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Player Written Story Note Archive

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

Listed By Author Name

Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-03
It wasn't me... blame the Raven
Eye of Kai

*X* Sorting the Chaff *X*
*X* Sorting the Chaff *X* pt. 2
Grist for the Mill
Rumors of a Broken Bond
Victim of circumstance
X We Are All Killers X
Sad sack
Funky Cheese and Grapefruit
Funeral of One (1/2)
Funeral of One (2/2)
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-04
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-05
And so it begins
A New Journey ( Part 1 of 2 )
A New Journey ( Part 2 of 2 )
Forgotten, Not Dead: Random Acts
Moving the Prisoners
The price of killing
Dainty Delicate's of Desiring Damsels
Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor
Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-06
So a Golden Koi walks into a bar...
Close to You
Hrm.... Check please!!
Close to You (Harmony)
Spirit walk of a Runt (pat 1)
Spirit walk of a Runt (pat 2)
The Ambassador's Work
Diametrical Concentration
The Expedition ( Part 1 of 6 )
The Expedition ( Part 2 of 6 )
The Expedition ( Part 3 of 6 )
The Expedition ( Part 4 of 6 )
Delightful Daydreaming
"The Tempest" - a play by bard Garrett Locke
Negotiating with the Not-So-Friendly Giant
Assault on the Bastille 1 of
Assault on the Bastille 2 of
Assault on the Bastille 3 of
Assault on the Bastille 4 of
Assault on the Bastille 5 of
Assault on the Bastille 6 of
Assault on the Bastille 7 of
Assault on the Bastille 8 of
Assault on the Bastille 9 of
Assault on the Bastille 10 of
The Expedition ( Part 5 of 6 )
Searing Memories
Perfecting the Trap: Into the Earth
The Expedition ( Part 6 of 6 )
X Re-Issuing the Challenge X
Two Crowns and a Cane
Perfecting the Trap: Introductions
Perfecting the Trap: Paying the Toll
The Renegade and the Cannibal, pt. 1
The Bard's Lament - A Broken Heart
Succumb to Fear
Translucent Odyssey
Perfecting the Trap: Initiation
Perfecting the Trap: Domination
Perfecting the Trap: Rumination
*X* Turning the Millstone *X*
-X- To Face the Ice -X-
-X- To Face the Ice -X- pt.2
-X- To Face the Ice -X- pt.3
Grist for the Mill
-X- Icy Entrapment -X-
Stormy Reflections ( Part 1 of 2 )
Stormy Reflections ( Part 2 of 2 )
A brief background
The Horses of Markon I
The Horses of Markon II
The Horses of Markon II
The Ballad of the Tragic Hero, Thanatael Shalonost - prelude
The Ballad of the Tragic Hero, Thanatael Shalonost
The birth of a new generation

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.


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

"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

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

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

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

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

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

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."
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
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
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."
curse proclaimed, she turned to face Dkom resolutely stating "Your search
begins with this one..."
, Her eyes turned then to regard the king within
the doorway with a level gaze before finishing ".. Do not fail us."

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

Writer: Euterah

Date Sat Jun 25 17:58:48 2016

To Darkonin Mokla Vershae Zola All ( Sunny IMM RP )

Subject Grist for the Mill

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

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

Whatever befell here, she would know.

Writer: Thasgerd

Date Mon Jun 27 01:32:36 2016

Writer: Vahriah

Date Mon Jun 27 05:56:54 2016

Writer: Vahriah

Date Mon Jun 27 06:19:56 2016

Writer: Elrei

Date Mon Jun 27 21:04:15 2016

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

Subject Rumors of a Broken Bond

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

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

'She told me she divorced you sir.'

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

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

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

'And you are certain of the name?'

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

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

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

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

Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jun 27 22:12:02 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Cut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would be the vessel.

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

Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jun 27 22:58:50 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject New

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something Older.

Something Wiser.

Something More.

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

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

Writer: Durst

Date Tue Jun 28 18:10:41 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Victim of circumstance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Writer: Xelin

Date Wed Jun 29 23:40:13 2016

Writer: Xoknath

Date Thu Jun 30 08:00:07 2016

Writer: Andreyna

Date Thu Jun 30 09:27:15 2016

Writer: Zola

Date Fri Jul 1 15:46:57 2016

To All Abaddon Bloodlust Verminasia Darkonin Immortals Fatale

Subject X We Are All Killers X

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Writer: Keinan

Date Sat Jul 2 11:34:29 2016

Writer: Durst

Date Sat Jul 2 17:35:12 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Sad sack

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Writer: Durst

Date Sat Jul 2 19:10:26 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Funky Cheese and Grapefruit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Writer: Odin

Date Sat Jul 2 20:59:14 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Work

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There are worse ways to spend your days.

Writer: Todor

Date Sun Jul 3 21:08:05 2016

Writer: Odin

Date Mon Jul 4 07:34:09 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Way

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Mon Jul 4 08:13:06 2016

Writer: Andreyna

Date Mon Jul 4 09:19:05 2016

Writer: Mathesan

Date Mon Jul 4 20:06:16 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject Funeral of One (1/2)


One was dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question was, who?

pg. 01

Writer: Mathesan

Date Mon Jul 4 20:09:32 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay

Subject Funeral of One (2/2)


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

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

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

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

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

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

Mathesan gave a curt nod.

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

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

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

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

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

pg. 02

Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 20:41:03 2016

Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 20:44:23 2016

Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 20:46:17 2016

Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 21:00:59 2016

Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 21:01:04 2016

Writer: Ruwen

Date Tue Jul 5 21:01:08 2016

Writer: Odin

Date Tue Jul 5 21:10:07 2016

To All Raije Imm Zandreya Shalonesti_Kingdom Shalonesti

Subject Wedding

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Writer: Arreana

Date Tue Jul 5 22:14:10 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-04

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

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

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

In this letter, he shared her sentiment.

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

Yet, what had brought her to Althainia, and now the shrine of Taliena on
Tropica, was the desire to get to know the enemy. Not so she could follow
their faith, but so that she could better understand it.

Books were... books, written by mortals. Even the tenets of the deities of
Algoron were words handed down to mortals, for the interpretation of

If Arreana relied on words to tell her about Taliena, would she have truly
followed her? Yes, when she was a girl, words were enough. But when it was
time for Arreana to become a woman, she had more than enough experience
with not only Love, but the grace of Taliena, that she knew that love was
sorely needed in the world.

Folding the parchment neatly, Arreana felt a tear slide down her cheek.

Two roses lay at the base of the beheaded statue, the statue that had been
put there to honor Taliena, now defiled by agents of Chaos. They were
breathtakingly beautiful, as the statue itself had once been, as the
memory of the statue remained.

There was still beauty in the world. There was still love, and those who
believed in it. Those who believed in Taliena and what she stood for.

Kneeling to the ground, Arreana let her tears fall freely as she placed
her fingers on the soft stems of the roses. 'Zandreya, thank you for your
blessings of nature, that we might see its beauty at times. I pray these
will linger here as long as they are want, so that they might also
celebrate the lady of Love, the goddess to whom I serve, Taliena.'

Arreana let a little of her magic flow out into the roses, blessing them.
It mattered not who left them, even if they considered themselves an
enemy. In a small way, they celebrated beauty, and they celebrated love.
That was more than enough to bring peace to the conflict in Arreana's

Then, in that moment, a voice boomed within her thoughts. It was not a
roaring boom, as a thundrous cloud might echo after releasing a flash of
light. It was a gentle boom, deep and resonant, as Arreana imagined the
heavenly Father might sound to her if she ever had the chance to hear his

It was not the heavenly father though, she recognized the voice as the
frost giant Thaydius, 'There are a few Bishops to my Grandmother. It is
encouraging to see her teachings remain strong in a world that seems so
averse to love at times.'

--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------17

Writer: Arreana

Date Tue Jul 5 22:15:49 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-05

********************SERIES 'Ruins: The Way of the "Free"'
****************************'Peace in Conflict'
Arreana hesitated a moment.

'I agree.'

'But it is so essential. It is the fabric that creates everything that
is good-natured in this world. All of the other pillars are built upon

The Ariel mused on the giant's words. He was not one prone to speaking unless
there was something important to say.

However, she agreed. Aside from the Father's holiness itself, All of the gifts
of goodness, the virtues that Taliena's children reflected, were drawn from
the combined wisdom and love of Austinian and Taliena.

'It is my hope that the good example by my brothers and sisters will
lift other voices up.' Arreana wasn't sure what drove her to say those
words, only that they felt right. Yes, she worshiped Taliena, but she had
become a priestess, not to fight, but to bring more love into the world.

'I think that's something others struggle to notice. I'm not quite the
preacher that the cloth tend to be, but it is an attempt to follow in the
footsteps of our idols, our gods.' Thaydius' voice continued to
resonate, the soft, gentle tones reminding her of All that was good.

'Kantilles shaped White Magic out of his love for people, so that it
could enrich their lives. Siccara became the healer through her love of
people, and her aversion to see them suffering. Kadiya's peace, from her
love of people. Nadrik's honor, from his love of people.'

The giant paused, and Arreana reflected.

'So we preach. Not because we want ourselves to seem important, but
because we love others.'

Arreana smiled. It wouldn't have seemed that odd. Even though she was
surrounded in ruins, but it mattered not, for she heard a voice that no
one else could hear, a voice speaking to the deepest knowledge of her

'And by which we hope they will learn to do the same.'

'Yes, it requires an amount of faith. Austinian believes in us. He wants
to guide us. So we must do the same.'

It was not Austinian speaking to her, but, in her heart, Arreana knew it
might as well have been. She had struggled with finding a balance in her
heart for doing what was right, against what she considered violent. There
were times when violence was unavoidable. In All other places, violence
was a last resort.

'If we cannot stand behind his beliefs, if we cannot honor the things our
lords and ladies teach, then we aren't spreading goodness and no one is
under any obligation to think we are doing otherwise.'


'I do hope I have not interrupted you. I was simply reflecting on how long
it has been since I set out. I always feel as though I should be doing
more. Teaching, and working with other priests ... helps the message seem
more clear.'

Arreana waited a moment, then, 'you mirrored my thoughts, Siccara's son.'

And so he had. Elrei's missive to Algoron, an open letter of love. The
roses, and the words of a giant. These were the things that renewed her
flame like nothing else.

She would work with others of the light of Goodness to see the Bible of
Holiness to completion, and she would bring Taliena's holiness back to
this place of ruin, no matter what it took.

Rising, Arreana turned to face the sun, her wings spread out. It was a
new day, and that meant it was another day to do good.

--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------18

Writer: Eadaoin

Date Wed Jul 6 06:39:58 2016

To Nordmaar Imm All ( Roleplay Cliath )

Subject And so it begins

Eadaoin smoothed her hand over the polished Blackwood wheel of the
Draig'Brathu as her eyes traced the intricacies of the wood beneath her
palm. Her brow furrowed slightly as thoughts turned inward towards the
events of the last month. She hadnt the time to miss her father, or the
place she grew up. He had taught her much about the city, about customs and
history, about the gods, and some basic skills she would need. Of course,
she turned more towards the army due to the training she undertook in her
youth, but she could sail. A rare smile played at the sides of her mouth as
she reminisced about her first time out to sea.

This was also her first time aboard the Draig'Brathu, but she had already
felt her way along every inch of the ship and knew it would be a pleasure to
sail her. She admired the craftsmanship of the small vessel. It was
modest, but mighty, built to withstand the rough waters and face them
head-on. It had a lot to prove, and so did she.

Eadaoins frown returned as she considered this truth and her jaw set in a
resolute line. She did not balk at her duty, nor would she give up or make
excuses. She had never been the type to cry woe is me when a challenge was
set before her, and she sure as hell wasnt about to start now. She had
heard there were grown women who did this, and thought them cowards. Cliath
willing, it was time for her to grow and build upon that which her father
had started. It was time to begin her patrols. Princess or no, Eadaoin was

Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Wed Jul 6 09:56:57 2016

Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Wed Jul 6 09:57:11 2016

Writer: Ruwen

Date Wed Jul 6 11:53:43 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jul 6 14:42:04 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject A New Journey ( Part 1 of 2 )

The setting sunshine reflected harshly off the waters of the Ishtar
river, shimmering like molten golden atop the muddy waters that flowed
through the southern district of New Thalos. Only a handful of river craft
graced the small, well-managed piers this day. Local river fishers trawling
the reedy shallows, a square sailed merchant cog, and a single galley
hosting a pleasure cruise for a pasha. The river ran low this summer,
discouraging coastal trade vessels with a deeper draft from sailing upstream
to the Desert Jewel. The sweltering heat combined with fewer ships meant
less work for the stevedores and dock hands normally bustling across the
boardwalk, loading and unloading cargo from ship to caravan to merchant

Sitting among the idle and disgruntled haulers who were cursing over a lack
of coin for their ale after such a slow day, Corron reclined against a
warehouse wall, balancing an inkpot atop one leg and leather bound book on
the other. With measured strokes of a tattered quill, he carefully inked
out the design of a vessel he had once seen off the coast Icewall- a two
masted juggernaut with a forecastle mounted ballistae and a reinforced hull.
He had not been out to sea in several days and seeing the pasha's galley had
sparked his imagination. With so little traffic on the river, Corron had
begun taking courier work. The assignments were scarce as few trusted
menial laborers and vagrants with such things, yet Corron had slowly built a
reliable reputation as he became more familiar with the lay of the land.

If nothing else, the lull in work had provided him an opportunity to catalog
some of his recent travels. It still amazed him to be working on a foreign
riverside dock rather than the tiny coastal port of his birth. Instead of
brine in the air and rotten kelp, exotic spices wafted on the breeze
occasionally undercut by the the rank scent of river detritus churned to the
surface by the choppy waters. Thalosia was a prismatic burst of colorful
clothing, grand buildings, and folk of All walks of life, often with barely
coherent accents. Even from streets away, the din of the markets reached
the wharves- a cacophony of venders hawking their merchandise, prospective
buyers wheedling for better deals, and masses of people simply trying to
pass through the pressing crowds as they went about their daily routines.

No one looked twice at a half elf in such a place- yet another stark
difference from his former home. Corron had gone from being a near singular
oddity to blessedly unremarkable and forgettable. Even in the few other
cities he had visited so far, his heritage meant little in the grand scheme
of things. People seemed far more likely to take grievance at the passage
of a towering Yinnae or odoriferous goblinoids than to even notice Corron.
Before he had learned a portion of the politics and history surrounding the
many kingdoms, places that had been little more than fables for most of his
life, it had All seemed arbitrary, who was or was not welcome where. It
made his exploring difficult. Corron attempted to take constant care to not
to offer offense in the cultures of each new place he visited. For some, an
incorrect bow could be taken as askance as smiling during an introduction.
Growing up as he had among rough mannered sailors in a poor village had
offered little in the way of courtly schooling.

Writer: Corron

Date Wed Jul 6 14:47:01 2016

To All Imm RP

Subject A New Journey ( Part 2 of 2 )

Smiling faintly, Corron carefully put away his writing implements and
blew across the fine parchment of his book to dry the ink, even though the
pounding desert sun had already accomplished the task. Carefully running
his fingers along the spine of the book as he placed it into a pack that was
treated to keep out the elements, Corron marveled at owning a book himself.
Knowledge and learning of any kind had been a dearly won commodity in the
shanty town with few residents ever learning to read, much less touching on
the greater spheres of knowledge. A few days prior, he had been staggered
when he stumbled onto a library, freely accessible to any who happened by
and containing books and scrolls detailing the great histories of Algoron
and her people. It was far better than discovering a dragon's lost hoard!

In the failing light of the gathering dusk, Corron started away from the
river, thankful he no longer had to sleep amidst the crates beside the
warehouse. Abruptly, a strong hand hooked his elbow, nearly yanking him
from his feet as he was spun around to face the diminutive dock master. Not
even cresting five feet tall, Corron had foolishly mistaken the sun-baked
man for a dwarf in their first interaction- a mistake that had earned him a
brick-like fist in the gut and a string of invectives.

"'ere now, ye lazy sod! Run this to Harnan's caravan afore it leaves! He
didnae leave payment for the last lading an' forgot this asides. Get this
to him an' bring back his due. Follow him clear to the Bloodlands if'n he's
left already

Having learned enough of the dock master's mannerisms, Corron found his
balance and quick stepped back to avoid the forth coming shove that would
have sent him tumbling. The man must have some dwarf in him to be so strong
for his size! Dutifully tucking the parcel that had been pressed into his
arms into his pack, Corron took off for the markets at a trot. It had been
hours since the last loading, so it was doubtful the caravan was still
within the city walls. Even worse, he had only a vague idea of where the
storied Bloodlands might actually be.

His pace slowed out of necessity as the Medina opened into the markets.
Navigating the crowd with a hard-won wariness of pickpockets, Corron quickly
learned the caravan had a considerable start on him down the western trade
route. He might still catch them before the road became mired in the forest
and bogs beyond Althainia. If not, he would have better luck finding them
at the gates of the shrouded city. With a broad smile for the adventure
ahead, Corron started down the road, keen to learn more of the world.

Writer: Elrei

Date Thu Jul 7 04:20:27 2016

To All Taliena Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Random Acts

"I have found two roses here..."

Not a day went by that Elrei did not feel the lack of community that came
from his chosen path. Not a day passed that he did not notice the lack of
convenience offered by city life. Habits that he had formed around such
convenience were the first to suffer and change by its lack, habits like his
constant visits to each of Her temples and shrines.

While a citizen in Althainia, he had taken to the practice of placing
roses in Her places, and also in the places of Those who had fallen, and He
who was captured. It was, at the time, such a small thing, and took less
effort even than the cards he would sometimes scatter to the winds.

Such a simple thing, yet it became so much more difficult to keep up with
after he left. Some might attribute that to age, some to laziness. Neither
would be wholly wrong, perhaps, but neither would be wholly right, either.
Regardless, he had felt a surge of energy, after reuniting with his
Bondmate, and so he had used it in simple acts.

Red and white...

Taliena knew why he chose the colors he did. She had come to him, once,
when he stood in the temple of Nadrik in Althainia, to acknowledge his work
and, as was often Her way, to encourage a greater understanding. He was
still humbled by the comment She had made of him that day.

