grasp the burning
augur of the soul and the body it needed to sustain itself.

Tash'a Ka'vanth became more in that moment even as mortality sloughed away
in favor of the demon. For a being that had spent uncounted years walking
the demi-plane of Shadow, digging artist's hands into corpses and ripping
through the Veil to instill the undead with new purpose, it was not so
strange even if it offered new insights into the exquisite realm of agony
and death.

Spiders crept and skittered, crawling along her robe, the walls, the floor
and the crypts while shadowy manifestations moved within the deeper wells of
darkness. The creatures didn't have eyes as many thought of but they 'saw',
they knew, they sensed. Beings of the demi-plane.

These remains, buried in the earth, were kin and kith as the saying went and
her murky black eyes viewed them both as they were and as they had been as
she looked along their 'resting' places.

Long elegant fingers reached out and power wisped along her palm. The bones
stirred to it, clacking softly while dust lifted and cloyed in the chill
air. Her robe, the drift of her white hair, each thoughtful step brought an
element of life to this place that it hadn't seen in hundreds of years. The
irony brought on a tight smile that knew no place in her eyes.

She could *feel* the vengeful writhing of spirits that might never know any
rest. She could sense the betrayal they felt, the abandonment and thwarted
vengeance that coiled like a snake in their unsettled states. She had grown
with it, felt it alongside All of her brethren, the ousted and repressed
wild elves and even the occasional shalonesti from who they All had
descended at one time or another.

These were the true accursed sons and daughters, and there was still
untapped potential in that.

Mariana, she thought to herself as she approached a body that had been
carefully preserved beneath a black sheet lined with necromantic spellrunes,
might have been intrigued.

Drakkara's brutal demon, one of the most malevolent to ever rake Algoron,
had shaped and prepared her student well for this fate. Another irony that
brought a wicked smile to Tash'a. Her mentor had cradled immense
aspirations along with Jormungander's 'Storm' but if she had had a mind for
the fate of the Goddess' dark elven race, there had been little discussion on
it that she could recollect.

It was too late for that now, Tash'a lamented momentarily, her fingers
playing over the black silken drape. It wasn't time for this yet either.
Yet another project that would bridge the Veil unto varied promise.

Not enough of their kind, dark elves, the Exiled, the banished and forgotten
of the elven race, knew their origin or embraced the fate they had been
consigned to but that could change.




Writer: Asrar

Date Thu Jun 6 22:34:58 2024

To All ( Imm rp Fatale )

Subject Asrar...a mother?



Asrar waits as the moon dips low on the horizon. The time between night
and morning when the kingdom is the quietest, and the shadows the deepest.
Stepping into them like mist she moves silently through the village coming
to the house she had scouted months before. Asrar watches the sleeping
village carefully, looking for the slightest of movements as she peers into
the cottage's window. It is a humble looking home. The table is bare of
ornament, the hearth looking functional but with little frills. Herbs and
flowers of All kinds hanging from rods suspended from the bare rafters. The
furniture is of simple make, wood with down cushions and handmade quilts
folded over the backs. The bed in one corner thick, and comfortable
looking. Asrar slips through the window, her feet making no sound as they
touch the wood floors. The fire in the hearth stoked for the night, its
coals orange in the darkness but give off no light. She makes her way to
the corner, the shadows around her engulfing her in an embrace as she pulls
her kukri from its sheath in the middle of her back. Without sound, she
draws it across the man's through, his eyes popping open in both surprise
and terror as he realizes what is happening.

Asrar wipes the blood from her kukri on the comforter as she stands,
walking over to the cradle and the undisturbed babe inside. Tucking the
blankets around it, she slips her hands around it, pulling it from the
cradle and to her chest. With just a small sound, and a wrinkling of its
little forehead, it goes back to sleep in her arms.

Asrar slips from the house as the sky just begins to lighten in the east,
her new babe in her arms. She is to be a mother.




Writer: Lenore

Date Thu Jun 13 17:49:04 2024

To All RP IMM Religion Fatale

Subject A Prayer for the Sire of the Void



Lenore knelt in prayer in the inner sanctum of the Temple of Rage and
Vengeance tucked nearby the hill dwarf village. The air was thick with the
scent of burning incense, and the flickering torchlight cast long, ominous
shadows against the warm stone walls. She knelt before the altar, her
porcelain skin stark against the dark surroundings. Her long, flowing fiery
red hair braided into three thick cords that form a singular braid that
trails down her back, crowned by a circlet woven from fresh wildflowers.

