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

Reprimanding the Guards
The Witch's Journey: One
The Village
The Village Part II
The Village Part III
Forgotten, Not Dead: The Sounds of Silence
Untapped Magicks
|A| Polishing the Gold |A|
House Warchylde : Moving Forward
Childhood fading
Hell and Providence (I)
The Witch's Journey: Two
Sparks
Whitewash Mission
Watching Paint Dry
House Warchylde : Breaking Molds
"House Warchylde : Harnessing Strength
House Warchylde : Practice Makes Progress
Scraps
Fetid Waters
Scars
Who Can She Trust
Spoils
Stares
DreamWalking * Daylight
DreamWalking * Chosen
Sores
Seer
After the Joust
Who Can She Trust Part 2
Forgotten, Not Dead: Book burning
Hell and Providence (II)
Hell and Providence (III)
Hell and Providence (IV)
{oThe Boys
Spirit Walking
Spirit Walkiing, part two
The Beast Slumbers I
The Beast Slumbers II
Spiritwalk
The book inside Azheri's bag
Stupid Letters
|Skull Keep: Distraction|
|Skull Keep: Distraction 2|
A Darkening Decision
Sneaking in the Dark
Apotheosis I
Apotheosis II
Apotheosis III
Apotheosis IV
Apotheosis V
Apotheosis VI
Apotheosis VII
Seeking the Truth
Returning to Familiar Surroundings
No Place Like Home
Ruins of the Past (Day Four) Distraction: 4
Forgotten, Not Dead: The Words of a Prophet, the Peace of a Prayer
Forgotten, Not Dead: Stubborness
The Boys and Loti
His eyes are many...'
Ruins of the Past (Day Four) Distraction: 6.5
Ruins of the Past (Day Four)
Things we do for our wives
Routine
X Shades of Gray X
Lessons ( IC )
Throwing Herself Into Her Work
The Boys
Starting From Scratch
Unwanted
Unnoticed
Preparation and Training of a Champion
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins I-01
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins I-02
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins I-03
The Death of an Avendale
The Death of an Avendale
Unbreakable
After the Joust
Unknown
Untrue
Unwise
Part One: Beyond Sound
Part Two: Beyond Sound
Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor
A Squire and his Gelding
Banter
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-01
Troubles in Rashburne (Part 1 of 2)
Troubles in Rashburne (Part 1 of 2)
Belief
Forgotten, Not Dead: Lacking Heart
Begin
FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD
Beneath the Surface
The Man With No Name
Back
Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor
Renewal
Besieged
+ A Masked Stranger + Part One
+ A Masked Stranger + Part Two
Another day at the docks ( Part 1 of 2 )
Another day at the docks ( Part 2 of 2 )
Forgotten, Not Dead: Heartening News
Forgotten, Not Dead: Kadiya
Bones
Betrayal
Next Stop Fiddichvale
The Monster Emerges
A Fervent Prayer
Prayer of Absolution
A Visit to Rumville
))Taking off the Gloves((
The Werewolf (1/9)
The Werewolf (2/9)
The Werewolf (3/9)
The Werewolf (4/9)
The Werewolf (5/9)
The Werewolf (6/9)
The Werewolf (7/9)
The Werewolf (8/9)
The Werewolf (9/9)
Blame
X Brush with Death - One X
X Brush with Death - Two X
Beach
+ A Masked Stranger + Part Three
A Disturbance 01
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-02
Bear
Frostbite
The Bishop and Death
)Counting the Cost(
You can't make an omelette... 1/?
You can't make an omelette... 2/?
Echoes of Eternity
Perfect Timing
Off to Raft Town
Quest for power or fireflies
A Diplomatic Mission (1/3)
A Diplomatic Mission (2/3)
A Diplomatic Mission (3/3)
A Needful Voyage ( Part 1 of 2 )
A Needful Voyage ( Part 2 of 2 )
Are fireflies power?
Candle
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-03
Chuckle
It wasn't me... blame the Raven
Eye of Kai

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





Writer: Ayrora
Date Tue Apr 19 12:30:39 2016

To All Ashbie Aybel Immortal Roleplay

Subject Reprimanding the Guards



Ayrora stood there as she waited for the gu ards to assemble before her,
she would have none of this being followed around any longer. Her temper
flaired and even Braeden was uncomfortable as he stomped the ground as he
felt her energy. Patience was one of her strong suits but not today, not at
this moment. She watched as they gathered one by one and once All were
there they stood at attention.

The head guard took one step forward, "You called for us Lady Tenneal?"
She waved him back into place as she looked at them one by one, the fire in
her eyes blazing. "Heed my warning, if I am followed ever again by any of
you, You will not have to worry about what my mother will do to you but what
I will. I killed one before." She looked at the guard that was in the
dungeon the night she killed Longshanks, "I will not hesitate to do the same
to any of you. Save your guarding for my siblings for I can take care of
myself. This is MY order. Do you hear me?"


The guards stared at her in silence not knowing what to say. "I said, Do
you hear me! I shall not repeat myself again!
The guards answered in
unison "Yes Lady Tenneal." She peered at them All as she turned and
mounted Braedan. "You are dismissed." She turned Braedan and rode off.





Writer: Euterah

Date Tue Apr 19 15:29:26 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP Scorn )

Subject The Witch's Journey: One



The Witch rode her gequine stallion over the packed gravel road,
remembering what the wood was before it was exorcised. The bare columns of
hardwood and the dark fringe of pine studding each side of the Witch and
Kreegahs path, but there was no longer that sense the trees were reaching
out to take her. They rode without disruption. The road was a scarce three
mile, but it always seemed longer with her memories of what had passed of
what her people had already overcome. They had won the Neverwood, built the
Hollow Road and completed Fort Ghyt. The Neverwood with its old spirits its
damned power wrought by an age old curse, with the combined might of the
races of Darkonin they had solved the problem and progressed. The Hollows
overcrowding was beginning to dissipate as immigrants from Dolundir moved to
Fort Ghyt. With the promise of new land, some of the Hollows people moved
also. Fort Ghyt was becoming more of a village.

She rode with a retinue because the remaining problem of the raiders had not
been solved. They had little opposition since the increased guards and
soldiers escorting the immigrants over the ice plains. Yet, the Bandit King
was adamant that she not go out alone considering the attack on he and the
Witch was still fresh in his mind. She had left it off. The Witch was onto
other things, thinking herself secure and safe.

Still the Witch would have liked to bond with her new ride. She missed her
ice wolf, Berox. The pang returning to her heart, causing her to sigh and
duck against Kreegahs course black mane so different than the thick pelt of
Berox brought her back to reality and she resumed her upright stance. The
guards around her reminding her of her position, she let her mind drift over
the memories, The death of Khorvash, still unresolved, the ascension to the
throne, the Neverwood, the unification with Mokla, the Hollow Road, the
treaty Althainia, the immigration of those from Dolundir and everywhere
else, the building of Fort Ghyt which excelled beyond All the Witch though
possible.

Kreegah wanted to run, his stamping trot growing impatient. The Witch let
him have full reign and hung onto the horns, laughing suddenly with a wild
burst of delight. They tore past the rest of the retinue, the gequines
steely hooves striking the icy plain surefootedly. They coursed over the
road and arrived at Fort Ghyt shortly. The gequine snorting, rearing had
almost tossed the Witch to the hard packed snow. She clung to the horns.
Thrilled by the ride, the pace and the strength and endurance of the beast
beneath her, she swung off K'reegah and handed him off to a straightbacked
hob who ran up to give her aid.

The Witch inhaled the chill spring winds, still rife with flurries and
storms, yet somehow subdued by the warming sun. She ordered the gequine fed
and brushed and proceeded to the main building.

What would they found beyond the gates of Fort Ghyt vastly amazed the Witch.




Writer: Cleo

Date Tue Apr 19 19:38:20 2016

To Niles All Imm (RP)

Subject The Village


.. The pall of death hung heavy over the village..

The violence of their existence had lasted centuries and would likely
continue unto its end. This bloody past weighed heavily upon the residents,
most of whom were too poor to leave it.

The village had little wealth on whole. It's people earned their way
herding cattle and farming. Despite the constant struggle of their lives,
there was a sense of community between those who called it home.

The citizens worked and toiled to survive in between the raids that
continuously culled their population.

The twins themselves were born during such a raid. The earth shook with
battle as their mother, Josie, pushed the first of them into the world of
fire and death.

The girl came first, nearly a full three minutes ahead of her brother and
her cry was every bit as fierce as the warriors who fought outside. The
shaking subsided as the boy came, his song of life joining his sister's in
the chaos.

Their mother had not survived.





Writer: Cleo

Date Tue Apr 19 20:09:45 2016

To Niles All Imm (RP)

Subject The Village Part II


The loss of their mother had hardened their father.

Zeager Rukahs had always been a pacifist but the hole left in his life by
her death destroyed the serenity and replaced it with a burning need for
vengeance.

The village Chieftain denied him his request to leave in search of it,
hoping that the children would help heal this festering wound.

But as the years passed and the raids continued, the hatred in him continued
to build.

Cleo and Niles grew quickly. Their days were spent in the village streets,
stick fighting with the other children, daydreaming of grand battles. They
viewed the struggle of life and death waged within their small village with
the whimsical awe common in children.

But death was not picky. It eagerly fed on the young with the same hunger
it fed on the elderly.

The raid that taught them this lesson claimed seven of the village's
children and their father, who had foolishly stepped out to face their enemy
and had paid for it with his head.

The twins witnessed the removal.





Writer: Cleo

Date Tue Apr 19 20:38:39 2016

To Niles All Imm (RP)

Subject The Village Part III


.. The violence and hatred were contagious..

The villagers seethed with it, making them distrustful of outsiders. The
few children who were fortunate enough to survive into adulthood carried
this hatred deep within, a flame passed from one generation unto another.

The unwelcoming shroud of gloom did little to provoke new residence and the
village struggled to maintain its population.

Taken under the Chieftain's care after the loss of the father, Niles and
Cleo remained at their family home. Life continued on as it always does.
Time passed.

The next raid severed their ties to home completely. The single fighter
that attacked their village left every nomad within it dead.

The last fingers of sunlight stretched across the sky as the first sounds of
warning issued forth from outside the Chieftain's home.

Niles and Cleo, there for their weekly devotional and meditation were
instructed to stay inside as the Chieftain had turned to leave.

He never made it to the door. His murderer was swift, moved like the
shadows and his katana sliced through the Chieftain with a whisper of sound
that was soon muffled by the rattle of his last breath.

The ninja paused as he stopped, dark eyes studying them both before deeming
them unworthy of death. The shadow left as quietly as it had come.

The pall of death was All they had ever known.

The constant flood of heroic fools from the western path had left everything
they had every loved in ruins.

Hatred became rage.

The nomad twins turned their vengeful eyes onto the world.




Writer: Maithion

Date Tue Apr 19 22:35:16 2016




Writer: Ryim

Date Wed Apr 20 02:36:28 2016




Writer: Arreana

Date Wed Apr 20 09:59:39 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: The Sounds of Silence


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------06
Silence.

For some it was a discomforting feeling. When one was filled with the
bustle of city life, silence usually meant something ominous. However, to
one such as Arreana, it simply meant peace.

Peace. Kadiya. The Mother had taken up the banner of peace when her
daughter fell to Malachive. It was a sensible appointment. Like all
virtues of Goodness, Peace was derived from Love. However, that did not
make it the same thing.

For Arreana, peace meant that she was able to release the tension in her
muscles, to close her eyes, to focus on her thoughts and slowly remove
them one by one and then listen to the waiting silence. Sometimes, often
at times, and infrequent during others, she would hear something in her
head. Whether it was the voice of Taliena, a message to her from a
messenger, or simply a little-known voice inside of her head that was
drowned out by All the noise, whether it was any of those things was
irrelevant. All the really mattered was that the seeds planted by those
voices bloomed into glorious enlightenment.

It was a peace borne from Love, but also not Love. It was a Love for
herself, and a Love for others that allowed her to come to such
epiphanies in the silent peace of her meditations. Yet, it was not
warm like the Love she was so used to. Neither was it the sort of Love
that hurt, not because Love was painful, but because Loving others
could often be painful due to the inherent sinful nature of mortals.

Peace had evolved and shaped itself into something transcendent and
new under the guidance of Kadiya. While Arreana had no doubt that
Taliena's wisdom and Love would be enough to continue to develop
peace, it was undeniable that the world felt less peaceful without
Kadiya as its shepherd.

It was often more difficult for Arreana to find quiet moments these
days.

First had been the death of Kadiya. News of her demise traveled the
realm quickly, and even the remote Ariel village that Arreana had
called home had heard. Even though Arreana prayed to the mother rather
than the daughter, she had become stricken with grief at the news.
It had subsequently become more difficult to find a silent moment
where her thoughts could reflect on positive things, as opposed to
the terror, melancholy, and ponderous thoughts that had come to
dominate her consciousness.

Second had been the invasion of her home. Malachive's forces had been
brutal, and the vast majority of her kind had been exterminated from
the face of Algoron. It had been one of the quickest, most successful
military campaigns ever waged. Though some Ariel, Centaur, Pixies,
and Bakali had escaped, their numbers were so few that even to the
present day, years removed from the conflict, Arreana remained a novel
being to many.

Peace had become more elusive these days. The sounds of silence were
often more defeaning than the sounds of the every day world. When even
silence didn't always guarantee peace, the world felt broken,
shattered. What little light was left was fighting a losing battle
against overwhelming darkness.

Would that faint flickering light be extinguished? Arreana could
feel her fingers clench into a loose fist, she hoped not.




Writer: Ozleust

Date Wed Apr 20 21:28:21 2016

To All Conclave ( IMM RP Kyri Trinity )

Subject Untapped Magicks



Shinalstin... Shinalstin...

This part of history baffled Ozleust. Who were they? What happened to
them? These were the questions he needed to be answered. This, for
Ozleust, the knowledge needed to be researched.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this is what is needed to further strengthen the
Conclave. An item? Possibly. A spell? Helpful. What can he find in the
history of the old. Better yet, what will the Trinity allow for him to
find?

A protector of Conclave was Ozleust's role, but he still remained in the
books, Searching... Finding... Discovering.

He will find answers.




Writer: Fynix
Date Thu Apr 21 03:54:34 2016

To All Arkane Gypsies Arthais Flike Perion Meki Cayenna

Subject |A| Polishing the Gold |A|


The Hoard was bustling with activity tonight, as Fynix stepped across the
threshold, making his usual rounds. Shaking hands with gentlemen and
kissing the hands of ladies, ensuring everyone was having a good time. He'd
been fortunate his business has been spared the rash of graffiti markings
that had plagued Arkane lately. So much so, in fact, he'd been approached
by the rulers of Arkane about possibly luring in the culprit. Advertising
the Hoard as an unmarked business in the hopes it would encourage the
defilers to strike again. Sprucing up the exterior decorations and giving
everything a nice little bit of spit and polish to make it extra shiny. He
may as well have been asking for someone to come along and mess it All up.

Not that Fynix was taking chances with his beloved Hoard, whom some claimed
he loved more than he would ever love any woman. Whether or not that was
true was debatable, but he obviously wanted to ensure his business was safe.
He had asked for extra guards from the Marshal to patrol in front of the
casino (disguised of course) and made sure to lock up the valuable winnings
in the Hoard Vault at the start and end of each evening. Triple-checked and
kender-proofed. Even the waitresses were getting extra protection. The
bouncers could look after themselves (that's what he paid them for, after
all) but Fynix was very protective of his wait staff. So he'd discreetly
commissioned an enchantor or two to lace their uniforms with protective
runs. On the inside, of course. No reason being safe meant they had to
look any less asthetically pleasing.

It remained to be seen if this graffiti-er would strike again, personally
Fynix was curious what their intentions were. If it was anarchy and chaos,
they were sadly lacking any sort of punch behind their strikes. If it was
artistic, they had talent, it just needed to be focused into something more
meaningful.

Time would tell, but either way, Fynix had hedged his bets, and was ready to
roll the dice and find out.




Writer: Mokla

Date Thu Apr 21 18:44:38 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Moving Forward


A tense cackle broke the quiet of the palace bedroom as Mokla was helped
out of his cuirass to expose the purplish bruise forming on the front of his
shoulder opposite the miraculously untorn and healing stitches he took with
him to the contest. Trying not to flinch at the touch of the cool water his
queen dabbed around the injury, he knew by the look upon her face that more
than a bruise concerned her. Catching her eye finally, he grinned and said
"It's the Rolus thing, eh?" , Lifting an eyebrow in inquiry.

Euterah dabbed quietly a moment then said "Yes.. If the rumor is true then
I am concerned.. We offered him aid, and he waived it off. But worse... I
see how dangerous this can truly be."
Looking into Mokla's eyes evenly.
Mokla sat quietly and nodded slowly thinking to himself, there was no
argument that her fears were well founded and he had responsibilities..
Injury or worse is always a risk... But,, He wanted to ride. He could not
deny the spectrum of experiences had called him and he heard it still.

Couching his argument like a lance he knew targeting and unsaddling this
fear of hers was the critical strike. "I understand your worries.. I had
to ride though. I had to know if what we train was right. I know so much
more now than 6 hours ago."
Mokla said smoothly. "Rolus knew much.."
The witch queen said softly catching Mokla speechless, with mouth slightly
ajar at the hammer blow to his argument, victim to Euterah's deft mind once
more. Eh.. Yeah.. There's that.. But until I get another rider I have to
.. Ride on I guess?"
Mokla finally replied working a grin onto his face.
"You could train a rider? And have them face the same?" Euterah asked,
her face the picture of concern.

Seeing an opportunity to seize the lead once more Mokla quickly replied, "Oh
yes! The methods are sound, with what I know now I can prepare so that they
are completely safe, accidents occur when preparation lacks.. This house
will not lack for preparation."
"In some ways they'll be safer off than I
was!"
Finished stridently hoping to ease her with his confidence. "You
could do this with a rider? Are you so sure?"
The queen asked with a
skeptical eyebrow raised at Mokla. "Oh yes.. Training.. It's all
training.. And I know I can train them."
Mokla said with a reassurring
nod.

"Very well.. When do we start?" The Queen said firmly, a twinkle in her
eye as she gazed at Mokla watching the expected reactions play over his
face. The sensation of being caught trapped was something Mokla had rarely
endured, at least until matched to his Queen. Now once again, as the shades
moved across and off his face he knew he never led this conversation at all.
As much as he admired the play, he still squirmed getting caught in it.
"You've thought on this so I won't bother telling you that you may be crazy.
If this is something you truly desire, I will see you have the best of
everything... But I may ride again as well.."
Mokla said ending with a
grin.

Straightening up and beaming brightly Euterah's excitement was evident and
it softened the blows he's taken both in and out of the arena this night.
"Well then, if it is a House it seems a family affair. So the family will
ride!"
Euterah said gleefully and giving a big smile to Mokla.




Writer: Kabal

Date Fri Apr 22 21:56:21 2016




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Sat Apr 23 01:38:45 2016




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Sat Apr 23 17:16:28 2016




Writer: Ocelotia

Date Sat Apr 23 18:50:40 2016

To All Arkane Skylla Trylum Meki Leomire Kalanie Trai'tyn Roi'ken ( Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject Childhood fading



Ocelotia Snowalker stood in the small wood before the family den,
watching the creek as the water burbled its own babbling conversation. With
whom she did not comprehend, yet. She perceived herself growing, becoming
taller, certainly ganglier hands and feet bigger. Or, perhaps it was that
everyone else was getting smaller. She would ponder this as childhood gave
way to adolescence, the perception of others altering as she became more
mature in her thinking. So, she hardly realized it when she had finally
slipped from self-centered to selfless.

Now because of this breakthrough in awareness, this epiphany allowed her to
sink deeper into her studies the nature of the Great Mother and the purpose
of Ocelotia within Her mystical mysterious workings. The girl sat on the
bank, looking over the small wood the Mother created for her family to
share. They were blessed. More blessed than the young felar had thought
previously. Her growing experience had been far different than that of her
friend Traityn and that of Roiken, vastly different than their young adopted
brother Mysner.

Ocelotia thought hard about All this and came to a conclusion. She would
need to spread this well-being, this hope to everyone she could reach. To
reach All those people, she was going to need the strength of the gods, the
Great Mother. The realization zinged from her tufted ears to the tip of her
tufted tail and she grinned. She looked forward to the Spiritwalk,
anticipating.




Writer: Archal

Date Sat Apr 23 20:38:30 2016

To All Shadow Crelius Necrucifer Reklah ( Ampersand Imm RP )

Subject Hell and Providence (I)


Two solid oak doors closed, quiet as a mouse. Before they closed, a man
would have been silhouetted against the light of a torch from the otherwise
dark hallway behind. Now, he stood as one shadow in front of another, in a
room of shadows.

The Chamber of Strategy remained dark. It often did, since Archal returned
to that particular office. He hated the light, since he got back. Not in
some metaphorical sense. This isnt a simile. He literally hates the light
now. Also figuratively, but that was there before, and its not going
anywhere. Anyway, thats not the point.

Since his return from Hell, Archal in a very real and literal sense
experiences intense displeasure in the presence of too much light. No, hes
not a vampire, hes not going to be a vampire, stop asking if hes a vampire!
Archal is a servant of Necrucifer. Necrucifers scourge, now, he thought on
more than one occasion. He was raised from hell to scourge or be scourged,
or perhaps both. But thats getting back to his figurative dislike for
light.

He navigated his way through the dark chamber, taking his seat at the north
end of a wide, oblong planning table. He could not see it, but his seat
bore the insignia of the Legion. Perhaps its where he belonged. Easing
himself down, his scarred skin protesting against the stretching action of
bending, he considered this. Perhaps his title Field Marshal represents a
success. Having previously won the title in All official capacities of Dark
Lord, perhaps it represents a failure. Perhaps in light (figurative) of the
latter, it is also a lesser version of the former, having returned to
meaningful service.

These thoughts drove him mad, but not as mad as the itching of his scarred
skin. Not literally mad, either. He remained quite sane, or perhaps had
returned there. He was still unsure if his time in hell qualified as
insanity. Probably the truth is he had begun to slip. Reality had faded
away, though he never embraced any alternative. He hadnt embraced madness.

He hadn't embraced madness.

In hell he had only embraced pain. In hindsight, he probably been desperate
to be absolved of his guilt, at remaining in hell and not serving Necrucifer
on Algoron. But which is the chicken? Which is the egg? And which came
first?

Archal exhaled. You could call it a sigh, though he wouldnt have lost his
composure had there been others present. No dust stirred on the map of
Algoron spread below him, a fact he saw moments later when he lit a candle -
the reason for his audible exhale. He needed light (literal) as much as he
did not want it.

The map beneath his arms was free of any debris. He had been pouring over
it since his return. He loved maps. Maps provided him with inspiration.
Maps showed land that could be held. Land that could be taken. Maps
highlighted the work that needed to be done.

This map was also marked with The Place. The spot through which he had left
for a while. The spot he almost hadnt come back from. He could remember
where it was, and he could remember where he ended up, and he could remember
somehow leaving, as though he were vomited back onto Algoron. But he
couldnt remember getting there. He couldnt remember much, just the feeling
on the way. Theyd asked him before, and he hadnt had much to say.

Oh. This was new.

His forehead began to sweat. It was cool in the chamber, despite the
desert heat outside. Feet of granite and marble are good for that. No,
this sweat was cold, and came with a swimming sensation. How long had his
mind been swimming? His elbows dug into the table, his hands dug into his
temples, his eyelids dug into each other. He tried to squeeze out the light
(literal) and stop his mind from swimming, but when he did so, it only got
worse.





Writer: Euterah

Date Sat Apr 23 21:41:41 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject The Witch's Journey: Two



The Witch led the gequine to the stables, not trusting anyone else would
be able to touch the monster horse. Certainly Kreegah attracted the
attention of a crowd of ragged children and she wondered what progress the
people had made on setting up the school and guilds here. She would look in
on that after she had settled Kreegah. She brushed and combed the gequine,
fed him and then exited to the stables to meet with those in the guards that
were in charge. The Witch made her way to the two story fort, it \ looked
forboding, but she understood that it needed to be formidable against the
wilds of the ice plains and mountains.