So few understood the meaning and symbolism behind colored roses, in this
age. Most were satisfied in the knowledge that red roses had a correlation
to romantic love, if they had any care for the matter beyond using the
bouquet as a means to a lustful end. Like his decision to do most of his
sermons and religious writings on the Day of the Sun, his reasons could be
determined by those who cared to understand, but he had no great hope that
most had such a care, nor did he have any inclination to explain his reasons

Given together, red and white roses signified an ideal - something those
of Goodness had spent countless years preaching about the importance of, but
also something which had seemingly gone unaccomplished, on the whole. It
had taken some time for Elrei to learn, himself, how best to approach the
goal of unity. It was regrettable that such knowledge had come at a time
when he no longer felt able to share in it.

"I wish to pay it forward..."

Elrei was glad that his efforts had produced a positive effect for
someone, at least. Likely, Arreana did not know it was he who had left the
roses, and if that was the case then telling her might diminish the effect,
might reduce her joy at this seemingly random act by an unknown. Elrei had
no desire to diminish that happiness. The world was dark enough, but how
much brighter it could appear when a passing stranger might be seen as a
mysterious spreader of random kindness, rather than of senseless violence.
If small acts of kindness and love could keep the darkness at bay, then he
was content to do them.

Writer: Andreyna

Date Fri Jul 8 10:51:49 2016

Writer: Andreyna

Date Fri Jul 8 11:06:45 2016

Writer: Celia

Date Fri Jul 8 14:45:27 2016

Writer: Todor

Date Fri Jul 8 23:04:38 2016

Writer: Ayrora

Date Wed Jul 13 09:10:58 2016

To All Verminasia Ezek Roleplay Storyline

Subject Moving the Prisoners

It was a dark and foggy evening when Ayrora, Saladorion, and the guards
with the two prisoners left Sacnoth to head to Itholasia. The long ride
ahead meant nothing but relief to her as she knew the plan Baron Ezek and
her had prepared for these two. Her eyes glinted with excitement as she
looked forward to their punishment, they would never bother another innocent
soul again.

Salodorion glanced at her often, a bit unnerved by her silence. She was
never this silent on their rides and it bothered him but he did not let on.
He could tell something was on her mind but could not read her this night,
as if a shroud had veiled her thoughts and emotions from him and that
bothered him. Ayrora glanced at him with a soft smile which seemed to ease
his tension.

As they reached the gates of Itholasia, she could see Baron Ezek and his
guards waiting at the gates. Upon reaching him she offered a warm smile,
"Baron, these are the two prisoners I spoke of. " He rode over and looked
them up and down, "Not much of anything are they. " He turned back to
Ayrora as she smiled at him, "Just two pitiful followers not worth much. "
Ezek looked to his guards and they immediately moved to take the prisoners.
"We will see this is taken care of very soon. "

Ayrora watched as the Barons guards took the prisoners then looked to him,
"Thank you Ezek, The sooner the better. " He smiled at her, "No thanks
needed Ayrora.
" They said their farewells and headed off in opposite

Writer: Celia

Date Wed Jul 13 10:00:10 2016

Writer: Celia

Date Wed Jul 13 10:01:40 2016

Writer: Celia

Date Wed Jul 13 18:03:34 2016

To Abaddon Marauders ( Imm rp storyline All )

Subject The price of killing

Celia woke in the same strange maelstrom that she had passed out in.
Pomacanthuus, or Rolus, or whoever it was, was gone. The details eluded
her, but the blood had been washed away, and her shirt was shredded and tied
around her. She didn't trust the see elf as far as she could throw her, and
with her always changing forms, that was more often more than a chore. Her
whole body hurt. With a groan, she tries to sit up and screams out in
agony. Something was very wrong. Looking down at her legs, her hip is
grossly swolen and dissproportionate. That kick had been harder than she
thought. Furiously she starts to pray until finally she finds herself back
in Abaddon. With every movement she screams as fresh pain shoots up her
spine and into her mind. It takes what seems like hours of agony to reach
the mats and as soon as she is sprawled, she passes out..... Waking, the
first thing she notices is the pain. Excrutiating pain, and she can't move
her legs. Panicing she tries to focus enough to see but she is blindfolded.
Was she captured? She tries to think but her brain is fuddled with clouded
memories. Ogres and water demons, pain and injuries. A soft voice reaches
her ears 'Easy child, you will tear your wounds open. Calm, you are in the
city of Fatale, and it's clear that you still have more work to do'
She had
made it home and she was alive. The last thing she knew before the
blackness took her again was this isn't over, it had just begun.

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 14 15:27:05 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 14 15:33:55 2016

Writer: Vahriah

Date Fri Jul 15 07:24:01 2016

Writer: Durst

Date Fri Jul 15 18:29:38 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Dainty Delicate's of Desiring Damsels

The mist was cool against the small amounts of exposed flesh and a scent
of pine filled the air. The vapor around Durst almost made him look surreal
as he trudged through the mud. The forest was calm and eerily quiet. Not
one happy creature gathering its fill of food. Not one sound of a falling
pinecone or nut landing upon the ground that lay before his fur-lined boots.
With some magic (or luck) a slight amount of sunshine stabbed through the
air and upon the ground before him. A very faint smile started to form upon
the corners of his face, but faded back into a slight frown. Tricked again
he thought to himself. The mist gobbled up the light just as soon as it had
shown through. A lone "caw" sound echoed out as Kai sat upon the shoulder
of Dursts' worn robe.

"Well at least someone is up in spirits," Durst said out loud.

Kai gave another "caw" sound in response and shuffled his taloned feet a

"Oh and in the mood for dancing!?" Durst let out a cackle and shimmied his
feet a bit.

The experiments he had been concocting did this. First that blasted guard
and then turned into a bloodae frog, thought Durst. Intentions have taken a
bit of a toll on the man as he slipped a bit in the mud, but regained his
footing. Durst let his ever shifting gaze probe deeper within the forest
before him and headed towards the Fort. Oh a home, yes yes, a home. Mud
covered and a bit more cheerful he made his way for the new venture or
ordeals. Time would tell of course.

Several fires crackled around him. New friends he thought and comrades in
arms. Durst stretched out his limbs and looked over at the bubbling mess he
was brewing. The smell was putrid and several unidentifiable items came up
to the surface, only to be sucked back down into the mass of greenish
liquid. He glanced at someone sleeping and thought maybe just a drop of
hair would do it. He quickly shook his head and peered deeper into the

"Alright! Lets see what the cook made today."

A child like grin came upon his face and he vanished into a {ppin{pk haze.

Writer: Mc'murty

Date Fri Jul 15 18:32:38 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Fri Jul 15 22:23:02 2016

Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Sun Jul 17 02:20:44 2016

Writer: Vahriah

Date Sun Jul 17 03:31:14 2016

Writer: Todor

Date Sun Jul 17 15:29:42 2016

Writer: Vibulus

Date Sun Jul 17 17:57:21 2016

To Arkane All ( Cayenna Imm Rp )

Subject Personal Log of Vibulus Praetor

Having spent the past few weeks in casual encounters I have come to
marvel at the economic potential of the Mystic Kingdom as Arkane is oft
called. Along with the usual shops and commerce one usually finds in large
cities, they are also home to many skilled and successful craftsmen and a
thriving market for their goods. To see master craftsman of legendary
status on the streets is a common occurance as well as the owners of not
one, but three of the Algoran Capture the Flag League owners. The personal
affluence of a majority of it's citizens can be seen in the quality of goods
cast off to charity. Taxes rest at levels below most other kingdoms, yet
one can assume the large tax base makes up for this with few complaints from
it's citizenry. Public declaration of large sum donations are few, but
whether that is due to rarity or discretion of the crown is unknown. It
remains to be seen whether this economic might could be harnessed in time of
need, but certainly the potential exists if the crown set on that course.
In summation, any arrangement arrived upon for delivery of contractual
service most certainly could be met and honored, and fears of another
Imperial situation appear unfounded.

On the subject of morale, I would have to call it good even if not in a
nationalistic or militaristic sense. The people simply seem to enjoy the
unrestrained ability to engage in personal pursuits unfettered by demands of
state. The very notion makes it somewhat difficult to define what it is to
be Arkanian. Despite this, inspiring example continues from the Leonine
community here as displayed in the undertaking of a mission to clear an
outbreak of the Scourge before its virulent spread could assault the world
at large. They took it upon themselves to root it out at the source abroad.
I find it noble yet curious. I have been informed of an upcoming festival
in celebration of a kingdom holiday which may offer a chance to further
observe the moods and attitudes of the common citizenry. They do have a
crown endorsed guild pertaining directly to matters of morale called the
Gypsies. For my part, I consider it a wise and worthy investment by the
crown in light of previous experiences with what follows a break in morale.
The head of this guild seems quite motivated in duty and purpose which
speaks well of them and the group as a whole.

In personal matters, I continue my search for any sign of Tilly although I
fear for All it's wonders, Arkane may lack the aggresive nature which I feel
may be a draw to his current state of mind. When one's beliefs have been
unsettled, rigid structure would certainly hold appeal. A chance invitation
to a small gathering led me to come across one of Algoran's noted authors
and I had discussions with him about writing and the subjects which compel
us to do so. The conversation was enjoyable although it has left me
unsettled as I think once more upon my chosen subject. Write about what you
know is certainly a worthy guideline, but in my case it takes a toll and has
left me looking to distractions from the endless ponderings quiet moments

I shall continue to evaluate All assigned subjects and finalize my summary
report soon. I I imagine Command Staff grows impatient for it's conclusions
although I have yet to receive the stipend I requested some time ago. In
fact I've had no news at all. A curious point, but duty remains.

Writer: Todor

Date Sun Jul 17 20:37:54 2016

Writer: Thasgerd

Date Mon Jul 18 10:48:04 2016

Writer: Janko

Date Mon Jul 18 18:39:22 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jul 18 22:28:17 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Mon Jul 18 22:32:39 2016

Writer: Andreyna

Date Fri Jul 22 03:05:15 2016

Writer: Dreac

Date Fri Jul 22 19:14:48 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Fri Jul 22 21:35:16 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Fri Jul 22 21:40:15 2016

Writer: Arreana

Date Sat Jul 23 08:53:56 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Ruins II-06

********************SERIES 'Ruins: The Way of the "Free"'
Arreana was free.

She always had been. That was something she knew in her heart, something the
followers of Malachive had abandoned in their quest for power. What the
followers of Malachive would never truly admit was that, in their hearts,
they aspired to god-hood, even if that meant tearing every god down until the
only things left were ruins and ash. They would then be gods, gods of a world
far more broken than the one they lived in now.

It was true that Arreana was bound to Taliena, her Mistress. Yet, if she wore
a collar and chain, then she wore it willingly.

The path to peace was through love, not war, but if one let the violence of
the world rush over them, then peace would never be achieved.

As much as Arreana detested bloodshed, as much as she condemned reckless
violence... it was indeed Malachive who had shown her the truth, though not
in the way that he and his followers would hope.

They destroyed the home of her people, dooming what was left of them to
wander the world of Algoron until, when there no children left to grow into
adulthood, the Ariel would be little more than a memory, a legend.

Their violence had shattered the shrine of her youth, where she had first
truly come to understand Taliena. Arreana's world had been shattered, broken,
but not discarded.

The truth was that nothing would ever be easy.

It took a different sort of love to recognize when one was as much a danger
to themselves as they were tp others. To fight, in the name of love, was not
easy, but it was sometimes necessary.

Arreana brushed back at her hair, tucking strands of it behind her ear. She
had never liked putting her hair up, even as a child. Many of the other Ariel
women despaired at that fact, for binding one's hair was practical for those
who wished to fly. The wind already whipped at one's hair enough when they
stood with two feet on the ground. To face the wind head-on...

However, even as a child, Arreana had never accepted what 'should' be. It was
a quality that, while tiresome to some of the tribe's elders, was also one
that gave them, her parents, and many of the village much pride.

Looking out over the rocky shoreline, Arreana stood side-by-side with the
desecrated statue of Taliena. Waves broke against the rocks, but they
continued to come, as if determined to reach the ruins of Taliena's shrine.

Petal on the Wind.

The name she had been given upon coming of age. Her people had marveled at
Arreana's determination to fly without putting up her hair. It had never been
easy, and she would never be one of the tribe's fiercest Awks, aerial warriors
that melded the beauty of flight with the fury of battle. Her father had been
one, and, as his heir, he had hoped that Arreana would one day take up the
mantle as well.

She didn't, but he had been no less proud of her. When Arreana flew up into
the sky, her hair flying wildly behind her, sometimes whipping her face, she
felt the most free. Her radiant joy was evident to all. It was beautiful, and
so she was Petal on the Wind.

Arreana looked away from the ocean, back at the ash of the ruins. She had
done her best to clear the ruins away from Taliena's statue, to make a place
for those who desired to worship there.

It wasn't much, but she felt a warmth in her heart. Flowers were still placed
there often, tokens of visitors who remembered.

Forgotten, not dead. Perhaps, one day, the shrine would be rebuilt. However,
Arreana knew now what she had to do, and reviving a single shrine paled in
comparison to it.
--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------19

Writer: Catroina

Date Sat Jul 23 17:35:29 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Sat Jul 23 17:39:33 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Sat Jul 23 17:43:21 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Jul 23 23:27:13 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Jul 23 23:30:02 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Sun Jul 24 00:58:13 2016

Writer: Durst

Date Sun Jul 24 17:19:50 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject So a Golden Koi walks into a bar...

An odd scroll, bound in a bottle:

{p@---,---'--- {n/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ ---'---,---@

To whom it may concern
This latest task has proven to be most difficult in nature. Though I have journied
far into this land, I have yet to find the root of this..*(heavy blot ink from a pause)
...well lets just call it a puzzle. Yes, yes a puzzle that is it. The local villagers are little
help to me. I have tried several tongue's and they All give me the dullest expression. I have considered
some form of torture at first. This, of course, would not lighten the mood around the campfire.
Several peaks or mountains were within walking distance from each other. The elevation does not dishearten
the spirits at all. What does seem to vex upon my very soul is the fruitless nature of this journey.
There has been some guidance along my path. Several people have listened to my random babbling of the place
I seek, yet none have really given any cold hard facts. I am beginning to grow impatient with every splash
of salt water upon my brow. I swear even the seagull's are mocking me in the distance. I hear the voices again
and they are not happy with what is transpi
co... ...... deat.....
. A mockery of...
....madness upon....



{p@---,---'--- {n/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Writer: Odin

Date Sun Jul 24 21:11:28 2016

To All Raije Imm Kyri

Subject Thoughts

Odin sat on the fallen log of a mighty oak, and chewed mindlessly on a
peppered beef stick he had found on a street cart somewhere in the Vallens.
He was still both confused and enchanted by the layout of the place. Voices
from everywhere told him where he could or could not go, and even his keen
eye could not see where the speakers originated from. He had friends within
the Vallens, but then again he had friends elsewhere in the world as well.
It wasn't his life goal to be liked. It was his mission to find those
worthy of kingship, those who could help Volsung grow and to bring back the
honor of his family. It was his goal to explore the world and to understand
it better. He was doing just that.

He had just returned from a ceremony in honor of the God Fatale. It wasn't
his God. In truth, he knew little about him, save his followers tend to be
deeply committed, unlike many of the Gods he had seen. The ritual contained
a lot of blood, moreso than he expected to see. As a warrior skilled in the
art of war, and a Viking who had fought many battles, blood was nothing new
to Odin. He spilled it on a number of occassions, but it was always in the
heat of battle. He watched as a sister drew the blade against her own
brother in sacrifice in such a calm manner it was almost unnerving.

A viking spills blood in either conquest to enhance their people through
raids when testing their mettle, or through the protection of its lands and
kinsmen. Some took to the the bloodlust easily enough and lavished in it,
but there was always a struggle of someway or another. It was never so
passive or casual. There was always a battle which drew the blood, a form
of conflict. To see it used as an offering so passively spoke against what
his upbringing had taught him. Only the bold and brave went to Valhalla, to
be given the chance to ride in battle each night only to rise again.
Offering one for the sake of offering would have been frowned upon.

The bloodied man did not cry out, which was brave in its own right, but the
setting was not what he was used to. It was not wrong, it was just not him.
The lure of the dark was something many of his kin, when he still had them,
had felt. The raiding and plundering of his people allowed for battle more
often than many cultures. Some longed for it, gloried in the kills while
they tested their mettle. Some looked forward to the carnage and preying on
the weak, others just wanted the opportunity to die in battle so the Gods
would be honored. But they did this while fighting, not kneeling. No
viking would kneel unless beaten. This was something he couldnt' quite
comprehend. Perhaps one day, but he didn't feel embracing the darkness
would be where his life was headed. That being said, he was the last
Volsung. At this point, whatever he does greatly influence the course of
future generations, if there were any to be influenced.

The thought of him being the last weighed on him heavily.

What was he going to do about that?

He had no bloody clue.

Writer: Corron

Date Sun Jul 24 22:56:24 2016

Writer: Skylla

Date Tue Jul 26 15:46:08 2016

Writer: Dreac

Date Tue Jul 26 23:34:25 2016

Writer: Vahriah
Date Thu Jul 28 16:26:03 2016

To All ( Zandreya )

Subject Close to You

Deep inside the Vallens it had remained. Centuries had passed and what was once a
hunter's blind hidden away in the large branches of a tree was merely a few boards
that mounted a useless resistance against nature reclaiming them. This was a place
where lessons were taught, where a father spent time with his two sons, tucked away
in some of the most deepest thick of the Vallens.

Small marks remained where wooden practice swords thunked into the trunk, marking
moments of youth that were centuries old, almost impossible to distinguish now.
The gates of Shalonesti had closed, and along with it, most of the hope for those
left outside. This had been a place of happiness, something that was rare to find,
with Vahriah's family. His mother and father taught Vahriah and his older brother
the basics of hunting, and shared stories of a place that was absolutely mystical,
Shalonesti. The children were born out in the wild, they never knew it, and so
for many years imagination of what it must be like was kindled here, in this place.

When mother died, they buried her near the base. Thus continued an idea of someone
or some place being close, but far away. The stories stopped, the harmony ended,
and hunting gave way to training to become a soldier. Vahriah's father, Ideco,
spoke perhaps once or twice a year after. Instructions or commands were issued with
nods and gestures, for the most part. Silence became common.