Lenore closed her sapphire eyes and began to pray, the words slipping from
her lips in a reverent whisper.

"Sire of the Void, in Your infinite wisdom, You have shown me the serpent's
eternal dance, the ouroboros that devours its own tail. Just as the serpent
completes its cycle, so too is death an inevitable end for us all. Grant me
the strength to embrace this truth, to wield the power of finality with
grace and purpose. May Your eternal night guide us, and may we find balance
in the certainty of our demise."

As she finished her prayer, an ominous rumbling filled the air, the sound of
storm clouds gathering in the distance. She opened her eyes, a deep sense
of foreboding washing over her. The air around her seemed to vibrate with a
newfound intensity, and the torches flickered more violently, casting
strange, dancing shadows on the stone walls. The ground beneath her feet
trembled slightly with each rumble of thunder, adding to the sense of
impending doom. Lenore rose from her knees and made her way to the entrance
of the temple. Stepping outside, she was greeted by the sight of two
imposing statues flanking the entrance. To her left stood Gildwulf Zoran,
the Hand of Rage, his rugged face and muscular form embodying fierce
strength and malice. To her right was Kizar, the Hand of Vengeance, his
maniacal grin and weapon-laden form exuding a terrifying readiness to exact
vengeance.

The sky above had been fair moments ago, but now it was darkening with storm
clouds. Between the statues, Lenore looked up at the sky, the charged
atmosphere pressing down on her. Lightning flashed, illuminating the clouds
and casting a stark, eerie light over the temple grounds. The storm's
sudden appearance and intensity were unnatural, only amplifying the sense of
foreboding.

She admired the violent beauty of the storm, its raw energy a reflection of
the power and inevitability of death she had invoked in her prayer. The
storm demonstrated a raw display of power and destruction that the serpent
had shown her in her dream, a beautiful symbol of the Dreadlords
destructiveness. She walked back to the sanctum to gather her notes for her
meeting with the Novitiate Miete-Khamaseen. Lenore intended to share the
image of the ouroborus.




Writer: Nyxiva

Date Thu Jun 13 17:53:07 2024

To All ( Imm Drakkara Sebatis Devion Religion )

Subject {uA Win With No Victory



The moonlilies blossom red as a tiny pixie tosses her final stake, her
foe falling amongst them as his life faded away. She hovers over their
body, huffing and puffing from All the tricks she tried to use to win this
one. Her second victory, to which she quietly offers to the Night Mother as
an offering of her intent, just as she did the first. She wipes the end of
her dagger, inspecting it for small flaws and seeing none. With a quick
brushing of her dress and little flop of her fingers through her hair, she
is off to the next battle.

Later that night, in the cozy confines of her borrowed domain, the little
pixie grins and giggles as she reenacts the fight. Laying on her back and
kicking a foot out, throwing a little air punch, and making little squeaky
grunts and 'oofs' and 'take that'. She eventually tires herself again, arms
splayed out to her sides and more panting for breaths. She gives a big grin
to the ceiling, then passes out as only a pixie can.

A minute later she wakes up, refreshed and ready for another fight. Her
arms again punching and feet kicking at invisible foes, and more cheering
and squeaky cackles ringing through the area. This fight ends much quicker
than the last, and the wee pixie is again a mess of panting. Her head turns
from her dramatic exhaustion and her eyes alight on the scroll the
Darkfinder gave her. The Tenets. What she should have been studying for
the last hour, if only she hadn't had so many battles to fight. She sighs,
rolling over slowly as though she weighed as much as an ogre, and she begins
to read the fourth tenet again.

"Dark magic is the purest form of Power. Strive for it always, protect it
jealously, and preserve it at All costs, for the power of the Black Moon is
poised to reshape Algoron."

Little shivers run down her spine, and she reads it again, her face inching
closer and closer until her eyes nearly cross as she reads each letter.
Again and again, she reads it, flopped on her tummy, knees bent and feet
idly swishing back and forth in the air. She knows it doesn't mean exactly
as it reads, but to her, it is enough to keep her spark of desire fresh, the
need for more power. After every fight she reads this tenet, every fight
she twists it to mean her personal power, that which was teased in her ear
only a few months ago.