A meeting she attended, drawn out as she doled out the simple common sense
judgements most of her kin seemed to lack. Easy, though it left the Witch
drained and she retired thankful to her sparse room within the Fort proper.
The heating moving up from the main fireplace through the ventilations
system that had been built in, the flumes venting smoke and letting in heat
so the room was chilly but not uncomfortable. She crawled into the thick
blanket of knotted fibers, remembering suddenly the loneliness that once
gripped her, missing the presence of her Bandit King. She huddled under the
blankets and slept restlessly.

Upon waking she threw open the shutters and look out the long slotted window
over the plains which glittered like diamonds and All glassy gems. She
squinted, her brackish eyes tearing and turned away before it overwhelmed
her. They would need to move again. Soon, into the Northlands the fort was
doing well and now was the time to strike.

Once more into the unknown, the cold and night to overcome, conquer and
claim. The Witch gritted her teeth as she performed the ablutions of the
day and descended the steps to once against meet with the guards.
Presenting the plans of the furthering mission, answering the concerns and
questions to the best of her knowledge as she fostered the schools and
guilds. It was a lot of work. She finally understood the difficulty of a
progressive kingdom. It was not above her means, but she certainly knew.

Stepping into the hands of a groomer the Witch was boosted onto Kreegahs
back, the people of the Mountain were moving forward, as they should.




Writer: Odin
Date Sun Apr 24 07:37:04 2016

To Raije All Imm RP

Subject Sparks



The gentle swaying of the Black Crane as Odin stood looking out over the
open ocean was comforting to Odin. It had been years since he had had
enjoyed the roll of the ocean, the smell of sea salt in his beard. The grey
sky overhead was showered with sparks of lightning from Cliath's anvil as he
struck its etheral steel, each bolt crackling across the sky with the
furiousness of the primal days of his ancestors. Odin surveyed the huge
swells as the ship listed and lulled against their travels across the vast
ocean. For a moment, All was right in the world.

Odin stood at the crow's nest, Ashtiel resting silently beside him. She had
offered to show him the island of Shokono, a land he had never heard of
before. She didn't know the entirety of his story, his time spent on
Tropica which kept him from receiving new information. When he confessed
not knowing of this land, Ashtiel suggested taking the voyage. Odin needed
no internal argument to find his way on a ship again. It was time to see
another world.

It took some time for the voyage, and Odin's mind drifted back to Icewall.
His clan, Clan Volsung, were a lively people. Living off the land near the
North Shores of the continent, his people fished the waters and conducted
raiding parties along the shores of Tropica and Arcania. He was born into a
large family, eleven brothers and sisters in all. Clan Volsung was not
among the number of Vikings who invaded Nordmaar during the Yaenni invasion.
They did not want to accept the help of the Highlanders, not out of
disrespect but out of pride. They weren't just from Icewall. A number of
his clan were brought to the encampment through raids, serving as slaves and
indentured servants. If one could prove their worth, fight through the
years and strive to be better than what they were the before, they were
accepted into the clan as a free man or woman.

Odin and Ashtiel reached the shore, and spent time touring the island,
nearly in its entirety. On horseback, riding along the shoreline, he found
a respect for the place. It was not cold and unforgiving like Icewall, and
many of the people he saw as soft, but there was beauty here. Odin rode
along Ashtiel with a small smile, feeling the rhythmic gait of his steed as
the waves crashed upon the shoreline. There was no going back to the
encampment in Icewall. Whatever was left of Clan Volsung was scattered by
the plague or the carnage he encountered when he was finally able to return.
He would have to find a new place for a home, a new place to start what his
people started so long ago. For now, this was a good start. Seeing the
world with a new set of eyes, an appreciation of freedom, and a huge axe
strapped to his side.

In the distance, sparks of lightning scattered across a sky full of clouds.
It was a damn good day.




Writer: Arthais
Date Sun Apr 24 22:13:09 2016




Writer: Ocelotia
Date Sun Apr 24 23:44:24 2016

To All Arkane Trylum Skylla Kalanie Meki Trai'tyn Roi'ken Flike Arthais ( Cayenna IMM RP Storyline )

Subject Whitewash Mission



She had to get to the truth. There was much more out there than just
what she experienced in the den and in the haven of Arkane. She gave
herself over to the work. Whitewashing the shopkeepers place of business,
it was not a glorious job. It was messy. The paint flecked off onto her
golden pelt and stuck together her fur in the most loathsome way. Yet, she
strove on, trying to at least paint over the colorful unknown symbols. She
had heard the Lord Rarau speak today about the shops closing, thought back
to what Roiken had mentioned and decided to take action. She was certain
she would be in trouble for breaking curfew and going out without a guard.
Grimacing she moved the brush up and down trying to be as silent and quick
as she could. She did not want the people who lived here with her to be
disquieted, upset and this most likely had something to do with the war.
That stupid concept she had yet to grasp.

Plunging the brush into the whitewash, slopping it over her legs and feet
she determined to try to finish the painting before she succumbed to sleep.


The truth was there was a lot to be considered.




Writer: Roi'ken
Date Mon Apr 25 14:29:56 2016




Writer: Ocelotia
Date Mon Apr 25 15:40:22 2016

To All Arkane Flike Trai'tyn Roi'ken Kalanie Skylla ( IMM RP Cayenna )

Subject Watching Paint Dry



The very next morning beamed bright and the young Snowalker woke and
scampered to the city to see what else could be accomplished. She saw there
were many stores still covered, even a lookout tower! Some of the shops
were even closed, Ocelotia noticed. This was not good, even at her tender
age she recognized this. So, the provocation was ever clearer, she needed
to continue to cover over the offensive grafitti. She went to the supply
store, the shopkeeper there attending to her request for paint with almost a
dismissive manner. Loti learned that paint was not readily available in
Arkane. So, she sought the help of her friends.

Roi'ken procured the paint, white, thicker than what she had used the
previous evening. The young dusky wemic also brought paintbrushes. So they
formed the plan and began to paint over the buildings. Loti spoke with the
weaponsmith, asking if it was All well to paint over the storefront. She
tried to understand the frustration with the acceptance of her help, but
being so young it was lost on her. So, she did the best she could. And
painted over the words and crude designs, she hardly comprehended, though
she knew they were rude.

Soon, Trai'tyn joined her, much to her pleasure, for he was much taller and
could reach the spots she could not. The two were finished with the first
and moved onto another storefront. This time taking the advice of Meki and
scraping off the paint before laying the new paint over.

Working throughout the day they progressed to paint four storefronts. They
spent an exhorbant amount of time on the Saloon, as it would be their trap.
She hoped everything would work as planned and they could finally help the
shopkeepers feel at ease.

Good thing there was a lot of time to watch paint dry.




Writer: Mokla
Date Mon Apr 25 17:50:42 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Breaking Molds


"Yes, shield must be up!" Mokla offered from the fence of the corral,
watching Euterah attempt to gain proper control of her equipment atop
K'reegah after a failed pass at the target. Dropping the reins to regain
her grip on shield and lance, her mount easily turned about and stood steady
until she at last picked up the reins and started another pass. Once again
the weight of the equipment jostled her aim, then continued on to repeat the
turning ritual sans reins. Mokla watched intently and knew no amount of
hard work would make the long lance less heavy or out of balance to her.
Rubbing his chin in thought he considered her strengths first as the
fleeting mists of an idea began to coalesce behind his eyes.

Her riding was superior, effortless even on that brute K'reegah, until she
tried to juggle All the equipment. The shield could be lighter but then
what worth would it have against a lance? And her agility in the saddle was
only hampered by the shield. If only there was a way to get the gequine to
carry the weight of the shield, Mokla thought eyeing the saddlemakers stall.
Approaching the saddlemaker, Mokla took the next few minutes explaining his
wants and amid hand gestures, eyerolls. Head shakes, a nodding agreement
was reached. "And soonest.. Everything else waits." Mokla concluded and
turned towards the corral waving to his queen.

Mokla's grin matched hers as she cantered easily to meet him just inside the
gate and he said "I have good news for you.. The shield?.. The lance?..
Dump em!"
Mokla gestured and grinned as Euterah worked through a confused
look, until at last both had fallen to the dirt. "Now.. Here's what we
want to do.. The reins? Leave them dropped.. I want you to run him
through passes reinless till you know every step K'reegah takes in a full
run."
Mokla said confidently as he double checked her stirrup straps. "..
But what of the target? How will I.."
The queen began before Mokla looked
up grinning and said "Oh don't you worry about Mr. Strawman for now..
You'll have fun with him later."
Adding a wink.

After watching her take the gequine steadily to his mark and a reassuring
wave and grin, Mokla headed over to where lances were fashioned. Ignoring
the lone half ogre tuning a slow lathe with a crank, Mokla stepped to the
stack of long rectangular lances waiting to be turned down. Studying the 9
foot shafts he selected one, and holding it horizontally sought a balance
point. Turning finally to the half ogre Mokla said "Alright,, new task.. I
need a quarterstaff made now."
, Mokla then paused glancing at the long
piece of wood and continued "Well maybe more like a flagstaff,, but I needs
it now."
Blinking slowly the ogre nodded finally, and slowly set to his
new task.

Returning to the fence Mokla watched the powerful lunging starts grow
smoother as K'reegah took guidance from the queen who had folded her arms
across her chest and still eyed the strawman with a gleam. "Oh My Queen..
Yer gonna break more than hearts soon enough.."
Mokla crooned.




Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Apr 25 19:32:49 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject "House Warchylde : Harnessing Strength


The flurry of activity was unusual for this time of morning, but with
design, and redesign All occurring in anticipation of the next joust, the
added excitement among the many helping hands was pushing things along
quickly. The groomers had brought the ever shifty K'reegah out to see him
fitted with the new saddle design. The second design had produced a tall
metal and leather covered buckler extending out from the saddlehorn.
Centered and facing front it would allow protection without the added weight
of a large shield dragging on the queen's arm, and allow her to lean easily
to either side. The curving wings extending down would shield her legs from
the front and outside, allowing her grip of the gequine to remain close.

The Queen's approach was heralded as usual by the sudden flurry of activity
and urgent chittering falling away to a hush Mokla recognized and caused him
to grin around the leather strip he worked in his teeth. "You slipped out
early.. But not nearly as quietly as you thought."
Came the voice over
his shoulder so easily recognized by Mokla bringing a grin. "Well.. I had
a few things I wanted to see completed before you arrived.. Thought you
might need the extra rest."
Mokla replied. Mokla stretched the leather
cording as he gestured towards where K'reegah stood restlessly awaiting his
rider, and said "What do you think of your new harness?" The Queen eyed
the saddle with a quizzical look which grew into a clever smile as she ran
her hands along the fresh leather.

Taking a long while to look over the saddle before putting foot to stirrup
and mounting the gequine, Mokla wondered in silence as to what her thoughts
were. Her determination had not lagged even through the failures of the
earlier equipment, he hoped this new vision would suit her as well as he
dreamed it would. At the least he prayed it kept her as safe as possible.
He had studied the problem and this was he best attempt, one he felt would
meet the challenge he knew his queen would not shirk. Looking over the
crowd to see where Euterah and K'reegah cantered easily going through their
paces testing the new saddle and waited for the expected return when she
finally laid eyes again on her nemesis of straw.

When the moment came the question on her lips and her approach were met with
a gesture for patience from Mokla as he turned and bent to retrieve what he
had been working on. Straightening up he raised a long wooden staff,
wrapped in a leather grip and ferruled with a rounded black iron ball on
each end for the Queen to see. Placing one hand in the center of the staff
he lifted it to her showing off the balance and light weight with a
snickering grin. Taking the staff from his hands, Euterah inspected the
staff as a slow smile widened in appreciation of what such a staff could do.
Lifting it and giving the long staff a few experimental twirls she grinned
at Mokla once more before turning the gequine to approach the start of a
run.

At some unseen cue, K'reegah bolted forward as the staff began to twirl
easily each shift of wrist giving the staff a dip or rise of the solid
ferrules. The speed of mount and rider at last brought the ferrule's reach
into the space Mr. Strawman had once used as a head and left chaos in it's
wake. The glee on her face at the turn told Mokla All he needed to know.
The girl could ride..




Writer: Meki

Date Mon Apr 25 21:01:25 2016




Writer: Rarau

Date Mon Apr 25 23:56:02 2016




Writer: Zorreau

Date Tue Apr 26 05:37:15 2016




Writer: Euterah

Date Tue Apr 26 20:05:25 2016

To Darkonin All Mokla ( Sunny IMM RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Practice Makes Progress


The Witch watched the Gouskal from a dark corner of the corral. They
were trying to quiet an upset Kreegah. The gequine tossed its tri-horned
head, having none of it. The beasts red eyes were wide, daring them to come
and take him. The Witch watched with a faint smile of amusement over her
lips. The Gouskal were established long ago by the ingenious Ogrekin, the
ice goblins after learned of the skill through various cunning means. The
two races eventually worked in tandem. Over the years, the Gouskal became
renowned for their skills at handling the beasts from yearling to adult.
The gequine was a delicate balance of monster and beauty. The Gouskal
understood with their aged wisdom the complexity of rearing such a beast.

The Witch wondered at such knowledge, her dark brackish eyes moving over the
tri-horn the tough thick mane. The sound of the screeching whine as the
gequine stomped the ground, daring the Gouskal. He was bonded to the Witch.
She climbed the fence and whistled. Kreegah stopped his prancing and pawing
rough play, shivering its hide and flicking tail, stilling. The Witch came
up to the stallion barely coming to Kreegahs withers. She spoke softly,
calming the beast.

The challenge was coming soon. They would need to be prepared.

Get Kreegah saddled and ready, I will work with the staff tonight until I am
confident.
She walked back to the dark corner, faintly listening as
gequine gave a whining screech once more. Tomorrow night would be
interesting indeed.




Writer: Roi'ken

Date Wed Apr 27 09:36:09 2016




Writer: Skylla

Date Wed Apr 27 12:45:39 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Wed Apr 27 22:04:20 2016

To All Rp Raije Imm

Subject Scraps



The torrential downpour on the island of Zaven continued its assault on
the inhabitants, drenching hunters and grells alike. Odin stood under one
of the large trees, shivering from the cold sting of water as it splashed
onto his exposed arms. He was waiting for the right moment to break into
one of the huts and steal what he was looking for without arousing
suspicion. He fought his way though several hunters to get to this point,
but didn't want to get sloppy now. Though there is glory to be found in a
good battle and a good death, for such a meager trophy, it was better to use
discretion.

Peeking though an exposed crack in the mud hut, Odin spotted the man with
the dark cowl over his face leaning against the wall. He appeared to be
resting, but he didn't want to take any chances. He moved slowly around the
hut until he got a better vantage point for the inside of the hastily made
hut. On the floor were several female hunters, appearing to be in deep
slumber. Why so many were concentrated here, he only had supposition. It
didn't change his goal, getting the dark collar he desired, but it would
change his tactics. A grand entrance could wake the lot of them, and force
Odin into a fight in which he may quickly be overwhelmed. He would have to
use guerilla tactics in order to overcome this obstacle.

Moving as quietly as he could, Odin finds himself directly on the other side
of the mud and stick hut where his target rested. He unsheathes his dagger
and starts to work at the rawhide ties holding the sticks together. The
slow popping of the sinew was thankfully muted by the falling rain. Odin's
hands trembled slightly at the task, but he was determined. One by one, the
stick wall was weakened through strategic removal of its cross supports.
When it was All finished, Odin sheathed his knife and prepared himself.

Looking up at the heavy grey sky, Odin muttered a prayer of glory to Raije
before rushing forward with his arms between the weakened struts of the hut.
The flimsy wood gave way and allowed his arms passage into the interior of
the room. Grabbing the man and his collar firmly by the throat, Odin thew
himself backward onto the ground, the side of the clay and stick wall
collapsing on top of him, along with the man. Clearly suprised and gasping
for air, the man lets out a shrill yelp as he tries to roll away and catch
his breath. Odin grunts and picks himself slowly up from the debris piled
onto of him. Fumbling at his sides, he reaches for his blades. His arms
were scraped and bloody from the wooden supports, washing down his skin in
watery streaks when mixed with the rain.

The man sees Odin advancing upon him, and clumsily reaches for his own
weapon. Tired and at a disadvantage, his initial counterattack was weak but
not wholly unsuccessful. He managed to get a few good cuts at Odin's arms
and legs before slipping on the wet footing of the ground. The battle was
less than graceful, more the desperate, wild swings of aged warriors than
battled hardened warriors. In the end, it was Odin that ended up
victorious, a sword buried in the man's gullet. He reaches down towards the
lifeless form of the man and retrieves his prize. This simple, near
worthless scrap is how he survived now. One small task at a time, reliant
on no one, but aided by very few as well. It was the price one pays for not
claiming a home, and hoping that your home will one day find you instead of
the other way around. He missed his family and the other members of Clan
Volsung.

One day, he vowed to put right the sins of the past, but for now, he had to
fight for scraps... One tired battle at a time.




Writer: Rhyane
Date Wed Apr 27 23:06:08 2016




Writer: Fionn
Date Thu Apr 28 15:24:56 2016

To All Rhyane ( Abaddon RP )

Subject Fetid Waters



Fionn slept in the darkened hull, the time passing in uneven gaps. He
couldn't remember when last he'd eaten, or seen the light of day. Only the
shifting of the hull told him that the boat was still afloat - and only the
sound of drunken laughter told him that his captors were still very much his
captors. Around him, the fetid stench of despair and deprevation filled his
nostrils. He thought longingly of the swamp he had begun to call his home.
The earthy smell of loam and death was much more preferable than that of the
human offal that surrounded him.

The rattle of chains arose him from his partial slumber. Others shifted,
moved, tried to find some meaning to this existence. They worried him,
chained as they were, ankle to ankle to ankle - but they didn't worry him
quite as much as those that didn't move. Those that hadn't moved for days.
If the ship sank. If they made a move for freedom. If anything happened -


The dead were always dead weight.

He breathed in, and shivered. His mind turned to his beloved, but only for
a moment. Such fine things could not exist, here. Not without inviting
hope. And hope could not exist without despair and disappointment.

The ship sailed on, uncaring.




Writer: Odin
Date Fri Apr 29 06:02:55 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Scars



Odin slumps against the wall of an ornate building, surprised at the
level of decoration for an undergrown cavern. He had been looking for work
for some time now, and found a local hospital that needed to make room for
some more patients, one way or another. It wasn't the most prestigious of
work, but fighting off insane hordes of crazy elves was not only a way to
test his skills in battle, but a mercy.

As Odin recovered from his first wave of attacks against the insane
population, he looked down at his uncovered arms. They were littered with
scars from countless battles, and a lifestyle full of proving oneself. It
was in the Viking culture to believe in battle, to test one's skills against
another for the sake of honor, glory, and the pursuit of riches. With a
small grin laced with a hint of irony, Odin realized that All he had
received in this lifestyle was scars. He was by no means rich. Most days
he picked up what food he could from the homes of the places he raided. He
slept on street corners and under bridges. He spoke with few who know only
his name, and not his character. Each precious gold coin went to saving for
better armor, which was designed to save its wearer from new scars.

With a small but knowing smirk he thought of the irony of the situation.
True scars do not reside on the body, but in the soul. He may have the
roadmap of his journey with every sword blade knick etched into his arms,
but the injuries that hurt the most were buried in places armor is not
poised to protect. It was the horrors he endured in Tropica, the death of
those he held dear once by the plague that he carried around with him the
most, but couldn't show to the outside world. It was the act of being and
not doing that were some of the more intricate battles he had undertaken.

Odin stood and moved towards the asylum to finish his task. Moving from
room to room, the macabre display of crimson painted over crisp, white walls
was beautiful and gruesome to behold. He did not face the moral dilemma of
his actions. He was an instrument of battle, not a philosopher. This made
sense to him, though in the back of his mind, as he stared at the padded
white rooms, a small part of him felt the stirring of fear. Perhaps one day
he will be locked in a room such as this. It was naught but the wandering
mind of warriors too comfortable in their skin that was speaking to his
spirit, but there was some poetic justice in this task. For years, he was
locked away in a place that was not his home, much as these poor, deranged
elves were. His own liberation was not unlike this, full of chaos, blood
and screaming. Yet he emerged victorious, which he would not allow to
happen for these unfortunate wretches.

When the task was fulfilled, Odin found himself climbing out of the hole to
the drow city and into the forest, the sun gleaming through the treetops in
a blinding contrast to the underground metropolis. It was here, in the
midst of the wildlife and woods that he had felt most comfortable. Clan
Volsung was not known for their politics, their diplomacy or their city
ways. He may be the last member of his people, but he was not someone who
betrayed his beliefs. It would be the woods where he would retreat to, try
and find what emptiness filled his soul. It would be where he sought to
find the answer on where he fit into this world. It would be where he faced
his greatest battle... Himself.




Writer: Ayrora
Date Fri Apr 29 08:04:31 2016

To All storynote Immortal Roleplay

Subject Who Can She Trust



Ayrora grew more and more anxious every day. Those she thought were her
were becoming freinds and one she had thought a very close friend had done
and said thing yjat put questions in her mind. She paced in her room after
her normal ritual she performed when she returned from her ride. Even poor
Braedan had noticed her distress and was extra loving but that did not
console her nor stop the thoughts running through her mind.

She left the room and descended the stairs deep in thought on her way to the
kitchen as usual. She normally hated to be fussed over but today Semaia
approached her and led her and seeing the look in her eyes, led her to the
dining table, helped her to a chair, and ran to retrieve her breakfast.
Rora did not complain, which was not normal for her, she sat there so deep
in thought that she didn't even notice when the young girl returned with her
breakfast and set it in front of her.

Rora finally realized the food was there when she smelled the scent of the
bacon. Bacon was one of her favorite things to eat. She looked to Semaia,
"Thank you. " It was All she could say. The young girl expected to be
dismissed as usual but Rora didn't send her away. She looked at Rora with
concern for, in the years she had worked for the Tenneal's, she had never
seen Rora in this state.

Rora was a serious child and very refined but never turned anyone away if
they needed assistance in an emergency. She treated others as normal people
not making them feel as though their work was not important. They took
pride in working for the Tenneal's for they knew their hard work was
appreciated, even if it were just seen by Her. She cared about the lands as
much as she cared about protecting it's workers whether it were from wild
animals or sometimes each other.

Rora sat there barely picking at her food. She normally had a good appetite
after her rides and Semaia didn't understand. Rora looked over at her
offering her a soft smile in understanding. How can she explain something
to the young girl that she could not understand herself. At this point she
didn't know who she could trust anymore other than her family. She ate half
of what was on her plate for she knew it would please Semaia stood up,
offered the young girl a small nod, and left the room. She whispered to
herself, "I guess it is back to the beginning. "





Writer: Symantha

Date Sat Apr 30 01:36:29 2016




Writer: Odin
Date Sat Apr 30 05:30:01 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Spoils



The cold wind whipped through the landscape, drifts of snow hitting Odin
from one direction as the endless downfall of white from the clouds above
seemed to come from All the others. It was not a pure white-out, as Odin
trodged on ahead with a purposeful gait, his belted fur cloak wrapped around
his shoulders. He had only had the opportunity to land on the continent
once since his escape from Tropica, and even then it was on a small jetty
where his encampment once stood. Finding no one home, and several
unidentifiable frozen corpses in the longhouses, he left to explore the
world. Now, it was time to investigate a little further.

Each step through the blinding wastes and unforgiving terrain of Icewall
felt like a step towards... Something. He wasn't sure if it was the truth,
fate, or just spectres of the past which haunted his dreams. He held not
onto hope, for hope is the wishes of those who do not understand action. It
wasn't optimism, hatred, revenge, or any of these blinding emotions which
drew him. It was knowledge.

Despite the fact his people valued the strength of prowess in battle, Odin
knew that knowledge was the cornerstone of building a strong foundation for
the future. Whatever happened to his clan and kin, happened for a reason.
One does not mourn the dead who went before you if they died valiantly. To
be one of the souls chosen to go to Valhalla was an honor like no other.
Knowledge however, can be used not to prolong death, but to ensure that
bravery and opportunity go hand in hand. Odin wished to make sure he did
not fall like his clan, but to build a future for those who choose to join
him, and for himself.