From then to now life became barracks and guard houses. Something had been abandoned
, something precious. It was something he could feel missing, ever present, always
on the precipice, to faint to understand, to loud to ignore, threatening madness. It
was easy to feel the absence of divinity, and incredibly painful. The gap was felt,
even if it had become a dull pain, rather than a stabbing one, eased by success in
other areas.

This is where that disconnect began. Vahriah pushed aside a fallen board, then some
vines, finding the remains of what were once steps on a ladder, the ones not crumbling
were used to ascend. There, where the floor was not rotting, was a small altar that
at one point had heard many prayers, and hymns sung by a family. Where a reflection
was hidden by centuries of dust, he placed his hand, clearing the surface of a mithril
symbol with a thumb, only to have a blurred image of himself, alone, facing him.
Yet something remained, buried by time, a warmth that called out through memories
regret and mourning had suppressed. He decided then this would be home for the next
few weeks. Repairs on more than just an altar had to be made.

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:16:59 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:21:44 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:33:36 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:39:45 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Jul 28 17:48:32 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Thu Jul 28 21:33:48 2016

Writer: Durst

Date Thu Jul 28 23:44:51 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Hrm.... Check please!!

The frost{ clung to Dursts' red hued beard, blessing upon him a look of a
nobleman. His fur lined boots trudged upwards and his chest heaved with
every aching step. How much further up this mountain did he have to travel
he wondered. Another thought fluttered through his mind like a kender in
wonderment. How much further up this mountain did he have to travel he
wondered. With a echo in the distance his laughter came back to him, almost
in a mocking tone, "HA HA HA HA". Even the mountains were laughing back at
him. How dare they! Grubby gloves pawed away some of the ice and snow from
his face and he chuckled to himself again. He could see a pack of creatures
further up and they did not look like the friendly sort. He gazed further
up towards the approaching objects and shouted, "NOT TODAY I AM AFRAID! ".
With a {phaze and puff
, he was gone.

The diner was warm and bones began to feel normal again. The bitter cold
was not that bad. It was the lack of fur that drove him insane. The
waitress was bubbly and a bit dim witted, Durst observed quietly in his
little booth. He poured heaping amounts of sugar into the brewed cup of
coffee, inhaling the rich flavor and warmth happily. A near sadistic grin
started to play upon his lips and stretched ear to ear. Pulling off his
gloves he cupped the mug for a bit more warmth and started to take slow sips
of the near magical {nbrew. Along the inseam of his right pointer finger and
towards his thumb was a scrawling of a tattoo that simply read: Haunt.
Durst blew some more steam from his coffee and took another gulp. A
passerby and his pal noticed the hunched warlock. The looked tough,
probably thieves or gladiator types... Why are they staring at me?! The
weary warlock slunk a bit more into his booth to avoid contact, but the men
approached anyways.

"Hey Paul! Look at this guy? Looks like someone transmorphed a pile of
Camel dung. {" Paul as he was apparently called chuckled and they both stood
over the shrinking man within the small booth. "Yeah Thomas, he looks like
an Orc and an Ogre had some odd bastard child
". Both of the uninvited
guests started to laugh out loud and no other patron seemed to care about
the harassment that was taking place.

"OH! OH! Yes yes! I am ugly and made of dung, but of course I am" Durst
smiled up at the two fellows as politely as he could make himself do. His
odd shaped pupil seemed to pulsate for a moment. "Hey... What sort of bag
is that?! That looks odd... Lemme see that you pile of filth. {"X Paul
grabbed at bag that was in Dursts' possession and Thomas quickly followed
suit, both thieves gripping at it and grinned in victory. "The hell is this
made out of Tom? Some sort of pig?
" Thomas looked at Paul in afraid
amusement and shrugged his shoulders just before Durst chimed in. "OH! Yes
skin... Of what well this and that sure yes no human... No kender.. Ummm

Both men looked in horror at each other then back at the Warlock in the
booth. With a teeth showing Paul looked down at Durst, "OH YEAH?! I BET!!!
" Both laughed again and opened up the sack of flesh. It only took a
moment... Maybe two. Durst saw it coming, but did not warn the vile
creatures. The reflections of the flam{oes were in their eyes and the sack
hit the floor along with two sets of boots and a heap of dark ash.


Writer: Vahriah

Date Fri Jul 29 22:56:48 2016

To All ( Zandreya )

Subject Close to You (Harmony)

"We will not be returning, All that remains here is bitter sadness."

Vahriah worked to secure a webbed hammock between two sturdy branches,
while his mind focused on the words his father spoke the last time they
left the blind. It was the closing of a chapter, sealed away and over
years, All it's lessons erased to follow a new philosophy.

Ideco trained his two sons to let go of the past from that point forward,
and to focus strictly on discipline a dedication through the martial.
There was no room for the spiritual, everything became about strength,
speed, focus, sparing, and then rest so that the process would repeat
itself the next day.

The hammock held his weight, swinging gently to a stop. It felt
so strange not to be preparing the practice yard back at the barracks.
His cloud colored eyes lingered on the repaired and polished mithril
symbol sitting on the altar. Everything else he tore down. This was
the heart of it, exposed and raw, droplets of dew rolling down it.
The chapter was reopened.

He assumed for so long that by viritue of his race he was more connected,
to nature. Nature would not be ignored without consequence, and the acute
awareness of it's absence accumulated. It resulted in several centuries
lost, chasing after something meaningful that he forgot how to find.
Now, those precious memories, bonds that had been forgotten, began to
rise to the surface. Dew drops from the forest moisture marked each step
back, another page turned into memory by the echo made as they collected in
tiny pools where they splashed. A time when there was more to life than
being a soldier.

The words to a hymn sung by a family.

Celebrations devoted to something other than rites of passage or successful

Lessons imparted by a mother to her sons about the importance of understanding
the unity shared with the elements.

A gift of cord and wood left to him to remind him the importance of balance.

Soon drops of dew became a shower of rain. As it did, the void created by
loss and began a discord that persisted four centuries began to fill. It
would rain for two days.

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Jul 30 20:27:26 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Jul 30 20:32:45 2016

Writer: Mysner

Date Mon Aug 1 07:31:01 2016

To All ( Imm rp Trojori )

Subject Spirit walk of a Runt (pat 1)

She looked proudly unto her son, he had grown so much, mature a lot from
the little frightened cub to the young adult standing before her. She knew he
was ready for this, he'd trained both with his father and grandfather, he
was prepared to take this step into adulthood and become a member of Pride
Trojori. Another of her cubs growing up to become an adult, it felt as if
time flew by so quickly. She treaded easily over the snow, her steps easy
and graceful as she guided her son to a cave where he would take his Spirit
Walk. She had visited the cave days before to ensure it would be a good
place, now she stepped in and began to prepare the bonfire, adding the herbs
needed as she took a sit and motioned Mysner to sit in front of her. "You
are ready for this step in your life, Mysner? The spirit walk is a serious
matter. You must listen carefully to what the Ancestors have to say." She
asked of her son, watching him as she adds more herbs to the fire, making
the flames crackle and hiss.

Without speaking, she makes her way to a small cave as Mysner steps through the opening. The cave was worm, the winds of the mountains not penetrating this far in. Mysner sits on a bed of moss and waits. Skylla starts a roaring fire,
filling the cave with heat and making shadows dance on the walls. 'Tonight
you will enter
the realm of your Ancestors. This place is seperate from our realm, the laws
of mortals are differant. Your guide will find you, walk with you, and lead
you to them. Do not fight your guide, no matter what it is. This is his
realm, the laws made for him. Learn from your spirit guide, cub. Hear its
voice. Only your guide can bring you back to this realm, only he knows the
way. Do you understand?' With a nod Mysner answers simply 'Yes Chieftess.
With a nod Skylla lays a bundle of herbs on the flames and begins to chant. The
words are unintelligible but stir something in Mysner's soul; Then there was blackness.
Mysner wakes in the cave, the fire long cold, the air frigid. The young wemic
quickly looks around, but doesn't see anything differant, just the same cave.
'Father? With a sigh of dissapointment he walks out of the cave into the
deep snows of Icewall. His spiritwalk was a failure. Knowing the pride would
never trust him, never bring them into the Trojori as one of them, he sets out
blindly across the ice plateus. His feet crunching through the thin layer of
ice that had fallen on the snow. 'Where you going boy?' At first Mysner
didn't hear it, his mind lost in thoughts of lonliness and despair. 'Cub,
I asked you a question! That he heard. Lifting his head he turns around to
face the voice. Nothing. Turning around he takes a step and the ground vanishes into mist. 'You really aren't that bright are you boy..' A cackle
rises with the wind and is blown away just as quickly. Out of the mist a form
starts to take shape. Small, nearly lost in the mist and snow as it gets closer
and closer, until it finally reveals itself. A penguin. Mysner groans. Then
it hits him. This is the spirit realm, and his guide was a stupid penguin?!
Dissapointment turns to anger. Why can't he have the good guide. His father's
was a hawk, Roi has a panther, and even Stubby had a boar! Not Mysner, no he
has a stupid penguin! Your my guide? A penguin? I eat things like you.
The guide doesn't even twitch, just walks up to Mysner and pecks him on the leg,
opening a deep wound just above the ankle. Mysner tries to kick it away but
the penguin is gone. WHAM Another vicious bite to his hindquarters, making his back leg buckle.

Writer: Mysner

Date Mon Aug 1 07:34:46 2016

To All ( Imm rp Trojori )

Subject Spirit walk of a Runt (pat 2)

As Mysner falls through the mist that is the spirit realm,
blood pouring from his wounds, his mother's voice comes into his mind 'Trust yourself and the guides, be respectful.' Well, he screwed that up. Then
other warnings '{The spirit realm is dangerous, you can get lost without your
spirit guide'
and 'Demons will look for any opportunity to hitch a ride
back to this realm The mist swirls around him, faces appearing then
dissappearing. Scarred faces, faces torn by war or murder, horned faces, and
even ones with fangs. Mysner swung his paws at them, his claws cutting through
the mist making it dissapate only to have it come back, the faces taunting him.
'Are you ready to listen boy, or do you deny me?' Mysner knew this was it,
if he denies his guide he will be lost in the spirit realm forever, or worse, a
demon will take over his body and take him back to his pride. 'I hear you
spirit guide, I'm sorry' Instantly the mist is gone. Icewall replaced by
the cool of rainforest. The howls of monkeys and the songs of birds of all
kinds. 'Now that that is over, we can get started. Leading the way, the
penguin waddles through the rainforest, not even looking back to see if Mysner
would follow.
Mysner sighed heavily, but followed the squat little bird through cold and ice
until finally they came upon a great vallenwood tree. His guide simply walks
into the tree as if it were not there, but Mysner paused. You don't just walk
into a tree, that hurts. Walking up to it, he places his hand on the bark only
to find it passes through, so he steps in. Sitting on branches and logs, stones
and the ground, sat nearly fifty leonine. All of them were draped in animal
skins of All kinds. Lions, bears, pteridactal, even a T-rex skin, All of them
predators. None of them spoke, but a voice rings through his head deep and
powerfull. 'What is this cub that comes before us, who is this? He couldn't
speak, he couldn't move, All he could do was stare blankly. How do they not
know? Were these someone elses ancestors? Did his spirit guide take him to the
wrong place? Again the booming voice came from everywhere and nowhere All at
once''This is Mysner, son of the outcast, he is a runt of no consequence.
then a lighter voice comes through, this one not as deep but just as powerful.
Mysner looks at his guide as the penguin steps before him 'A runt he is, there
is no denying that, but he is battle proven, and with a pride. He is not
outcast, he is Trojori.

Gray mist envelops Mysner as faces peer at him, the booming voice nearly making
his fur want to jump from his skin. 'Stubborn and impatient are you cub.
Your ancestors are warriors, battle born and hardened on Raije's battlefields
across centuries. WE will be watching to see if you are worthy, now be gone
from us. As the mist clears the cave comes into focus. At first Mysner
can't tell if this is the spirit realm or reality. The moss is soft underneath
him, the fire died down to gray coals and a misty smoke. Then it finally hit
him where, and who, he really was.

He was home.
He was a warrior of Raije.
He was Trojori.

Writer: Jazaren

Date Mon Aug 1 22:18:51 2016

Writer: Garrett

Date Wed Aug 3 13:52:10 2016

To All Jazaren Ferg Kyri Alasdair Immortal RP

Subject The Ambassador's Work

A dark silence fills the Great forest of Arkane. The only illumination a
faint firelight from the Dungeon Entrance. It's doorway, seemingly nothing
more than a haphazard shack of wooden boards, is approached by a nondescript
man. The man looks inquisitively at the shabby locale. He holds an
exquisite scroll and letter in hand. 'Master Garrett?... Master Garrett

Answering the call, a man of impeccable business attire saunters out of the
doorway, a fine gentleman's cane in hand. 'What do we have here? ' The
messenger bows his head, and hands both the fine parchment and the sealed
note to the handsome arrival. Garrett opens the note and reads it.

Without hesitation, Garrett swings his cane downward to crush the bowed
head. Not missing a beat, he deftly turns on his heel to walk back into the
Dungeon. He nonchalantly unfurls the large scroll.

The corpse is left unceremoniously, blood still pumping from the open skull.

Writer: Corron

Date Wed Aug 3 16:12:38 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Thu Aug 4 07:56:32 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Thu Aug 4 08:24:03 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Thu Aug 4 14:19:40 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Thu Aug 4 14:22:47 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Thu Aug 4 14:24:57 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Thu Aug 4 14:54:47 2016

Writer: Garrett

Date Fri Aug 5 10:31:30 2016

To All Bloodlust RP

Subject Diametrical Concentration

'Spirit rise... , ' sings Garrett, using his mana to bring forth an
ethereal replica of himself. The spirit, completely tangible, possesses a
translucent aura that distinguishes the two of them. Other than that, the
pair are exactly alike - wearing the same clothes, standing in the same
manner, bearing the same grin on their faces.

Garrett and his doppleganger look at one another directly, and both furrow
their brows. Splitting his concentration into two different places is not
easy. His vision gets blurry. But then, Garrett's mind adjusts to the
sensory input and he can see simultaneously through both his own, and his
spirit's eyes. He looks at himself, focusing his mind into the two

Garrett takes out a small ball from his coat pocket. He throws it to
his twin. The twin catches it, and throws it back.

Full of mischief, Garrett grins widely.

Writer: Garrett

Date Fri Aug 5 11:17:40 2016

Writer: Talik

Date Fri Aug 5 13:11:25 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Fri Aug 5 21:30:05 2016

To All RP

Subject The Expedition ( Part 1 of 6 )

Towering evergreens dominated his vision on All sides. Massive,
lichen-spotted trunks of pine, spruce and cedar risings dozens of feet
overhead and spreading branches so thick that most of the snow was kept
clear of the forest floor. Ice-kissed berries glistened on the branches of
spiny leafed bushes scattered through the sparse undergrowth. Bundled in
dense, fur-lined layers against the pervasive chill and wet of the
hinterlands, Corron trudged through an unexpectedly deep snow bank.

The last sign of habitation was more than a days's travel opposite the
seemingly endless evergreen forest. After weeks of painstakingly compiling
maps and gathering scraps of rumors and myths, Corron had begun his
expedition into the frozen heart of Icewall, chasing the merest hint of a
legend. He was truly off the edge of the map now. None of the taciturn
residents of the loch-bound highland village beyond the shroud of the forest
had any idea what lay on the other side of the woodlands, if they ended at

Corron was undeterred by the prospect of forging into the unknown. The
thrill of exploration combined with the mystique of discovery in an oddly
compelling way to lighten his steps. The cold was ever present, yet so far
was little worse than the winter bite of the sea wind off the northern coast
by which he had lived for so long. He was well-provisioned for the journey
and spent each evening carefully warming nearly frozen vials of ink and
sketching new regions onto the composited maps he had brought with him.

Suddenly, the dense forest fell away on All sides as if sheered by a
colossal axe. The sight before him was far stranger than the perfectly
straight line delineating the evergreens from the tundra plains. Looming
columns of basalt, taller than the giant trees, thrust through the
permafrost to form dark spires and flowing curtain walls that glistened
dimly in the afternoon light. The frozen pillars blanketed the horizon and
formed a potentially unnavigable maze.

He was faced with a decision- enter the hidden valleys shaped by the strange
formation or likely spend days trying to walk around the obstruction.
Corron's supplies were finite and foraging was unlikely considering the
unfamiliar terrain. After minutes of futilely attempting to determine
whether he was near the middle or the edge of the basalt ridges, Corron
decided one path was as good as another and resumed his journey, passing
into an unearthly realm of frozen soil and sheer black rock that seemed to
touch the sky.

The sunlight barely filtered into the murky channels, the absence felt in
the piecing cold of the air. The basalt was strangely resistant to the ice
as though some latent inner heat kept the moisture from fully coating it.
The paths were a mad man's dance, erratic and swerving with many switchbacks
and box canyons. Corron journeyed through the evening and into the dimmest
hours of the night, unwilling to sleep in the bizarre landscape. He doubted
that he even could sleep since the last vestiges of the day's warmth were
leeched away with the setting of the sun. Even the light of the stars, so
crisp and bright in the northern sky, could barely funnel past the spires to
light his way.

Writer: Corron

Date Fri Aug 5 21:35:18 2016

To All RP

Subject The Expedition ( Part 2 of 6 )

Dawn's light, breaking across the horizon, found Corron still striding
through the basalt labyrinth. He ate on the move, the hard rations feeling
just as cold as the tundra. Only the warmth of his body kept his water
skins from freezing. Thankfully water was no issue in the wintry
hinterlands, a handful of snow sufficing in a pinch. Ahead, the shadows
began to falter until they gave way completely to the light of day as the
basalt valley ended in a snow covered field of ice. In the distance, a
mountain range stood with head and shoulders lost in the clouds.

Pausing for a few hour's rest after the full day of travel, Corron watched
the rising sun cast strange reflections over the unbroken ice plains. The
light caught in the snow, reflecting back up from something hidden just
below the surface. As his fatigue diminished, his curiosity grew until he
could no longer contain it. Carefully approaching the edge of the strange
shimmer, Corron began digging through the snow until his hands struck a
hard, smooth surface. He knelt at the edge of a vast lake, its surface
frozen solid. The rich mineral content of the water caused the peculiar
reflections and gave the ice a mirror-like sheen.