Another shiver and she stops reading, this recent study session one of her
better at around 3 minutes. With a proud beaming smile she stands up, hops
a few times, then resumes her endless battle with her shadow. The sounds of
epic battle, grunts, stomps, flops, and banter, All echo through the area
for the next few hours, broken up by short bits of silence and the
occasional reading of that fourth tenet.

Once the night falls and the battles won, the pixie looks up toward a moon
she cannot yet see, maybe never will see, and offers another prayer of
dedicating her recent real victory in the field. The silence remains, but
she thinks it a test. She needs to seek more victories, more wealth, more
of everything. Yes. That was what her gnome friend had said. The little
whisper of what comes after her goal. It is only natural she should seek
everything, for who better to guard the world once she frees it of Chaos
than her?




Writer: Penelopina

Date Sat Jun 15 15:51:08 2024

To All Althainia Derigimus

Subject Crystal Vision!



{pPenelopina Starflower Sha'aryas was not normally one for hunts. Tracking
down a poor,
{pdefenseless animal and killing it did not sit well with her for
obvious reasons. She
{punderstood some had to eat, but it was particularly
cruel for those who hunted for
{psport or for trophies.

{pThankfully, the Regent quickly assured her that this was not a hunt like
that, it was
{pa chance to view an ancient emissary of the woodlands. And
that even if it died, it
{pwas reincarnated, and a new King of the Forest
would emerge a short while later in
{pmuch the same way. It was less of a
hunt and more of a rare chance to view a miracle.

{pMany hunting parties had burst out of the gates once the horn was sounded
and the sun
{pbegan to set on the horizon. Penny went with them, caught up in
the excitement, but
{pquickly lost her way in the woods of Haon Daran. No
druid like her friend Fae-Fae,
{pshe was not well-suited to the woodlands of
the world despite her partial elven
{pheritage. She was separated from the
others, but pressed on despite herself. If
{pthere was some sort of mystical
elk in the woods that only appear in the moonlight of
{pKantilles, she wanted
to bear witness to it.

{pFor the longest time, she thrashed and crashed her way through the brush and
amidst
{pthe trees like a clumsy bear, catching only glimpses of the white elk
amidst the trees.

{pBut eventually, her persistence was rewarded.

{pCatching up to the Regent Agapitos, a classical vision of knighthood atop of
an empyreal warhorse,
{pand the newcomer Privateer, the black-winged ariel
Koraki, Penny reached a clera by the river,
{pdeep in the dark forest. And
there, down by the edge of the water... Was a tall, proud looking elk,
{pseemingly fashioned out of shimmering diamonds.

{pThe creature before her was truly massive, larger than a typical bull elk.
Its whole body
{pshimmered with facets, made from a hard crystalline material.
Like it was made entirely of
{pdiamonds. Its rack was easily the most
impressive part of it, containing dozens of points,
{pintricately interwoven.
This was no natural-born beast of the lands, but a truly divine
{pcreature.

{pOne of a kind. Unique. Special.

{pOne of her companions stepped forward with some mushrooms, even if Penny
idly wondered if
{pthe elk, so like the creatures of the Crystal Fields, would
consume geodes or gemstones in
{pplace of such a thing. But either way, the
elk seemed pleased by the offering, and approached
{pcloser.

{pWith great hesitation, Penny offered out her hand, palm up. Approaching
closer still,
{pshe saw the elks eyes were not just a single clear color, but
myriad many. Hints of red, yellow,
{pgreen, blue, or violet, flickering so
fast they were gone before she could process them. As she
{pgazed into the
elks eyes, it was like her vision was overcome by color...

There was a flash of white.

{pA moment later, Penny blinked her eyes, rubbing her hands to try and clear
her vision. It
{pcleared just in time for her to see the crystalline elk
bounding away and vanishing into
{pstardust.

{pBut the vision she had shared would stay with her forever.