Up ahead in the distance, Odin squints and sees the outline of a dark shape
standing contrast against the sea of white. As he approaches the gate to
what appears to be a village, he spies a reindeer in the forest glaring at
him, its large head raised in alarm. Odin glares back, though the sentiment
was lost to the reindeer, and it choose to saunter back into the forest
unimpeded. Arms outstretched, Odin places his hands against the double gate
and pushes it open wide.

From somewhere in the middle of the quiet village, Odin hears the small
clanging of a bell. Most likely an alarm, he pats his side and feels for
the familiar comfort of his axe and daggers. A small trembling could be
felt in the earth, and the distant rumbling of something approaching him
started to echo off the stone walls. Placing weapons in hand, the gates
behind him shut on their own accord. The sounds of the rumbling started to
increase in volume. The snow itself started to subside, showing the village
in more clarity. At the end of the cobblestone street, that is when he
finally felt what was headed towards him at full speed.

Large, red and furry, ivory tipped horns charged towards Odin with purpose.
Several minotaur males had gathered, their heads down and at full speed as
they approached Odin. Knowing that he couldn't meet their velocity, Odin
turned down a random corridor, hoping to find a blind corner to take them by
suprise. Running through the village, at every corner he found more of the
charging minotaur. Odin ducked and dived out of their way, swinging his axe
at a few of the closer ones and trying to cut their tendons. It was a true
running of the bulls, he thought to himself. Finally backed into a corner,
he knew he had to fight his way out, and a glorious battle ensued.

As the dust settled, and the sound of hoofbeat was finally silenced in the
village, Odin walked among the carnage, collecting the spoils of his victory
and placing the gold coins in his pouch.

"I vonder vhere they kept their coins" he said outloud as he stepped over
the pile of bodies. "They nay vear pants".

With a small shrug, Odin heads back out to the gate, and deep into the
vastness of Icewall's badlands.




Writer: Odin

Date Sat Apr 30 10:44:16 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Stares



Odin traveled through the night, picking his way carefully through the
underbrush of the Blackwood forest. When he was but a boy of twelve
summers, he remembered coming here was his father. The game was abundant,
the lands beautiful, and the waters as crisp and clean as you can find in
Algoron. He didn't see why anyone would want to live anywhere else. He had
to deal with some grumpy trolls in his trek, but those trolls bred like
rabbits. They would be back one day, so getting a little blood on his axe
during the trek didn't make him lose any sleep.

He felt as if the sun had just risen over the horizon, for the blackness
which covered the forest subsided slightly. There was still a haze of fog
covering the ground, small tendrils of mist rising into the air in an
etheral manner. In the air was an almost undetectable drizzle, but he could
still see small droplets of water fall occassionally off of the tree leaves
as he walked along. Odin located his target, an ld rotting log lying on the
forest floor. With a small grin, he knelt down and placed one knee onto the
damp soil, looking into the yawning abyss of the log.

A glint of something caught his eye, and Odin reached his large hand into
the log's void. Cold metal graced his fingertips as he clasped his hand
around the object. With a bit of negotiation, Odin pulls forth a small,
black kettle. As the sun's rays started to shine through the misty veil of
clouds, the gleam from the kettle intensified. A grin formed on Odin's
face... It was gold. Odin picked up a handful of coins and let them fall
back into the kettle. The dull metallic clang they made was music to his
ears. Small flecks of light reflected off their bright surface, sending
tiny rays of light dancing on the forest floor. All of a sudden, Odin yells
out in a grunt of surprise as a sharp pain is felt at his right ankle.

Odin looks down, and sees a small statured man in a green suit whacking at
his ankle with an old, weathered tree branch. The tiny man was hopping mad,
literally, as he jumped up and down and repeatedly whacked at Odin's ankle
with the branch.

"Vhat the devil is that for, ya grass-suited vrat jouster?" Odin asks the
tiny man.

From below, staring up at him, the man stops hitting his ankle and shouts up
to him. "That bae mae pot of gold, ya overgrown lump of bear dung! Ya need
to let it go, and get the 'ell out of here!"


Odin smiled broadly, shaking his head with a mischevious grin afterwards.
"And vhat do ya plan to do, ya fire-haired kobold vaxer if I say no?"

The man, a leprechaun if the old Highland lore is to be believed, took
another swing at Odin's ankle with the branch. "It bae mine!" Again and
again he assault Odin's leg, relentless and savagely for one of such small
stature.

Odin placed his right hand on the hilt of his axe, and the left hand he made
an open hand gesture against his mid-thigh. "I've had it up to here vith
ya, vee-man! Prepare yerself!"


Ten seconds later, the fight was over. Odin knelt down and retrieved the
branch the leprechaun was holding. For a moment in time, his head felt
faint but his body seemed to grow, his entire senses assaulted by the
sights, sounds and smells of the forest. On instinct, Odin wandered to the
east. Finding an ancient obelisk, he stepped into some brushes and found an
ancient tree. Without a word, the branch he held hypnotically in his hand
was placed at the roots of the tree. The branches and brambles on either
side of the tree opened into a glade, and Odin slowly made his way forward
into the Verdant Woods.

After emerging from the shadowy path, Odin found himself walking into a
sunny glade, random faerie rings arranged about the area. A few more steps
in and he was met with a semi-circle of druids staring at him with
intensity.

A wisened old druid took one step forward from the center of the
semi-circle. "Friend or Foe? He simply asked Odin.





Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Sat Apr 30 10:58:40 2016

To Meki Skylla Ocelotia Kalanie Roi'ken Trojori All ( Imm Rp )

Subject DreamWalking * Daylight


The soft noises of the forest and an eyeful of grass for a view brought
the young wemic to a rising panic as he gained awareness pf his surroundings
and situation. He'd fallen asleep.. Again. The spill in the library had
been bad enough but now he'd been gone All night in the Great Forest. The
rigors of the days, with training, studying and working to remove the
persistent graffiti had only left the nights to prepare as best he could for
the Spiritwalk and the lack of sleep was catching him. He couldn't even
remember relaxing in this spot much less walking into it. The indistinct
blurring and wavering at the edges of his vision had become a daily
companion and only concentration kept him from turning his head to chase the
constantly fleeting figures which seemed ever just out of direct sight.

Rubbing a hand over his face, the rising adrenaline cleared his thoughts and
he knew he should move now and he might catch up with the others before they
left to start the clean up work. Gathering his pack his broke off in a
stumbling trot through the trees towards what he hoped was the road. The
early dawn broke across the tops of the great trees casting shadows which
confounded his still waking sense of balance and several stumbles proceeded
the eventual and inevitable outright wipe out as a log rolled under foot.
Raising his face from the loam for the second time in the short morning, a
grin began on his lips as he recognized the trail he'd landed in. That grin
never made it to completion, as his ears alerted to the single derisive
snort a few body lengths ahead of him. His prickled senses knew what his
eyes had yet to confirm and the thought ran cold through his mind and left
his fur feeling rigid and brittle as he raised his eyes to the nightmarish
boar once again.

Slowly drawing himself up, he fought to grasp control of the icy river in
him, he clenched his eyes shut willing himself rid of this dream and turned
his back dismissively. As the air stilled and the sense faded, he opened
his eyes and his momentary calm was shattered anew as the derisive snort
came loudly and much nearer his back. Panic overwhelming the threat of
paralyzing fear launched him into a forward roll, opening the distance and
coming up in a crouch with sword drawn and a snarl. The boar tossed it's
head and it's bristling mane shook as smacking jaws closed around sharp
curling tusks, and it's hoof pawed the dirt. The boars eyes, red as drops
of blood glared into his own driving icy spikes of fear at his mind which
his building anger and desperation blunted. The boiling inside him grew and
the first spill over came in the shouting words "WHAT DO YOU WANT? ! ? "

The boar lowered it's head and bunched it's shoulders menacingly at the
shout, it's jaws shuddering in a bony clacking. Trai'tyn felt the panic
fuelling his anger and felt further panic at the rage he felt could
overwhelm him. His internal war was suddenly blunted as he locked his eyes
to the boar and his mind was stilled with the booming words ***to live!
***..




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Sat Apr 30 12:08:17 2016

To Meki Skylla Ocelotia Kalanie Roi'ken Trojori All ( IMM Rp )

Subject DreamWalking * Chosen


The words swirled within him adding confusion to the rush of emotions and
he panted raggedly to pull clear thought from the mess as his presented
sword tip wavered in his shaky grasp. Old images racing past his mind to
mesh with the one before him tunneled his vison and left him feeling heady.
The ring, the jeering and cheering, the smell of the docks and slopped ale,
his Cap'n giving encouragement on what a "Goodlad" he was to face it all.
How his help would keep the house in fresh fish for weeks. Just like every
time before. The blood-crazed boar which emerged from the cage to meet him
seemed to smell of rage and the experiences of "everytime before" fell away
uselessly as he moved to do his part for his Cap'n.

The memories settled upon the now as the boar's words brought the halting
reply in a younger Trai'tyn's voice "I.. I didn't wanna.. I didn't wanna
kill you, but.. You hurt me bad."
The sudden stinging burn upon his flank
exploded in his mind with the words ***Yes I did.. My lasting mark on
you*** and he turned to regard the old wound seeming opened anew and
bleeding from the ragged torn edges. The painful sight brought a renewed
flash of anger which boiled up quickly expanding and crowding other thoughts
aside, the pain mingling to become accepted and almost welcomed. ***You
feel it now as you felt it then.. The rage.. A fire which burns away all
but the fight for life.. It frightened you then.. Does it still? ***

It had frightened him, the near lust to destroy, the loss of self when only
living the next few seconds mattered. The thought of being that destroyer
was frighteningly desirous and he had suppressed it from his thoughts since.
***It does.. You will learn to let it free.. And in it I will live again.
We are bound now as we have been always. You will bear my Rage and I will
share it's moments tasting again of life and the fight to keep it. ***
Trai'tyn sank slowly to his knees shaking his head slowly. He did not want
this gift nor the companionship it included. Only Trojori and the sense of
belonging occupied his desires and the friendly faces found therein the only
companionship he sought. "No.." Came the soft reply as he shook his head
in negation.

The derisive snort blasted once more and Trai'tyn looked up as the boar
turned and walked toward the trees fading as the words boomed one last time
***You do not chose here, Rage Bearer, you are chosen... ***




Writer: Odin

Date Sat Apr 30 19:15:32 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Sores



Odin stood amidst the circle of druids, rays of sunlight piercing the
glade in blinding pillars randomly through the treetops. He folded his arms
across his chest, looking at the weathered but wizened faces of the men.
There were several ranks of druids here, from neophtes to Arch Druids. The
one whom addressed him seemed to be the Grand Druid, based on his ornate
staff and position in the center of the circle.

"As to friend or foe, that depends. None ov ya have laid a hand against me,
so I vill take that as a good sign for now"
Odin replied to the Grand Druid.
The Grand Druid nods, some of the faces of the men in circle seemed to
relax, though each still gripped their staffs tight enough to turn their
knuckles white with the effort. Odin moved to speak again, but thought
better of it. For a long time, the group stood their in silence, until the
Grand Druid spoke again.

"Then I take it you come seeking wisdom then, or tales of yore. Few come to
the Verdant Woods on their own accords. The path is hard, and the predators
are known to eat man and beast alike." Odin nodded, not knowing why he
truly came to this place, but playing along nevertheless. The Grand Druid
nodded once more, taking a step back to complete the perfect semi-circle
that centered around Odin. "Very well then. Who are you, so that way may
divine what wisdom the woods shall provide."


Odin cleared his throat and moved to raise a fist in salute to his heart.
In his customary deep voice, he greeted the gorsed of druids.

"I am Odin, lost son ov the Viking Clan Volsung, a vanderer now in these
vorlds, and a proud varrior"
. At the mention of the name "Volsung" a quiet
but terse murmer made its way through the druid ranks. Body language of the
men changed, each taking small steps backs or uncomfortably shifting their
weight. This change was not lost on Odin.

The Grand Druid took a step forward, planting his staff firmly in the
ground. With a look of equal parts concern and annoyance, he spoke in a
forceful tone towards Odin. "There is no one from this clan you speak of
among the living. This jest is not to be tolerated in our holy place."

Nods of agreement from the gathered accompanied his proclamation. Odin's
brows furrowed, taking a small step towards the gathering.

"Vhat do ya mean? Here I stand, in the flesh. Do ya call me a liar? I
vill nay have my honor questioned, ya vrinkled up old tree-huggers."


The Grand Druid narrowed his eyes at Odin, advancing slowly, the lift and
fall of his staff as it hit the ground causing small tremors beneath his
feet. "You, Viking, know not of what you speak. This clan Volsung you
speak of, was wiped out by the plague long ago."
With each step he started
to draw closer to Odin, small bits of energy starting to crackle from his
staff.

Odin's anger started to well up inside of him, his hand resting at the
handle of axe as he strode towards the Grand Druid. "And you old man, be
delusional. I vas on the vraid to Tropica, the vone that vas ambushed as ve
made landfall. I vas not killed, nor vas I viped out by any plague."
The
Grand Druid faltered for a moment in his steps, a look of temporary
confusion and then disbelief in his eyes.

"If that be true, then unfortunate you are to have found your way here."
The Grand Druid shook his head for a moment, and looked to his left towards
one of the master druids. The master druid raised his staff and started to
say words in a tongue Odin did not understand. Odin saw the movement looked
around the semi-circle. More than this druid was starting some type of
chanting. It was not looking good for him. Without waiting to see what
would happen next, Odin took his axe in hand and flung it at the chanting
master druid. As he watched it spinning towards its destination, his
eyesight started to become hazy, dimming gradually until All was blackness.
Sores appeared on his arms and legs, as he lay on the forest floor.




Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 1 06:23:27 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 1 09:50:08 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Seer



The Grand Druid stood at the head of a black altar in the center of the
glade, a few Arch Druids at his side. The red moon was high in the sky,
bathing the altar in an eerie crimson glow. Odin could say the formation of
druids ahead, dragging his tired body to the procession. Fresh blood
trickled from his new scrapes, and his gait was that of the undead, slow and
labored. He had survived death so far, and that the Gods only honored those
who did not fear its cold grasp. Come what may, he would face it.

The Grand Druid looked up from his musings to see the silhouette of Odin
amble in visual range from the darkness. Gripping his staff, he raised a
hand in warning to his fellow druids. Each turned in surprise at the
encroaching spectre, making signs of their Gods as he finally came into the
red light.

Odin stumbled up the mound to stand at the opposite end of the altar from
the Grand Druid. He moved one ragged arm towards his axe, but could not
find the strength to remove it from his sheath. An Arch Druid lifted his
staff and started to chant, but the Grand Druid raised a single hand and
shook his head.

"There will be no need for that, Brother. One does not stare Death in the
eyes and survive without having some purpose in this world."
The Arch
Druid lowered his staff with a nod, and All eyes remained on Odin. Odin
placed both hands to support himself against the altar. Some of the druids
visibly bristled at this, but did not make a move to correct it. Odin set
his jaw and stared directly at the Grand Druid. He said but one word, the
tone unmistakingly firm despite his weakened voice.

"Vhy?"

The Grand Druid seemed to ponder this a moment, mimicking Odin's stance and
placing his hands on top of the altar. He looked around the gathering of
druids and gave a knowing nod. One by one, they dug into the folds of their
robes and pulled out a small leather pouch. Each druid in turn took a pinch
of what seemed like ashes from the pouch and placed it on the altar top in a
pile. After this was completed, the Grand Druid lowered his face to the ash
pile, staring directly in Odin's eyes. He inhaled sharply, some of the
powder entering his nose with small tendrils of smoke visible in the
moonlight. Then he exhaled forcibly, the remaining ash blowing into Odin's
face. Odin didn't have time to react, inhaling the cloud of ash. As it
swirled around him and entered his lungs, he had the sensation of floating
above himself, a connection to All things around him. He felt the rays of
the moonlight bathe his skin, heard the heartbeats of each living being
around the altar. He felt the dew in the grass on his feet and heard the
distant calls of owls in the forest.

Shadows... Faces... Flashes of Battle... Yinnae... Snowstorms...

Sporatic images drifted in his mind, and darkness encircled his eyes for a
moment more. When he awoke... Was awake the right word for it? When he...
Materialized... He was standing... No, floating... He seemed to be
floating in a Viking Settlement along the Northern Shores of Icewall.

He drifted between the longhouses and huts, small billows of smoke coming
from the hearth fires lit within. He was drawn to one longhouse in
particular in the center of the settlement. He could hear mens' voices
arguing from within. He felt as if he floated through the oxhide covering
and into the great hall. Viking men and women, each adorned with ornate
armrings and torcs of various stations stood around a mighty fire, their
shadows dancing on the walls. Odin didn't recognize a single face, though
he spied something All to familiar on the armring of a tall, fair-haired
man. The raven-shaped crest of his clan, Clan Volsung. Not a soul looked
Odin's directions as he moved closer to hear what the congregation seemed to
be arguing about.




Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 1 12:27:31 2016




Writer: Euterah

Date Sun May 1 13:53:34 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject After the Joust



She lasted only one tilt, but it did not discourage her. The Witch
visited her gequine stallion in the stables, passing the Gouskal and
slipping into the stall. Kreegah greeted her with a sound of teeth
chattering, the beast coming to the tiny Witch and lowering its great horned
head. The Witch smiled small and whispered inspiration to the gequine as
she stroked the silken nose. She reviewed her moves and those of her
opponent, searching for actions that could have bettered her odds. The
Mountains Bandit King had done exceeding well. Yet she wondered what
strategies to use next.

The gequine and the Witch rode out to the Hollows, she let the stallion have
full pace . The chill stung her lips and cheeks, brought tears to her eyes,
but she loved the speed. The clean fresh smell of frost and snow woke her
up. She as Euterah, not a Queen, not a Witch, not anything but herself,
pounded over the ice plains with Kreegah the beast snorting plumes of steam
as it powered over the worn road to the Hollows, hooves striking the ground
in echoing rings.

It was a lark that she had told the King she would ride. Then it was a
challenge. Now it evolved into something else, more of a contest between
her defiant nature and daring the norms of convention, yet she could not
quite comprehend which harried her more.

The Witch and genquine slowed as the entered the caverns. The great
tri-horned head raised proudly as Kreegah breathed heavily trotting past the
ogre guards. The great thick doors that lead to the Hollows commons were
opened, the gequine and the Witch Queen skirted the markets and throngs of
merchants, goblin wives haggling with them, Ogrekin, ice goblins All mingled
together. She felt her heart swell to see the Hollows was thriving.

They came to Hollow Road and she let Kreegah canter past Neverwood. The
Witch was lost in thought as they arrived at Fort Ghyt. The gateguards
announced her arrival and the great wooden and iron gates, ushering her into
the Fort. There she would meet with the Leaders of the Community and the
Sergeant of Arms. A royal visit was welcomed by the people, the Witch led
the gequine to stable to bathe and bed the great beast, for she still did
not trust Kreegah temperament with others.

Back in her room they had prepared for her within the Forts largest
building, the fortified two story stone and wood construction. She readied
herself for the meetings ahead. There seemed always many considerations to
discuss. She did not begrudge these concerns though. As she settled the
crown on her head, she thought she was very fortunate to serve the Mountain
in these ever changing times. She left the room feeling as if All was well
in the World.




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sun May 1 15:14:37 2016

To All Storynote Roleplay

Subject Who Can She Trust Part 2



Rora left the Manor and decided she would take a walk to try to clear a
bit out of her mind, maybe even figure out some answers. In a way she was
glad her father sent her to Sacnoth for it was usually where she felt the
most at peace. Although her her body was at peace her mind was not, she
could not understand why those who called themselves friends would act in
the manner that they did. She sighed as she walked down the path as the
workers watched her pass by. Some workers were concerned for her silence
and others worried by the look on her face.

She could sense someone following her but at the moment she did not care.
Most of the guards would not follow her because of her orders but she knew
one hard headed enough not to listen but today she did not have the patience
nor the mind to deal with him. There were far too many other things
occupying her mind and she didn't want to waste her time on him. The more
she tried to straighten things out, the more things became far more
complicated to understand.

She had finally straightened things out with one of them and she was glad
she did but she could not understand the rest. She continued walking until
she stopped at the sound of water. She looked down only to see she was at
the creek bed that she was at the other day with Braedan. She hadn't
realized she had travelled that far and sighed softly as she realized how
far she had come. The walk back would take forever but she would make it
back sometime after dark.

She could hear hoofbeats from a distance and definately knew now someone had
followed her. At that point she just gave up and decided to give in, a hot
cup of tea and a warm bath sounded good right about now. She looked up
towards the embankment awaiting to see the guard come over the edge when she
saw a familiar head peek over at her, it was her loving Braedan. He sensed
she had gone and followed her scent until he found her. She could not be
any happier. She ran to him, hugged him tightly, "Let's go home, pretty
boy.
" She mounted the stallion and they headed for home.





Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 1 22:27:01 2016




Writer: Glailen

Date Mon May 2 07:03:52 2016

To All Arreana Knighthood Immortal Religion Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Book burning


The drizzle of rain fell as the loud rumble of thunder echod through the
surrounding area. Knights of All ranks, from aspirant to colonels,
surrounded the large stack of Ixi-mart brand logs. The last log was set as
a loud whistle was given and a set of mule pulled carts moved forward. Each
cart was packed full of thick stacks of books.

Glailen took one book from a cart as a line was formed toward the carts.
Each knight passed the books down the line until each cart was emptied and
the books were stacked on the logs. Glailen stood in front of the large
pile as the knights rearranged and fell into the formation. At once the
knights fell into parade rest with a single, loud thud.

He paced in front of the formation, thinking of just what to say before he
stopped and turned. He slipped a hand into the inside of his surcoat and
pulled out a thick, black book with the words "Book of Evil" detailing the
front.

"This book is the end of All that we stand for. This is what we attempt to
stop every day.
" Glailen throws the book on the large stack of books
before holding up his other hand, holding the Bible of Arreana. "The light
has come to the conclusion that we must follow behind Necrucifer's flock, we
must write our own book that forces the opinion of mortals onto our minds.
The false prophecy of our own ends here.
"

Glailen threw the book on to the stack and raised his hand, offering a
prayer. The rains picked up as he summoned forth the powers of Turpa. A
thick bolt of lightning arched from the sky, striking the the logs and
books. With a powerful strike, the stack shuddered and lit with a powerful
flame. Pieces of book and ash slowly fell to the ground as Glailen smiled
to himself.

The formation was dismissed as he made his way to the keep. He peered out
of the drawbridge as he entered, still seeing the fire. He knew that the
Althainian's would see it.




Writer: Kalanie

Date Mon May 2 08:00:00 2016




Writer: Archal

Date Mon May 2 19:50:21 2016

To All Shadow Crelius Necrucifer Reklah ( Ampersand Imm RP )

Subject Hell and Providence (II)


Gasping, Archal stood, forcing his eyes open now, though stars were
swimming across his vision like his thoughts swam through his head. He
leaned on the table for support, and his eyes locked onto The Place.

He was remembering.

Months ago, though it felt like a lifetime, Archal had set out for the
hellmouth he'd discovered. High in the trails of southwestern Tropica, far
above the vast stretching plains of the savannah, he returned to the
overhang where he felt the ley pulling to him.

Newly Dark Lord of Storm Keep, he was determined to move forward. He had
lead not just the keep, but the men and women themselves, back to activity
and prominence. Just as they had stood behind him, so would he entrust them
for his journey.

It would be short, after all.

Down, into Hell itself. Surely, here he would prove himself as he had
above, and climb his way back out. In hindsight, it was beyond foolhardy.
At the time, he was flush with victory and sure of his own strength.

He was Kayen, after all.

'Kayen... '

The rasping whisper came back to him. He caught his bearings. Now, here,
in the present, Archal remained in the Chamber of Strategy. He was Field
Marshal, now, not Dark Lord. But he had been

'Kayen! '

The hoarse voices on his descent. Here, in the Chamber of Strategy,
Archal's best plan was to sit back down before the past dragged him to the
floor.

