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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

Ride to Gathna - {uReconnaissance
Ride to Gathna - {uCaustus's Castle
A Setback in Progress
{uIt Runs In The Family - {p001
Of Paths to Raije Part 2
Of Paths to Raije Part 2.5
Fissure Research
Ride to Gathna - {uA second look
The Murderous Lance: Tales From The Carrion Fields
The Murderous Lance: Tales From The Carrion Fields ...continued...
The Prairie-Canyon Survey
Small Unit Tactics
{nEarthen Sifting
An artist's work, Mending the broken
The pilgrimmage for Faith
Rise of the Bear Tribe: Wolfsong
Circles of Cogitation (1/2)
Circles of Cogitation (2/2)
A Knight's Quest
A Return to Reading
Reading and Reading and Reading and...
...and reading and reading...
Betrayal
Betrayal - Wrath
Broken
Broken II
Broken III
Broken IV
Broken V
{pTough Love : {nDesert Edition
Broken VI





Writer: Piknim
Date Thu Jan 18 21:07:47 2024




Writer: Piknim
Date Thu Jan 18 21:11:29 2024




Writer: Melchaleve
Date Sat Jan 20 10:03:05 2024




Writer: Asrar
Date Sun Jan 21 13:33:16 2024

To Abaddon All Imm rp

Subject Ride to Gathna - {uReconnaissance



Asrar stood in the laboratory of the Coven, looking out over the
bloodlands. Though the tower was only two stories, it towered over the
city, giving a clear view clear into the swamps. She knew Vershae was
working on something on the ship and the Arcanist was rarely idle with his
research and his skills with conjuring the undead. Her last mission, though
not entirely her fault, was still a failure. She had not anticipated
Belstrad's servant's loyalties. No matter how she tried to deflect though,
that failure was hers. She did not like failure, it was like feeding from
centaurs, it left a bad taste in her mouth.

It was time to gather some intelligence on Caustus. Gathna was not an easy
place to get to, werewolves and hunters scoured the forest, and the church
knew of her kind, they would like nothing more than to put a stake through
her heart. She would have to go more prepared, though a fight was not what
she was after.

Donning her armor, she decided to go with finery over it rather than her
daily wardrobe. Her cloak was yeti fur lined with fine silk. The braided
chain keeping it on her shoulders was pure silver. She chose amulets that
depicted the sign of Drakkara rather than the sharkskins she usually wore.
Her hair she put into a tight bun, the helmet tucked away in her pack, not
easily reachable but there just in case. Though not one usually for the
court, when it was necessary, she could play that role. As the sun fell to
the horizon, she set out for Caustus's castle, not entirely sure what she
would find, but this was a fact-finding expedition, she would see what she
could.




Writer: Asrar
Date Sun Jan 21 13:54:23 2024

To Abaddon All Imm rp

Subject Ride to Gathna - {uCaustus's Castle



Asrar stepped from the carriage to stand before the massive iron gates.
There was no sound. No birds flew in the sky. No wolves howled from the
forest. There was only silence. Pushing lightly on the gate, she stepped
into a courtyard of ruin. The furniture that had once likely been quite
exquisite, was now rotten and decrepit. The stone walls were chipped, the
paint that once would have brought life to the walls were mostly gone save
for patches here and there. The silence of the outside was present inside
too, the castle seemed abandoned.

A bit disappointed in this finding, she made her way through the mostly open
courtyard to the hall leading deeper into the castle ruin. The doors had
long since rotted away leaving darkened maws into the rooms. As she stepped
into one on the left, she found why it had been silent. Vampires, a lot of
them. They were not dressed for court. Or the battlefield. They were
feral and they were hungry. Rags of rotten silk hung from their bodies,
what jewelry they had on were dulled by age and lack of care. One thing
they All had in common though, they All looked at her as if she was their
next meal. A fight was not what she had come for, but it looked like she
was going to have to fight or die where she stood.

Quickly she called forth a swarm, the spell's affects quickly causing them
incredible pain as she ran from the room. The castle filled with screams of
anguish and hunger, the alarm it seems had been raised. Feral, hungry,
vampires poured out of the rooms, first one, then two, then four, the hall
crowded with them. Quickly surrounding her, fists pounding her body,
beating against the spells that protected her. Her darkstaff a whirl of ice
as it connected with one, then another, trying to hold them at bay. Her
swarms causing a distraction for some, but she quickly realized she was not
going to get any further into the castle. She had what she had come for.