The next leg of his journey was painfully slow and nerve wracking. Each
step was placed with careful balance and shifting of his weight, senses raw
from straining to feel any shift in the solidity of the ice over the deadly
cold waters or hear a warning crackle that might signal a break. The wind
blew dense banks of snow across the ice, obscuring vision more than a few
yards ahead, leaving Corron in world of white and biting cold. Nearly two
hours into the trek with the sun a pale haze in the swirling now, the sound
he had been dreading reached his ears. It began slowly, a distant creak
growing louder as the ice contracted and fractured.

Quick-stepping several feet to the left, Corron dropped to his stomach and
began propelling himself across the slick surface, his pulse racing and the
splash of chunks of ice spilling into the frigid waters loud in his ears.
He managed to out distance the collapsing surface, skidding many yards
before trusting the ice to support his full weight again. While he had
avoided a likely fatal swim, the damp had sunk into his clothing and the
cold into his bones which made the remainder of the crossing All the more

The sun was well into its afternoon descent when Corron left the frozen lake
behind. The exertion of the journey had driven the worst of the cold from
his flesh, if not from his clothes. The cloud enshrouded mountains loomed
closer, perhaps half a day's hard travel to reach their foothills. The
terrain was significantly less barren this side of the lake. Moss and
lichen pushed through the snow banks in low hummocks with the occasional
stunted shrub. Caribou tracks showed in the soil and hares rustled the
lowest branches of the bushes. Corron continued his steady pace forward.

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Aug 6 21:18:17 2016

To All RP

Subject The Expedition ( Part 3 of 6 )

It was only the dumbest of luck that prevented him from walking by the
snow-mired ruin without finding it. The edge of an overturned foundation
stone caught Corron's foot mid-stride, stubbing a toe and making him
stumble. Scooping away the layers frosty powder revealed that he was
standing on the remnants of a long demolished building. During the next two
hours, Corron unearthed the remains of nine more structures. Whatever had
befallen this place must have occurred years ago and left little trace. The
stones that would have composed the walls must have been carried away,
considering that the paths between each foundation were clear of debris. A
cursory examination of the remaining foundations gave no clue who had lived
here nor what had transpired. He could only speculate the use of each
building. Most had likely been homes and two larger foundations communal
storage or public houses. The largest site of All was at the center of the
forgotten village. The ruin was six sided and bigger than any four of the
others combined.

Something about the hexagonal building called to Corron. Why was it so much
larger and given such an odd design? What had been its purpose? While
pacing off the lengths of each side of the hexagon, he noticed faint lines
on the floor, a design centering each wall. Wind, frost rime, and the
scoring of blades had faded and defaced the etchings. At the center of the
floor, a strange symbol was carved and similarly ruined beyond recognition.
However, hidden within those lines, a trap door lay concealed. After some
time studying the etchings and chipping away layers of frost from the
hinges, the mechanism was triggered and the trap door rose to reveal stone
carved stairs descending a tight vertical shaft into complete darkness.
* * * * *
The torchlight cast unsteady illumination down the passageway, oily
smoke rising up the smooth stone walls. The tunnel extended into inky
blackness beyond the wavering light in either direction. The cut of the
tunnel was perfectly square, no seams marring the dull gray rock. Despite
there being no visual curve to the walls, Corron was certain he no longer
traveled in the same direction since coming into this passage at least a
quarter of an hour ago.

By now, the sun must have sank behind the ice mountains far overhead. He
had followed the spiraling stairs deep beneath the frozen earth before
reaching the beginnings of the labyrinth. There was no other word for the
subterranean complex. It was a spiraling mass of tunnels and passages, all
smooth walls and darkness. There were no markings to distinguish one
corridor from another, no hints about the function of the sprawling

Corron paused from his careful stride, resting his free hand against the
wall and watching his breath fog the air. Something about the feel of the
wall beneath his fingertips drew his attention. There was no dust and no
moisture despite the chill. Whether it was the work of a potent ward or
constant upkeep, neither boded well for his exploration. Perhaps he should
have stayed in the ruins above and scavenged for more information before
descending those stairs. He definitely should have taken a day to rest and
recover. The hard march over the previous two days, with only a few bare
hours of rest that morning, was catching up to him, dulling his mind and

Well, no use turning back with nothing to show for the effort. Corron
resumed his cautious progress down the hall. The monotony of the place
pressed at his perceptions, trying to lure him into complacency. Perhaps
there was no danger present, perhaps there was nothing at all. Yet why
would such grueling labor have been applied to the labyrinth's creation if
there was no purpose. The further he progressed, the more certain he became
that the seemingly arrow-straight path was not only curving, but descending
at an imperceptible degree.

Writer: Catroina

Date Sat Aug 6 21:21:33 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Aug 6 21:26:12 2016

To All RP

Subject The Expedition ( Part 4 of 6 )

Ahead, the depth of the shadows shifted, presaging a divergence in the
path. The torch was beginning to splutter, casting more smoke than light as
it neared the end of its use. It barely provided sufficient radiance to
reveal a fork in the tunnel where the path split at sharp angles, left and
right. The quality of the masonry abruptly shifted at the fork. The
perfectly square and sheer walls became curved and vaulted, the surfaces
pocked by acid and pyroclasm. Blasted pieces of stone cluttered the halls
in both directions. The cold air hung heavy with the scent of long trapped
smoke. A battle had happened here.

One direction was as good as another. With nothing to indicate what might
lie down either tunnel, Corron turned left, straining to dismiss his fatigue
and focus his mind for anything that might forewarn of danger or give any
clue as to the purpose of this place. Not ten strides down the path, Corron
encountered the first true room in the whole of the complex, so far as he
had seen. The chamber was an immense circle, almost perfectly round. Soot
and blackened impressions were scattered around the room, showing that there
had been wooden furnishings in the room before whatever devastation had
befallen the strange compound. More symbols, marred beyond coherence, were
incised into the walls and floors, graceful curves and harsh lines blasted
away or hewn out of the stone.

Corron delved deeper into the complex, moving through rooms sculpted into a
variety of shapes. Each and every one was scarred by fire and acid, ripped
by brute force, every trace of furniture or amenities consumed or carried
away. In a relatively small room shaped like a stylized star, a spring
filled a deep pool, providing a clean water source. Unable to press his
weary body further, Corron ate a cold meal, drank deeply of the pool and
watched his torch gutter out. The darkness that enclosed him was absolute,
yet it was comforting. Even without the stark emptiness and solitude of the
tunnels, he had grown to feel more at ease enfolded in shadows.

* * * * *
Hours passed before Corron again opened his eyes, uncertain how
long he had slept or what the relative position of the sun might be on the
surface. Something had disturbed the perfect silence, penetrating the
shroud of sleep. It had not been a sound, not precisely. It was more like
the memory of sound, a barely perceptible thrum of power, like the vibration
of distant thunder felt through a wall. Corron sat in darkness for a while
longer, back resting against the wall. Had the sensation of power only just
started or had it been present All along, his senses unable to perceive it
due to fatigue? When no answer presented itself, he reluctantly drew a
fresh torch and ignited it, the tart scent of pitch and oily smoke filling
his nostrils even as light filled the room.

For the next hour, Corron roamed deeper and deeper in the complex.
Diverging paths opened on the sides of some halls and the perception of
traveling lower returned. The destruction was no longer absolute. He could
sometimes guess the lost purposes of some rooms- huge ruined libraries,
training halls, kitchens, store rooms, barracks, meditation halls with
dozens of circular recesses carved into the walls with spring-fed reflecting
pools ringing the spaces between.

As the integrity of the rooms improved, more of the runes and glyphs carved
into the floor and walls were almost complete. All were utterly foreign,
representing a dialect he could not begin to decipher. The signs of the
battle became sporadic, yet seemed to plot a course through the labyrinthine
passageways. After documenting what he could, Corron began following the
signs of destruction, using them as a guide. The distant thrum of power
steadily increased the further he progressed.

Writer: Vibulus

Date Sat Aug 6 22:35:23 2016

To Arkane All ( Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject Delightful Daydreaming

{n"Deuce.. *hiss* Deuce"
called the hushed voice which neared. A
reluctant hand reached out to shake the still figure huddled upon the root
of a cypress tree, and drew back suddenly as eyes snapped open and a ready
dagger appeared. {n"Sir... False dawn, Sir. Third watch has not reported in
The rugged-faced man finished when recognition lit the eyes of the
sleeper. "Very well, First.. Rouse the men, prepare for movement as
quickly as the watch can be called in."
The officer replied, scanning
about as he flexed fingers gone numb from their grip on thei dagger's hilt.
Uncoiling as smoothly as stiffness would allow, Vibulus stood to gaze across
the forbidding and unfortunately familiar terrain, once more shrouded in
ground hugging fog which carried the foul miasma of the swamps. Letting his
thoughts clarify, he watched as the First file closer woke the remainder of
the Second Light Infantry Company with hushed tones and the occasional boot.
It had been 8, .. No.. 9 days now since they had begun their journey to
leave these accursed wetlands and reach civilization once more. Today would
no doubt hold more of the same slow careful plodding, winding their way in
the only direction seemingly open. The dangers of the swamp had seemed the
better bet than the likelihood of discovery by enemy patrols, out scouring
for stragglers such as themselves. The lessons of the swamp were costly,
and the debt settled with the lives of the men of the Second as payment.

Waiting for the watch report, Vibulus observed the attempts of his men to
ready themselves. Despite the hardships, training and discipline had held
thus far, evidenced in their tending to gear which the swamp wore out
despite best efforts and parsing out the meager rations remaining. He
wrapped his mind about the surge of pride he felt for them and used it to
push off the bone-deep weariness he knew they All felt acutely. He was too
young to feel so old, they All were, but he knew they looked to him and the
file closer to set the example. A burden he gladdly shouldered for all
their sakes.

He set his thoughts aside as the First returned, his brow furrowed with
concern. {n"Sir, the northern watch has not reported in. It's not like Ardur
to fail to report."
The file closer said, and stepping closer added in a
hushed tone, {n"I'm gonna go walk him in myself, Deuce.. In case, well you
. Vibulus nodded and said "I'll go with you, have the squad
leaders form up while we're gone."
With a nod First turned and issued
orders as Vibulus belted his sword and walked off towards the watch station
with the file closer making up the distance to catch up quickly.

Approaching the site, the outstretched form of the watchstander lay with his
head atop his crossed arms, a look of peaceful sleep which left Vibulus
feeling resentful and brought a snarled curse to the lips of First. {n"Ya
lazy git.."
Came the gravelly curse as the file closer laid a boot into
the side of the sleeping form. The wet viscous noise of impact startled
both men as the form rolled a bit to it's side and the hollowed out chest
and abdomen became visible before it simply folded in on itself and slid
down into the hole in the muck underneath. The body was given a final tug
and disappeared below as they scrambled back amid muttered oaths. Stunned
silence made the horror seem to stretch on forever before the shaking of his
shoulder and First's words called him back, {n"Sir?.. Sir! Your orders Sir?"

"Sir?.. Sir? Another order?" Shavia called as she gently shook him.
Vibulus tried to hide being startled behind a smile, embarrassment at
falling asleep covering the terrible visions still hiding behind smiling
eyes. "No.. Thank you. I've certainly had my fill today."

Writer: Garrett

Date Sun Aug 7 00:02:05 2016

Writer: Garrett

Date Sun Aug 7 00:25:57 2016

To Clare All RP

Subject "The Tempest" - a play by bard Garrett Locke

'WHAT THE POOP! ' exclaimed Scholarch Clare Kylen exasperatingly. '28
staves to enchant?!

Garrett smiled professionally. This wasn't the first time his business
partner screamed at him. But that didn't make it any easier. 'I'd be
willing to pay you 50 eggs for this...

'I don't want your eggs! ' she retorted. Garrett continued to smile
professionally. He gave her a defeated look, shrugging his shoulders in
acquiescence. 'How about a play and a ballad! ' she replied accusingly.

'A violent comedy? A lovely tragedy? Certainly one full of drama to
paraody... The life of Clar-ity
, ' Garrett teased. Clare laughed aloud,
some tension defused.

Garrett thought to himself, 'I know just the play name that'll fit... '

Writer: Garrett

Date Sun Aug 7 09:39:07 2016

To Vershae All RP

Subject Negotiating with the Not-So-Friendly Giant

'You will explain to me why it must be me, ' the Supreme General bellowed
demandingly. Garrett smiled broadly, maintaining his professional demeanor.
Trying to placate the Giant Ogre's demands, Garrett lifted both his hands up
in a surrendering gesture.

'For one, you are evil. We should stick together and I should support
businesses of a like minded nature. For two? You are around a lot. And I
hate waiting. Is that sufficient?
' Garrett responded as a matter of fact.

Vershae grunted, seemingly not convinced, but not pursuing the issue

'Oh, by the way, Pryma is selling the same gems for less, how about...'

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:09:28 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 1 of


The day was passing as many of them did when Mathesan was at home, in

He sat at a table in the back at the Master's Table, a Markonian
restaurant of his estranged sister's ownership. Mathesan hadn't seen
Liviya in quite awhile. He did not harbor the same distaste for her that
was held by his father. In truth, he barely knew her, but she had
accomplished quite a bit in the name of Necrucifer, and that was worth

Like other establishments bearing the Madaur name, though his sister
no longer carried it, the Master's Table was a high-class establishment.
It catered to the rich and powerful. The staff ensured that All the
tables were cleaned, even as guests ate, utilizing scrapers and other
instruments to sweep away crumbs.

Mathesan's table was in a secluded section of the restaurant, which made
it easy for his guards to position themselves to see everything in the
room. Mathesan chose the spot, however, not for its defensive location,
but because it afforded him a view of the whole restaurant without being
the center of attention.

It was exactly where he wanted to be.


The cry rang out resonantly against the mundane din of dinner chatter,
causing a dead silence to fall across the room. A number of the patrons
shared looks of alarm. Mathesan's guard placed their hands on their
sword hilts.


A murmur began to swell up, replacing the ominous quiet. Mathesan quelled
it instantly.

Ladies and gentlemen. Our fine city guard will protect our walls from
any bandits. Relax. Go back to your meals. Worry not. Mathesan rose
to his feet as he spoke. His voice was deep and powerful, those who
hadn't noted his presence seemed startled to see one of the princes of
Verminasia, hood drawn back, standing among them so suddenly.

With that, Mathesan whispered in hushed tones the words of an arcane
spell. Magical energies rose up around him in a swirling blue mist, and
then he vanished, disappearing from sight.

Mathesan's guards looked around, slightly startled, but they were
well-trained and battle-hardened, their composure held.

I hate when he does that. One of the men whispered, grumbling.

A woman, a couple scars across her face, with ruddy brown hair, placed
a hand on her hip, relaxing her sword grip. Who's going to write the
incident report?

No one raised their hand.

pg. 01

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:12:41 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 2 of


Herry was posted on gate duty. Everyone hated gate duty, because there
were no opportunities to sit, and one had to be alert at All times, or
be reprimanded if they were caught slacking.

Of course, being caught slacking in any of one's duties would result in
punishment, but the gate watch was more closely monitored than any
other, since it was the face of the Bastille to anyone passing by.

Almos' time fer a shif' change, yeah? Herry asked the other guard,
a tall, slow lad with the name of Rasfar.

Rasfar was upright, but had somehow managed to doze off. Herry could
tell, because he started a little when asked the question.

Wha-wha's tha'?

Herry shook his head, Nevermind.

Righ' then! Rasfar replied, adjusting his posture to be more suitable
for a soldier on watch.

The burn in Herry's thighs told him that he'd been on watch for quite
awhile. The sun had also begun to touch the tree-line, which meant it
was nearing supper, and, with that, a change of watch. Just another half
hour or so of drudgery...

Ya don' reckon we'll see battle soon, do ya? Rasfar asked suddenly.

What? Herry looked at the tall soldier. Rasfar wasn't exactly the
talkative type.

Well, ya know. With the war agains' Arkane an' all. Reckon we'll see

Herry had to think about it. He'd joined up with the military because he
was his father's second son. It was his older brother who would inherit
the family farm in Iolanthe. That was before the war had been declared

There was increased activity at the Bastille. More recruits, many of them
taken reluctantly in order to avoid prison in the capital. They weren't
necessarily the most reliable sort, but when one needed bodies, they
did qualify.

Maybe. Don' know, I try no' ta think abou' it. Herry replied,
shrugging his shoulders.

Why no'? Seems importan' ta think abou'. Rasfar turned his head to
look at Herry.

I know. Tha's why I'm no' thinkin' abou' it.

Rasfar scratched his head, he didn't seem to get it, but he didn't
add anything else to the conversation.

The silence stretched between them after that. Thanks to Rasfar's
question, Herry couldn't help but think about the war now. He didn't
really want to be in a war. Many saw it as an opportunity to prove
themselves, become heroes. Herry just wanted to do his duty, maybe
become a hired mercenary, and then settle down with whatever gold he'd

The gate behind Herry opened, he turned to see Hodrick peering out from
behind the large oak doors.

Hail! Hodrick roared, grinning. Get yer sorry arses ta the mess

Got the evenin' shift then, Hod? Herry asked amiably. He liked
Hodrick, he was a large man, but as friendly and humorous as they came.

'fraid so. Hodrick replied, his face dropping a little. Still
waitin' on Wheels.

Wheels was Tommy Wheeler, there were five Tommy's in the Bastille, and,
due to how fast he could dash, even in full armor, he'd been given the
nickname of Wheels. It had stuck.

Ras, mind waitin' 'til Wheels gets here? Yer probably jus' dozin'
anyways. Herry grinned, turning to Rasfar.

His grin was wiped away by what he saw.

Rasfar's hands were clenched around his throat, the long shaft of a
crude arrow protruding from between them. His eyes bulged out and he
sank to his knees.

Herry turned around to see a dozen arrows flying for the gate. The
Bastille was under attack!

pg. 02

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:14:06 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 3 of


Bandits in the Bastille. Mathesan relayed to the rest of the

Arriving on the scene, Mathesan had a moment to wonder whether he had
arrived at the wrong place. His spell had taken him just outside of the
city limits, and Mathesan had to jog up the road that led to the
Bastille. Nothing seemed amiss from afar.