He secured the rope above the overhang, and rappelled over the edge. He did
not have to descend far - perhaps two, three meters, before it began to give
way. There, in the cliff face, an opening, barely more than a crack.

This story is no cliff hanger - we All know the outcome. But there was a
moment, gaining momentum, that Archal thought he might plunge to his death.
Specifically, the moment his rope snapped. But it was the right moment, and
he reached the opening by finger and toe.

Collapsing inside, Archal saw the broken and tumbled-down ruins of what once
was a great, unholy shrine. Two gargoyle-like statues stood in stoney
stoicism, and upon investigation, proved to mark the another hole.

Torch in hand, Archal found the edge, and peered over it, only to find inky
blackness far below. Fashioning a second torch, he dropped the first, which
protested with the mild roar of flames in the wind as it accellerated into
the abyss. Archal watched it until seconds turned to minutes, and the glow
receded to a pinprick, then disappeared.

Extinguishing the torch he'd kept, he watched further, the faintest glow
fading once more into black, and still he watched.

Archal felt closer to his God here than ever before. Staring into such an
abyssal drop should have caused fear, or at least discomfort. If he was
wrong, if this was not a doorway to Hell, then certain death awaited.

But he wasn't wrong. He'd felt it then, the draw of Necrucifer. The way
your ears begin to rush in the silence, he began to hear the whispers of his
God. The way your eyes see spots in the dark, his began to perceive the
faintest red aura. Not the glow of a torch, but the malevolent presence of
his one true Master.

As though in meditation, without a thought in his head but only feeling the
Darkness of his destination, Archal stepped forward into the abyss.

It was not a graceful descent. He'd carried a bit too much momentum, and
after a few seconds of free-fall, his shoulder slammmed into the far wall.
Arcanium squeeled and screamed against the edge and he began to tumble like
a rag doll.

He remembered the periapt that Crelius had recommended him to find.
Falling, tumbling, spinning through the air he struggled to reach into his
straps and pull out the headless knight doll he'd had since he was in a
child in Iagothal.





Writer: Archal

Date Mon May 2 19:52:46 2016

To All Shadow Crelius Necrucifer Reklah ( Ampersand Imm RP )

Subject Hell and Providence (III)


Like the torch, his falling stretched from seconds into minutes. After a
while, he noticed he wasn't spinning any more. It had been a while since
his last crash into a rocky wall. Then, ahead, he began to see visions,
though they were distorted, wrong. Through the black he saw Storm Keep, the
sensation of falling gaining the rhythmic cadence of a galloping steed.

Approaching through the wastes of the desert, Archal saw bodies All around
him. Some dessicated, some fresh, some still with the spark of life inside,
but none human. They All wore armor and uniform, and something familiar
tugged at the back of Archal's mind, but he could not grasp it, he could not
remember, and then he was getting closer and the bodies were strewn in heaps
around him and not a single human was there but All knights, All dark
knights.

And then he was at Storm Keep, and Storm Keep's Dark Knight's stood watch as
they always had. They stood stoic guard. They were fine. They showed no
sign of hostility, nor compassion as they gazed at the dying and dead which
surrounded the Keep on All sides, stretching to the edges of vision.

Now Archal saw the bodies, and not one bore a visible wound. No arrows
pierced the bodies nor the desert, no cuts broken bones. Armor flawless,
the yinn and minotaur and even gnomes and goblins All seemed to have died
with bodies yet in tact.

One yinn near him was still alive and he managed to lift a single finger
towards Archal. 'Kayen... Water.. ' was All he said, and before Archal's
eyes, the life drained out of him. The very water drained out of him, and
the creature who had begged for water moments ago now appeared a dried-out,
mummified by the heat.

Above, the humans welcomed Archal. 'Dark Lord Kayen, ' they greeted him,
opening the doors to the marbled keep behind.

Inside, it was cool, and fresh. An oasis. Water flowing through fountains
everywhere, lush with palms. His soldiers basked in the sun, drinking fresh
cool water.

The keep semed to whirl around him until in fury Archal shouted 'Why do we
let them parch!
'

His men All turned to him, baffled to a one. 'Purism, Sir. Let them rot.
'

Another man chimed in, 'But Dragoth's not here, nothing rots out in that
sun!
' and was met with hearty laughter from the rest. They turned away
from Archal, each returning to their leisure, drinking.

Archal himself began to feel parched and he snatched the canteen from one of
his men who was pouring it out upon another. He raised it, tilting his head
up, desperate for the water to pour over him but it was only sand, sand and
more sand, and Archal was covered in sand, drowning in sand, and then he was
falling once again, falling with only blackness All around him.

But the black did not remain, nor did silence, and Archal heard his name,
his family name, called out, rasped, gasped from the images of Knights of
non-human lineage. Yinn the most common, and minotaur after. 'Kayen.. '
they rasped. 'Kayen, ' they moaned. 'Kayen! ' they cried, and Archal
began to feel the weight of failure.

All those Knights of Darkness, where had they gone? Algoron today knows
only the Knights of Storm Keep. Bloodlust, perhaps once promosing a home to
those who would be Knights of Darkness had turned from that path, destroyed
it, giving Deathknights not to those who would pursue the goals of their
faith with honor and devotion, but to those who were retired Warlords.

It disgusted Archal and he heaved into the darkness. He felt the weight of
their service, their failed service, pushing him deeper into the abyss.
Faster, those Dark Knights of the Eclipse could never serve again. The
images blurred together as he fell until suddenly, he stopped.

All around him, he saw himself reflected.





Writer: Archal

Date Mon May 2 19:55:48 2016

To All Shadow Crelius Necrucifer Reklah ( Ampersand Imm RP )

Subject Hell and Providence (IV)


The weight of failure dragged on him palpably. Already he began to feel
reality slip. His sense of time was lost, and he thought only of how long
he'd left his Knights without a word. He thought of All those creatures who
would have served as Necrucifer's Knights, if only they'd had a place. He
saw reflected in himself every failure of his life, from childhood gaffes to
mistakes which got his companions killed. As he stood there abject in his
own failures real, imagined, remembered, and expected yet to come, two
figures began shambling towards him. They were slow, and clumsy, and Archal
could have stopped them, could have drawn his sword, but he did not. He was
lost, remembering and imaginging every past failure and every future failure
and every possible failure and wondering if this success had actually been
the precursor to that failure and suddenly he was locked in a cell.

A cell of mirrored walls, closer now than before, closing in on him,
trapping him in his failure.

Still while his mind had remained lucid, he briefly wondered what he might
be seeing had his descent filled him with visions of success, or joy, or
love, but it had not, it could not, for this was hell and not some fantastic
paradise promised by the false and blinding ones.

And he succumbed to his dark thoughts.

He believed himself a failure and he believed that he deserved his
punishment, and the punishment came. At the end, what Archal could remember
when he finally left this place, this has been detailed already. It exists
in the archives, and on the parchment Archal had given to Crelius upon his
return. The parchment upon which he wrote his remembered failures.

But it was only the last that he had thought of, when he was mired in his
own devices. First, now, early on, the failures had been drilled into him.
Failures not own his own. Many would argue successes - Purism. Purism was
attached to the Kayen name and they came, they came from All the reaches of
hell, they came like fictional zombies seeking brains only these were real.

Former Knights, fallen Knights, none of them human, All of them angry,
seething with rage. Here is a Kayen, champions of Purism. Where were the
Kayens when the Skull Keep fell? Where, a place for those other Dark
Knights to crusade?

Archal felt their weight upon him drilling into him that He, Kayen, had
failed them, failed the legacy of All these fallen Knights of the Eclipse.
Left them with no legacy whatsoever.

Then came the craven, the thieves, the dishonored dead who blamed Archal,
who blamed Kayen for not leaving them with a beacon as Storm Keep beckons
those who would strive in honorable determination. Where could they serve
that required more from them? They were left with Bloodlust, with
Greystoke, left alone in the world to their own devices. They ran afoul of
themselves without a place of true structure and discipline and order. They
fell before they could stand because they had no place to give them a spine.

Archal saw the honorable dead and saw their legacy destroyed, he saw what
they saw, hour after hour after day after week they stood around him and
their reflections poured into him until Archal began to believe it, to feel
the blame, that Storm Keep was the heel of the boot on the neck of All those
evil who did not happen to be born Human but still would have, could have,
should have had their legacy honored.

Archal saw the disonorable dead and saw their potential destroyed, without a
place to find and hone their honor, without a place to instill and enforce
and encourage and grow their discipline. Those who served themselves more
than they served Necrucifer, those who failed Him or simply did not earn a
place of honor near him in their death because they had no place to turn, to
learn, to earn that honor themselves.

Archal, now, present day Archal awoke in the Chamber of Strategy.

He had remembered. Hell was furious at Storm Keep.




Writer: Archal

Date Mon May 2 20:11:39 2016




Writer: Ocelotia

Date Mon May 2 21:07:59 2016

To Arkane All Skylla Kalanie Trai'tyn Roi'ken Meki Flike Arthais ( Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject {oThe Boys



Loti, thats what her family called her and she did not think it a bad
nickname. It was the fact that she had people around her to nickname her in
the first place that found her so full of wonder. She sat, cross- legged on
a knitted blanket on the floor of the arenas locker room where All the
little boys and the bigger boy slept. They had not awake since the night
they were caught. She presumed this had been a number of hours, since she
had slept a long while herself, perhaps a day? Maybe? She was so puzzled
by their presence. They smelled wrong. Roiken had confirmed it for her.
Traityn did not want to be around them. There was something off. They had
tried to rouse the boys to bring them to the waking world. They did not
respond.

Loti grew restless pacing the room as the others had gone off to run their
own errands and leaving her to watch over the sleeping boys. Not that she
minded, the young felar cleric rather gave a wistful thought they were a
practice flock sent to her by the Great Mother. She took a position of
charge over the boys, even though there was an adult close to guard the
young Trojori princess. She wondered what they could be if they were not as
they were. Theyre appearance so real, tangible. She knew very little in
the grand scheme of things. A puff, like a dandelion seed blown and tossed
upon the wind, so tiny in the vast world, she was yet a wondering wandering
malleable being. It is something to be tested and molded with the Worlds
situations and her own decisions, for now she remained small and curious, a
tempest to be unleashed. Her ideas yet to foment maturation were coming
close.




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Tue May 3 20:12:41 2016

To Trylum Skylla Meki Ocelotia Kalanie Roi'ken Trojori All ( Cayenna Imm Rp )

Subject Spirit Walking


"What is the purpose of the Spirit Walk, cub?" Intoned the chief in his
deep growl of a voice peering across the small fire at Trai'tyn. "Finding
a.. Your true path.. And .. Uh.. A spirit guide."
Trai'tyn stammered
out, his nerves gumming up his tongue. "You will also meet your ancestors
and learn from them."
The chief counseled, earning a surprised look from
the young warrior. Trai'tyn had always avoided thinking on his origins and
what might have been, he was here now and the now suited him.

Drawing a hand from a small pouch and holding it poised over the fire, the
chief peered at him closely and asked "Do you wish to go on? You can still
back away now.."
Trai'tyn had no hesitation in confirming his intention to
go on, you always had to go on. Opening his hand to spill the herbs over
the fire, the chief grinned as the air began to fill with a noxious smoke
adding burning eyes to the oppressive heat. Trai'tyn coughed and felt
light-headed finally giving in to the urge to rest. The chief's voice
droned on with a chant which seemed to echo strangely in the small hut.
When instructions came later Trai'tyn could only make out a few of the words
but nodded and said {"yYep.. Piece a spirit temple.. Yep"
, to which the
chief merely grinned and ducked out leaving him alone.

The time spent looking into the fire settled into a sleep, only to awaken
suddenly to see a native woman holding a basket standing in his hut. He
jerked back at the sudden presence and her gaze upon him was like a wave of
pressure, every blink a jab in the chest. She gabbled at him in some
unknown tongue, each syllable a slap at his face and he felt his anger
rising dangerously and yelled out to ease the pressure "STOP TOUCHING ME!!
The boil of rage cried at him to shred his assailant in a rush of fury, but
he bit it back in a choke and rolled aside to dive out the door and suck
heavily on the cool air.

Standing looking up at the myriad stars he calmed himself, alarmed at the
blood craze which swelled so quickly. Pondering whether this was part of
his trial, he fought to recall the instructions Trylum had given in hopes of
salvaging the test. Something about a piece of the spirit temple and his
animal guide would take him or at least something like that. He hoped. As
for his animal guide, he still dreaded the lack of choice his chief and made
him aware of.. Perhaps if he was wrong. ***Your Chief speaks truth, and I
have no need to lie to you.. You are chosen. *** came the words in his
head and he turned to regard the dread beast which appeared to laugh amid
it's low rising squeal and smacking jaws.




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Tue May 3 22:33:30 2016

To Trylum Skylla Meki Ocelotia Kalanie Roi'ken Trojori All ( Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject Spirit Walkiing, part two


A resentful stare was All Trai'tyn could muster as he once more looked
upon the boar which had once terrified him and now claimed him. He could
feel no part of him where the beast's rage would be welcome, and dreaded
feeling akin to it. ***In time, Rage Bearer. Until then, we go on. ***
came the words once more to which Trai'tyn crossed his arms over his chest
in a defiant pose. "And where is it we're going? You're the guide, so
guide.. Or whatever you do."
, He spat out irritably. ***You must decide
where you would go, I will get you there*** came the reply along with a
smacking of jaws. Trai'tyn turned his back and stood staring out as he
thought silently.

"Ancestors.. Trylum said ancestors.. I want to see my origin" Trai'tyn
said without turning. Several snorts and the thump of hooves on earth were
his only reply, and he was about to turn when he noticed the flicker of
shadows before him and the sense of heat upon his back. Whipping around in
a crouch he regarded the burning hut, one among many now as the sounds of
shouting. Snarling, and roars filled his ears. A tall furless came around
the side of a hut bearing an ax and passed within a few yards before turning
to burst into one of the flaming huts. The wildcat snarl which changed to a
shriek suddenly raised the hair upon Trai'tyn's back and set him in motion
as a second furless appeared, and called out "Hey You! Hold on!" Trai'tyn
timed his leap, and unleashed a foreclaw to open the furless' throat, and
passed through to stumble into the dirt as his foe also entered the burning
hut. Rising quickly he pursued to peer inside and saw the first man sling a
limp bloody felar over his shoulder to drip down his coat. The second man
fought with something small and wild, hissing and growling pitifully calling
out "Lookee here! Wee bugger still fightin!" And cackled as the flames
caught the cubs tail. "Brain it.. You might get a glove outta the pelt"
The first called stroking his own trophy. "Nah.. I'll see what I can get
for it" the second man replied as he licked his thumb and finger and finally
extinguished the burning tail near it's root, finishing "Best to be getting
rid of the burned bits.. So don't look like damaged goods"

Trai'tyn swiped in futility as the two men passed through once more and
jogged back through the trees and towards the shore. He chased them till he
topped a rise and looked out over the beach and the ship waiting at anchor.
He stood and gulped air staring at the colors flying from the captain's
staff, and remembered their prominent display about the house in Haven.
***You see now. Rage has a place. Rage could have stopped this. *** came
the familiar tones as he sensed the beast approaching.

Trai'tyn turned to the boar and said "So now what? Where does rage need to
go?"
With a frustrated tone as he tried to think on it all. ***Only you
will know, Rage Bearer. This is just the beginning. We will find much
together. We will keep going on. *** came the reply. "How?!? How do we
keep going on, Guide?"
Growled Trai'tyn irritably. ***How do we keep
going on? You just open your eyes, Rage Bearer*** and the squealing,
smacking noises which passed as a laugh still echoed in his ears as he awoke
face down in the hut.




Writer: Rhyane

Date Tue May 3 23:40:26 2016




Writer: Erebaal

Date Wed May 4 03:30:53 2016

To All Chaos Malachive ( Scorn Storyline Converts )

Subject The Beast Slumbers I


The rolling seas kicked up a vicious spray, arcing up and over the rail
of the lorcha, kicking up a salty mist that went ignored by the deckhands
who tended the vessel. Aside from the creak of the ship in motion and the
growing restlessness of the sea, the crew worked in stoic silence, laboring
under the attentive eye of their captain, who manned the helm with a
practiced hand. Despite the growing turbulence in the waters, the vessel
maintained its course, guiding its two escorts unerringly westward. The
grizzled seamaster glanced over his shoulder to the man at his flank, who
carried a copper spyglass and used it constantly, sighting straight ahead
with an unwavering stare. Not even the tossing and bucking of the ship
seemed to unsettle the man, his movements as fluid as the churning ocean
that sought to unseat him, and the spyglass' focus remained level, ever
pointed toward the small fleet's destination. 'Are you sure of this, my
lord? To sail directly into the dragon's maw..
'

'The dragon is yet dormant, Captain. A slumbering beast that will perish if
we cut off its head before it can reach full wakefulness. We must move
quickly, and we must strike surely if we are to be victorious. Put faith in
me, Captain, and our master will be well pleased with what we have done.
'
The man's voice was smooth and even, the cadence pitched with careful poise,
and the Captain found himself relaxing at the reassurance. Ever since the
departure from Dojia, it seemed the world itself was set on denying their
course to the west. A storm off of the southern coast of Arkania had put
one of their lorchas on the ocean bottom, with than half of the men aboard
lost, as well as the supplies and weaponry to be brought to bear in their
mission. More telling, however, was the blow to morale. To lose almost a
quarter of their disposition before even setting foot upon land.. The host
against which they fought had been whispered of for some time. Of an
implacable foe, led by champions with even fewer scruples than the infamous
Horde of Arkania, with vicious cunning and no capacity for mercy whatsoever.
The blight that had been unleashed by their Lord had ravaged the world over
before its mysterious disappearance, and those scarred by the Deathsong
still complained of its memory in the cold hours of morning. Then had come
the whispers of an army being raised. Of cultists and madmen trickling
southward, heeding a call to arms that susurrated through the dismal
underbellies of the world's myriad societies. No matter where in the world
one was, there was a sordid, neglected quarter that seemed willing to listen
to the rallying cry, and so the filth of the world had begun to turn out,
turning their backs on a world that had rejected them with a hateful
vengeance.

When those whispers had reached the Imperial Court of Dojia, a swift ban on
travel followed. Any who sought to leave by sea- truly the only way off of
the continent- had to carry a writ of travel authorized by the port
authorities. The Court had deliberated long and hard, and the collective
pride of the assembled lords failed to provide a unified answer, for each
wished to please their Emperor with the most cunning and decisive solution.
It was only after the Court was adjourned that the Captain's master had sent
for his General, the man to his flank, and gave unto him his secretive
orders. A covert invasion, unsanctioned by the Emperor and the Court. No
warships could be brought to bear, and so the civilian cargo vessels of the
port were commandeered from those who had not the means or the reputation to
secure their writs of passage. Four lorchas bearing eighty men apiece, each
outfitted with siege weapons and supplies, each helmed by men as stout as
the Captain, by men hand-selected by the General. It was a risky
undertaking, but the faith of their master and the skill of the General were
a potent elixir for the men.





Writer: Erebaal

Date Wed May 4 03:41:43 2016

To All Chaos Malachive ( Scorn Storyline Converts )

Subject The Beast Slumbers II


As for the General... The Captain spared another glance to his lord.
His reputation preceeded him. A willowy man in his thirties, possessing of
a hawkish visage and a high forehead, playing host to a sharp widow's peak.
His grooming was immaculate, from his tidily-kept goatee to his raven hair,
tied back in a ponytail. He was the veteran of a hundred minor skirmishes
along the Dojian borders, keeping the beasts, the demons, and the thieves at
bay. It was said that he had never been bested in single combat, and that
his measure of a man could be taken in the time it took to lock eyes.

As though sensing the gaze, even with his focus guided through the narrow
lens of his spyglass, the General spoke again, 'Be at peace, Captain. The
worst is behind us, even with the storm ahead of us. The dregs of the world
may have heeded the monster's call, but they are no army. Not yet. Three
hundred men shall serve as enough to cut their heart out before they can
become more than a rebellious mob. For that, we need only slay one man.
'


The Captain pursed his narrow lips, wresting the helmsman's wheel as another
wave crested. In the distance, the speck of Tropica was becoming larger by
the moment, 'One man guarded by his Champions, my lord. By his host, no
matter how untrained. They say it is a thousand men strong, now. Through
numbers alone they may drown us...
' His concerns were cut off by a sharp
sound from the General, an interjection as his hawkish face furrowed in
annoyance.

'His pride will be the end of him. This I promise you. I have heard much
the same stories as you have, of this man who would lock blades with the
Gods and their heralds, with champions and children and All manner in
between. He has survived more than any one man has a right to, and he
thinks himself invincible for it. No, we shall carve up their flanks, and
when the beast presents himself, we shall take him, for he cannot help but
come to the fore to answer our challenge. He has his pride and his might,
yes, but there are limits still to such things. He possesses low cunning
and he possesses a maddened charm, but when he falls, so too does this paper
fortress he has built around himself and his pride. I shall be the one to
take his head, Captain. This I have promised to the Gods and our master,
and so I promise to you as well. I, Taranaki Kurokawa, shall kill the
Everchosen and end his foolish crusade.
'

The Captain nodded slowly, the words again striking a chord within him that
set his nerves at ease. It was a strange gift of the General, to strike
decisively at the heart of matters. In combat, in politics, in leadership.
He never seemed to misstep, always reading those around him and soothing or
slaying them with a well-honed strike. Tropica grew larger in the distance,
but the sense of dread lessened. No matter what came in the coming weeks of
campaigning, the Captain had faith in General Kurokawa. There was room for
only one invincible warlord in the world, and the time had come to put the
Everchosen's claim to the test.




Writer: Ocelotia

Date Wed May 4 13:13:21 2016

To Skylla Trylum Meki Kalanie Trai'tyn Roi'ken Trojori All ( Cayenna RP )

Subject Spiritwalk


The time had finally arrived and Ocelotia was a ball of energy and
nerves, tightly wound from All the experiences of the past few weeks. She
settled on to the furs with her mother as Skylla built up a fire so intense
it almost reached the top of the den. The cave was filled with that
pleasant aroma of wood smoke and then as her Mother tossed herbs on to the
fire after questioning her daughter. She grew almost sleepy, transported by
chant and essence of magic to an unfamiliar wood.

She lifted to her feet and looked around, tufted ears perking for any sound.
There was a rustling from the bush, a snuffling. She turned her attention
to it and saw a snout sticking out. She parted the bush to find out what
was there and a fox, bright eyed, bush tailed, dark red fur looked up at
her.

Oh, say there, hullo. The fox spoke. Ocelotia gave a little gasp and
blinked at the talking animal. Found me then, eh? Or, perhaps, I found
you, huh?


The fox stood up on hind legs, which Loti thought was quite the skill, and
offered her a paw. Shall we go to the party?

Oh yes! I like parties, Mister Fox! She answered, taking the foxs paw and
walking with him through a blur like smudged paint, the forest blended
colors together as they seemed to move faster than she could imagine. They
arrived at a table, filled with animals of All shapes and sizes, they were
laughing and drinking and a large cake was centered in the middle, three
tiers with glossy pink and white frosting dripping down from carefully
wrought flowers in fondant. She looked at the fox hesitantly as they fund
seats.

Friends! Friends! Let me introduce you to the guest of honor, Miss Ossie
from the Other side! Let us welcome her to the party!


All the animals sent up a cheering as Ocelotia, blushed, still rather
confused by the whole ordeal, talking animals! A boar was thumping the
tabletop with a hoof, drink running from its snout, a rabbit and wolf were
talking in low terms to each other, a falcon picked at the runner with its
claw, looking bored suddenly and there were so many others she could scarce
count them all. A butterfly flitted and lit upon her head for a moment
before winging off. The young felar turned to the fox, who was watching her
with amused foxy expression.

What am I to do here? She wondered, looking over the tea cup in front of
her, the small china plate with blue design, the gleaming gold fork. The
fox took a moment.

What do you think you are doing here? He asked. Ocelotia thought for a
moment before answering.

Taking my Spiritwalk? She asked. The fox chortled.

Of course you are, there is no such thing as a talking fox. What else
though?


Loti took a long moment this time, looking over the party animals, To seek
my ancestors.


Hmm, the fox said and nothing more.