Caustus was building an army, and when they came for Abaddon, none would be
left.




Writer: Kojo
Date Sun Jan 21 21:35:47 2024

To Arkane All ( imm rp Croatoan Sebatis )

Subject A Setback in Progress



Kojo grimaced. He once believed that All knowledge, no matter how
powerful or occult, should be shared. Yet as he looked at his creations
destroyed by a self righteous priestess and a fearful king, the goblin
scientist was forced to admit he needed to reevaluate that belief.

How could these fools not see that his creations would have benefited
everyone? An unlimited source of labor at no cost that would do All the
menial and dangerous work. There was literally no logical reason or
downside to his idea to animate the bodies of the dead save those fabricated
in the name of morality. A foolish notion that hindered progress. He even
was trying to cater to alternative ideas for labor beyond the dead but the
vindictive king, bent on hampering progress even destroyed his alternative
creations. A man so detached from reality he actually claimed there was no
poverty or hunger in Arkane. The view from that glass tower must be great!

Kojo shook his head, taking a deep breath to stop his fuming. The soulless
minions of orthodoxy would always be present to hamper progress. The fault
was in him, for not anticipating how they would move to block All efforts
towards progress citing their moral dogma rooted in fear of the unknown.
People cannot handle progress. Even the town drunk had pointed out that
obvious fact to the goblin scientist. He would not make the mistake of
sharing his findings with the public again. But oh yes, the work would
continue and the world and Sebatis would one day come to realize what a
great intellect Kojo had! For now he had a therapeutic essay to write.




Writer: Melora
Date Mon Jan 22 10:12:17 2024

To All ( Verminasia RP )

Subject {uIt Runs In The Family - {p001



{uMany years ago...


"I'm sorry mother but this is what is best for my Lora. " the young woman
whispers as she leans back from the limp form before her. Her tears begin
to fall in earnest, slowly wetting the pillow she holds tightly in her
hands. Her bleating can be heard from outside as she bellows out sob after
sob.

It doesn't take long before another small wailing can be heard next door,
and the young woman tries to collect herself. She stands tall after wiping
her face and tossing the pillow aside, then she moves out of the room and
approaches the small form uttering such wickedly loud cries of need.

With a soft motherly tone she soothes, "Be sweet my little Lora, be sweet.
Mum is here.
". She picks up the babe and begins to rock her, more
soothing mumbles and little kisses to the baby's forehead until she quiets.
She watches her little beauty, Melora. She named her after her mother,
which seems foolish at this moment, but in time her little Lora will come to
believe the name is one of respect and nobility and not of a dying old woman
who nearly got them All killed for acting like a witch.

Lora begins to close her eyes and is soon asleep in her mother's arms, the
softest of blue light glowing around her as she slumbers deeper. She always
did look so peaceful when she slept. Surely the dreams were a good idea to
grant a baby.

She settles down in the middle of the floor and closes her eyes while
counting backwards from 100 and focusing on her breathing. Before long
she'd need to start teaching lessons to her little Lora. Lessons about the
world, men, and their families special gift. With a frustrated growl she
clears her mind and restarts the countdown, her mind and body relaxing and
soon entering the Dream.




Writer: Altacas

Date Tue Jan 23 10:12:43 2024

To All Slayers Mantoron ( Cayenna Raije Imm RP )

Subject Of Paths to Raije Part 2


He was resting in the Holy Room, his back against the sealed door of the
Dragonslayer Sanctum, his eyes pouring over the large statue of Raije in
the center of the room. His fingertips mindlessly tracing the symbol of
Greystoke on his pavise shield while he softly hummed a battle hymn he had
read in an ancient volume stowed away in the library. The bridge of the
book was tattered and failing and some of the pages had been torn out but
it remained his favorite. Weeks had passed. His duties remained the same,
however, the struggle He had known was slowly fading. It was not simply going
away, instead, through His path of discovery and with the guidance of the
High Clerist Mantoron, the fog on His outlook had slowly begun to dissipate.
The clarity he was now able to view situations with was foreign to Him, as
He had previously approached these same situations from a place of self gain,
but now, it seemed, He was able to view the situation as a whole - outcomes
for All parties involved. Where His effort would best benefit the War, battle,
or effort, as a whole, was becoming clearer and clearer to Him.