Will no one else respond?

Mathesan noted the crier running up the road behind him, he had outstriped
the man with his spell, the matter of distance was trivial to a master
of the arcane arts.

You there. Mathesan called, hailing down the man as he approached.

He was small for a guard, and somewhat breathless. Though, from what
Mathesan could see, he was very fleet of foot.

Aye? The man asked, gazing at Mathesan up and down warily. He placed
his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Stay your blade, soldier. I am Mathesan Madaur, Crown Prince of
Verminasia, Actuary of the Verminasian Economic Union.

The man showed the faintest bit of recognition. Oh, aye. Suppose ya
look like him, aye.

Mathesan was used to this. As a part of the royal family, and, more
importantly, having earned his father's favor in the court, there were
numerous paintings of Mathesan around Verminasia and its territories.
They were, All of them, dominated by grander portraits of his father,
but many Verminasians knew him by sight, even though he had never met
them personally.

Bandits? Mathesan asked.

Aye! Them bandits are pilferin, The man replied and, completing the
draw of his weapon, he charged ahead. AHHHHH!!

Breukig respond. Hello The voice was deep with a slight gravel to
it. Ogre.

To the Verminasian Bastille. Bandits are assaulting. Mathesan
relayed, and then pursued the charging guard through the gate.

As Mathesan neared the actual walls of the fortress, he could hear the
clear metallic clang of swords on armor, and the shouts and commotion
that went along with battle.

Passing through the gates, Mathesan began to mutter the familiar
incantations of protective and detection magic. His eyes tingled, and
his senses improved. Lastly, he surrounded himself in the white aura
of sanctuary.

The guard who had been running up the road was squaring down with
one of the bandits.

Get lost or die! It was a brave statement, All things considered. The
ground was littered with corpses, most of them guards of the Bastille.

As Mathesan cast a spell of flight, causing him to levitate off the
ground, the guard finished his charge, engaging the bandit in battle.
In spite of the bravery in his words, the guard was hopelessly outmatched
against the bandit. The bandit laughed, fighting crudely, with
well-placed kicks and jabs, followed by stabs and slashes of his blade.

pg. 03

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:15:27 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 4 of


Halt. Mathesan said, in his most commanding voice.

The bandit cared not for Mathesan's words. He slew the guard fighting
him, and another who had run up and joined to aid his fellow soldier.

By the Crown o- Mathesan began, attempting to add authority to
his words. However, the bandit had wasted no time looting the fallen
gate guards, he'd found a new target.

Caught off-guard, Mathesan took several slashes before he managed to
parry one of the bandit's swings.

Reacting purely on instinct, Mathesan raised his hand and muttered the
words to the first spell that came to mind. The bandit paused for a
moment and stuck out his tongue.

Me tongue! My tongue's gone black! Wha' tha devil!? The bandit
peered at Mathesan, then began swinging wildly.

Mathesan smirked with self-satisfaction. Fake illness was an
extraordinarily useful spell. He wasn't much of a combat caster, but
he'd learned how to defend himself, and the first spell that came to
mind in a fight against an adversary was that one.

The upper-hand was now in Mathesan's favor. Though he wasn't a fighter,
the bandit no longer fought with the precision and skill he had shown
before. Mathesan even got in a few slashes himself.

Desist! Mathesan commanded, dodging and parrying the blows that
came at him.

We found this place fair and square! The bandit replied. Apparently
he'd figured out he could still talk, even if he thought his tongue
had been cursed.

This is a fort, imbecile. It was already found. Mathesan said,
dodging and parrying yet more blows. The bandit was certainly persistent,
landing a solid kick to Mathesan's stomach.

You trespass on Verminasian property.

Another bandit ran in from, coming out of one of the barracks. He
spotted his comrade engaged with Mathesan. Instead of joining in,
the man looked at the two recently slain guards, and then back to the
other bandit.

Keep him busy! We'll loot the place!

It occurred to Mathesan then he should have rounded up some of the city
guard before coming. He was adept enough in defending himself, but taking
down a whole crew of bandits would be a difficult task.

Even his own personal guard would have been useful.

Ya? An' we re-found et! Don't see your name on it! Whoever you are!

Mathesan had to figure out a new tactic. It was clear that the bandit was
ignorant of many things. It wasn't surprising that he didn't know who
Mathesan was. As many commoners as there were that knew about him, there
were still more who had never heard of him. The further away from the
capital of Verminasia one went, the fewer that knew of him, save for
those in places of power or authority.

Perhaps the bandit would cow to Mathesan's position once he was aware of
it. Verminasia's might was well-known.

I am the prince of Verminasia. Mathesan said. Not wholly true, he
had brothers, but it had a more authoritative ring to it. Lay down
your arms.

The bandit did not falter under the weight of Mathesan's words. He
didn't care at all.

Instead, he called out to the other bandits, Grab everything you can!

pg. 04

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:17:43 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 5 of


The bandits knew only battle. Battle and plunder.

Mathesan did his best to match himself against his opponent. He knew a
number of spells that would injure his foe, but if he exhausted himself
too early on the one enemy, he would be useless against the others.

Your body thinks itself ill, you are no match for my spells.

It was clear the man had no respect for authority, but Mathesan hoped
to apply to the man's reason. A suggestion of force was always more
powerful when supported by a show. Mathesan could end this man, perhaps
his threat would force the man to reconsider. Even now, the spell
continued to work its malignant magic in the man's mind. He still fought
distractedly, worrying over the sensations he felt in his mouth.

Tonight we eat like kings! The bandit roared.

So sense was useless as well. How did the man expect to eat when he
believed his tongue was rotting?

Those who surrender will live! Mathesan called out. He could not
reason with this fool, but perhaps others would listen.

Ha! Ah pansy prince we got 'ere guys! Help me loot 'is bodae! The
bandit cried out in response.

Mathesan simply stared at the man, calculating his actions. Insults
were vexing, but they did not hold the same weight with Mathesan as
they did with others.

The rest will die. Mathesan yelled in reply. There was no inflection
of anger to his voice, however. His words were as cool as his expression.

Mathesan continued to fight with the bandit, but made no progress. Though
he was able to parry or dodge most of the blows, his own attacks were
making little headway with his opponent.

The bandit himself was protected by sanctuary magic. It was odd for a
lowly bandit to have such a spell, but he was no ordinary opponent
either. Mathesan cleared his thoughts and focused them, concentrating
on his next spell.

With a harsh incantation, Mathesan uttered words of arcane power that
vibrated through the air. There was no visible effect.

Mathesan tried again. The rippling in the air was more forceful this
time, even the bandit noticed, but nothing else happened. Mathesan
took in a deep breath, relaxed his body, even as he parried a blow. All
he had to do was find the power. Connect with it.

Shouting out the incantation, Mathesan stared at the bandit and watched
as the ripple in the air coalesced around his opponent. The spell of
sanctuary was ripped asunder, the magics violently crashing against
one another, even though they made no visible impact on the combatants.

It was a success. A small one, but the bandit was now afflicted with a
fake illness, and his defenses had been shattered. Things were adding

Mathesan was vaguely aware of other skirmishes erupting outside the
entrances to other buildings. Most of them were still inside, but some
had begun to spill out onto the grounds.

Free the prisoners! The bandit yelled. Mathesan wished he would
shut up.

As one of the guards neared him, Mathesan shouted aside to the man, Get
reinforcements from the city!

pg. 05

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:19:03 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 6 of


The battle was not going well.

Even with his advantage, Mathesan was no warrior. He continued to assault
his enemy with acid blasts. The man was taking wounds, but he was much
hardier than most men. He was wearing Mathesan down. Even when Mathesan
finished this bandit off, there would be more.

Blood mingled with sweat, which stung as it dripped across open wounds
on Mathesan's face, arms, and torso. He blocked or dodged most of the
bandits blows, but little cuts were adding up. Becoming deeper, larger
wounds than their initial injury.

Frustrated, Mathesan disengaged. There were a lot more bodies around
him now.

Mathesan could feel the blood pulsing his temples. He was drunk on
adrenaline. It was raw, visceral, unlike anything else he had

Killing was easy. Mathesan had done it before. It had brought about
similar feelings.

This was different, it wasn't easy. Yet it was certainly exciting. The
foe was a worthy one, even if he smelled like feces and stale urine. His
breath was rank with drink, but he fought with a skill and ferocity that
not even Mathesan's spells could tame.

Mathesan searched out his foe, and approached him. Lay down your arms.

Just at that moment, the guard he had asked to get reinforcements,

Ah got re'enforcements! The young man said proudly.

Mathesan looked around.

But they left. The man added lamely.

Just as Mathesan asked, Where?

Blinking, Mathesan sighed.

Breukig at Guillotine. Where him go?

The Ogre's voice drew Mathesan's attention away from the scene for a
moment. He had been conversing back and forth, trying to get the only
active citizen who had responded to the Bastille. Ogres weren't known
for being bright, but Mathesan was patient.

Allow me to summon you. Mathesan responded.

The guard had retreated already. Perhaps, Mathesan hoped, to find the
reinforcements he had supposedly brought. One of the bandits ran up into
one of the watch towers. Mathesan measured his breathing. His entire body
was still ready for battle, but he had to calm his mind. Concentrate.

He wasn't going to win the battle of attrition by spamming blasts of
acid. Impressive as it was, it was draining, and he already felt weak
from the energy he'd expended.

Charming another creature -- or warrior, would certainly be a more
efficient use of his resources.

Breukig okies to summon.

Right. The Ogre.

Mathesan shifted his concentration and let loose the words to the spell
that would summon Breukig.

Instantly, Breukig appeared.

Waving his hand, Mathesan cast a spell that surrounded Breukig with the
white aura of the Sanctuary spell. At that moment, the gate guard
appeared again, with a street cleaner from the city.

Got one! The young man said, a little too enthusiastically.

pg. 06

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:20:14 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 7 of


A street cleaner, a barely trained guard, and, by the looks of it, a
minimally trained Ogre as well.

Mathesan looked Breukig up and down. The Ogre certainly had the size
and ferocity of the giant Ogres, but he held himself with the uncertain
posture of new barbarian. He was likely to fight to the death, but,
given his inexperienced training, death was likely the only possible
result from his involvement.

Re-focusing his thoughts upon what he needed, Mathesan drew on the
latent power contained within the glittering white stone in his hand.
A nexus opened up before him. It was as though a door had been ripped
into reality. Around the edges of the gate, the magic fluctuated and
faltered. However, the gate itself showed a clear image of what was on
the other side.

The Forbidden Forest.

There was no time to waste. Mathesan didn't bother explaining what he
wanted to do. Instead, he strode forward through the gate with the
purpose and confidence of a man of action. It hurt to move, his wounds
were still raw, but he had little choice in the matter.

Without hesitation, Mathesan laid eyes on one of the wandering warriors
and uttered the incantation of the spell of charm. Magic rippled through
the air, hitting the warrior and wrapping itself around him. A barely
discernable change in his posture occurred, and the warrior looked at
Mathesan as though he were a god to be worshiped.

Wordlessly, Mathesan ordered the warrior to go through the gate that
returned to the Bastille. The warrior moved as he normally would have,
fluid and confident in his stride. Control over a charmed person was
all about mental discipline. Those who did not have the mental fortitude
would often cause their subjects to do haphazard, random things, and
movements would end up jerky, like a puppet with its strings pulled.

The second warrior was more resistant.

Initially, the warrior fought back as the spell passed through his
consciousness and faltered. Mathesan quickly disengaged. He found
himself momentarily disoriented. The fighting had taken its toll, he
was intoxicated on adrenaline, and his body was grasping for some sort
of replacement for the energy it had spent.

Finding the warrior once more, Mathesan summoned up the energy to charm
him again. The same, dreamy, adoring look filled the man's eyes. With a
mere thought, the newly charmed warrior followed the other through the

This the best you can mount for as a defense? One of the bandits
asked as Mathesan stepped back through the gate.

Mathesan didn't bother to answer. Wordlessly he ordered the warriors to
attack. The sight of blades flashing made more sense now. There was a
rhythm to the movements of skilled fighters on opposing sides. The
bandit's own hits were striking far harder, but the warriors were quicker
and double-teaming the bandit.

No wonder your walls fall. The bandit snorted through the fighting.

Narrowing his eyes, Mathesan focused initially on bringing down the
bandit's protective spells. However, he realized that the warriors were
taking harsher blows due to their own lack of protection. Chanting the
words of power, Mathesan was rewarded with a white aura around each
of the warriors.

Breukig smash bandit? The Ogre asked.

Finally, things were looking as though they had turned.

pg. 07

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:21:22 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 8 of


Only with care. They are dangerous foes for you. Mathesan responded,
glancing between the Ogre and the bandit.

From there, everything faded to a blur. Mathesan remembered shouting,
proclaiming the power of Necrucifer and of the Black Moon. He flung
spells with reckless abandon as he never had. He dodged and parried
blows, had the warriors rescue him, but, mostly, he lost himself in the

Somewhere in there the bandits were discussing loot, and about freed
prisoners. It wasn't until one of them spit at Mathesan that he was
finally jerked out of his almost trance-like state.

Mathesan glanced down at the spit.

Guard no fight bandits. They sit there no fight. The Ogre observed.

In All of the fighting, Mathesan hadn't noticed. There were only a
handful of guards left that weren't moaning piteously, or already dead
in a heap of bloody flesh.

Worrisome, yes. Mathesan noted, directing his comments at Breukig.

One of the bandits flashed a leering grin, That's cause we're not tied

Because they are too scared. Piddled in their pants they did. The
bandit continued, even sparing a moment to flash a roguish wink in
between the sparring.

One of the other bandits laughed at the crude joke.

Mathesan diverted his attention back to casting spells. He was tired of
the uncouth bandits. They were rude and obscene, they were threatening
Verminasia's sovereignty, they had stained an otherwise ideal day.

BREUKIG NO PIDDLE! The Ogre shouted out, quite offended at the

The outburst finally diverted one of the bandits' attention over to
Breukig. Piddle, the bandit whispered.

A different bandit cried out, Break for it guys, head for the hills.
The loot is ours!

The Ogre howled and then screamed out a war cry. Even for a barely
trained fighter, the sheer size of Breukig was an intimidating sight
to behold when he was enraged.


The bandits were beginning to flee. Not out of terror, but simply because
they had what they came for. Some of them were clearly drunk, causing
Mathesan to wonder why there was alcohol stored in the Bastille. However,
not All of the bandits were fleeing. Two of them kept on Mathesan, to
distract him from halting their comrades.

Mathesan's temple pounded, throbbing blood building up against the inside
of his head like it was desperate to get out.

BREUKIG NO PIDDLE! The Ogre stated again. He emphasized the point
again, moments later, NO PIDDLE!

One of the remaining bandits laughed at Breukig. You sure about that?

He turned his attention to the Ogre, his blades cutting into Breukig's
flesh easily. It was a startling display of skill, and forced the Ogre to
disengage. Breukig did not look good. Garish gashes were everywhere on
his enormous body.

Mathesan wondered where the positive feeling had gone. The tide had
turned again. His own wounds were adding up. Fresh blood flowed over
dried blood that filled in between his digits, crusted on her lips, and
matted his hair. He had never before been in such a situation. There
was a modicum of fear vibrating somewhere in his core.

pg. 08

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:23:00 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 9 of


The fight continued to devolve from there. Mathesan's charm magics
failed at some point, he lost track of when, but the forces that guided
the arcane laws wouldn't let him wrestle control back while they were
in heated conflict with the bandits.

At another point, Mathesan balefully remarked on the lack of the
Verminasian response. There were only a few Verminasians awake, but, of
all of them, only the least trained responded. There was some sense of
pride in the fact that the Ogre did respond. The heart of Verminasia
was still beating.

Breukig slaped one of his over-sized palms against his chestplate.

The bandits couldn't restrain themselves, they'd never been able to, they
didn't care. Aye at least he didn't piddle as much.

Mathesan groaned inwardly. He would never have let something so inane
show through his composure, even if he was drenched in sweat and blood.
The comment was intended to incite, and incite it did.

Breukig growled. BREUKIG NO PIDDL!

In spite of the renewed rage, the Ogre fared no better. The fight was
losing traction on them quickly, it was threatening to snowball into a

Begone foul bandits! The voice was a new one. Mathesan looked from
Breukig to the source of the voice.

Already throwing himself into the fray was a guard from the city
patrol, the calvary had arrived!

Figuratively speaking anyways. Most of the city guard weren't mounted,
and this one certainly wasn't. He fought with the prowess that any of
the city guard in Verminasia could show in battle. Sure, among the
heroes of the realm, most of them would be able to best a singular guard.
But, amongst the commoners of the realm, the city guard were the elite.

Fortunes had reversed once more, but, this time it seemed they would
continue to be favorable. There was only one city guard, but he was
dispatching the bandits with ease. Aided by Mathesan's spells, the
bandits were no match.

Guard. Mathesan said, A sight for sore eyes.

Breukig was still on the point of frothing. The Giant Ogre was trembling
with his rage. Even with the situation finally settling in their favor,
there remained danger for Breukig.

See if you can round up more city guards. Mathesan directed to the

The city guard finally slew one of the bandits, impaling the criminal on
the blade of his sword. One of the other remaining bandits screamed.

Run if you know what's good for you! The guard shouted, then added,
Or die like that other useless pile of crap.

The bandit who screamed turned his attention on Mathesan. It was clear
in that moment that he was going to die, and perhaps wanted to take
someone with him.

Surrender. Mathesan commanded at the man, doing his best to fend
off the attack.

In spite of Mathesan's best efforts, the desperate bandit was still
managing to inflict wounds.

You okay sir? The city guard asked, unable to intercede.

Surrender this! The bandit growled.

Mathesan grunted. I could use some help. He replied.

Mathesan managed to disengage with some effort. He was breathing heavily,
sweat was stinging the wounds anew.

Surrender. Mathesan repeated, still trying to catch his breath.

Surrender. The guard added.

The battle had come to a halt.

pg. 09

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 7 20:24:33 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Assault on the Bastille 10 of


Never. The bandit looked between Mathesan and the guard.

Mathesan managed to get control over one of the warriors again, and the
battered combatant positioned himself behind the bandit. The world was
closing in around him. His options were running out.