She looked over the table again and suddenly it was filled with felar and
wemics, All the animals changed to leonine. They All turned and looked at
her. She felt very small suddenly and very insignificant.

All our spirits join with our animals. She said finally. The fox nodded.
We are All one and the same as we grow and learn.

You are on your way, Miss Ossie. You have the heart of compassion. But a
quick mind, I doubt Ill be your only guide. But for now, well work well
together. For you must be a fast thinker when you are a priestess, the
goddess will not always give you direct answers
. The fox stroked its long
whiskers. Suddenly she felt a little ill. The fox stood up once more,
offering her a hand.

Too long in the Spirit realm and the body begins to grow tired. We will
talk again soon, dovey. Go back.


The felar raised her head. She was inside the den, yet on the pile of
skins. She blinked, her head a little groggy and stepped outside to the
wood, inhaling the clean fresh air. She had come back! She had succeeded
and the fox would help her move forward. She felt a refreshed and full of
promise, just like her Mama said.




Writer: Roi'ken

Date Wed May 4 13:47:04 2016




Writer: Malthiel

Date Wed May 4 17:17:54 2016




Writer: Archal

Date Thu May 5 03:00:15 2016




Writer: Kabal

Date Thu May 5 12:14:22 2016




Writer: Kabal

Date Thu May 5 12:23:16 2016




Writer: Azheri

Date Fri May 6 10:37:39 2016

To All roleplay RP imms

Subject The book inside Azheri's bag



While his servants were cleaning Azula's room, they found a dusty book
covered in beautiful dragon scales. The book closed by two pieces of animal
hide twisted and tied together. They bring the book to the doors of the
Dungeon, leaving it marked for Azheri, and Azheri only. The Horde left the
book there, untouched, as there were little who were literate.

Azheri returns to the Dungeon after the ACFL game after beating the
Cardsharks, and notices what once belonged to him. He opens his book, and
reads through page by page, word for word. Azheri whispers to himself,
"Memories of Azula.. "

It was not a book. In fact, it was not even a diary of Azula. It was his
log when he was a Knight, as every single person in the Gareth kept one.




Writer: Ocelotia

Date Fri May 6 20:30:23 2016




Writer: Mysner

Date Sat May 7 16:27:04 2016

To Hania Trojori ( Imm rp All )

Subject Stupid Letters



Mysner sat staring at yet another dumb letter. This one was B. B,
straight line and two circles, why was he so stupid he couldn't write it.
He was fine if his mama was there or Loti to help him, but as soon as they
left him alone to work by himself the B just wouldn't cooperate. It kept
trying to go backwards, or upside down. His numbers were the same. 3s
became Es, 9 became 6, 8 became B.

Loti showed him again, and again, and again, and thought he had it then went
off to work on something else leaving Mysner by himself to write his
letters. Finally, with tears streaming down his face, he stabs his quill
through the parchment and shreds it with his claws yelling 'I HATE STUPID
LETTERS!
' storming off with his leg bone to bash something.




Writer: Traice

Date Sun May 8 01:47:43 2016

To Shadow Verminasia All ( Necrucifer Roleplay Ampersand Imm )

Subject |Skull Keep: Distraction|


Rain poured down from the skies, splattering its mist and cast-off across
the faces of the two Knights. They walked calmly down the dirt pathway off
from the main road in Verminasia. The taller of the two men pulled his hood
up over his face, covering it in shadow, while the other followed without
word. The pathway itself that they walked was covered in a thick muck,
quickly turning into an almost flowing sludge of dirt and rainwater. Each
step they took echoed with suction until they arrived at their destination.

The hooded Knight stepped forward, one eye missing, with burns covering most
of his face. His gauntleted hand pushed the poorly maintained door open. A
flood of light cast from the building poured into the alleyway seconds
before the sounds of laughter and music followed. As the wind began to howl
and swirl the rain around the two men, they stepped forwards into the pub.

Heads turned towards the doors as the the two men stepped through the
threshold. All conversations ceased momentarily until the bard's next tune
began to take form. The drunken patrons easily forgetting the most recent
event to focus back upon their ale and music.

The tall, hooded Knight made his way across the floor, muddy footprints
following him to the bar. One hand reaching inside of his cloak, he pulled
out a small ring attached to a leather thong. While removing his gauntlet,
he slipped the ring over his middle ringer, setting his hand flat on the
counter, his single grey eye looking towards the barkeep, giving a single
nod.

Returning the nod, the Barkeep beckoned the two around the bar, and led them
into the back, before stepping out of the room.

'Pull out the maps, Archal. ' the tall Knight spoke in a raspy voice.

The other Knight, slipped his pack off his shoulders, pulling out a set of
lambskin parchment, smoothing it up against the wall. Archal held the map
open on the corners as the hooded Knight walked over, pointing to a single
corridor on the map.

'Once we enter this entrance, there will be no turning back. The path is a
dead end, leading to the keeps entrance. This passage we take there will
close behind us. Are you ready, Field Marshal? " rasped the larger.

'Open the passage, Traice. ' Archal spoke confidently.

Traice walked to the passage, inserting the ring on his finger into a small
cleft in the wall and twisted - the wall seemingly dissolved, brick by brick
magically in front of them. The pair of Knights stepped forwards into the
tunnel.




Writer: Ashtiel

Date Sun May 8 11:26:53 2016




Writer: Traice

Date Sun May 8 12:45:16 2016

To Shadow Verminasia All ( Necrucifer Ampersand Roleplay Imm )

Subject |Skull Keep: Distraction 2|


As the two Knights stepped forwards from the passageway into the sewers.
The stale scent of tepid water mixed with bodily waste bombarded the two as
sure as any catapult. Traice pulled his hood back, his grey eye scanning
the corridor before nodding over to Archal.

'This corridor must be held. We need that intersection. '

'Indeed, we can let none behind us. '

As the two Knights spoke, a half-elven woman stepped forwards, appearing out
of the Shadows like a ghost through a wall. She gave a curt nod of the head
towards Traice and spoke with a soft voice, the edges of each word dripping
in venom.

'The corridor will be held. Your retreat guaranteed. '

Traice nodded once to the woman, rasping his words out at her.

'Very good, Valanthiriel. Darkness empower you. '

The woman gave one final nod of her head before disappearing back into the
shadows where she came. Traice nodded once to Archal and together they
strode to the end of the corridor. Placing the ring within the crevice, he
turned it once more. The stones falling out of the way, opening a passage
into Skull Keep.




Writer: Archal

Date Sun May 8 13:41:20 2016




Writer: Vulgrim

Date Sun May 8 15:21:21 2016

To All Necrucifer Religion IMM Roleplay

Subject A Darkening Decision


Vulgrim feel asleep the night before feeling apprehensive about something
he was unsure of. The thought tearing through him as he slept brought him
agony and his normal nightmares. For a nice preemptive measure he had
decided to sleep upon his cottages couch, and he was glad he did so as a
small scream escaped his lips as he awoke. Quickly letting his eyes glance
around he threw his coat off of him that was keeping himself warm beside the
cozy fireplace and walked upstairs. He stuck his ear to the door, listening
for any sounds that might have come from within. As silent as he could,
mustering his old shade training, he cracked open to the door to peer upon
the one he had felt so much love for; his beloved wife, Laleina.

Noticing that All was well and his night terrors seemed to not awaken his
family, he closed the door and made a soft sigh. "Seems like it will be one
of those days. " he spoke to himself with a small smirk as he walked back
down the steps to the couch and flopping upon it with a groan. "I swear I
am growing much to old to be fighting these same battles. " His chromatic
eyes shifting colour in the light of the fire as he reaches over to the side
table and picks up the book that he always has carried with him; The Book of
Evil, a book written solely upon the Dark Master Necrucifer.

He thumbed through the page quickly as if searching for something specific,
even though he had read through the book front to back more times than he
could count. He finally opened the pages to the Master's Will and Way.
"Live only to Serve Him in All ways. Seek Always to build Unity in His
Darkness. By His Will shalt thou seek to fulfil His Prophesized Return. "
He recites to himself quietly, pondering a choice.

"Master" he starts his prayer, "I have done All I can for you, and I bring
forth your name every step and breath I breathe. However some have fallen
from you and it sickens me. Speak to me, give me a sign, anything like you
have before to me. Bring me a vision, or dream, anything to tell me. Do I
hang up my rapier, and take up your cloth, to bring forth your name as I
always have, but finally as a true member of your Chosen? " he finishes
with a deep sigh and closes the book, his eyes drifting to the fire. "If
only that grasp was around my neck now... " he speaks in rememberence of
what had happened before, his hand unknowing rubbing at his neck. "I
suppose I best return to bed" he nods with a glance out a window, still
showing the moon high in the sky. A small smile as he stands, placing the
book upon the table, and walking off to sleep with his beloved family.




Writer: Laleina

Date Sun May 8 15:50:23 2016

To All Vulgrim Roleplay Storyline Immortal

Subject Sneaking in the Dark



Laleina awoke in the middle of the night alone yet again. She sighed
softly as she realized Vulgrim was asleep yet again on the couch downstairs
by the fire, even after their talk a few nights before. She rubbed her
belly gently as she felt a soft movement and smiled warmly as she sat up and
put on her slippers and robe. The rain made the house feel a bit damp but
she decided to forego the slippers so Vulgrim would not hear her walk down
the stairs.

She tip toed down the steps and could see him sleeping on the couch
peacefully. She stood there watching him for a spell before finally walking
softly into the kitchen to grab two cups of warm tea. She set the tea on
the table as she turned to put everything away when she heard a scream. She
sighed softly, "Another nightmare. " She grabbed both cups of tea as she
walked into the living room. She saw Vulgrim sitting up with his head in
his hands startled by her entry into the room.

She walked over to the couch and sat next to him, placing the cup of tea
carefully in his hands. She smiled softly at him, "Drink my love, it will
calm you. I was going to wake you but you beat me to it in not such a
loving manner." He looked at her with love and concern in his eyes, "I
hope I did not wake you, my love.
" She smiled lovingly at him, "Not at all
dear. Our little one is a bit restless so I came down to make some tea.
"

He finished his tea and waited for her to finish hers, then took both cups
and placed them on the coffee table. He leaned back on the couch and gently
pulled her towards him, kissing her on the forehead, and wraps his arms
around her. "Remember our talk, my love. " He looked down at her and
smiled, "How could I ever forget, my dearest"





Writer: Meki

Date Sun May 8 18:48:24 2016




Writer: Thaydius

Date Sun May 8 22:48:37 2016

To All ( Religion Siccara Imm )

Subject Apotheosis I



Countless stars sat in a celestial still whilst the spinning surface of
Algoron loomed in the distance, layered in a swirl of clouds that
asynchronously crawled against the planet's rotation. A chunk of rock,
maybe a few hundred meters in diameter, housed two men locked in a
spectacular battle. Thaydius was reeling from the Ancient of Fire's
attacks, conditioned to battle on the defensive.

It was clearly a mismatch, though it was also ostensibly another training
session. They had done hundreds of lessons over the many years the Frost
Giant had sought the tutelage of his elders. This particular spar had gone
on for hours, long past the point of barriers, though there wasn't any
likelihood that such a weakness would be used to bring the detrimental
effects so many mortals desired. For All of his speed and strength, the
Ancient was just faster and stronger. To a casual observer, the fragments
of time between their strikes, blocks and collisions would seem as instants.


There was no fatigue for their kind, so it simply went on and on.
Sporadically, the Fire Giant would connect a blow to Thaydius and plant him
onto the floor or across the circle-shaped arena drifting in space. Once,
after a particularly powerful palm, the Frost Giant careened off of the
platform out into frictionless drift, slipping into the vast void lacking in
gravitational pull. The Ancient would gesture effortlessly and draw him
back onto the platform.

After All of this time, you're still hiding that power inside of you. Do
you know what you are capable of?


The dismal burns and bleeding wounds continued to shrink themselves out of
existence, but his raiments grew increasingly charred and stained by the
continuous assault.

I know what I am not capable of.

With a click of his tongue, the Fire Giant held out both palms and produced
a heavy beam of pure fire, directing the column in Thaydius's direction. On
reflex, Thaydius mimiced this magical power to answer with his own beam of
concentrated frost and ice. But the Ancient was barely tapping into his
power, able to slowly overwhelm Thaydius as the beam crept closer and
closer.

This world is going to need you to understand who and what you are. We
can't keep waiting forever. You need to stop wasting your time trying to
save these people until you're ready to save them.


Thaydius didn't have to answer. The Fire Giant knew exactly what Thaydius
was thinking, and it didn't please the Ancient. He began to feel the heat
of the encroaching beam upon the surface of his glowing hands, as eventually
the inferno began pressing against him in its entirety. Power was something
Thaydius valued much behind his own control. This was a test of pure might,
his ability to reach into the divine energy that was a part of him. But he
couldn't reach into himself fast enough, controlled enough to satisfy the
Ancient's test. Every moment of his refusal to prioritze control made the
burning worse.




Writer: Thaydius

Date Sun May 8 22:49:00 2016

To All ( Religion Siccara Imm )

Subject Apotheosis II



Back on Algoron, Thaydius went far away from every living soul and tried
to meditate as to communicate with the White Moon and reflect on what had
transpired. He had met so many different individuals that guided him on the
role of power among those of pure heart, but he found himself narrowing
those who taught him to the firstborn. This was when he remembered the one
that taught him the most about power and how it could do good, but ... He
lamented that somehow he had outlived one of the Metallic Dragons.

It was so bizarre that a Giant would live to see the end of something or
someone so significant. Then he remembered the last time that he saw her,
in the pastures of the nomads far north of Althainia, with the rain beating
down on both of them. She was protecting a young woman, and mistook him for
an intruder. She turned and summoned forth some of the signature lava of
the Steel Wing. In retrospect, he was being burned by those who understood
power greater than he did for a long time.

Suddenly, he didn't feel comfortable with them parting on this encounter.
There was no opportunity to tell her how much she had meant to him. To say
goodbye to her. He took a hold of the rifts and whisked himself far away,
for there was somewhere that he desired to be.

The massive rock formations might have been a deterrent to wandering
mortals, but he traversed them with relative ease. Such a trek wasn't any
particular barrier to him, though a literal barrier would present itself
when he ventured close. He recalled the first time he came upon such an
obstacle, when Vasitatsu tried to shelter him when he was young. So he
reached out and put his palms upon the edges of this mysterious energy,
feeling forlorn of the persistent locks and restraints about him, his
adventures and his mind.

No, he had to do this. He had to see her one last time. He pressed against
the unseen force, trying to curl his fingers and grip it. Ice began to
harden in his presence as his heart burned with desire to see if he could
affect the world, in one small way. The glowing flesh covering his body
swelled with muscular definition, and he strained. And then, with sheer
disbelief, he found himself able to pass.




Writer: Thaydius

Date Sun May 8 22:49:20 2016

To All ( Religion Siccara Imm )

Subject Apotheosis III



His heart was racing. There was no possibility that what he was doing
would go unseen by the White Moon. There wasn't a moment that they weren't
aware of his thoughts, his actions. For so long it had kept him from even
thinking of doing something like this. These were the rules. What would
even compel him to break them? What was he hoping to find here, in
Immersa's home?

As he approached the heart of the mountain, he saw the wide gap between the
inner faces of rock and the island surrounded by lava, covered in an endless
stash of gold and treasure. And then his breath stopped as he saw the slack
form of the first Steel herself, draped over the center of the island, as if
she hadn't moved in ages. He took slow steps, subverting the lava pit by
constructing a bridge of idle chunks of ice that gathered beneath as he
walked, letting him move forth.

When his feet touched the hardened rock surface once more, his movements
became even gentler. At this point, it was as if he was sneaking. There
was nothing but silence in the whole of the mountain. And the light had
faded from outside sources, but the lava gave off enough glow that he could
see the details of the overlapping sword-shaped scales. He got close enough
to reach out and touch the firstborn, and so he did. First, he put his
glowing palm upon the massive maw of the female. His heart broke.
Immediately. Into thousands of shards, ripped apart by the sheer sadness of
a great force of goodness lost from this world.

With a quiet thud, he slumped down onto his knees and put both hands onto
Immersa's face, tracing the gargantuan details as he swallowed past a hard
lump in his throat whilst tears streamed down his face. Why? Why did she
have to die while he still lived? Why would she not see Nadrik returned to
this world? He leaned forward and pressed himself against her, and he wept.
He couldn't just leave her here. Not like this. She was a hero and a
legend. There had to be something that he could do for her. It was
important.




Writer: Thaydius

Date Sun May 8 22:49:40 2016

To All ( Religion Siccara Imm )

Subject Apotheosis IV



The jingle of chainmail being sorted kept spilling into the air while he
removed his armor, piece by piece, leaving it All on the center island.
Down to his simple, clothen attire he closed his eyes and thought hard about
what he was planning to do. With repeated whispers, he spoke silent words
to his Mother, drawing the latent energy of the White Moon into himself from
far away. Devoted to what he now thought was a reason to use his power, it
filled him like it never had before.

Coins were budged gently on the massive pile of treasure, shifting and
sliding down along the sloped surface. He had hoped that he would not
disturb the Steel's possessions, but he was not entirely aware of what was
happening. Over a series of seconds, he grew to a size that made the island
almost difficult for him to fit both feet upon. He looked down, amazed at
what had been capable through his heart and through the White Moon working
with him.

Carefully, he used his glowing hands to draw up Immersa's slacked form like
that of a sleeping cat, draping her majestic head over his shoulder while
the wings hung down slack with the long tail. Again, he felt a sincere and
powerful pain over the closeness, stroking his warm palm from the base of
Immersa's skull along the back, letting his fingers appreciate the ridge of
every new layer of scales.

I'm taking you home.

He whispered the quiet words to his friend and his mentor. With that, he
left the treasure and the lava beneath, darting up slowly at first but
picking up speed as the world's features grew smaller and less distinct over
time.




Writer: Thaydius

Date Sun May 8 22:50:06 2016

To All ( Religion Siccara Imm )

Subject Apotheosis V



They made their way up into the sky and eventually poked their way
through the clouds. As the air began to grow thin, Thaydius took one last
solemn breath before he relieved himself of the need to breathe through
magical force. He was unaffected by the deep chill of an increasingly thin
atmosphere, just as immune to the unbearable cold of the space that
followed.

Ahead of him, still immeasurably far away, was the White Moon. His endless
eyes were fixed on it, and the world grew smaller and smaller as he moved
out toward it. His heart was strong with this newfound determination, as he
careened through the endless void between one world and the next. Ice began
to coat him, though he continued unrelentingly, his eyes ever shining
through the obstructing frost. Behind, the world of Algoron was small
enough to be seen in its entirety without moving one's head. Still, the
moon seemed impossibly far away, but he thought it might be just as far to
get there as it would to go back to the rocky retreat.

Parts of him, the ones that were less than divine, began to dim. They were
failing while being smothered by the nothingness of the black ocean all
around him. He didn't care. With a push, and through careful calculations,
he gave himself enough speed to ensure that he would travel toward the White
Moon, whether he would see it or not. There were details on the surface,
barely noticeable. Someone had once described the place to him as a
paradise.

As soon as he began to see it, the whole world was drenched in a blur that
marked the end of his ability to endure the harshness of the void.




Writer: Thaydius

Date Sun May 8 22:50:30 2016

To All ( Religion Siccara Imm )

Subject Apotheosis VI



From the surface of the White Moon, a white trail of light came falling
out of the sky. As the powerful beacon drew closer and closer to the
ground, six distinct figures became apparent alongside the frost giant and
the steel dragon. They brought the two adventurers to a gentle stop to
touch down on the surface of the moon. Then, without much fanfare, they
folded their several pairs of wings against their backs and looked back and
forth to one another.

These angels were dressed in simple robes, three men and three women. They
did not have to share words with one another, though their expressions
seemed to convey whatever they were communicating. With a nod, three of
them untangled the Steel Dragon and then adorned her in a holy blanket while
strong unicorns materialized out of thin air, with coats of perfect white,
transporting Immersa away from Thaydius, who was splayed out, still unable
to wake.

One of the remaining three touched Thaydius's toe and shrank him back down
to his usual height. With that restored, they too wrapped him in a holy
blanket and began to make their way with him toward a white citadel nearby.
From within the sanctum of such a place, they reached out and touched
Thaydius's shoulder, bringing his eyes open for the first time upon the
surface of the White Moon. He was overwhelmed by the energy All around him,
causing his hands and his eyes to glow rather radiantly, making him weakly
reach up to cover his face.

Part of you is not meant to be here. We are sorry, but you will need to
endure something we thought you would only need to do once.


Just like that, he felt the process of ascension All over again. That
night, outside of New Thalos, where he stopped being a boy and became a
demigod. It was as if everything passed through him, and he watched the
universe made and unmade, waking up, again, to something new and impossible
to understand.

Suddenly, he was in a field of grass. In the distance, there was a young
woman. As soon as he saw her, his heart began to race. He took a single
step forward, and then he looked down in confusion. He had the body of a
child. He thought, in his ascension, that the child had been destroyed so
that his divinity could be housed in something stronger. In reality, it was
the 'Giant' body that was the weak component in him, the boy son of Siccara
wielding power greater than the words he learned on Algoron could express.


But there she was, right in front of him. It was Siccara. It was his
mother. He had ... Wanted nothing other than to see her since the last
time he had. He was an infant then. And this was All he wanted.
Overwhelmed, he started to walk toward her. It was quickly replaced by his
running.




Writer: Thaydius

Date Sun May 8 22:50:52 2016

To All ( Religion Siccara Imm )

Subject Apotheosis VII



In a dead sprint, he traversed a great distance but the field of grass
didn't seem to end. And she was still far away, her back to him. But he
knew it was her. She was so close. Why? What was standing between them?
Why couldn't he be with her once more?

As he struggled to understand, he took in a deep inhale. All at once the
image passed into memory, revealing the rocky arena floating gently above
the surface of Algoron. His body was covered in burns and blood, but he was
encased in a deep ice, drifting away from where the battle had transpired.


The severity of his injuries came rushing to the front, making him grimace
against his cold cocoon. He hadn't dreamed since before he ascended. He
hadn't even slept, save for the short bursts forced upon him by mages and
other nefarious sorts. After letting his body clear away some of the pain,
he changed his newfound home to something more of a disc to sit upon as its
long, elliptic path started to careen closer to Algoron.

What could he learn from this dream? What could he learn from the trials of
the Fire Giant? It was unclear. But to be close to his Mother, to his
home, was touching ... Even if it had only happened in his imagination.
How strongly he missed her. They had not spoken in a long time. He had not
pined for his family like this in some time, drawn to minor tasks and
distractions.

With a sigh, he stood and studied the surface beneath, watching it in
motion. After another moment, he stepped off of the disc and adjusted his
position so that he would fall toward a specific destination. No matter how
comfortable he was or wasn't being what he was, no matter how much he wished
to bridge the gap between him and his family, his work was not yet done.




Writer: Zorreau

Date Mon May 9 05:46:08 2016




Writer: Cailene

Date Tue May 10 09:50:23 2016

To All Brajda Roleplay Storynote Immortal Tashio

Subject Seeking the Truth



Cailene and her group of felars traveled through the cold mountains of
Icewall in search of Brajda with no sign of him. She passed a few leonine
prides but none had any leads to her missing mate. She continued up the
mountains until they could travel no more. They found a den, built a fire,
and sat around it telling stories of their younger days as Cailene sat there
staring at the flames thinking about their plans for a future pride that
never came to be.

She finally joined in with the others telling them how she was her papa's
favorite and spoiled rotten. How much she still loved him and even admitted
that she still needed him. Meki and her may not see eye to eye but she
loved him more than words could ever express. Things seemed to quiet down
as slowly everyone fell asleep except Cailene. Shelooked up at the night
sky and watched the stars, "Wherever you are, I pray you are safe. " She
closed her eyes and slept.

They awoke in the morning to finish their hunt and moved on to the next
area. They jumped on the ship to the savannah. When they reached port,
they ran down the gang plank as quick as they could and headed straight
towards their destination. They searched far and wide without a trace of
Brajda anywhere and after a while decided to rest by the waterhole. It was
warmer than what she remembered then the days she spent there with him
before he disappeared.