Writer: Rahma

Date Wed Jun 19 11:16:32 2024

To All New_Thalos ( immortal roleplay Siccara )

Subject Grow your gardens: Transforming Tears


The white cavern weeped with sorrow; drips of tears seeping from the white
rock. A sort of miserable melancholy hung over the miraculous celestial lake,
drowning out what should be a pleasant, if strange, underground oasis in the
Desert Jewel. To and from the lake flowed a frustrated coulee of raging white
water that beat against the underground walls. Where the waters came from, or
where they were going was impossible to say. They seemed trapped and bottled
up. It was a strange garden, but gardens are often art, and this felt like
art expressed from the very heart of Nadrik.

"Grow your gardens."

The gnomish Sultan at the head of their party looked over the lake and
admitted, "I have been here a few times, but its sorrowful presence..." His
thoughts reflected those of the wild haired half elven druid as she leaned on
her staff and looked over the sad oasis. She came down here only enough to
confirm that the market and city were not sinking further. The trips had a
great solemness to them, it was like visiting a glowing crypt.

"...well, it can only be reasoned that such sorrow could mean that at one
time, or at least it is capable, of being joyful as well." The Sultan
concluded with his typical gnomish pluck. It was the right attitude to have.
These sorts of doldrums and sorrow seemed an expression of shock at the
injustice of the world. Bad things could happen to good people. One could
make no mistakes, and still come up short due to no fault of one's own. It
was right to be frustrated, angry, and sad in those moments.

The druid lamented a little as she upended her sanctified decanter depicting
the water cycle of the world, and poured out the holy water that remained.
There was a pang of her own sorrow, that water her missing paladin husband
Thasgerd had blessed for her to help cleanse the River of Blood, and keep
Brambles watered. Yet, as the clear water splashed onto the too white sand
and plants of the ground she stood, maybe the blessing Austinian's most
ribald, goofball idiot of a paladin was exactly what this glum place needed.
Into the silver vessel she scooped up the white water of the lake. There was
plenty to be sad about in the world, so there was nothing wrong with being
sad. Emotions are not wrong, they are one's feelings about what is happening.
One's behaviors, well, those could be harmful. That always was where folks
went awry.

They decided to test the white waters against the Chaos taint in the bath
house. Not unlike the cleansing of the Church of Tropica, here again the
druid and her companions were on their hand and knees - at least until gnomish
ingenuity invented some sort of magic-tech scrubber - scrubbing away with the
transplanted white waters. Growing Gardens, scrubbing floors, life happened
and in the end one has to clean up the messes and keep growing. In time, and
a great deal of elbow grease, the bath house, Raml, pixies with overdeveloped
senses of vengeance, strange underground glowing manifestations of celestial
sorrow, and the world itself would grow, cheer, and enjoy life again.

She just had to make sure the Sultan didn't blow them All up in the process.




Writer: Penelopina

Date Wed Jun 19 22:03:57 2024

To All New_Thalos

Subject Waters of Purification!



{pThe gnomes would say that hindsight was twenty-twenty, while the elves
remarked the past was clearer
{pthan the future. In All cases it meant you
could only understand something better with time. Like
{pthe vision the elk
had shown her.

{pNow, standing outside of the Thalosian fissure, it was All start of falling
into place, All the
{ppieces coming together. The blood river, the ethereal
fissure, the crystal elk, her vision, this
{pcleansing of chaos. Parts of a
greater whole that suddenly seemed so much more clear to her.

{pHumming to herself, Penny knelt down by the Lake of Ethereal Tears, gently
tracing her fingers
{pthrough the silvery-white waters. So pure, so clear.

{pAs always when she came here, she felt a sort of melancholy settle around
her. A happy sort of
{psadness, like sunshine after the rain, or a bright
smile after a good cry. It reminded her of
{pher goddess, so warm and loving,
yet so sad as well. Unconsciously, she rested a hand over the
{pempyrean
teardrop brooch pinned to her dress. Was it also somehow related? Perhaps
so.

{pGently flicking her fingers to dislodge the purifying waters, Penny scooped
up some in her silver
{pchalice, being mindful not to spill it. Offering a
prayer of thanks to the Lake and to the Light,
{pshe departed the way she had
arrived.

{pMaking her way down the road back to Thalosia, she stopped by the bath
house, noting again the
{pdevastation and destruction that Chaos had left in
its wake.