And perhaps a cell will be your friend, unless you'd prefer a dark
dank hole in the ground. The guard added.

Seems to me they're the same thing. The bandit retorted.

Mathesan wiped some of the sweat and blood from his brow in a vain
attempt to relieve some of the stinging pain. The bandit flashed Mathesan
a grimy smile.

You fight well for scum. There's a chance for redemption in the cell.
Verminasia could use hard fighters. Mathesan said, trying to change
the course of the conversation.

Then Breukig interjected, Looks like yous piddled.

That comment pierced through the bandit's seemingly cold, hard shell.

Without warning, he leaped at the Giant Ogre. Breukig didn't even get
in a single counter blow. The bandit's savagery was blinding. It was the
last gasp of a dying man.

Piddle that. The bandit growled as his blades finally hit home and
ended the Ogre's life. He's bleedin, the bandit added.

As are you. Mathesan pointed out, And, with that kill, you've signed
your own death warrant.

There goes any redemption. The city guard agreed. Then, with a
dispassionate move, slew the bandit with one, fatal blow.

It was only after the kill that the guard showed any sort of passion,
spitting on the corpse. Mathesan stared at the lifeless body of the
bandit. There was nothing there, nothing.

You have my thanks. Mathesan said to the guard. Then, he admitted,
I should have prepared better, but time was of the essence.

Of course. The city guard answered.

What a waste. Mathesan muttered.

All for supplies. The guard added. Opportunists. All of them.

Perhaps a couple of your men can clear the area. Mathesan was
beginning to feel faint.

The guard was still talking. But some got away, they may attempt again.

Mathesan nodded. The faint feeling was becoming heavier.

I will file a report. Mathesan said.

The city is our patrol area, but perhaps the army can plan some forays
into the woods. The guard said.

Able to be summoned? Mathesan directed toward Breukig.

Breukig can be summon, was the reply.

Using what little energy remained to him, Mathesan focused his
concentration on the Ogre, causing him to instantly appear. The Ogre
was still a ghost, but he immediately began to recover his things. If
there was one blessing in Algoron, it was that death had to be special
to be permanent. It was ironic that the immortal gods were one of the
few that risked eternal rest in the endless void with but a simple, fatal

It will be done. Mathesan said. He had a missive to write, and a
date with some healing draughts and a cot.

pg. 10

Writer: Corron

Date Sun Aug 7 22:06:58 2016

To All RP

Subject The Expedition ( Part 5 of 6 )

Whether a result of the power unleashed against the vanished denizens of
the complex or by intentional design for a final defense, the tunnels grew
ever more unstable. Walls wavered on the verge of buckling and in various
states of partial collapse, sections ponderously canted inward with chunks
of the ceiling fallen across the floor. Entire rooms and intersecting
pathways were often blocked by rubble. Weighing his steps with additional
care, Corron journeyed onward with increasing hesitance.

The only warning was a growing groan, rock scraping against rock as the
tunnel began to cave in. Heaps of dirt and stones, ranging from the size of
his head to twice the mass of his body, began cascading from above.
Scrambling madly, Corron rushed down the hallway, caroming off the walls,
flinging himself side to side in vain effort to avoid the falling debris. A
rock clipped his head, splitting skin above his right eye, his blood quickly
blinding him on that side. Leaping over a huge boulder that smashed into
the floor inches ahead of him, he spring-boarded against the tunnel wall,
launching himself further down the hall. Strangling clouds of dust filled
the air, coating his throat, stealing his breath, and racking his torso with
the need to cough.

A sharp rock tore open the back of the hand holding the torch, knocking it
from his grasp. The light was promptly snuffed by dirt, forcing him to flee
blindly. More stones battered him, knocking him off balance, punching and
biting into his flesh. Lungs screaming for air he dared not inhale, Corron
urged the last strength from his body, now weaving unsteadily rather than by
design. A boulder collided with his shoulder, knocking his arm out of
socket and replacing the darkness with electric shocks of agonizing pain
across his vision. The force of the impact sent him flying forward,
skidding painfully over the rubble strewn ground, gravel and grit skinning
his chest, cheek and limbs.

The last of the falling rubble settled with some minor rasping, constricting
and spilling of dirt, leaving Corron in dust swaddled darkness. Unable to
hold his breath any longer, his body rebelled and gasped in a great lungful
of the dirt-choked air, prompting a chain reaction of hacking coughs
inevitably bringing in more dust. The choking coughs rattled both his
dislocated arm and likely fractured shoulder, fresh lightning strokes of
pain exacerbating the cycle of struggling for breath.

Grueling, agonizing minutes later, Corron dragged himself out of the edge of
the rubble. Dozens of minor abrasions and contusions blanketed his frame.
All would require cleaning and the two most severe cuts would need
stitching. Unfortunately, one was over his eye and beyond his abilities to
tend. The most pressing concern was his arm. Fumbling into a kneeling
position, he clamped the hand of the unhinged limb between his knees.
Taking several deep breaths before jerking his torso up against the
restraint of his legs, Corron allowed the straining ligaments to yank him
down and guide the arm back into its socket. Explosions of pain and numbly
pricking needles lanced up his arm and through his torso.

An absurd desire to laugh rose within Corron. His lips twitched
spasmodically and his bruised ribs strained painfully as he resisted the
urge to laugh. His dust choked lungs were unable to comply with such an act
regardless. The way behind him was completely sealed. Should the equally
unstable path ahead lack either an exit to the surface or an alternate
passage to the rest of the complex, he was essentially buried alive.

Struggling to muster every stray shred of willpower, Corron drew his
battered body from the floor. His pack had been shredded in the collapse.
Most of his supplies were now buried beneath countless tons of earth. The
hysterical impulse to laugh rose again until he managed to dispel it. His
gait growing steadier with each step, Corron allowed himself only a grim
smile as he strode blindly into the darkness.

Writer: Garrett

Date Mon Aug 8 08:03:24 2016

To Tyrinx All RP

Subject Searing Memories

'Well, in theory, it is possible, ' Tyrinx of the White replies, his brow
furrowed as he stares up, thinking. 'It would take a balance of serveral
magicks. Forget. Permanency. Betray. Charm. Disjunction. Restore Mind.
I may need to even dabble in a little change sex to make you sexless...
Helps with the harvesting.
' The wizened, yet adorable Champion of
Kantilles turns his quizzical gaze upon Garrett. 'Question is... Why?

'My reasons are my own. Do you wish to experiment in this or no? '

'I will not lie. I am interested. I won't even charge you for the
services. But one thing?
' Tyrinx smiles cutely and raises his hands,
beginning the complex casting needed. Garrett nods, steeling his own will.
'This is going to hurt... A lot. ' Tyrinx finishes his hand motions,
energy bursting forth.

Garrett collapses to the floor, writhing uncontrollably as his mind and body
are torn apart from within. He screams hideously.

Writer: Shiara

Date Mon Aug 8 08:16:38 2016

To Conclave ( Tashio Roleplay Drakkara All )

Subject Perfecting the Trap: Into the Earth

The night air was cool and still, slightly damp and clung to the skin.
Shiara frequented this forest when the opportunity for quiet solitude
presented itself, away from but still not a great distance from the Black
Tower. What drew her here years ago she couldn't say, nor why she returned
to it so often.

She had heard of but never ventured near the crypt where she now delved at
the forest's edge. The structure above it might as well have never been,
collapsed stone and markers of what once were walls the only evidence left.
The passage down lay exposed slick with moss and soil, runoff having
collected into a shallow pool at the bottom.

Assuming shadowform she drifted over the rubble and ruined remains, down the
stone stairway into the earth. She relied on her naturally gifted sight,
foregoing the use of light. What she thought to be the bottom of the stair
was actually a landing where it turned in a spiral before descending again.

Lingering there briefly, scarcely noticable before, the weight of something
sentient, some essence pressed on her from below. The chill of adrenaline
ran through her limbs, her heartbeat quickened. For some time she waited,
reaching out with her senses, concentrating on controlling her nerves.

The aura remained unchanged, unmoving. At least this was a sign something
like what she sought was here.

Lightly, gracefully with her left hand she drew a gemstone from her pouch.
One of several she had procured for the occassion.

Still nothing changed after several moments had passed. She continued down
the stair as it turned passing soundlessly through the shadows into

Writer: Corron

Date Mon Aug 8 19:25:00 2016

To All RP

Subject The Expedition ( Part 6 of 6 )

For a time, he wandered in darkness, fumbling blindly, injuries throbbing
and thirst gnawing at his dust-dry throat. Gradually, Corron became aware
of the thrumming power. Its presence entered his mind like the distant
tolling of a bell. With each soundless knell, the darkness lessened, or
perhaps his awareness altered, until the tunnel seemed suffused in a soft
grey mist that provided illumination. He must be hallucinating, nothing
else made sense. Yet, using the possibly imagined perception of light, he
could see the obstacles in his path and no longer scraped his shins on the
rubble of partial collapses that littered the corridor.

Somewhere ahead, true light spilled through a threshold- or maybe it was
more hallucinations, he could no longer tell. The tunnel ended in a vast,
circular chamber. Water from an underground river flowed through carved
pipes, coating the walls in quiet waterfalls and filling deep channels in
the floor with clear, bitterly cold water. The channels formed a
complicated sigil in the floor, the chamber too large and curved to see the
rune in its entirety from anywhere save the center. In the very middle of
the room, a raised dais held a silver font. The radiance which illuminated
the chamber emanated from within that font. The force that had nearly
obliterated the rest of the compound did not appear to have reached this
final chamber. The room exuded calm and serenity... And power. The air
was charged with unfamiliar energy.

From the threshold, Corron noticed that the room curved up at the center,
raising the dais and its silver basin even with his chest. It might have
only been his mind, addled by pain and fatigue, yet he felt a presence in
the font, one that stretched far beyond this room, tendrils of the aura
extending even beyond the ruined village on the surface. Corron felt as
though his presence dirtied this place, dust and blood staining a hallowed
hall. Conversely, he did not feel unwelcome. Despite the impossibility of
it all, this place felt familiar and his presence proper. Corron purified
himself in the achingly cold waters of the outermost channel, attending his
injuries and consuming the final scraps of his rations.

Finally, when he felt as restored and presentable as possible, Corron
navigated the pathways to ascend the dais. The source of the light lay
within the water of the font, catching flakes of crushed crystal and
creating an ethereal glow throughout the liquid. Reverently, he sank into a
kneel before the basin, feet and calves folded beneath his thighs. Hands
resting atop his legs and turned inward with his fingertips barely touching,
Corron let the light fill his vision and began to meditate, clearing his
mind and immersing his senses in the chamber's energy. Time became lost to
him, the hours slipping away with the passage of the sun and the moons far

Within his mind came again the distant tolling of a bell. The sensation
drew him to his feet, feeling rejuvenated. With only minor reluctance as he
turned his eyes from the font and its contents, Corron drew a handful of
grass from within a fold of his sash. Smiling with grim resolve, he
scattered the still green blades of grass at his feet and set his mind to
the task at hand. It was time to find a way out. It was time to go home.

Writer: Zola

Date Tue Aug 9 04:16:44 2016

To All Bloodlust Abaddon Verminasia Darkonin Immortal Fatale

Subject X Re-Issuing the Challenge X

The call had gone out for blood. The thrill of the hunt, the joy of the
slaughter, the simple pleasure of living at the expense of another dying.

The challenge was being re-issued.

The rules were simple enough to follow. Find an enemy of Fatale, and kill
them. Bring their body back to the Graveyard of Fallen Enemies in Abaddon,
bury them. Their interred bones would form the foundation of His Temple,
and their cursed spirits would remain entrapped within for an eternity.

That was the easy part. The more challenging portion was finding a suitable
foe. Any idiot with a sword could kill a villager or slaughter a herd of
sheep. Few could boast taking down a dragon, and fewer still
single-handedly. Great warriors, powerful sorcerers, leaders of mighty
kingdoms, prominent spiritual heathens, these were worthy kills of Fatale's

The Deathscythe had a list of worthy candidates to consider, many powerful,
many prominent, All worthy of dying by his hand. He'd choose one in time.
For now, he was supervising. Guiding the other faithful as they returned
with their kills, telling tales of murder most foul in myriad beautiful

Zola watched from his perch beside the central obelisk, as the graves were
filled, and more on the peripherary being dug by the day. The Graveyard was
a place of death and dying now, and he could well imagine the Lord of Murder
was pleased. He leaned against his scythe for support, resting his right
hand against it as he watched ominously.

In his other hand, he clutched a precious object to him. A single, tiny
little bell of silver. Idly he lifted it up, holding
it beside his hooded
head, near his ear, and let it dangle freely. It did not yet ring, to his
disappointment, but it would. Sooner or later, it would ring. He needed
only be patient.

Writer: Corron

Date Tue Aug 9 12:15:16 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Tue Aug 9 12:18:25 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Tue Aug 9 12:29:22 2016

Writer: Teimhnean

Date Tue Aug 9 12:49:35 2016

To All Garrett imm

Subject Two Crowns and a Cane

So far as bardic poetry goes, the epic verse holds little appeal for
patrons of the seedier taverns, save for the rare soul that prefers their
skulduggery and rotgut with a touch of erudition. Still, the following
verse could be heard in bits and pieces at various taverns in Algoron, more
generally in Arkane and Verminasia - describing a brief meeting between an
Imperial Crown and a certain Bastard and Gentlemen known within the dungeon.


Mortal imitation of immortal hand, calld upon halcyon
Dreams of honeysuckle glory; of peaks without valleys
Of power without flaw, and All the weight of J'thraal's throne -
Immutable and untouched, spoken by twin thrones lit
In gloam of eve; Regal halls of ancient dominion, whereon
They received in austere posture the sanguine emissary.
A fairer soul lost not to virtue, by ostensible mien he
Was of good blood and generous disposition - but parted
Seemings reveald danger of allure - for where he spake
Words were gilded - silver over a butcher edge. Eager
To ease or to sever, to join or part - as moment invited.

August were they, in cautious reception stood, to hear
The Dungeons Ambassador; who spoke of wants and
Understanding - expectant respects and courtesy
among enemies - tone and tongue shifting from question
To statement, query to claim. Wary they received and
Demurring in measure to force - words danced as vapors,
Scant conclusion drawn - rather ended parley with none
Having minded each not offending, small achievement
Were it not for the voice of the Ambassador's officiating
Constituency. Substantial was the maneuver, permitted
By his charm or aplomb, to dwell if for a moment in those
Halls of light untouched and unharmed; And a rare,
handsome piece of work indeed to convince brief civility
for a Gentleman Bastard such as he.

Writer: Garrett

Date Wed Aug 10 09:35:31 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Wed Aug 10 22:24:00 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Aug 11 14:20:49 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Aug 11 14:22:58 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Aug 11 14:25:09 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Aug 11 14:26:54 2016

Writer: Vahriah

Date Thu Aug 11 20:57:42 2016

Writer: Shiara

Date Fri Aug 12 01:21:33 2016

To Conclave ( Tashio Roleplay Drakkara All )

Subject Perfecting the Trap: Introductions

The dark was so complete not even her vision could make anything out, the
starlight outside was too faint to penetrate beyond the foot of the stair.
The weight in the air from below grew, whatever it was had changed. A
raspy, hoarse whisper, strained and tinged with anger came forth as though
echoing down a long tunnel, "Trespasser! Interloper!"

The dialect was old, something perhaps she had heard as a very young child.
At the same time two points of bluish-white light kindled in the distance.
It approached her quickly, with purpose.

Shiara froze, again trying to reign in her physical reaction, her heart now
thumping in her chest. In seconds it was on her, and stopped. The lights
only a few inches from her face.

A force dragged across and through her shoulder. Then up to her face,
insubstantial strands brushed over her eyes. The lights receded, the raspy
whisper returned, less insistent, "Begone..."

She let a few seconds pass before responding, "I do not mean to intrude, I
have come to help you." All fell silent again. Could it even understand?
Did it know a lie when it heard one?

She conjured a small ball of light, just bright enough to get some idea of
what she faced. The tomb extended on maybe only ten yards under a low
vaulted ceiling. Regularly spaced pillars on either side ran down the
length, each pair with a sarcophagus in between.

The being before her was more difficult to make out, a void where the light
refused to penetrate. A shadow in the shape of a person but ill-defined
with only a vague resemblance to a head and arms. Its eyes remained the
same bluish-white, undiminished in the light.

Her shadowform had served well to provide some protection being of a similar
essence. "Now let us see if we can free you of this place." Holding forth
the gem she began uttering a spell.

Writer: Shiara

Date Sat Aug 13 10:53:11 2016

To Conclave ( Tashio Roleplay Drakkara All )

Subject Perfecting the Trap: Paying the Toll

She closed her eyes and put forth her concentration on the stone. Like
the magic used to assume a corpse host, she imparted a portion of her
essence to the gem. But only a portion, just enough.

Instantly the shadow moved forward, drawn like a hungry animal to a
profferred piece of food. Her conciousness split between her own body and
the stone, she continued the spell waiting for the right moment.

In an instant it pounced, on this bit of life force held before it as an
affront to its own miserable existence. She was not prepared for the
fierceness of this spirit and its rage. Blind rage, senseless and savage.

Mingling with one another, trying to maintain focus on the stone, she felt
its twisted mind full of hate. Hate of this crypt, hate of the dead within,
hate of itself, hate of the world, and most of All of the living. Through
countless years, the sting of emotion was still fresh and raw: betrayal,
treachery, revenge. Left alone with only enough sense to be aware of
itself, to turn and gnaw on itself with no purpose and no end.

Shiara struggled to exert her will to subvert the shadow's and seal it
within the stone, it being bent only on murder. Suddenly it sensed her
intention and recoiled. Her concentration could no longer remain fixed,
torn in too many directions as she fought in vain to hold on.

She sputtered the last few words of the spell just in time to be too late.
The gem instantly shattered in a spray of slivers. The mental shock sent
her staggering backwards and reaching blindly for anything to steady

Unable to maintain it, her shadowform slipped away, drawing the spirit in to
advance again. This time its cold touch bit deep attacking with ethereal
hands that had taken a grim, sharp form like monstrous claws. Still
reeling, she was defenseless, cursing out loud as one blow after another
sapped away her strength.