They returned to the search once more until the sun was starting to set, she
turned to the others and thanked them for their assistance as she nuzzled
each one in departure. As one by one they left, she sat and watched as the
sun set before finally returning to her home back in Althainia with no
answers and no hope.





Writer: Ayrora

Date Tue May 10 13:35:53 2016

To All Ashbie Roleplay Storyline Immortal

Subject Returning to Familiar Surroundings



Braedan was back in his comfortable stall with his rack full of hay, a
bucket of fresh oats, a warm blanket, and his favorite treat a sweet bran
mash. He loved when Rora spoiled him and she enjoyed doing it too. He was
special to her and they had been through many adventures together and she
was sure many many more. She had given him a good brushing when they
returned to Sacnoth from the Capitol and now it was time for her to spoil
herself.

She left a dim light on, as she always did, and walked towards the Manor
with a smile. Their ride had been quite long and she rather enjoyed it.
They went past the marshlands and saw a few alligators, then rode through
the apple orchards and picked a few for Braedan, but her favorite of All was
going the the abandoned chocolate factory.

She dismounted Braedan and tied him off before entering the abandoned
building and could still imagine the workers in it. The chocolate being
made and packaged, in her mind she could actually smell the scent of
chocolate in the air. A loud neigh broke into her thoughts and she knew she
was being followed. She laughed softly as she thought of her mother and how
she would never give in to her not having some type of guard, as long as
they weren't the tin cans, as she called the armored guards. She just
shrugged her shoulders and headed back out to Braedan. They had then headed
home.

Rora made it up to her room and undressed and got into a hot tub, her
muscles starting to relax as the many thoughts raced through her head. She
would be restructuring the Intelligentsia. With the wedding temporarily on
hold she would focus on other important things but now it was time to relax.
She sunk deeper into the tub and lay her head back enjoying the warmth of
the water as she daydreamed about her wonderful ride.





Writer: Ashbie

Date Tue May 10 14:45:43 2016

To All Verminasia Ayrora Aybel Aldrin Alysa immortal roleplay

Subject No Place Like Home



Ashbie filed her nails as she stretched out on the balcony at her manor
house in Sacnoth. She'd only just returned from her interview with Ashtai,
one of the more exciting ACFL draft picks of the season. It had been an
interesting interview, though she had gotten the distinct impression that
he was annoyed, rather than flattered, by the interview.

Nevertheless, she now had an issue of the ACFL News to publish.
Thankfully, she had transplanted headquarters to the capitol of
Sacnoth: Rashburne, so she could simply walk a couple blocks down
the street to check in on the printers and their handlers.

Putting the nail file down, Ashbie picked a chocolate-dipped nut out of a
clear serving dish on the table beside her. She popped the little treat
into her mouth and began chewing on it as she picked up a carefully
written missive in a detailed and complex cipher of her own device. It
was merely a report from the leader of her newly hired taskforce to follow
and track Ayrora.

She'd also set guards on Aldrin and Alysa, also with strict orders to
not be seen or heard.

The company she'd hired from had been well known to her because Ashbie had
been employed by it on more than one occasion. They hired the best of the
best. The guards or spies hired from them All knew how to blend into a
crowd, or a desolate area, so as to not be seen, or, if seen, go
unnoticed.

The report itself was as ordinary as her guards were extraordinary. Ayrora
had visited a shop, Ayrora had spent time at home, and Ayrora had taken
a trip out to the chocolate factory that had long been abandoned.

Crystallis had begun the endeavor, Ashbie remembered it well, because the
current Advisor had revealed her plans to her before they'd been set in
motion. Ashbie popped another chocolate-covered nut into her mouth. The
project had fallen into decline as Sacnoth began to suffer without the
strong leadership they'd had previously under the Fiddich family.

Ashbie wasn't sure of Ayrora's intentions with the visit, but she hoped
that Ayrora would revive the project.

She sighed and put the report down. She hated being so nosy in her the
lives of her children, she never thought she would be as overprotective
as she had become. It was a natural response to her life before becoming
a mother. As a professional "fixer", she had kidnapped and ransomed
children on more than once occasion. She had assassinated adult children
often enough as well.

When money, power, or status was involved, the stakes for survival always
grew in proportion. She couldn't risk the possibility of any of her
children.

Shaking her head, Ashbie tried cheering herself up with another chocolate-
covered nut, but as her gaze swept out across the ocean, her thoughts
found no rest.




Writer: Vredaeres

Date Tue May 10 16:10:44 2016




Writer: Traice

Date Tue May 10 20:59:58 2016

To Shadow Verminasia All ( Ampersand Roleplay Necrucifer Imm )

Subject Ruins of the Past (Day Four) Distraction: 4


Bone fragments showered the walls and armor of the two Knights. Archal's
warhammer cutting a swath forwards through the skeleton swarm. The dual
demon-headed flails of Traice flew wickedly through the air, impacting skull
and ribs alike. The clumsy attacks of the skeletons bounced off the armor
of the mountain-like armsman. Every step forward was met with a new surge
from the skeletons. Seemingly raised out of no where, dropping from ledges
above and pouring out of side rooms. The lich in the back cackled wickedly,
its eyes gleaming with a pale-blue aura, magical essence bouncing between
hands as the skeleton horde continued to shatter and re-assemble.

Traice's continued to hammer his way through the skeletons, losing Archal
from his view as he set his back to the ancient walls of the basement. He
felt the shovels bounce off of his armor, the pickaxes, cutting and hooking
his arms as his flails fell to the ground. As a skeleton advanced on him,
he reached out, gripping the skeleton's arm and tearing it from his socket.
He flourished the arm like a club, caving in the skulls of his opponents
until the bone snapped.

In one deft move, Traice slipped his massive, double-headed axe from around
his back, the blackened flames pouring out from its head as he gripped it.
Swinging it violently at the swarm. Over the top of the crowd, Traice spied
Archal. His warhammer swinging viciously at the lich, narrowly missing with
each attack. The lich spun his magic with unnatural ability, batting the
weapon away and countering with fire, ice and acid, All bouncing off of the
Field Marshal's shield. As the battle raged, the sound of alarm began to
flare throughout the keep, the spectral army completely alerted to their
presence.




Writer: Kabal

Date Tue May 10 23:11:23 2016




Writer: Arreana

Date Wed May 11 09:19:39 2016

To All Immortal Taliena Religion

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: The Words of a Prophet, the Peace of a Prayer


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------07
The soft trickle of flowing water was as welcoming as an embrace as
Arreana stepped through the archway that led towards Taliena's temple
in Althainia. When the time was right, as the sun broke free of the
horizon, the entire temple was bathed in orange and yellow light. It was
one of Arreana's favorite places, not because of the fact that it was a
temple to her goddess, but because it was a place of serene beauty. It was
a place that Taliena Herself would have been pleased to wander into.

With her wings slowly spreading out, Arreana turned in place to gaze at
the simple grandeur of the place. It was near noon, so the temple was not
bathed in dawn's light, but it was no less impressive for the lack of
such. Arreana had been here hundreds of times, and would likely count up
into the thousands before it was her time to forever part with the
realms. In spite of that fact, it was no less wonderful to her than the
first time she had walked in to behold it.

Today, Arreana had come because she needed peace.

She had finally finished the first book that she hoped would go into her
so-called "Bible of Holiness".

True to his word, Glailen had burned the work when she had sent it to him
and others for their review. She had seen the smoke plume rise above
Althainia's western walls, but only found out an hour or so later what
had caused it: a massive book burning of "heretical" texts. She needn't
have asked what the books were, the timing was too close to be merely
coincidental.

Arreana sighed, her wings rising and falling with the intake and release
of breath. She hadn't been surprised, but Arreana had also secretly hoped
that when the knight had seen her work, he would come to the revelation
that the book had nothing to do with her and everything to do with
Taliena.

As she approached the altar, Arreana's thoughts drifted to a recent
encounter with the goddess' prophet, Elrei Avendale.

Do not begrudge your words simply because they are yours, though.

Did she? Why was it so difficult for Arreana to feel proud of the work
she'd put into the book? Perhaps it was the ominous quiet after releasing
the first draft her work for public consumption. Silence normally meant
peace, but in this case, silence was worse than a thousand people yelling
at the same time.

There were two primary reasons not to respond: the book was perfect; or
the book was so terrible that it did not register a need to even try and
help. It was possible that those who read it felt unworthy to offer up
their own views. It was also possible that they were being bullied not
to help. There were those who opposed the creation of such a book, a
knight in Gareth's Keep, Glailen, being but only one of them.

What was worse was the silence of the Holy Mother. Arreana berated herself
inwardly for failing to pray more about it. She also couldn't quiet the
voice that reminded her that Taliena was a busy goddess, and couldn't
be bothered to respond to Arreana's every request.

She sighed, though a warmth blossomed in her chest Taliena loved her,
this Arreana knew to be absolutely true. If Arreana erred, the goddess
would let her know, but she wouldn't forsake her out of hand.

That love quieted the worries of Arreana's heart like nothing else
would. '...simply because they are yours though...'

Arreana knelt in the holy place, and, eyes open, she gazed up into
the sky, picturing Taliena's face in her mind.

{pGoddess, I beseech your blessing upon this work. I believe it

{pworthy of you, and with your approval, other books about your

{pchildren and husband can be written...


She had spoken. Now she would wait.




Writer: Arreana

Date Wed May 11 10:38:15 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Stubborness


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------08
Fantastic.

Arreana grumbled, though she didn't show any other outward signs of her
stress.

Glailen was quickly becoming a painful thorn in her side. The knight was
well-meaning, she knew that much. However, his persistence in persecuting
her for her work on the Bible of Holiness was extending beyond mere
stubbornness and barbed questions.

He hadn't stooped to harassment yet, which is why Arreana hadn't brought
the matter before the Crown General, or the Crowns of Althainia. Still,
it was troubling to hear rumors that he may have burned copies of her
draft on the Book of Taliena. She couldn't be sure, but she'd seen the
smoke rising outside of Althainia's western wall, and Glailen had not
been subtle in his ongoing threats to burn everything to do with the
"blasphemous" Bible of Holiness.

Arreana rubbed a thumb-knuckle on the bridge between her eyes, as if the
mere contact could dispel the headache that was forming there.

"M'Lady Lightwing?"

Arreana turned to face the soft, inquiring voice. By reflex, her wings
began to spread out slowly, though she stopped their progress halfway.
Standing in front of her was a child. Human, by the look of her, and
perhaps eight to ten years of age.

The child had large brown eyes, a cupid's bow of a mouth, a heart-shaped
face and a simple brown dress. She was not anyone that Arreana recognized,
nor did she share any familiar familial resemblance.

"Yes?" Arreana offered the girl a soft smile.

Returning the smile, the child took out a small envelope from the bag at
her hip, slung over the opposite shoulder by a long leather strap.

The envelope bore an unrecognizable seal, and the handwriting on the
front, which said "To one Arreana Lightwing", was alien to her as well.

Arreana opened the envelope slowly, inside was a letter in the same
handwriting as was found on the envelope:

To Arreana Lightwing,
You do not know who we are, but we're interested
in your quest to find Aidyn Kestrel. We too have
been trying to locate him, but have had no
success in doing so.

We believe he may have passed. If not, then he
is, at the very least, in hiding. However, if
you do find him, please let us know at once. It
will be to his great benefit if we are aware of
him walking the realms once more.

Signed,
The Wellesley Company

Looking up, Arreana wanted to ask the girl who handed her the missive a
couple of questions. However, in the time it took Arreana to read the
note, she had vanished.

Arreana wasn't familiar with the Wellesley Company, she wasn't even
certain how she was supposed to respond to them, which she desperately
wanted to do. If they had been searching for Aidyn, then they might have
information on what he was doing last.

Collapsing into a chair in the temple, Arreana released a heavy sigh,
her wings shuddered with the violent expulsion of air from her body. What
had happened to Aidyn was a mystery, and, it seemed, Arreana was just as
stubborn as Glailen in some respects.

She wouldn't stop looking for the man she married.

Even her work on the Bible of Holiness would not get in the way. It was
certainly the priority, but she had and would continue to pour her spare
resources into locating what had happened to her husband.

Oh Aidyn, please be alright? the thought raced through Arreana's head
as her stomach clenched tightly, gripped with the paralyzing fear of what
might have happened to the man she loved.




Writer: Meki

Date Wed May 11 21:18:02 2016




Writer: Laiton

Date Wed May 11 23:34:42 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Wed May 11 23:50:50 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Wed May 11 23:53:20 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Wed May 11 23:54:13 2016




Writer: Ocelotia

Date Thu May 12 08:26:19 2016

To Arkane Trylum Meki Skylla Kalanie Roi'ken Trai'tyn Flike All ( Cayenna Imm RP Storyline )

Subject The Boys and Loti



Loti always felt a longing to see those in need helped, it was part of
her nature. Now more so than ever she wished to please the Great Mother
with her service and kept close watch over the boys in the locker room. She
brought food and toys, told stories to entertain them. They seemed to be in
flux, a juxtaposition that thwarted her still maturing mind. They were far
less rambunctious than her sister and she had been when they were that
small. So, it was far easier to care for them as they tended to stay
huddled and close to each other. It gave her time to think over events that
had recently taken place, to puzzle over her position within Zandreyas
flock, to ponder over Traityn and her developing affection for her friend,
to wonder over the city and its different people. There were so many
different lives being lived in Arkane, so many different religions and ideas
and agendas. It often boggled the young felars mind!

She served a lunch for the boys, who quickly consumed the fare messily.
Thats the one thing that still made them child-like. They ate with pleasure
and with All pretenses about civility were thrown out the door. Loti
grinned as she cleaned up after the small crowd and brought the boys around
her to tell them about the Great Mother and being a steward of their world.
It was to be their own in a short amount of years. She hoped that her
efforts would produce something of pride in the boys, help them to be more
confident in themselves.




Writer: Laiton

Date Thu May 12 09:18:17 2016




Writer: Laiton

Date Thu May 12 09:18:32 2016




Writer: Archal

Date Thu May 12 10:54:39 2016




Writer: Archal

Date Thu May 12 11:01:00 2016




Writer: Vaerus

Date Thu May 12 14:17:17 2016

To All Chaos Erebaal Malachive (Scorn Storyline)

Subject His eyes are many...'



For one who ate... Subsisted rather, on fish, beef stew from the various
ships that docked at the port, and whatever else he could find/kill, Vaerus
was in good shape. Each day, well, night as he preffered the dark, started
the same: thoughts of rage, of hatred, followed by the obligatory "I hate my
body" run on the beach. Sand, as we All know, being a spiteful, malicious
beast. Each granule a minitaure ball of hate and misery. Relentless in its
quest to penetrate into each and every nook and cranny of anyone stupid, or
masochistic, enough to go near it. This, of course, is to say nothing of
how much extra effort is required to actually run in the damned substance.
Muscles starting to ache, lungs burning, and every part of him where skin
rubbed against itself or his clothing chaffed raw Vaerus ran on.
Northwestwardly, past the Fane, past the docks, eventually altering
direction to circle around the Crystal Bay. Towards the bottom end of it,
he'd slow to a jog and reach into a pocket, pulling forth a handful of
small, white pills. Most people knew of them, some even used them. Vaerus
though... Vaerus abused them. Popping the pills into his mouth, eight of
them infact, he started to chew them. Gnashing, gnawing and grinding them
to an almost paste like consistancy in his mouth. The bitter taste, which
once made him wretch, years ago, a welcome thing. Within minutes the active
chemical within the pill being absorbed sublingual via the mucos membranes
under his tongue.

A surge of energy hit him with jolt. His thoughts took on a focused,
obsessive quality, the pain and burning of his body now forgotten, or at
least ignored, he sprinted onward. Heart pounding inside of him, rapid fire
like a blacksmith forging his masterwork, he completed the circuit of the
bay. Exiting where he entered he turned left, to the west. Running, his
body drenched and dripping with sweat he followed the coastline as it curved
southwestwardly. Mind racing, body screaming in agony that only served to
feed into the intoxication of the stimulant-like haste pills, adrenaline,
and endorphins his body naturally produced he ran on.

Sucking down the sticky, humid air of the island he pressed on along the
southern coast, passing the Temple of Good and the nearby village of
natives. Breathing heavily, his body taxed, flooded with lactic acid, he
slowed to a jog. Something off the coast, out in the water, caught his eye.
Three ships, ugly, stupid looking ships, Lorchas, though he knew not their
name. Each minute the winds and tide brought the Lorchas closer and closer,
nearer and nearer to the Fane. Like the typical ambush predator that he was
at heart, Vaerus ducked into the nearby jungle. Torturing his body yet
further he climbed into a nearby tree and observed.

Soon enough the creak of the wooden ships was heard mingled with the
crashing waves and various other sounds of Tropica. Minutes seemed like
days, an agonizing torment, but his patience was rewarded. He could see
dozens of men hurrying about the ships, lowering sails, dropping anchor.
Then, a large ramp hit the water with a loud splash followed by a hollow
thud as its weight carried it to the sand inches beneath. Another agonizing
minute, or perhaps it was just seconds, hard to tell really when you were as
impatient as Vaerus was. Men started laboring down the ramps, pulling ropes
behind them. Slowly the tip of a giant ballista came into view. He could
only guess what was happening on the other ships due to his view being
obstructed, but he knew what this meant. The Wordbearer must be told.

Invaders.




Writer: Traice
Date Thu May 12 20:11:24 2016

To Shadow Verminasia All ( Necrucifer Ampersand Roleplay Imm )

Subject Ruins of the Past (Day Four) Distraction: 6.5


Traice deliriously half-carried, half-stumbled back towards the entrance
with Archal. A forced retreat as the skeletal undead were drained of their
"life". The pair of Knights moved westwards, bottlenecking themselves near
the exit. As the skeletons fell away, bones clattering down to the floor, a
new wave of forces began to encircle them. First, the Eclipsian spectral
minotaurs. He was barely aware of Archal starting to walk under his own
will, he was even more surprised when he watched his flaming axe cut through
head and limb of the minotaur foes. Blood dripped off of his black armor, a
trail of it following him as he dove into the enemy.

Too many. Too many surrounded them. Maven's forces had faded from minotaur
to yinn. Archal struggled, pulling himself up on the large crate and had
begun to yell at the opposing force. Seemingly having the desired effect,
as the yinn gave pause at closing. Traice lowered himself to one knee,
panting as the blood loss began to blur his vision. While using his axe as
a support he watched the crowd carefully. As Archal spoke, Traice began to
feel the ground tremble with the movement of an army. The question remained
as to if it was Storm Keep's army or Maven's.




Writer: Cieran

Date Fri May 13 08:34:06 2016




Writer: Crelius
Date Fri May 13 21:39:02 2016

To Shadow Verminasia All ( Necrucifer Roleplay Imm)

Subject Ruins of the Past (Day Four)


The lone rider stood in silence atop a meadowed rise afront a dark tree
line, looking down with patience over a misty valley below. Torch fires
baubled across the valley floor, weakly alighting the encampment through the
veil of fog. Moans and clamor from an earlier skirmish echoed through the
valley. Flashes of fiery manifestations and wisps of unnatural light toiled
to and fro towards the far end of the encampment beneath a gothic monument.
Denoting a battle that still waged towards the base of the fabled Skull
Keep. The Dark Lord had entered the field no doubt, taking the vanguard to
its very gates.

His gaze turned upwards towards the heavens, noting the peculiar existence
of the moons heralding the night sky. The pale crimson observance of
Sebatis satellite was empty this night. Only a black mass, hidden, amongst
the pool of celestial characters and battles. Of most peculiarity was the
white orb of Kantilles, shining brightly and full in All of its luminous
grandeur save a small sliver darkness manifesting at its edge.

He watched the moon for several moments. Taking note of the small slice of
darkness that was slowly growing over the countenance of the white moon.
Certain of what he saw now, he grasped a crude wooden periapt about his
neck. An eclipse, no small portent of what he and his comrades were about
to endure. The black moon slowly took its place in front of the white moon,
ominously diminishing its lunar light

With a knowing sigh the knight reached beneath the fold of his cloak. He
placed a mailed grip upon the haft of a weapon of forgotten legend to this
age of man. The mere touch of the ancient maul sent his mind reeling
towards memories of old.

Clad in rag tag armor the young knight knelt beneath the towering figure of
the Yaenni warrior.
"Doth do I bestow you the Hammer of Highlords, rise
Highlord Crelius Atennim, Te Occidere Possunt Sed Te Edere Non Possunt Nefas
Est."


He blinked with a gasp and regained his composure. Atennim considered the
events that had assailed the knight the prior evening. The visitation from
an old spirit that he once regarded as a father figure. The oath he
declared to him within the very confines of his most sacred place, the
sanctum. He had sworn to release his old mentor from eternity. In turn he
had been given the one measure that could see that declaration through, The
Hammer of Eclipse.

Crelius considered the possibilities of this impasse as he surveyed the
battle below, waiting. Surely this was the key to undoing the curse of the
Ceriloch, to undoing Maven. However he had encountered the being before.
It will stop at nothing to lure him into his clutches. It would be with
faith and faith alone that the knights of storm would cleanse ruins of the
keep of the skull.

His gaze sharpened upon the ruins towards the bottom of the rise. A single
flaming arrow was launched a league into the air above. This signal was
sent. His part to play in this endeavour had begun. Crelius spurred his
horse and descended the hill towards the gates of the keep.




Writer: Pashhur

Date Sun May 15 13:05:48 2016

To Jennaya Althainia ( Imm rp All )

Subject Things we do for our wives


Pashhur steps into the Captain's quarters where he and his wife Jennaya have
been calling home and frowned. The place was a pigsty, and worse it looked
like All his crap. discarded weapons lay haphazzardly on the floor and
leaning against various objects. Clothing both clean and dirty litterd the corners in heaped piles. Empty food conisters left to feed the flies on the dresser and desk.

Okay, not All of it was his, but most. Getting a brush, bucket, and wood oil
from the supply closet, Pashhur started into his work. Clean laundry whether
his or not were folded neatly and put into the footlockers. Empty food
canisters were taken to the galley to be washed and stored. The bed stripped
and new linens tucked into the mattress. Then the hard work began.

Taking the water he just threw the entire thing over the floor, got down on
his hands and knees, and started to scrub. Every inch of the floor and
baseboards were scrubbed leaving nothing but polished wood behind. Then with
a towel and the oil he shined All the furniture. From the desk legs bolted
to the floor, to the headboard and the dresser. When he was through, the
Captain's quarters looked better than any other place on the Sojourner.
Stowing the supplies back into the closet, Pashhur heads back into Althainia
to get to his other duties. Many shot strange looks at him as he strode
down Wall road looking quite pleased and whistling to himself.




Writer: Morgance

Date Sun May 15 14:26:10 2016

To All Nordmaar

Subject Routine



Blood, Morgance Gunn, remembered the taste of blood.

It was her first weeks living in a kingdom, she hostly knew little about.
There was no mistake, she was a Gunn. She had a temperment much like her
father, and a thirst for battle that came natural to her everyday. She was
a creature of habit and she wouldn't have it any other way. Her mornings
consisted of a large breakfast, mostly proteins, eggs, sometimes a oat
porridge, sometimes she'd find some berries or things to put in it, but it
was most of the time very bland. She didn't care, she understood food as
only fuel. Only energy that would ready her for her day.

Since moving to Nordmaar her normal free spirited run, had shifted into a
detailed scouting mission, to maintain the safety of the area around the
kingdom. To make sure nothing dangerous lurked on the edges of the mighty
kingdom that might endanger the citizens or the throne. In total truth,
most days it was pretty uneventful. So much so that she had to start to
make a game of it, to maintain some sort of interest. She after All was
still young, and there was a fantastic daydreaming to her mood some of the
time.

She was an escaped princess, fleeing from the chains that bind a noble life.
She had been seperated from her only companion. A dwarf that sometimes
acted more like a kender, she'd named Obious.

Morgance stopped suddenly, the forest was quiet in the early morning chill.
There was a crisp frozen stillness, only stirred by the steam of the girl's
breath. There was a cave in the cliff side, one she hadn't remembered. Her
mind shifted slightly in the story. She remembered a story her mother had
come to tell her when she visited. Her parents were devoted to the Nordmaar
military, even having never exceeded much fame. However, her mother had one
story she always told. Of her battle with a witch, a curse that binded the
bloodline from casting magic ever since that day.