{pObvious signs of struggle and violence are littered throughout the
surroundings. The walls
{pwere scorched and pitted by fire and acid. And
while the bath house waters seemed clean, they
{pseemed largely tepid, lacking
any real warmth. Once a bustling part of the desert community,
{pnow only a
handful of nymphs and bathers were to be found here. After the attack, some
feared
{pthe taint of Chaos so badly they had resorted to bathing in the
Ishtar river instead.

{pMost undesirable.

{pDipping her fingers into her silver chalice, Penny again whispered a prayer,
asking for a
{pblessing upon the waters as she sprinkled little droplets of
the purifier waters into the
{pbaths, moving from one spot to another, then
giving time if someone had to move out of the
{pway or she herself was
intruding. This she continued while murmuring her blessings.

{p"Heavenly Mother, bless this space. Bless each brick, each panel, each drop
of water. Bless All of the hands and hearts which have built and restore
this place as we give much gratitude for their gifts. Bless who have given
their treasures to make this place possible. {p"

{pHer prayers finished, she gently emptied out her chalice of any remaining
waters, letting
{pit mingle in the bath house. On the walls, in the air.

{pAnd tomorrow, she would do it again. Until it was healed.

{pAfter that, well... If her vision was anything to go by, maybe it was time
to go for
{pblessing something bigger!




Writer: Emmyth

Date Thu Jun 20 11:40:19 2024

To All Imm Rp Xenophon

Subject The Countess's Impostered Warning



Emmyth was enjoying the serene beauty of the Garden of Abaddon with her
friend Maccus when a peculiar sight caught her eye. Near the entrance,
there was movement, and as she looked up, Emmyth found herself staring at...
Herself. But it wasn't her. This person was an exact replica, mirroring
her gestures, and seemingly impersonating the countess. Maccus, deep in
conversation, didn't notice the doppelgnger and soon departed.

Curious and slightly amused, Emmyth approached the imposter, mistaking her
for another friend, Eevellynn. "Hello," she greeted, only to be echoed
with a "Hello, Eeve." Annoyed by the mimicry and realizing this wasn't
Eevellynn, Emmyth inquired, "What brings you to Abaddon?"

The conversation that ensued was the strangest Emmyth had ever had. The
imposter, looking intently at Emmyth, said, "Your soured blood."

Confused, Emmyth wondered if they were referring to the renowned wine of
Abaddon. But the imposter clarified, "Your blood, which makes curdled milk
smell sweet."


"You are here for my blood?" Emmyth asked, her voice a mix of disbelief
and intrigue.

"Someone wishes, but not I," the imposter replied cryptically.

Emmyth was no stranger to threats against her life, but this felt different.
"Interesting. Who wishes me dead now? I dare say this is nothing new,"
she probed.

"Not dead, never claimed that," the imposter countered, leaving Emmyth to
ponder their true intentions.

As Emmyth ran her hand over her lap, watching the second Emmyth, the
imposter continued, "You shall be taken, your soured blood purified with
holy water and replaced within you."


The Countess laughed off the notion, thinking perhaps they mistook her for a
gifted one. But the imposter's calm voice carried a message, "You shall
become one with the Light of Nadrik."


"I only do as commanded. "You will, find your at the New Ofcol inn," the
imposter instructed before Emmyth could digest the confusing words.

The Countess's patience waned as she struggled to connect the dots between
the inn and her need to visit. The game was growing tiresome. With a cold
stare, she dismissed the imposter, "Oh great news, then I command you to
leave Abaddon before you get yourself killed or worse... Some folks here
love a good torture party."


The imposter, undeterred, reached back, preparing to slap Emmyth for her
disrespect. But as the Countess called for Abaddon's Guards, the imposter
fled, leaving a chilling warning, "You have been warned."

The city was scoured, but the imposter was like a shadow, gone without a
trace. Count Vershae insisted that Countess Emmyth stay locked within the
council chambers while he investigated the New Ofcol inn, only to return
empty-handed.

As night fell, they both ventured out, searching to no avail. With nothing
to be found, they returned to Abaddon, focusing on the war preparations,
allowing the bizarre encounter to slip into the recesses of their minds.




Writer: Thuken

Date Thu Jun 20 18:18:19 2024



 


Dark


Dark & Shattered Lands (DSL)
Copyright 1996 - 2020.
 All rights reserved.