She drew her enchanted dagger in desperation and stabbed wildly at its face.
It was howling mad, disturbed but not deterred. Icy, inky darkness pressed
on her, suffocating in the grasp of death, obscuring sight, All sound

Conciousness drifting away, All turned black as she slumped to the ground.

Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Sat Aug 13 14:45:23 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Aug 13 17:49:15 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Aug 13 17:55:46 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Aug 13 17:59:01 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Sat Aug 13 23:13:10 2016

Writer: Vahriah

Date Sun Aug 14 11:13:30 2016

Writer: Verdemar

Date Sun Aug 14 15:45:35 2016

To All Shadow Zorreau Reklah Crelius ( Necrucifer Imm Roleplay )

Subject The Renegade and the Cannibal, pt. 1

There are five of them, Sir. Armed and unarmoured, but for the renegade.
He still wears th-

I know what he stole. The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably as his
commanding officer cut him off. He looked down at the written orders in his
hand and back up to the long haired man seated imperiously behind the war

What would you have us do?

Bring her to me.

The lieutenant's breath caught in his throat, but he brought his arm up,
saluting his superior smartly and turning on his heel to obey.

Rain slattered down on the rolling hills of Ithersea as it had for days, and
the encampment of soldiers had long since terraformed the lush veridian
field into a criss-crossing network of dirt paths which had now been churned
into the frothy sort of mud that likes to snap horse's legs at the knee. It
wasn't a long path to Captain Randall's tent, but the lieutenant made sure
to wind his way through the twisting paths marking the different sections of
the encampment.

When he finally stood before the leather flaps of the monster's tent,
Lieutenant Aerok Kein took a deep breath. Wiping his brow, Kein looked from
one guttering torch to the other, wincing at the crackling hiss of rain
dissolving against the heat of the flames.

Aerok had been afraid of Morwenna ever since he joined the Lyov expedition.
Before, really. What sort of commander brought along a known murderer, a
rumoured cannibal, on a mission like this?

The stories he'd heard during the journey to Ithersea were enough to curdle
his blood. Men said when she was born, a priest gave her a bowlful of water
used to boil the bones of her siblings. Fresh life to a grotesque sketch of
the 'good life. '

Morwenna was worshipped from the time she was five. Hailed as the second
coming of a minor devil by the men and women comprising Absum Diluculo, her
every need was catered to. On the eve of every new week, one of her
followers would prostrate himself before her, offering supplication and
obeisance as she tore at the muscles of his chest with her teeth, profaning
his flesh and sating her grotesque needs.

Shuddering at his own revulsion, Aerok pushed aside the flap of her tent,
briskly walking past the two guards stationed to either side of the door
within, watching the chained beast lit only by the dim glow of two lanterns,
whose flames had been slowly guttering for the last half hour or so.

Get up, the command in Lieutenant Kein's voice wavered, catching in his
throat as Morwenna's eyes met his. There was something feral lurking
within, a sincere belligence that belied her small stature. She rose with
the assured confidence of a predator stalking her prey, despite the low
clanking of irons encircling her wrists and ankles.

Slinking towards him, All sinew and strength, Morwenna was stopped short by
the abrupt jerk of her chains, naught but a foot from Aerok's face. Licking
her lips sensuously, the cannibal turns away from her captor, as if to
dismiss the obviously lesser being's presence. She could have laughed and
he would not feel more insignificant. Aerok was almost inclined to take her
offer and beat a hasty retreat.


The thought of his commander's reaction stilled his pounding heart. With a
gesture to either of the two brawny men manning the door, Aerok marched
towards the prisoner and seized hold of her shoulders, ending her rebellion
before it had room to truly take hold. The nameless guards each took up a
wrist and ankle chain, tightening their hold until the clanking stilled,
chains tautly straining at the slip of a woman's wrists, chafing the skin
and digging sinister crimson lines around her flesh.

They dragged her unceremoniously through the opening of her tent, her
shuffling steps sloshing in the murk already begininng to muddy the paths
worked so thoroughly by the camp-builders. The apostle would have something
to say about that. Morwenna settled into a rhythm quickly, turning this
process from the humiliating affair it was intended as into an honour guard
for her divine presence.

Writer: Garrett

Date Sun Aug 14 16:06:45 2016

To All Bloodlust RP Immortal

Subject The Bard's Lament - A Broken Heart

The Hall of Bloodlust was empty. Normally alive with traffic, the
hideout possessed a still silence. Its only occupant Garrett. He lay in a
hammock, his left leg hanging over the edge. His Fedora tiled forward to
cover his eyes. Garrett played the guitar.

Come back, rebound... Simpler said than found.
Day by Day, and tear by tear.
Somehow, someway getting there someday.
Mile by mile, and fear by fear.

Disaster has a way of remaking my heart,
Long after All the thunder and scars.
Night pass and bit by bit, I begin to restart,
My disaster heart....

Garrett's captive audience of empty tables, chairs, and mugs kept him
company through the night.

Writer: Durst

Date Sun Aug 14 23:15:15 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Succumb to Fear

The gentle lapping of the soft waves were soothing to the ear. The sound
alone could mesmerize the senses in the most peculiar way. The robed man
stretched out his limbs slowly, letting his palms and base of his feet slide
against the obsidian hued sands of the beach. The sun was just on the rise,
its soft tendrils of light spread forth like the fingertips of an unseen
god, welcoming the world to yet another day. Durst moved his left arm
lazily to the back of his skull, propping his head a bit to take in the
majestic sight of the rebirth of the light. Just to his right was a gull.
The birds flight was reminiscent of a still life painting. The gull floated
along with the upwards current of the breeze. The creature did not make a
sound, but simply hovered there, perhaps fishing or perhaps... CRACK!!!

The body plummeted into the cool ocean below. An odd smile crept upon the
man's unforgiving face.

"Messing up my view would ye?!" Durst said out loud and went back to
enjoying the rays springing forth before him yet again. He let out a gentle
sigh and reached with the same cruel hand that dropped the bird and pulled
out an odd shaped gourd from an equally odd looking sack. He tossed it
lazily towards the floating body in the water. He cursed slightly as his
aim was not as perfect as he had hoped. But the gourd eventually married
with the corpse and with a suction sound it was zapped... To where who in
the world would know. Durst chuckled and said aloud, "Well hopefully not in
some poor mans pants. That would be a story to tell the wife. Honey...
Umm yeah you see..."
. Durst gave out a huge burst of laughter and spread
his limbs out some more, almost looking like a starfish as he dozed back
into his own little world.

Writer: Durst

Date Sun Aug 14 23:50:35 2016

To All Imm Tashio Marauders Claith Raije (RP)

Subject Translucent Odyssey

Sleep depravation could do this to anyone. Complete lack of control of
ones eyelids was no laughing matter and Durst was not laughing. Muddled
sounds seemed to bombard him. The voices came and went through each side of
his brain. Get out... Get out... Haunt gripped fruitless at each side of
his head. His gnarled up fingers were near carving pieces of his skin as he
rubbed, clawed, and tried to squeeze his skull.

Darkness. Freedom. {uLavender?

The smell wafted along the air stream and managed to wiggle its way into his
nose, dodging nose hairs and other things. The voices diminished from
ramblings to a muffled giggling from what seemed like children at play. Yes
yes children at play it would seem thought the tired warlock. He laughed
and reached out towards them, perhaps confirming they were real, but they
only seemed blurred and began to shrink out into darkness.


Drops of sand started to fall from above him like the fat raindrops in the
dense forest of a fabled island. What was once laughter of joy was now
screams of monkeys from above and to the sides of him. They were carrying
spears and closing towards the down trodden man as he did a three hundred
and sixty degree turn to see them All slowly moving forward. Wait what?!?
Monkeys don't carry spears!


Was he stabbed? Durst gripped at his left side as best he could. His
entrails were slowly slipping out of his broad frame. With every exhale the
putrid looking guts were falling faster, spilling to the ground like a pasta
dish. Jaw clinched tight as he attempted to let out a long cry of agony.


An explosion occurred, yet brought with it no sound. A visage of some ill
fated being stood before Durst and what was seeping from him was no more.
Durst prodded the soft flesh of his side and no wound was present. He
experimented with several deep breathes and nothing seeped out of him.
Haunt squinted his eyes to make out the figure. With every attempt he was
sure he would get closure to what the thing was.


Durst was certain it was loud and heard it again. I said wake up you fool.
This is Lord Pretulo's Land you fool. Be gone wit' ye'
Eyes blinking
rapidly as Durst stood up. It was a dream? Durst looked around and said,
"Oh yes yes of course! I'll leave". Sand crushed against his boots as he
made his way home.

Writer: Shiara

Date Mon Aug 15 10:12:24 2016

To Conclave ( Tashio Roleplay Drakkara All )

Subject Perfecting the Trap: Initiation

A raspy, hollow voice called to her, speaking an archaic form of

This one was not for thee to slay
Thou has't not a place to defy thine House

Through the suffocating void, for some time she was hardly aware of it.
Shiara had no sense of up or down, or even of her body. No sight or touch,
only the voice. How long it had been speaking she did not know. Trying to
remember or make sense of it, her thoughts were drowned out by its tortuous,
grinding sound.

Thy life is not thine own, choices are not thine own to decide
Anon it shall be undone

Each pronouncement became more insistent. Each one more grating, more

Thou shalt be made to serve
Thou shalt be beholden, to keep over them through the ages as they lie in

A compulsion to strike out grew, to lash out, and still she could do
nothing. Unable to react and unable to ignore.

Never shalt thou know peace
They shall live on in honour and strength
Thou shalt be forgotten, never to be spoken of again

Raw frustration became wild anger, a stinging ache that rose to howling
madness. She wanted to howl but could not find her voice.

Was she dead? What hell was this?

On it droned, without end. It began interrupting itself, a new damnation
begun before the last ended.

On and on it went, time was meaningless: hours, days, weeks she could not
know. The cacophony spiraled into nonsense, a rage she could not comprehend
swelled threatening to consume her.

But it did not. Past the point of any earthly sensation she could have ever
imagined, she became numb. It subsided ever so slightly, the sounds
steadily became muffled. Gradually into a muted grumbling, then to a
murmur. Slowly falling away, the voice became silent.

Writer: Shiara

Date Mon Aug 15 11:05:27 2016

To Conclave ( Tashio Roleplay Drakkara All )

Subject Perfecting the Trap: Domination

Her body shuddered, every muscle finding life again at once. Eyes opened
wide as a gasp of breath burst into her lungs. Withstand death's
resuscitation was never a pleasant experience, but a fair bit nicer than the

She flailed trying to grab anything to pull herself back away from the thing
before her. The meager light she had conjured before showed it was still
there, or rather where it was not, unmoving.

She fought through a surge of nausea to rise to her feet and quickly resumed

What stupidity.
Shortsighted fumbling.

She breathed a faint prayer of thanks and praise.

"Begone... " it protested once again. Its posture and voice were passive,
powerless to enforce its demands. She needed time to process this.

She watched and waited, catching her breath. The two were transfixed
staring, reflections of one another. Only the impression from before

She refocused herself producing another gemstone from her pouch and held it,
turning it over in her hand. Her thoughts briefly wandered back to a
conversation with Ozleust.

Human minds are strange.
Compulsion, persuasion.
I've seen you now.

She straightened her posture and held forth the stone as before.
"Your House is no more. They have abandoned this place and are lost to the
past. "
"There is no one to exact revenge upon, and no one to make you whole. "

As before, silence. She still had no idea if it could understand anything
she said, her fluency notwithstanding.

She formed the mental picture, clearly visualizing the result. With her
mind fully toward it, she began casting the spell and again the shadow
approached. She commanded firmly, "Come with me, come to rest. " Its mind
was still a roiling storm of emotion but could not take hold, her unwavering
focus piercing through. It twisted in hesitation, but offered only token
resistance. Finally submitting without further protest, it was done.

The change in atmosphere was noticeable immediately, the oppresive weight of
the air had vanished. The gemstone chilled her hand, but superficially
appeared untouched.

Writer: Shiara

Date Mon Aug 15 11:17:39 2016

To Conclave ( Tashio Roleplay Drakkara All )

Subject Perfecting the Trap: Rumination

Shiara chose to ride back to the Tower. Maybe risky in her state but she
wasn't in a rush to be in the company of others just yet. She picked a path
through the forest that let her gray stallion stride surely without constant

Her chest ached with every breath, dull but difficult to ignore. Thoughts
drifting between the gem secured in her belt and disjointed memories of the

The more she tried to remember the more faint it became. All that remained
were impressions. A grim feeling hung over her.

How long had it been in that place?
Was it still aware now?
A strange and unfamiliar emotion.

Better it than me.
It had earned its place somehow.

As daybreak came, she emerged from the forest on the road south. Passing
over the bridge, through the gate, she went into the Tower.

The few magi that were awake were busying themselves, none paid her much
mind. She found a quiet practice room, went inside and shut the door.

Writer: Trahan

Date Mon Aug 15 11:46:06 2016

Writer: Talik

Date Mon Aug 15 12:50:09 2016

Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Aug 15 18:21:35 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject *X* Turning the Millstone *X*

"So you feel they're ready to spill?" Mokla asked, looking up from the
report with an upraised eyebrow to the ever reliable hobgoblin officer.
Dkom remained in his easy stance, hands clasped behind him and replied
"Having three makes it easier.. Mistrust will always turn two upon one
given the slightest cause. I just made sure to give it."
Mokla considered
this a moment, tapping a taloned finger alongside his temple. The continual
calculations of Dkom's mind had always impressed him and made him one the
most formidible interrogator he had ever known. "Take me through it if you
would.. So I may admire your technique."
, Mokla said, laying the report
down and leaning back in his chair. The officer gave a barely perceptable
shrug, seemingly oblivious to the implied compliment.

"It was fairly straight forward, M'lord. I brought the three in and set
them together in a cell seperate from others in the prison. Blankets and
ample food were provided as instructed to ensure a certain level of comfort.
I then observed them for some time for certain signs, namely recognition and
any sense of, .. Well call it pecking order."
, Dkom began settling into a
chair at the offering gesture of his king. "It soon became apparent they
were familiar with each other, and the first detainee held some sway over
the group despite the larger size of one of those we gleaned from near the
fort. So some sense of order preceded their capture. I allowed this
arrangement to carry on for two weeks until I was sure they had time to sort
and get their stories straight. It helps when they feel they have a plan to
Dkom continued.

"A plan?.." Mokla interjected. "Yes, M'lord.. Letting them feel they can
outsmart us with a solid story only adds to the panic and confusion when the
time comes to shatter their best efforts of control."
Dkom replied with an
offering gesture of his hand. Mokla nodded sagely, rubbing his chin, the
dawning comprehension bringing a grin to his lips.

Taking the nod as a prompting, Dkom continued "When I felt they were ready,
I introduced a bit of pressure. I drew them one at a time out of the cell
for a short period to question them. It was the first questioning they had
undergone since arrest, and I kept it light getting the expected planned
responses. I repeated this for three days, always taking the assumed leader
"I reinforced the idea that the most helpful would naturally be
dealt with less harshly. On the fourth day I held the leader over for
several hours. When the concern of the other two was evident, I drew them
from the cell and marched them down the hall towards the common holding
I had the guard pause them in the hall just long enough to ensure
they saw into the interrogation room, where I had the leader unchained, and
enjoying a meal far better than the standard rations we serve in lock up.
As instructed, the guard then turned them into the common cell with an
offhand comment about their lack of further usefulness."

Any but the sharp eyes of the king would have missed the fleeting mirth
which passed over Dkom's face before vanishing back into the usual stoic
expression. "The leader was returned to his isolated cell and remains there
still, no doubt realization of what has played out has begun to become
clearer in his mind. The other two feed off each other's sense of betrayal,
and have made several attempts to have the guards contact me. I'll let them
all stew a few days more."
The officer finished with a small shrug.

"At any rate, they feel the weight of the stone rolling over them and should
be more than ready when you want your answers, M'lord."
Dkom concluded.
Mokla sat silently for several moments admiring the symphony of deceit his
trusted friend had performed for him. "Simply beautiful Dkom, and
beautifully simple.."
Mokla crooned.

Writer: Tyrinx

Date Mon Aug 15 18:29:36 2016

Writer: Tyrinx

Date Mon Aug 15 18:37:07 2016

Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Aug 15 21:37:34 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject -X- To Face the Ice -X-

Peering over the seperate reports for the third time left him unsettled
and more than a bit aggravated. The dimly lit humble office was cluttered
with the endless stream of parchment upon which a kingdom lived and
breathed, but the once cozy feel had crowded in upon him salting the wound
of frustration which dogged him. The second of the two scouts dispactched
had disappeared into the ice like the first, and the waste of valuable
riders galled the king who could abide many things, but never waste.
Knowledge of what went on near the Ice prison remained a must, but the idea
of losing another on a fool's errand was not something he would ask another
to undertake. A fitful swipe of his long arm scattered the reports from the
small desk and upset the nearby stack which had been set upon a chest.
Leaning back in his chair he regarded the chest a few minutes before lifting
the lid partway with the ball of his foot. The familiar contents drew a
grin in remembrance of simpler times.

Sliding the chair forward he drew the tall, well-oiled boots out of the
chest and turned them in his hands admiring the tough leather and blackened
buckles. Minutes passed in silence, his mind turning over times past and
the unknown fates of the two riders, a strange sense of kinship nagging at
him before his hands moved of their own accord. The unbuckling, fitting and
rebuckling of the boots upon his feet sped with an ease of long practice and
returned muscle memory. Standing to stomp his feet setting the fit drew
sparks as the arcanium studded soles cracked upon the stone floor. When the
decision was reached he could not say for sure, but he felt he had set his
feet on the path already, only the details remained. Returning to the chest
he removed the thick, folded wargpelt cloak, which he shook out and slid
about his shoulders and clasped. A wry grin crossed his face as he
remembered Dkom's advice and slipped the Reaver's pin from the hood and set
it upon the desk.

He reseated himself at the desk and had begun to write upon a blank
parchment when he was startled by a sudden knock upon the office door.
"Ahh.. Enter!" He called and the door opened to the familiar stone-faced
countenance of Dkom. "M'lord, I have the new rider orders for..." Dkom
began and stopped abruptly taking in Mokla's dress and the unfinished page
upon the desk in a few rapid glances. The unspoken question in the tall
officer's eyes held the king and compelled a response which began with a
sigh. "I can't shy from it Dkom.. I need to know and I can't send another
to do a job I can do."
, Mokla stated as firmly as he could under Dkom's
steady gaze.