The cave smelled, of death, of things rotting in the darkness. She steadied
her mighty claymore. She steadied her mind for battle. She was instructed
to parole and report back. This was her fuction, and this cave could make a
perfect base for any sorts of ill doer. Darkness started to surround her as
she drifted into the cave, she could feel something large breathing. She
felt fur, she felt claws, she would remember the taste of blood the bear
collided with her body, bashing it's towering brown body against her. She
felt her sword dip deep into it's side.




Writer: Zorreau
Date Mon May 16 07:14:19 2016




Writer: Kasandra
Date Tue May 17 02:01:43 2016




Writer: Zola
Date Tue May 17 05:27:05 2016

To All Abaddon Bloodlust Verminasia Darkonin Immortals Fatale

Subject X Shades of Gray X


The eloquent Kingdom of Evil.

If ever there was a kingdom that mirrored the Dungeon, favored Clan of the
Lord of Murder, it was here in Verminasia. A multitude of peoples, all
races, All walks of life, united towards a grand, dark purpose. The faith
was strong here. True, it was also mixmatched and varied amongst
Darkness
and Twilight, but the upper echelons were firmly in the favor of the Lord
Fatale's hallowed father, the grand Master of Darkness, Necrucifer.

After so long amongst heathens and non-believers and walking dead, it was a
balm to sooth the wretched soul of the Deathscythe, who eagerly began his
work. With such resources at his disposal, he intended his time in
Verminasia to be meaningful and memorable. If anything, he was going to
have to make a list to ensure he used his time wisely.

He was going to have to begin work on many lists, in fact.




Writer: Mysner

Date Tue May 17 16:00:09 2016

To Skylla Ocelotia Trai'tyn Trylum Kalanie Roi'ken ( All imm rp Cayenna )

Subject Lessons ( IC )



Mysner sat with his ink, parchment, and quill, staring down at a nothing.
He hated his lessons. Letters and numbers were impossible for him. Don't
put those together, wait, unless.. All these stupid rules... I before E.
And knife is Kni... Nife is nnnnnnnnnife not kahnife... Stupid letters.
He knew Ocelotia wouldn't let him off the hook, so he dipped the quill into
the ink and started to work. His handwriting was horrid, the letters going
from too big to too small. Too cramped to too far apart. Cat turned into
Ca T. It made him feel dumb. Others his age could ready without problems,
their letters neat and together, forming words and sentences. His? A mess
and waste of ink. He didn't care, he was going to be Shaman, his knowledge
was outside. Potions and herbs, his magic came from the Ancestors.
Finishing quickly, he noticed something new this time. This was the first
time he did his lessons that didn't end with him in tears. He did this much
for his mama, but he still couldn't understand what he wrote. For his mama
though he'd still try, still waste ink, maybe one day he'd get it...




Writer: Zorreau
Date Wed May 18 06:23:38 2016




Writer: Ayrora
Date Wed May 18 17:04:09 2016

To All Aybel Ashbie Immortal Roleplay Storyline

Subject Throwing Herself Into Her Work



Ayrora prepared Braedan for the long ride early that morning as the sun
rose. "Saldorion, Nefratin, lets go we have no time to waste. I must
return to the Capitol also.
" The two Guards looked at her in surprise.
She had taken being the Steward quite seriously and, since the engagement
was off, she had more work to keep herself even more occupied.

"We will pass the Chocolate Factory and head to Rashburne. It is the first
city on my list.
" The Guards nodded in agreement, they All mounted their
stallions, and headed off to the Chocolate Factory. Once there, she made
sure her lock were still in place and that none had broken any newly
replaced windows. Satisfied with her assessment they continued on to
Rashburne, her thoughts on how much she detested having to have Guards but
knowing her parents would never have agreed to anything without them.

She turned to Saldorion who had a grin on his face, "Something humorous
Captain?
" He turned to her with a serious look on his face, "Why no, Lady
Tenneal.
" He did not turn away. "They I suggest you wipe that silly grin
off your face as I know you think you outsmarted me but you have not.
"
Nefratin chuckled softly as Salodorion turned away.

The ride to Rashburne was quite long but Braedan was as careful as he always
was with his caretaker and owner. He loved Rora as much as she loved him.
Upon reaching Rashburne she could not believe the beauty she saw. The
cliffs, the ocean far and wide, and a city built into the cliffs. She
wanted so badly to explore but had no time for that, she was here for a
purpose and that she would do.

She watched the comings and goings for a while from afar and saw nothing
strange and proceeded to speak to the Merchants. They seemed quite content,
business was going well, and everyone seemed to get along. It was well past
noon before she was done and Nefratin turned to her, "Lady Tenneal, the ride
back will take some time. Shall we return now?
" Rora turn to him, "You
are correct Sergeant. Let us return.
" She mounted Braedan quickly and
they headed back home.





Writer: Biem

Date Wed May 18 17:07:08 2016




Writer: Ocelotia

Date Thu May 19 12:10:13 2016

To Arkane All Trai'tyn Skylla Meki Flike Brunster Arthais ( Cayenna RP Storyline IMM )

Subject The Boys



Time moved faster once you understood it enough to want it slow down,
Loti felt the moments rolling past her as she studied and worked with the
boys. They had All moved to the Coliseum. The boys had some more of a
semblance of home. As she grew to know the boys she felt heart break over
their plight, no parents, no guardians, no one but a kingdom to take care of
them.

She had the task of gathering clothing for the boys and visited with the one
furless she knew to be well dressed. Flike and Loti looked over the wares
at the various clothing stores, finally she settled on a tailor and ordered
the tunics, pants and cloaks. She visited a shoemaker and ordered leather
boots for All of the boys. She talked with her Pawpaw Meki and with
Traityn. They All settled into something like a routine with the boys.
After breakfast was a small lesson and then playing, lunch, napping,
reading, play, it was almost like growing up once more. Loti found it a
soothing and rewarding. The boys seemed to enjoy the Leonines presence.
They waited for her to come, eager young faces bright. They would tackle
Traityn and Meki, who let them be far rougher in play than Loti.

Her tufted tail flicked side to side as she watched the boys settle into a
quiet time of reading, practicing writing and drawing. They were a funny
bunch of furless. They were worn out with learning to ride horse with
Brunster All morning. She smiled as she thought about the funny little man
who was so cheery and colorful.

Arkane was certainly an interesting place All together. She thought over
this as she walked to the Orchard to spend some quiet time with Traityn.
She glanced once more at the tents and furrowed her brow.




Writer: Perrinn
Date Sun May 22 05:18:08 2016

To All ( Tashio RP)

Subject Starting From Scratch



Perrinn sat down meditating after a long day of training his many
weapons.

"No, that wasn't right. That still does not have the right nuance. I have
too many bad habits in my use of maces.
"

"I must break these bad habits! I must relearn how to wield my Nature's
Wrath and Heated Grozing Iron with more finesse. I must start from the
basics, from the ground up.
"

'I will get the timing down right. From now on I will forget everything I
knew about maces and devote myself to learning them anew!
'

Perrinn stood up again and begin swinging a mace slowly over and over,
clumsily.




Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 22 22:27:00 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject Unwanted



Odin stumbled out of the halls of Winterhaven, sweat dripping of his
forehead from his efforts. He had found it south of a large castle in
Arkania, and it served as a decent distractor to his thoughts. It was all
he did these days practically. Training. When he wasn't fighting battles
just for himself, he was assisting others. Some were grateful, and was was
happy to make their acquaintence. The kind and benevolent Meizhin had
helped him on more than one occassion. Alby, the somewhat unhinged but
ferocious gnome was also a boon to have fighting at his side. Others were
just there, hardly a presence to be noted.

He had finally had the opportunity to speak to the King of the Elves, and he
didn't feel it went as well as planned. Clan Volsung was supposed to be
bigger than himself. The ideal that any with the courage of blood could
come together and be part of the Viking heritage had All the makings of
greatness, but lacked any type of prestige. He knew it had promise, but he
was a virtual unknown to this world, and did not wish to give up his
namesake to purchase credibility. Hell, he barely had a few gold coins to
rub together anways, let alone the hundreds people seemed to deal in these
days.

His travels had taken him All over Algoron, but he had yet to find a place
to belong. He knew Nordmaar would not accept his beliefs, and he was
unwilling to give up his name. He had yet to find anyone from Arkane to
speak to, and for some reason it seemed home to a large amount of cat-like
creatures. New Thalos was bloody hot, and although Althainia had a few kind
souls he was able to speak to, he didn't really understand what it was
about.

Interestingly enough, the one place and people that stood out to him as
understanding his mission was the Mountain. He had met the King and Queen
of Darkonin, and they welcomed him into their palace. Their ideals on how
the world work was eerily similar to his own. The world and land itself was
alive, the creatures that run to and fro among its grounds connected in a
way that is hard to simplify in words. There was bravery in the souls
there, and a savage ferocity of those protecting their homeland that was to
be both feared and admired.

And yet, he was human. There would be no living within its walls, although
King Mokla and Queen Euterah had graciously offered that he could visit
whenever he wished. In short, his clan and his plan seemed unwanted.

Odin wouldn't allow this to deter him, but the weight of its revelation
weighed heavy on his soul. As he made it to the port of Arkane, he boarded
the first passage he could to Icewall, learning against the railing and
allowing the sea-spray to help calm his tired mind.




Writer: Evanlyn
Date Mon May 23 18:39:49 2016




Writer: Evanlyn
Date Mon May 23 18:47:07 2016




Writer: Zorreau
Date Tue May 24 05:11:49 2016




Writer: Zorreau
Date Tue May 24 10:36:38 2016




Writer: Odin
Date Tue May 24 20:10:01 2016

To All Imm Raije

Subject Unnoticed



For days he had been quietly moving through the thick brambles of the
woods unnoticed, finding refuge in small caverns nestled in the rolling
hills of the Blackwoods in the evening to conceal his fires. Through the
boughs and branches he sees the shifting many colored robes of the
neophytes. With patience he waits in ambush till one comes close to him,
watching with keen but tired eyes. When it appeared that none of the druids
would approach the foliage, Odin reached quietly into his quiver and
withdrew a single arrow. He carefully nocked his bow and took aim, lining
up the perfect shot...

A small tap on his shoulder startled Odin, letting the arrow fly from its
bow and rip across the open glade with a light whistling noise. He turns
and sees the familiar, although not altogether welcome black robes of the
Grand Druid.

"We need to speak" he simply says, and retreats back out of the foliage to
await Odin. With a muttered curse, Odin steps into out of the hedge to
address the man.

"Your presence here was felt long before you realized it, Volsung. It came
with the silence of the ravens, the stillness of the woods where you
stalked. You may walk softer, but you still make noise"
the Grand Druid
states, his arms folded across his chest.

"Vell" replied Odin, "Vas still not satisfied vith vhat I had found. Vas
going to see if vone ov yer piglets vould squeal a bit"
. Here he let out a
small grin that was not returned, returning his bow to his back holster.

"Indeed... What you would have found would have been the absence of
knowledge. These younglings are not told much, because they haven't learned
the value of silence."


"Vell, still vould have made for a good bit ov target practice. Vould have
never seen me coming!"
He softly exclaims, his patience running thin.

"The answers you seek, Viking, are not in the knowledge of the present. The
land sees more than people ever will. It retains the memory of important
events which have passed before, so long as you know how to speak its
language"
.

Odin shakes his head back and forth. "I listen to the land as much as the
next man, and know full vell that there are things ya can learn from it, but
vhat ya speak in is riddles, old man.. And I be tired ov them"
. Here Odin
takes a step towards the Grand Druid, his hands tensed in a ball. "No VHAT
happened to the vrest ov my family. I know they nay All perished vith the
plague!"


The Grand Druid shakes his head, turning slowly away from Odin with a slow
and purposeful gait. "Some things are best left buried, Viking, as you will
see. Follow me if you wish to see what the dead has to say"
.

Odin warily falls in step behind the Grand Druid, the beginning of the night
mists starting to rise from the ground as they head through the woods.

"Ve shall see".




Writer: Perrinn

Date Wed May 25 00:52:29 2016

To All imm rp kyri

Subject Preparation and Training of a Champion



Perrinn walked into his training room again and continued his daily
practice. After throwing away All the preconceived notions that bound him,
Perrinn found that his hammer strikes were lighter and livelier before.

Perrinn continued to swing his maces in the most basic fashion over and
over. He did his best to vary the strength of each strike. His control
increased, despite the fact that the power of each hit did not.

Perrinn struck the dummy over a thousand times. Once he struck it a
thousand times in the same exact fashion, he would alter his strikes
slightly then continue again for another thousand strikes.

He continued this practice for several hours. Afterwards he meditated on
the insight he had gained upon the Dao of Maces.

Perrinn smiled to himself and muttered, "I'll need to continue this practice
for many months to truly gain more than a cursory understanding of the true
intricacies of maces.
'

Perrinn wiped off the sweat he had accumulated. He then proceeded to feed
the camels that he relied on for his battles. Patting the camels down, he
then proceeded to ensure his potions and weapons were in order.

Perrinn states his mantra to himself, "Preperation and Practice"

Perrinn then stared at a belt engraved with two axes eyes burning with an
inner fire.




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Wed May 25 01:31:37 2016




Writer: Slortor

Date Wed May 25 11:19:30 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Wed May 25 19:56:28 2016




Writer: Arreana

Date Thu May 26 06:49:55 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins I-01


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------09
--------------------Ruins: The Temple of Taliena upon Tropica-------I-01
In happier days, Arreana and her family made a yearly pilgrimmage to
Taliena's temple on Tropica. Since no one in her tribe was advanced enough
in magic to make a fancy spell of gating or nexi, her family made the long
privilege through the jungle with a few others from nearby tribes. The
whole journey took a fortnight, give or take a day or two, but only three
days were actually spent at the temple in worship.

Emerging from the jungle, Arreana glimpsed the simple, yet
beautiful temple upon the coast of Tropica that was their
destination. Her family had gone every year since before
she had been born, but now, upon her sixteenth birthday,
the journey had a special meaning.

It was her confirmation of faith ceremony.

Every faith handled confirmation differently. In addition
to those differences, the priests who ran the temples often
had their own personal touches to ensure that the ceremony
was not only official, in accordance with the teachings of
their deity, but also that each ceremony was special.

Confirmation of faith was not to be taken lightly. In order
to change one's faith, one had to endure a lengthy process,
an indefinite period where they were not in the favor of any
deity, while hoping the deity they prayed to would notice
their change of heart.

For those who wished to tap into magic, whether Arcane or
Divine, Confirmation held an even more vital component.
Access to the moons, or to the direct spells of the deities
of Algoron, was only available to those who gave respect to
one of the eighten deities that oversaw the balance of
Algoron.

As part of her confirmation process for Taliena, Arreana had
been pushed by her parents to read on the teachings of each
member of the holy family. Only then could she make an
informed choice.

Though most considered the Ariel people to be primitive,
they were sought by scholars more often than the civilized
world cared to admit. Knowledge was different from tribe
to tribe, but every tribe had scrolls, some had other forms
of keeping records, including books, in a vast library of
knowledge.

All Ariel that were a part of the tribe could access the
library. However, young Ariel children could only access
certain things, only under the supervision of an adult, and
they could not remove records from the library.

When Ariels hit the age of "enlightening", ten years by
the standard reckoning of time, they were permitted to check
out copies of certain records, and the records they had
access to under supervision increased.

At the age of "maturity", fourteen years old, Ariels were
allowed unrestricted access to records under supervision,
and they were able to make their own copies of originals
to take with them.

Upon the age of "adulthood", at eighteen, the Ariels no
longer needed supervision and could even gain standing within
their tribe to have further access to certain "restricted"
originals, including taking some original copies out from
the library of records.

Traveling lorekeepers often took out such records to trade
with other tribes, copying the originals at location for the
other tribe, receiving another original (or originals) and
then returning home with the original and a new original
record that was a copy of knowledge from another tribe.




Writer: Arreana

Date Thu May 26 06:53:35 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins I-02


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------10
--------------------Ruins: The Temple of Taliena upon Tropica-------I-02
(continued from part 01)

Arreana's tribe, the Absaroke, were like many Ariel tribes
which favored ancestry and racial ties above matters such as
religion. As a result, there were families of nearly every
faith and, in rare cases, members of families who had disowned
their family to forge a new family based in new belief.

For the most part, sharing a deity on a similar pantheon was
not considered an act that necessitated disowning. Though
Arreana vividly remembered an Ariel male, just a couple years
older than her, who went by the name Jeehin. His family
consisted of devout Necrucifer worshipers, and though he took
up the faith of Mencius, his disowning from his own family was
so violent that he left the Absaroke and became a "tribeless".

In her heart, despite their difference of beliefs, Arreana had
always hoped that Jeehin had found his place in a new tribe.
But the path walked by the tribeless was a perilous one.
The network of various Ariel tribes did not have usually share
records on their own people. In the absence of that shared
record, most tribeless had to wander alone and prove their
their worth to be accepted into a new tribe. Most died.

The Lightwing family was not quite so harsh as Jeehin's own
family.

However, Arreana's mother, father, two younger sisters and her
younger brother had All shared a respectful adoration for the
Lady of Love. It was to Taliena that Arreana would give her
prayers, after the confirmation of faith.

The temple seemed to rise out Taliena's coast as if it were a
natural formation. However, even a cursory inspection would
reveal that it was the work of men and women. Some of
Taliena's temples were more extravagent. Here, however, on the
edge of the wilderness, luxury was spared in favor of the
practical.

It was with a rapidly pulsing heart that Arreana approached
the temple. It was difficult to focus on anything other than
what lay ahead of her, but she felt as though her heart-rate
had begun to mirror her breathing. With a moment of conscious
effort, she managed to slow both down.

A firm, calloused hand found its way to Arreana's shoulder. On
reflex, her wings began to curl around her protectively, but,
when she looked up, it was merely her father smiling down at
her.

Arreana's father was tall, even for an Ariel, and he had great,
golden wings. His eyes were aquamarine, pools of radiant joy
and a fatherly countenance.

There are some who are naturals at leadership, and her father
was one such man. A member of the tribe council, he had been
serving the Absaroke long enough that he held the most senior
seat, second only to the tribe Chief. It was rumored many
times that Arreana's father would one day take the seat for
his own, but Arreana knew he had no such aspirations.

Pressing her lips together and returning her father's smile,
Arreana couldn't help but feel like a little girl All over
again.

"You've done well, Petal." He said softly, though there was a
deep, resonating quality to his voice that made him such a
gifted orator. Arreana had received the same gift, though hers
was higher, and more motherly.

"I..." Arreana didn't know what to say, how to describe her
feelings in that moment.




Writer: Arreana

Date Thu May 26 06:55:53 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins I-03


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------11
--------------------Ruins: The Temple of Taliena upon Tropica-------I-03
(continued from part 02)

Arreana's father shook his head, "Don't, I remember the
feeling well. When I had my confirmation of faith, the
presiding priest had to pry words out of me." He chuckled.

It was difficult for Arreana to picture her father at a loss
for words. Somehow, he always knew what to say. However, he
was an honest man and she had no reason to doubt him.

Swallowing, Arreana let her gaze shift back to the temple and,
with purpose, she walked towards it.

Arreana smiled fondly at the memory, finding some rubble upon which she
could sit and contemplate. The temple she had known was gone. The singular
word "CHAOS" was etched into the air itself. The statue honoring the
mother had been beheaded. Only ash, broken stone, and heartbreak remained.

However, Love had not been vanquished. Arreana had to remind herself of
that fact.

As she looked around, various memories played out asynchronously in her
mind's eye. There she was standing before the altar with her peers, ready
to receive the blessing of confirmation. There she was as she was affirmed
as an adult. There she was, teaching a group of young priests, her peers,
for she was still a novitiate.

Tears came to her eyes unbidden, stinging as they welled up and then
forged a path down her cheeks. She had taken the temple for granted, even
when Malachive's forced invaded, she never imagined they would take their
fury out on the sacred place of the Mother. Then again, that was their
purpose, wasn't it?

Rising to her feet, Arreana didn't bother to wipe away her tears. To many
it was a sign of weakness. However, Arreana had always been raised to
believe that tears were a sign of strength. For those who lived without
emotion didn't truly live.

Looking around once more, Arreana's will hardened. Her wings spread out,
a reflexive action, and she vowed to herself that Taliena's temple WOULD
be rebuilt, or, at least, she would spend the rest of her life trying to
make it so.

END OF RUINS SERIES I, 1-3




Writer: Zorreau

Date Thu May 26 07:37:14 2016




Writer: Zorreau

Date Thu May 26 07:43:12 2016




Writer: Elrei

Date Thu May 26 15:05:03 2016

To All Taliena Imm RP

Subject The Death of an Avendale



He was standing in the field when the news came. Elrei had been
surveying this particular area for suitability regarding a temple for some
time, over the course of months, and so it was not difficult for the
messenger to find him and deliver the letter from the Vallens, from a
Sha'enlas named Celestaea.

"Lord Avendale,

it is with a heart both heavy and light that the duty of this missive has
come to rest within my hands. The elf named Uisge Sha'tavas Avendale has
asked me to send these words, and to inform you that the Mother his lifted
his burdens from his shoulders; that he now goes to be among the Avendale
and those that he has loved. He wishes you All the best things, to not
become wrapped in the troubles of this world, and to recall that Love comes
first, always."

The words shocked him, at first. Elrei did not recall speaking with
Uisge since before he had left the Vallens, during the War against the
Mountain. It had not been a particularly agreeable conversation, the older
Elf making metaphors while Elrei, the younger, was looking for clarity, but
Uisge had been trying to help and comfort even if Elrei had not understood
it then.

"He asks that you not feel sorrow, for each falling blossom knows that it
makes way for the next. This is the Mother's final gift to all. He asks
that you return, though each path is a way to reach Her, even if we should
lose sight."

The phrasing, stating Love comes first, and speaking of paths, was highly
reminiscent of Elrei's own words and wording when speaking of Taliena,
though the last he knew Uisge had still been a faithful of Zandreya. Were
these words an entreaty to return to Shalonesti, or, as possibly evidenced
by the last sentence of the paragraph, a request to seek out Nature's faith?

Either way, it was something Elrei could not do, and precisely because he
did put Love first. He did not see himself able to, again, live in a place
that legislated hatred toward others. Even if he were to be permitted, as a
priest, to speak with dwarves or dark elves seeking him on religious
grounds, to reside there would be to give the appearance of support, of
sanction, for the practice of intolerance which was written into the very
laws of the Elven nation.

"Finally, he bids you to know that he will speak warmly of you to your
shared ancestors. Until you should meet again."

And so, another Avendale was lost.




Writer: Elrei

Date Thu May 26 15:11:09 2016

To All Taliena Imm RP

Subject The Death of an Avendale



Elrei found himself standing upon the bridge in Shalonesti. Though he
had not lived there in ages, he would still return to gaze at the
Shalinastra at times when he sought peace.

An Aspirant of the Sha'enlas had contacted him, a half-Elven by the name
Olli'viah, also taking it upon herself to inform him of the loss. Eyes red,
and cheeks stained by tears, it was obvious she was affected by it as well.

"He went peacefully with us around him."

"It seems my cousin's passing is not felt only by myself. I am glad to
know that he was among friends."

Olli'viah brought him to the temple, where Uisge's body yet remained.
Had he realized the passing was so recent, that his cousin had still been in
transition from this world when the letter had been received, Elrei would
have made haste to arrive sooner, and possibly say his own farewell. Still,
he was certain his thoughts would arrive to Uisge's spirit regardless.

The glass dome of the temple sparkled in the fading sunlight, its
etchings casting faint shadows on the room below which mingled with the
shadows cast by the flickering orange light of the fire.

"This is where he passed?"

Olli'viah nodded.

"In a place of beauty, surrounded by friends..." It was as gentle, as
peaceful a passing as Elrei could have hoped for, then. Indeed, it was the
sort of end that Elrei, at this stage of life, did hope to have when it came
time. Given that he lacked citizenship in any nation, had no strong
community around him, that seemed unlikely.

Celestaea, obviously wearied by the emotions of the event, interrupted
the older Elf's thoughts. "Will you... Be seeing to his body, Bishop? If
so, I... I will excuse myself. I feel I have done All I can offer." He
was family to Uisge, and the only blood relative at hand.

Still, technically Elrei was an outsider in this era. "If it is not
disagreeable to the Nation, I will offer such. Rest, find comfort."

Elrei took advantage of Olli'viah's offer of aid, entrusting her to
arrange for a procession of bearers to carry the body to Elrei's house on
Starlight Way. There, he would make the final arrangements.




Writer: Leylani

Date Thu May 26 19:03:53 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Fri May 27 00:27:54 2016

To All Imm Raije

Subject Unbreakable



As the axe blade pressed its keen edge against the bark of the gnarled
tree, the force of his blow sent a shudder through his massive arms. His
teeth gnashed together with the pain from the impact, and the sharp edge of
his blade bounced off the rich brown bark without a single scratch. Odin
narrowed his eyes again, focusing on the malevolent looking trunk. He
searched for a smooth surface to strike, but there was none to be found.
Every square inch was distorted with knots and burrs, crevices and ugly
angles.

Odin took a deep breath before holding onto the axe shaft and swinging it
behind his back. With a deep grunt he swung his axe forward again into the
trunk. THHHHUUUMPPP it went against the trunk again, bouncing harmlessly
off its trunk like an arrow off a dragon scale. Vhat are you, you damn
bloody spirit! I vill break you!"
After a few more worthless swings,
Odin's frustration wells up inside of him and he throws his axe into the
deep soul, the blade slicing into the frozen tundra as a hot knife through
butter.

"Vhat the hell..." He whispers, looking down at his blade embedded into
the ashy earth. Odin looked between his axe and the trunk over and over
again. With a growing sense of trepidation, he fights the urge of fear
inside of himself and slowly reaches his hand out towards the trunk. The
hair on his arm started to stand up on end, inching closer to the tainted
bark. The second his skin made contact with the bark, Odin's knees legs
buckle beneath him and he crashes down onto his knees, one hand seeming
glued to the trunk.

Wild images started flashing through his head, terrifying visions which made
his eyes flutter in the back of his head. Ropes swaying from the branches
with humanoid silhouettes like low-hanging fruit, twitching frames of
various heights. Screams tore through his mind, voices of men, women and
children in anguish ricochet back and forth in an unholy orchestra of pain.
The smell of putrid flesh fills his nostrils, a faint tinge of hemp
underneath it all. A wave of heat filled the palm of his hand as he was
blasted back from the trunk, his knees folded underneath him.

After a few moments, Odin comes to and picks himself up off of the ground,
each step unsteady. His eyes burned with pain, his arms convulsed
involuntarily, his lips quivered. As he regained his composure, Odin
reached back down to his half-buried axe with renewed vigor. Squaring up to
the tree, Odin takes a mighty swing and slams it into the trunk again to no
avail. Again and again his strikes land bone-crushing blows against the
trunk, each time the axe glancing harmlessly off its bark. Each failed blow
increased Odin's anger, the sweat falling off his brow like a summer rain.
"I...... Will..... BREAK..... YOU!!!!!" He exclaims, his labored voice
near hoarse with the effort.

With one massive warcry, Odin backswings the axe behind him, his entire body
in a berserker rage.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH DIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!" He screams, and the axe
blade finally bit deep into the trunk. The sound of thunder shattered the
still air, clouds swirling in the stagnant sky like gray demons descending
upon the lands. Odin withdrew the blade and stood back from the tree, as
winds started to howl around him, pushing his long braids wildly around.

A single red line like an old scar was present where the axe marred its
surface. Small droplets of crimson were dribbling the trunk and into the
ash covered roots.





Writer: Euterah

Date Fri May 27 14:23:40 2016

To Darkonin Mokla Odin Vershae All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject After the Joust



Days after the joust and she noted not his healing. The clerics of their
kingdom could not change the consequences of the wound. The Witch tromped
through the crisp snow, walking around the Mountain to the Hollows. She
waived her gequine stallion for the walk. The Witch needed a moment of
silence and there was none. No, there was a list of duties, of complaints,
people and now this Althainians licentious behavior and dissolution of a
treaty that only served to benefit both Kingdoms. However, this did not
upset her as much as Moklas arm and the lack of concern show to her after
the joust. They both knew it was a dangerous sport, but it seemed worth the
risk until this last list. Now she was uncertain that she would let Mokla
joust again. She knew it was peevish and not fair to Mokla, since he had to
put so much work into making the House. She would be riding next joust
anyhow. It would be well. They needed the third ingredient for the potion
to completely heal Mokla. She thrust a niggling worry from her head and
wrapped her cloak around her, glad for the brisk chill to soothe her fevered
thoughts.

She was waiting for the Viking to return, the last of his bloodline and
honorable fast friend to the Mountain. Fortuitous in this ever changing
world, but it made her anxious to think All Moklas healing relied in the
hands of a man whom they had only recently met. There was nothing to be
done about it though, she could only wait. Which is why she trekked to the
Hollows, visiting Dkom would help take her mind off her King. Time was
already moving forward, she glanced anxiously at the distant peaks. The
Witch whispered a prayer to the gods to give Odin Volsung safe journey.




Writer: Leylani

Date Sat May 28 19:52:31 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 29 11:54:33 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Unknown



As the wind howled in unprecedented fury, Odin stood staring at the red
liquid languishedly dribbling down the trunk of the tree, changing the milky
white ash into a pink glob. Though ground beneath his feet started to thrum
with an unrythmic pulsing, making his balance shaky as he braced himself for
whatever was to come next.

The churning grey clouds overhead started releasing tiny droplets of rain...
Though as the splashed onto Odin's exposed face, he shook his face quickly
in surprise. The water wasn't cold as he was accustomed to in Icewall, it
was hot. Everywhere a drop hit, it seemed to burn straight through the ashy
substance littering the ground, quickly turning the once stagnant scene into
a bubbling, murky pit of mud. The dribbling crimson from the tree started
to congealand mix with the water into a small pool at the base of the tree
as the wind reached deafining levels.

The pulsing from the ground seemed to pick up an even more erratic beat,
sending Odin to fall to one knee. His right knee hit the round hard, while
he reached out his right arm to stead himself. The moment his hand touched
the muddy congealment of whatever was pouring from the tree, it was held
fast. He tried hard to pull his hand from the mire, but the mud seemed to
dry over it, leaving him entrapped. He swore under his breath as he reached
for the dagger at his side with his left hand to try and carve the earth
away from it, but before he could, and unsettling sound started to fade in
from the background noise of the howling wind.

Odin stared for the origin of this noise, but could not seem to pinpoint its
location. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere All at once.
Even the howling of the wind seemed to fade into the distance as the noise's
volume increased. Odin felt he heard voices, but couldn't be sure. He had
forgotten All about trying to free himself as he scratched the limits of his
mind trying to comprehend what he was hearing. It was ancient, and yet it
was newborn in a way. Like a thousand instruments playing together out of
tune, shrill but still distinct. Then, he noticed the sound started to take
on the same pattern as the erratic thrum coming from the land. More and
more it seemed to center itself around the tree, so Odin peered at the scar
he made to see if he could find out what was happening. As he did, what he
started to either see or imagine sent shivers up his spine.

The small murky mire had seemed to pool into a body of broiling liquid about
the size of a small pony, its originally pink hues now a deeper crimson with
streaks of black and grey. Bubbles of it rose to the surface and popped,
emitting small sounds like miniature screams that you can't quite
understand. It moved as if it had life of its own, stretching and writhing
in an unholy manner, yet not entirely malevolent. Odin watched with
fascination as the liquid seemed to rise up from the ground, completely
defiant of the laws of nature. It started to congeal into a shape that was
neither liquid nor solid, stretching and taking unmentionalbe forms. It
rose to a height of about five feet or more, drippings falling off and
plopping to the ground in sick, wet bursts.

Odin narrowed his eyes and then closed them tightly, shaking his head when
he imagined the form taking the shape of something that resembled a humanoid
being. He felt his efforts of cutting into the tree were playing tricks on
him, shutting his eyes tightly again for a minute before staring back at the
thing before him. At this point, he could clearly pick out appendages,
shape... Whatever it was, it was increasing in opaqueness and becoming more
distinct.

When the transformation was over, a creature stood before him, not quite
woman but not quite beast. Odin wanted to make the sign of Raije, but his
hand was still lodged in the mire.

"Vhat the hell are ya?" He asked to the thing standing before him.

A thousand voices answered him. "The Unknown".




Writer: Odin

Date Mon May 30 00:43:44 2016

To All Imm Raije

Subject Untrue



A veil of blackest midnight covered its face, although bright red tresses
spilled out from underneath its concealment. The sleeves of the black frock
were ripped off at the shoulders, exposing humanoid arms on the creature.
The left arm was covered in small downy feathers, while the right was
heavily scaled like a lizard. Its hands were extremely feminine with well
manicured nails, skin the color of slate marble.

Its body shape seemed to have feminine curves, but with each movement it
seemed to shift out of visual focus, like watching something out of the
corner of your eyes. Slits on the side of its dress exposed two very
different appendages. Its left leg was that of a cloven hoof, while the
right had a large canine-like paw. Odin struggled to remove his hand that
seemed to be stuck fast to the ground, the veins in his forearm seemingly
ready to burst from the effort. Despite his best efforts, he was trapped.








The creature bent at its waste and inclined its head towards Odin, moving
forward in short, choppy steps. Odin reached into his belt and searched for
his blade, unsure of what was to occur. As he started to list it from its
sheathe, the creature bent one hand very subtly at the wrist, long slender
fingers waiving in dismissal. The blade went flying painfully from Odin's
hands and somewhere behind Odin. Glaring back at the creature, Odin
addressed the encroaching being.

"I nay know vhat ya vant from me, demon, but ya von't get it vithout a
fi...."
Before Odin could finish, a fit of hysterical laughter broke free
from the veil of the being. The sound was shrill and mostly high-pitched,
but maintained a lower bass sound which disturbed the air in violent pulses.
It stopped a few paces from Odin, its movements both graceful and erratic at
the same time. It bent down again, and Odin could swear he could see
burning embers behind the veil as it presumbably looked at him.

"Silly thing..." It called out to Odin. "You don't even know why you are
here, do you?"
Here the creature stood straight up and placed its
beautiful hands on its wide hips. Its seemed to throw its head back and
laugh, but the sound that uttered forth was like the shriek of the damned,
ear-splitting in volume and bird-like. Odin shut his eyes tight to try and
shut out the pain from the laugh, but only succeeded at grinding his teeth
with the effort.

It took a few steps towards him, bending at the knees and coming to rest on
its haunches . Odin could smell the strong odor of old earth and wet moss
in his nostrils, along with a hint of jasmine and the familiar sick stench
of rotten meat. It raised its pointer finger on its right hand in the air
and brought it down again, tapping Odin on the nose with the tip of a long,
pink colored nail. "You confusion is oh so....." . At this point, it
placed the finger to where its lips should be and looked heavenward, before
nodding back to Odin, its face only inches away from his own. "tasty...
Yes, that is the word for it"


Odin struggled to get free again, but his hand would not move. The creature
looked at him trying to escape and made a clucking sound, like a teacher
would do to an insubordinate child. It leaned in closely, the veil only a
hair's breath away from Odin's ear. Well then, why don't we try and see
what untruth you are here to learn then, shall we?"
Odin turned his face
up towards the veil. The being grabbed both sides of it and started to peel
it back, the yawning abyss dotted with two fire-laced eyes staring back at
him.

"No one faces the Unknown without.... FEAR! " At this exclamation, a burst
of wind shot forth from the creatures face, enveloping Odin in a thick, grey
mist that was both hot and cold to the touch. The skies shook with peels of
thunder like the heavens were going to explode. When it was All over, Odin
remained slumped in a trance, his seemingly lifeless body hunched over in
the tainted earth.




Writer: Odin

Date Mon May 30 19:34:38 2016

To All Imm Raije

Subject Unwise



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


"Vhere am I?"

"That's Irrelevant"

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

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


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


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

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


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


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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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


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

"THE FUTURE IS STILL UNKNOWN!"

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


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





Writer: Celestaea

Date Tue May 31 00:22:38 2016

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

Subject Part One: Beyond Sound


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

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

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

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





Writer: Celestaea

Date Tue May 31 00:23:33 2016

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

Subject Part Two: Beyond Sound


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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Tomte

Date Tue May 31 01:08:22 2016




Writer: Vibulus

Date Tue May 31 01:15:40 2016

To Arkane All ( Imm Rp )

Subject Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor


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

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

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




Writer: Hubert

Date Tue May 31 11:25:45 2016

To All Aliera Knighthood

Subject A Squire and his Gelding



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

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

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




Writer: Crelius

Date Wed Jun 1 03:19:42 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Wed Jun 1 07:25:52 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Banter



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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




Writer: Arreana

Date Wed Jun 1 09:36:09 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-01


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

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

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

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

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

However, there was even internal resistance.

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

What troubled Arreana ran deeper than that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Ayrora

Date Wed Jun 1 17:53:44 2016

To All Verminasia Ashbie Aybel Aldrin Storyline Roleplay

Subject Troubles in Rashburne (Part 1 of 2)


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

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

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

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

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





Writer: Ayrora

Date Wed Jun 1 18:16:45 2016

To All Verminasia Ashbie Aybel Aldrin Storyline Roleplay

Subject Troubles in Rashburne (Part 1 of 2)


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

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


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

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

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





Writer: Odin

Date Wed Jun 1 22:02:52 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Belief



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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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





Writer: Elrei

Date Thu Jun 2 01:48:43 2016

To All Taliena ( Imm RP )

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Lacking Heart



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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Odin

Date Thu Jun 2 05:43:17 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Begin



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

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

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


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

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

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

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




Writer: Laniath

Date Fri Jun 3 07:42:33 2016

To All Arreana ( Taliena ) Storyline Roleplay Religion

Subject FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD



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

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

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

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





Writer: Abbington

Date Fri Jun 3 17:37:30 2016




Writer: Diuxa

Date Sat Jun 4 01:57:35 2016

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

Subject Beneath the Surface



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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Laeroth

Date Sat Jun 4 14:22:43 2016




Writer: Laeroth

Date Sat Jun 4 14:23:11 2016




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 5 17:27:06 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay Storyline

Subject The Man With No Name



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

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

However, that recognition wasn't always positive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Tomte

Date Sun Jun 5 22:27:04 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jun 6 15:49:36 2016

To All Imm Rajie

Subject Back



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

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

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


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


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


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


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





Writer: Vibulus

Date Mon Jun 6 16:45:18 2016

To Arkane All ( Cayenna Imm Rp )

Subject Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor


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

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

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




Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Jun 6 17:54:17 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm Rp )

Subject Renewal


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

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




Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jun 6 20:55:52 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject Besieged



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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shield Vall!"




Writer: Deccan

Date Tue Jun 7 22:28:08 2016

To All Abaddon Imm rp religion

Subject + A Masked Stranger + Part One


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Laeroth

Date Wed Jun 8 11:43:48 2016




Writer: Laeroth

Date Wed Jun 8 11:44:05 2016




Writer: Deccan

Date Wed Jun 8 20:33:18 2016

To All Abaddon imm religion rp

Subject + A Masked Stranger + Part Two


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jun 8 22:50:17 2016

To All Imm RP

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



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

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

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

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




Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jun 8 22:54:43 2016

To All Imm RP

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



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

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

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

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




Writer: Arreana

Date Thu Jun 9 10:50:38 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Heartening News


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Arreana

Date Thu Jun 9 11:01:30 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Kadiya


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Glailen

Date Thu Jun 9 14:37:56 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Fri Jun 10 15:52:39 2016

To All Imm Raije

Subject Bones



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
















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

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

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

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

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

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


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





Writer: Pomacanthus

Date Fri Jun 10 21:32:54 2016




Writer: Langa

Date Sat Jun 11 00:54:42 2016




Writer: Langa

Date Sat Jun 11 02:27:28 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Sat Jun 11 08:19:00 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Betrayal



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

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

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

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

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

She would be dining in Valhalla tonight.

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


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

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

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




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sat Jun 11 14:31:19 2016

To All Verminasia Aybel Ashbie Storyline Immortal

Subject Next Stop Fiddichvale



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

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

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

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

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





Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 15:42:38 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 15:44:40 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 15:48:15 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 15:55:26 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Jun 11 16:01:02 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sun Jun 12 01:12:30 2016




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sun Jun 12 01:13:26 2016




Writer: Crelius

Date Sun Jun 12 01:15:21 2016




Writer: Euterah

Date Sun Jun 12 02:00:08 2016

To Darkonin Mokla Zola All ( Sunny IMM RP )

Subject The Monster Emerges



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

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

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

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


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

The others?

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

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




Writer: Laleina

Date Sun Jun 12 06:50:25 2016

To All Roleplay Storyline Religion ( Necrucifer )

Subject A Fervent Prayer



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


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


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





Writer: Vulgrim

Date Sun Jun 12 08:03:18 2016

To All Roleplay Storyline Religion (Necrucifer)

Subject Prayer of Absolution



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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sun Jun 12 11:17:28 2016

To All Verminasia Aybel Ashbie Storyline Roleplay Immortal

Subject A Visit to Rumville



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

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

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





Writer: Mokla

Date Sun Jun 12 18:17:52 2016

To Darkonin Euterah Zola All ( Sunny Imm Rp )

Subject ))Taking off the Gloves((


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

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

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





Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 18:59:01 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (1/9)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 19:00:12 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (2/9)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 19:03:42 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (3/9)



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

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

He had their attention. Good.

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

But All kids share the same potential for imagination.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shall I continue?"

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

"Very well..."

pg. 03
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 19:04:36 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (4/9)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pg. 04
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 19:05:34 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (5/9)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After the moment, Mathesan offered a smile and continued.

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

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

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

pg. 05
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 19:06:49 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (6/9)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pg. 06
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 19:07:49 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (7/9)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pg. 07
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 19:09:07 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (8/9)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 12 19:10:22 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject The Werewolf (9/9)



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

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

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

"To teach us not to lie?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Would I make a good father?'

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




Writer: Odin

Date Sun Jun 12 20:53:25 2016

To All Imm Raije

Subject Blame



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Zola

Date Mon Jun 13 07:38:50 2016

To All Euterah Mokla Bloodlust Abaddon Darkonin Verminasia Fatale

Subject X Brush with Death - One X


TWANG.

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


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


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


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


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




Writer: Zola

Date Mon Jun 13 07:39:19 2016

To All Euterah Mokla Bloodlust Abaddon Darkonin Verminasia Fatale

Subject X Brush with Death - Two X


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


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


Unfortunately... It was meant to be imbibed.

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


"Let her go, Zola! "

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


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


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

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





Writer: Thasgerd

Date Mon Jun 13 23:55:19 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Tue Jun 14 00:27:05 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Tue Jun 14 00:49:14 2016




Writer: Milleuda

Date Tue Jun 14 10:53:23 2016




Writer: Milleuda

Date Tue Jun 14 11:22:47 2016




Writer: Pomacanthus

Date Tue Jun 14 15:28:47 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Tue Jun 14 16:39:04 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Beach



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

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


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

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


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


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

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





Writer: Deccan

Date Tue Jun 14 21:55:50 2016

To All Abaddon imm religion rp

Subject + A Masked Stranger + Part Three


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

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

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

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

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

He had rarely felt so alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Ashbie

Date Wed Jun 15 11:13:46 2016

To Verminasia All Aybel Ayrora Immortal Storyline Roleplay

Subject A Disturbance 01



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Arreana

Date Wed Jun 15 12:40:14 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-02


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It awaited command.

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

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

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

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

It did not seem that simple to Arreana.

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Pomacanthus

Date Wed Jun 15 21:42:28 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Wed Jun 15 22:38:31 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Bear



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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Slortor

Date Thu Jun 16 01:00:51 2016




Writer: Ambrosse

Date Thu Jun 16 03:01:29 2016

To All Conclave Arkane Flike Rarau Imm RP

Subject Frostbite


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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Euterah

Date Thu Jun 16 11:33:35 2016

To Darkonin Zola Mokla All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject The Bishop and Death



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

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

The Witch resumed her seat and continued to wait.




Writer: Mokla

Date Thu Jun 16 18:22:51 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject )Counting the Cost(


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

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

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

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

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





Writer: Nessah

Date Thu Jun 16 19:25:42 2016




Writer: Clare

Date Thu Jun 16 20:13:12 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Traice Rochford

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



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

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

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

'May I see that, your Majesty? '

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Truly? '

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

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

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

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

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

'What if I was successful? '

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

(continued)




Writer: Clare

Date Thu Jun 16 20:19:04 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Traice Rochford

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clare's brow lifted at this information.

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

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

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

Clare nodded, making a mental note to contact Traice.

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

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

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




Writer: Catroina

Date Fri Jun 17 10:10:25 2016




Writer: Selonis

Date Fri Jun 17 22:25:57 2016




Writer: Selonis

Date Fri Jun 17 22:29:33 2016




Writer: Nessah

Date Sat Jun 18 03:43:23 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Sat Jun 18 13:57:36 2016

To All Immortal Religion Knighthood Crelius

Subject Echoes of Eternity



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

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

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

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

Crelius.

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

Mamoritai...

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

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

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

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

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

---Greetings Knights---

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

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




Writer: Flike

Date Sun Jun 19 02:50:57 2016

To All Ambrosse Rarau Arkane imm RP

Subject Perfect Timing


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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sun Jun 19 16:11:50 2016

To Aybel Ashbie All Verminasia Roleplay Storyline Immortal ( Drakkara )

Subject Off to Raft Town



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





Writer: Durst

Date Sun Jun 19 17:08:10 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije

Subject Quest for power or fireflies



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

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


He pointed at the unseen foe and chuckled loudly.

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


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

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

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




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 19 22:00:45 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject A Diplomatic Mission (1/3)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 19 22:02:10 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject A Diplomatic Mission (2/3)



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

Day three, and nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mathesan was reminded of a farm animal.

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




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Jun 19 22:02:50 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject A Diplomatic Mission (3/3)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pg. 03
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jun 20 14:00:33 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject A Needful Voyage ( Part 1 of 2 )



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

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

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

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




Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jun 20 14:03:16 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject A Needful Voyage ( Part 2 of 2 )



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

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

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




Writer: Aviandha

Date Mon Jun 20 18:42:26 2016




Writer: Durst

Date Mon Jun 20 19:23:13 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Are fireflies power?



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

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

"WHALES!"

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

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

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


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


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

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


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

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

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

Durst looked around his form then over the railing.

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

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




Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jun 20 21:24:48 2016




Writer: Pomacanthus

Date Tue Jun 21 13:25:18 2016




Writer: Pomacanthus

Date Tue Jun 21 13:25:18 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Tue Jun 21 15:41:34 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Candle



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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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




Writer: Celia

Date Tue Jun 21 18:54:47 2016




Writer: Arreana

Date Wed Jun 22 11:04:58 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-03


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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aidyn..."

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

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

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

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




Writer: Odin

Date Wed Jun 22 14:58:40 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Chuckle



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

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

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

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



"I understand."

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


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


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


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

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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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




Writer: Celia

Date Wed Jun 22 17:38:28 2016




Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jun 22 19:14:12 2016




Writer: Celia

Date Thu Jun 23 12:57:06 2016




Writer: Durst

Date Thu Jun 23 18:52:31 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

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



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

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

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


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

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

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




Writer: Durst

Date Thu Jun 23 20:00:38 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Eye of Kai



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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Ulrog

Date Fri Jun 24 01:56:43 2016

To All Tashio Cahlizna Imm Fatale RP

Subject <The Search for a Name>


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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Odin

Date Fri Jun 24 14:36:43 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Cost



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

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

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

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


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

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


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




Writer: Mokla

Date Fri Jun 24 19:28:23 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject *X* Sorting the Chaff *X*


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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Mokla

Date Fri Jun 24 20:12:55 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

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


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

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

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

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




 


Dark


Dark & Shattered Lands (DSL)
Copyright 1996 - 2016.
 All rights reserved.