The immediate questions duty compelled from Dkom came expectedly, "The
risks?.. The Queen?"
Nodding sagely, Mokla acknowledged the questions he
had himself deliberated. "It's a Darkonin problem and everyone has given
effort to see it solved, how do I set myself above that?.. Yes, the Queen
will fret at best and be furious at worst, but I think she knows my reckless
side by now."
Mokla said. "With luck I'll be back before it's known I'm
gone, and since you've butted in, I have you to calm the queen.. After all
it's just Trooper M'kod taking a scouting mission.. Nothing to fuss over."
Mokla added with a conspiratorial grin to the older officer and fellow

Looking down and giving his head a slight shake, the hobgob officer knew no
argument would suffice and looked up with a tight-lipped expression.
Stepping forward to the desk, he reached out to pick up the gold warg's head
insignia and said "In that case.. You'd best be in proper uniform..
Trooper M'kod."
, And affixed the pin to the hood of Mokla's cloak.
Stepping back he regarded his king a moment, then offered a stiff DeathRider
salute before turning silently to leave, closing the door behind him.

Drawing a deep breath, Mokla gathered up his maps and buckled on the long
cavalry saber. "Fool's errand... Seems I'm qualified.."

Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Aug 15 22:56:50 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject -X- To Face the Ice -X- pt.2

The steady howl of the wind and sting of ice crystals upon the few bare
patches of exposed skin served well to keep him awake and focused upon
finding the path towards what he hoped would be sign of the two previous
riders. The second day now since his departure had him moving slow so as to
avoid overlooking any sign or danger. It would not do well to stumble into
the hazards the others may have met. Having spent the night huddled with
his warg within the small hastily dug out hole in a drift, warmed only by
their own bodies and a simple glow stone had left him stiff and far from

By the afternoon of the second day he had reached the known ice tunnel shown
on Dkom's map. This was surely the means of entrance sought by the other
riders, and caution had him hunkered down with his warg in patient
watchfulness. He had planned to make an attempt at the entrance at dusk
when the hazy light mixed with the swirling snow to make visibility a matter
of feet. His plan became folly though with the sudden emergence of two
goblins from the tunnel who disappeared into a subtly hidden alcove from
which an ice goblin and a minotaur exited and proceeded back down the
tunnel. "Guards.." Mokla muttered to himself, cupping his head in his
hands to rethink his options. Backing away slowly he stopped behind a tall
drift to reconsider his maps and whether to turn back, cursing his stupid
pride for insisting on going alone.

Setting aside Dkom's map, he drew out an older, cruder map reportedly taken
off an escaped prisoner found frozen upon the glacier in years past. The
body's position had been marked on the map and Mokla felt it may be possible
to work backwards with it, effectively breaking into the prison the convict
had died to escape. At any rate, it offered more hope than forcing an entry
here. Moving off it was several hours past nightfall when he neared what he
felt the best guess at the entry point. The glow of the bright moons
reflected eerily over the shifting snows creating a sense of vertigo, but it
also shone brightly off two ice-encased rocks he was gambling were the same
as those marked upon the map.

Creeping closer, chance paid dividend as an opening between the rocks
yielded a small cave whose origin disappeared into the gloom further on.
Near the back a small hand dug tunnel within the ice was discovered and
Mokla hesitated in thought at it's beginning. His decision made he
scribbled a note upon the old map directing Dkom to it and his intent to
follow it deeper. Placing the map within a pouch he removed his Reaver pin
and secured it to the outside and hung it over the saddle horn of the warg.
Offering a quick prayer to Dragoth he commanded the warg "HOME!" And
slashed it across the flank, sending it off across the ice with a yelp. He
watched silently as the beast sped off out of sight, trusting to it's
instinct to see the message delivered.

Setting down his pack and removing the bulky saber, Mokla crouched and
entered the tunnel, converting the described goblin lengths to his own
larger lengths to gauge the distances. Though cramped, the smooth glassy
surface of ice eased his passage through the dark. Several small cave-ins
were encountered on the way, but he was able to clear them with his hand
spade and dagger. By his calculations he figured that he should be near the
end of the tunnel before coming across another blockage. Eager to find it's
end he worked vigorously to clear the frozen debris when a different subtle
noise froze him in mid stroke.

What sounded like an irregular ticking at first puzzled, then raised him to
full alarm as he tried to back away quickly. The difference in weight
between a goblin and a hobgoblin was a critical factor up to this point
overlooked, and the cracking ice gave way beneath him dropping him head
first into the light of a large open passage.

Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Aug 15 23:09:57 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject -X- To Face the Ice -X- pt.3

The impact of his head upon the ice floor dazed him momentarily and when
his sight refocused the image of a pair of large cloven hooves before him.
Sitting up slowly he gazed around at the two minotaurs and icegoblin who
looked at him quizzically. Realizing he had lost the grip on his dagger,
Mokla calmly brushed the chips of ice from himself and set a smirking grin
upon his face. Peering up at the minotaur directly before him he said
"Cheers up boys, am bein here ta rescue ya.." The minotaur blinked and
after several seconds guffed with deep throated laughter. The other
minotaur and goblin joined in quickly with their own laughter which Mokla
added to. It was that booming laughter which Mokla remembered distinctly
before the sight of a large rapidly approaching hoof sent him into darkness.

Writer: Vahriah

Date Tue Aug 16 04:56:18 2016

Writer: Garrett

Date Tue Aug 16 06:54:50 2016

Writer: Euterah

Date Tue Aug 16 19:11:16 2016

To Darkonin All Sunny Cayenna Imm RP

Subject Grist for the Mill

Wind whistled through the next strange crevice as the Witch Queen, riding
Kreegah, kept her aura gathered tightly around her, feeling with tendrils
before her trying to sense something in the vast maze of ice Dkom discovered
below the plains. The crystalline ice gave off the weirding brilliant
rainbow light pattering her and the gequine as they passed into yet another
uncharted cavern. The narrow entrance widening and giving to a space that
could easily contain a clan of Grogmar, she worked off instinct, her King
was reported to pass through the charted portions.

The Witch Queen was not at All pleased as she passed into another narrow
tunnel. Where was Mokla? What had he found in the caverns beneath the
snow? She had half a mind to turn back, but her stubborn nature held fast
and she led the gequine, having to duck under the sinuous ice flows of the

Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Tue Aug 16 21:54:38 2016

Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Wed Aug 17 00:32:43 2016

Writer: Trahan

Date Wed Aug 17 07:02:15 2016

Writer: Mokla

Date Wed Aug 17 21:00:21 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Cayenna Imm RP )

Subject -X- Icy Entrapment -X-

A humming grew steadily, to become a whine, and lastly a roar exploding
in a vision of red pain before his eyes. Awareness came slowly in the sound
of garbled speech, and the cold touch of ice. He held very still hoping to
glean what he could of his surroundings before confronting them. "Wez
alone.. Know youz awake.."
Came the goblin speech in a thick ogrish
accent. He confirmed to himself the sound of two beings breathing and
slowly shifted onto his side. He attempted to open his eyes but sight
remained obscured. As he reached up to touch his face, a taloned hand
clasped his wrist, halting the attempt and a goblin voice said "Ya don't
wants do tha.. Face am bein puffed up like gorged tick.. Couple rag strip
an me spit be All tha holds tha gash on yer brow tagether."

"Who are ya?.. Medik?" Mokla rasped as the hand released his wrist.
"Nah.. So dun worry bout tha bill.." Came the reply, his snickering
joined by the muffled throaty chuckle of the first voice. "Youz wid frends
Troopur.. Mez Troopur Cudo.. Udder Troopur Feck.. Whud youz name?"

"Ahhh.. M.. Kod. Trooper M'kod." , Mokla said, as he recognized the
familiar names from D'kom's reports on the missing scouts. "Am sent ta
rescue ya.."
He added with a snicker they All shared. "Rememburz youz
frum D'kom patrol.. Wez find tunnul. Wer bin?"
The ogre voice asked.
"Garrisun.. Garrisun duty, musta tweeked D'kom nose sumways.. How'd y'all
git here?"
Mokla replied hoping to shield his identity for All their

The ogre voice sighed and told of retracing the patrol's route to the
discovered tunnel, and being caught and overwhelmed a short ways inside.
The goblin's tale was much the same excepting that he had been caught by the
guards outside. Mokla considered this a moment before rasping out a single
word ".. Ambush.." Grunts of agreement were heard as the helped ease him
into an upright sitting position. Mokla cursed to himself and added "They
knew we'd be a comin.. An we jus kept feedin 'em"
"Ice Prison jus big
trap.. Near empty now.. Dis wer they basin.. Gots icer gobbo slave
a'plenty.. An wez All tu bizzy lookern at Prison ta sees reel targit."

The goblin voice offered. "Lil icey gobs nod strong tu face dem.. Godda
dos whud Ginral sayz ur gos tu butchur.."
The ogre said causing Mokla to
turn in the direction of the voice and say "General?." "Yep.. Sum big
buggerin mino theys All gibberin bout. Ya will see, him bin by lookin in ta
sees tha new troopur tha dropped in.. Am thinkin ya shakes em up fallin
inta they basecamp.. Gots ta be worryin wez gittin tu close."

Mokla nodded in the direction of the goblin voice and said "Am hopin so..
Jus like am hopin hims curious enough ta keeps us away from butcher fer a
good long time. Am wantin ta gets good long look at dis General."

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Aug 18 20:10:03 2016

To All RP

Subject Stormy Reflections ( Part 1 of 2 )

Lightning cracked the sky and thunder boomed a deafening retort,
heralding an increase in the already considerable deluge of rain. The
sheets of water grew thicker by the moment, spilling from the dark purple
and grey clouds that blotted out the sky from horizon to horizon. The sharp
scent of moisture rising from sun-baked stone and heated wooden boards
filled the air as the storm continued to roil. The dusty streets were long
since transformed into muddy streams. The torrent of rain and mist kicked
up from the lingering heat in the ground lowered visibility to perhaps a
dozen yards. The fierce wind whipped the surface of the river into choppy
waves. The clean smell of the rain blended with the pungent odor of
decaying plant life churned up from the river bed.

Leaning against the door frame of the dock master's office, Corron gazed
into the growing gloom with a faint smile across his scarred lips, letting
the storm wash through his senses as it scoured the docks and the city
clean. For many days he had been away from the wharves and shipyards where
he felt most in his element, if no longer at home there. Various tasks
seemed to constantly demand his attention and his life had grown ever more
complicated, far beyond the scope of what he could have imagined when he
first left his remote, seaside home to journey into the mainland. The
simple days of whiling away the hours with gainful labor and the occasional
book were quickly becoming a distant memory.

Perhaps in some ways, it was poetic that this, the first day he had in weeks
without more pressing matters engaging him, he would finally return to the
docks only for them to be beset by this storm. During his limited time in
the area, The Desert Jewel rarely experienced such weather. Storms were far
more likely to bring heat and sand in from the dunes than cold and rain down
from the mountains. No good would come of sawing planks and joining beams
in this weather. The other laborers had promptly fled to the warm interiors
and cold ales of the various taverns. The withered master shipwright, a
venerable half elven fellow, was snoring contentedly in a hammock strung
from the rafters in the back of the office. The sound echoed through the
maze of crates and shattered boards that made one doubt whether it was a
place of business at all.

Corron had been surprised to learn that the man hidden behind that shaggy
grey beard was a half breed like himself. He rather liked the fellow,
sprightly beyond his advanced years and meticulous in his dealings. While
largely dealing in small rivercraft and barges, the aged man had been
willing to share his knowledge of construction techniques in exchange for
some work. It was a deal Corron was more than happy to accept, if only his
other concerns did not require so much time. He wasn't certain he could
still call himself a shipwright in light of how much time he spent roaming
these days. Yet another wrinkle in the growing weave of his life that would
require sorting when time allowed.

A sustained series of lightning snaked through the belly of the clouds like
pulsing veins of dull yellow, filling the sky with fresh rumbles and
refracting in the mist that kicked back up into the air from the heavy rain
hitting the street. Something about the flickering light made Corron frown
and glance down at his hands thoughtfully. Squinting at the tensing digits
as though expecting to see something that was not there, his mind was
inevitably drawn back to the quandaries that occupied so much of his
thoughts. The darkness of the storm seemed to close in around him as his
thoughts turned inward to a couple night's prior.

Writer: Corron

Date Thu Aug 18 20:18:01 2016

To All RP

Subject Stormy Reflections ( Part 2 of 2 )

The oars cut through the still, muddy water with hardly a sound, each dip
of the wooden blades deliberate and controlled. Slowly, the tiny rowboat
moved against the current of the murky river. Scarcely longer than a coffin
and every bit as narrow, the watercraft sat low in the stream, bare inches
shy of taking on water. Shadows hung heavy in the night air with branches
from the trees hanging far over the river and the dark clouds of an
approaching storm obscuring any illumination from the moons and stars.
Unable to risk even a candle at the prow to light his course, Corron guided
the dinghy by memory and the subtle clues given by the current- hidden
eddies over deeper swaths that sped his progress or sudden shallows that
slowed him and warned of sandbars.

Through a break in the trees, a lighter shape loomed out of the night. A
spire of mortared stone thrust from a rocky hillside bordering the river
like a gnarled finger of moss and stone jabbing at the sky. No light came
from the windows that dotted the upper floors, no indication of anyone
inhabiting the decrepit tower. Corron knew the appearance of vacancy to
only be an illusion for the tower was indeed occupied. Reversing the
direction of the sweeps against the current, he directed the boat closer to
the river's shallow edge and the sheltering branches of the encroaching
forest. Unlikely as it might be for any eyes to find him in this gloom
there was no sense in taking chances until absolutely necessary.

Ahead a rocky outcrop cast darker shadows over the waters where the foot of
the hill housing the tower met the river. Mooring the boat in the lee of
that natural stone wall, Corron banked the oars and let his eyes adapt as
much as possible. At the waterline, a half submerged grate blocked the
mouth of a rank tunnel carved out of the stone- a refuse chute for the
tower. A simple cantrip revealed no obvious wards. It was unlikely any
stronger or concealed enchantments were wasted on the water-logged passage.
Few would bother to guard such a vile and difficult means of ingress with
even so much as a grate.

This one had seen better days. The metal was untempered and flaking rust
from constant exposure to water. The mortar holding the bars in place was
cracked and missing significant portions. If he was going to attempt entry,
this would be the way. The front door was surely barred and heavily
enspelled. The windows might be less protected, but the climb would leave
him painfully exposed. Such a daring route was for those more skilled or
more foolish than himself.

Pushing his narrow craft back into the current with an oar, Corron reclined
in the curve of the hull and let the river draw him downstream and back
beneath the concealing foliage. Too much was unknown for him to proceed,
for now. Even with a more complete understanding of the situation, there
are some places one simply does not tread.

With a start, Corron drew himself back into the present, dismissing the
memory. The rain had slackened considerably while his mind walked the
trails of thought. He extended a hand beyond the eaves, letting the runoff
from the roof wash over his skin and the sensation sharpen his focus. There
were far too many mysteries to be unraveled, far too many questions that
needed answering for him to be standing idle All day lost in thought. To
find what he sought, he would have to venture forward, not revist the past.
Rolling his shoulders, he shoved off from the doorway and strode into the
afternoon rain.

Writer: Jemrin

Date Fri Aug 19 22:05:00 2016

To All Arkane Azure Tower

Subject A brief background

Born to Leighojirah, a proud tribe of sea elves who resided along the
eastern coasts of Althainia. The greater struggles of life in the kingdoms
seldom found their way here, for aside from the occasional fishing boat
visiting to share the news and trade supplies, there was little contact with
the outside world. Much of Jemrin's childhood was learning to cope with the
changing seasons as part of a tribal culture. Days were spent assisting
hunting and gathering, or learning how to make pearl jewelry as an
understudy for the master crafter.

It was in his thirtieth year that his world was torn apart. For reasons
unknown, a white dragon struck the heart of Leighojirah, squashing its small
defense force and killing its elders. Amid the chaos, a small group was
able to escape, eventually making it to a merchant ship, where they traveled
as refugees to the continent of Arkania.

Living in the bustling city of Arkane was a new chapter in Jemrin's life. A
jewler, and amateur mage noticed Jemrin's aptitude for crafting and
learning. A half elf himself, the jewler took to mentoring the boy,
teaching him magic in exchange for his help in the jewelers shop.

During the next decade Jemrin grew from a refugee to citizen, and from
dabbling magician to mage. Living in the shadow of the Azure Tower left him
with the aspiration to one day become a great mystic himself. It is to this
cause, and to repay the city for taking in his kin, that he joined the
Kingdom of Arkane, swearing an oath to uphold its laws and values.

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Aug 20 19:04:01 2016

Writer: Corron

Date Sat Aug 20 19:11:03 2016

Writer: Vahriah

Date Sun Aug 21 05:44:23 2016

Writer: Anathaelynn

Date Sun Aug 21 08:09:57 2016

Writer: Catroina

Date Sun Aug 21 17:07:11 2016

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 21 17:07:23 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject The Horses of Markon I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

"Mmm?" She replied.

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

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

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

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

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

Clare nodded as she listened.

"I cannot fail again."

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

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

Writer: Catroina

Date Sun Aug 21 17:09:14 2016

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 21 17:09:37 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject The Horses of Markon II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

I thank you for your cooperation,

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

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

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

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

Writer: Mathesan

Date Sun Aug 21 17:13:52 2016

To All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject The Horses of Markon II

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing had come in.

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

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

In the end, it came down to patience.

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

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

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

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

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

Writer: Garrett

Date Mon Aug 22 14:43:20 2016

To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom Thanatael All Bloodlust

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

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

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

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

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

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

Writer: Garrett

Date Mon Aug 22 15:16:30 2016

To Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom Thanatael All Bloodlust

Subject The Ballad of the Tragic Hero, Thanatael Shalonost

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

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

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

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

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

Writer: Aviandha

Date Tue Aug 23 11:20:04 2016

To Marauders ( Imm rp Raije All )

Subject The birth of a new generation

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

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



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