He smiled mirthfully recalling the conversation He and the High Clerist had
some weeks prior. The pair had talked long about the Tenets of Raije and how
each following, whether good, neutral, or evil, generally associated with
them. He knew, in prior years, He had always followed a selfishly beneficial
approach to battle - specifically how the outcome would impact Him, and Him
alone. He smiled, recalling His youth, as he placed his palm, fingers fully
out-stretched over the crest of Greystoke on His shield. His smile fading into
a child-like smirk as He recalled how, at one point, His hand would not have
covered so much of the crest. Now though, just the outer most regions of the
crest are visible beneath his massive hand.

Shaking off the thought of youth, he began reciting the Tenets of Raije to
the otherwise empty room. His words softly bouncing off the mural-painted
ceiling. He locked eyes with the hulking statue of Raije, a hauntingly large
Minotaur, "Courage, Loyalty, and Victory." He repeated these three words a
handful more times and grew silent, his deep breaths escaping him slowly.
He knew His courage on the battlefield was not of question but perhaps that
was it. The courage referenced was not physical, but instead, it was verbal.
He knew that He had recently discovered the courage to question His own
approach to combat. He posed this query to Himself now before entering combat.
He forced Himself to gaze upon the field and view the events before Him at
face value. What impact will His involvement truly have? Would His
involvement alter the battle for the worse? For He knew, a lopsided battle
would give less honor to Raije than a battle of worth, a battle of longevity.

To be continued..




Writer: Altacas

Date Tue Jan 23 10:13:11 2024

To All Slayers Mantoron ( Cayenna Raije Imm RP )

Subject Of Paths to Raije Part 2.5


He blinked, pulled out of the state of thought He was in and back into the
Holy Room. Nothing had changed. However, He could feel Himself changing
for the better. Balling his hand into a fist he placed it on the center of
His shield, "Loyalty," the word trailed off as He looked down at his steel
dragon-skin boots. He had always known His Loyalty was to Greystoke, however,
He also held loyalty to Raije. Though he would never let one of the Manor
fall without attempting to assist them, He would, at times, need to steady
His own blades so the battle could carry out, and on, appropriately. For,
his interference, could drastically topple the might in one direction. He
nodded once, his head slightly titling to the left as he continued on this
pathway of thought. Casting His eyes up at the statue before him again, he
says, "A more even and hard fought battle between two equal forces brings
far greater worship,". He sat straight up, and rested His head against
the sealed doors of the Dragonslayer Sanctum behind Him, He slid His shield
from his lap and let half of it clang softly on the floor of the Holy Room.

He winced at the noise, sad to have interrupted the silence within the room.
He carefully lifted the shield and placed it against the door beside Him. His
platemail clinking softly against itself with the movement. "Courage,
Loyalty, and Victory," He repeated as he shifted His weight and cast His
gaze up to the mural-painted ceiling of the room. His eyes following the
epic battle above in a clock-wise direction. How glorious it would have been
to be a part of that battle. Perhaps, He thought or rather knew, the time
would come again for such a battle. He briefly thought of Chaos and the mayhem
the group had caused. He doubted their efforts were done, however, He knew
they would not hold Victory over Algoron. He sighed, annoyed at letting
Himself get distracted on thought irrelevant to the task the High Clerist,
Mantoron, had given Him.

Rocking forward, he placed a hand before Him and rose to His feet. He looked
with concern upon the sealed door He had been resting against before turning
to the statue of Raije and began slowly walking towards the hulking
Minotaur. He approached the statue but maintaned a respectful distance. He
looked up, realizing for the first time just how much larger than Himself
the statue was. "Victory.. Victory generally means to have won, however,"
He paused for a moment considering something, "Is it possible to be
victorious even when the battle is not won?" He pondered this for a solid
minute before acknowleding that yes, it was possible to be victorious even
without winning a battle. Although He does desire to be victorious, as
anyone should, it is plausible to hold victory through fleeing. However,
now speaking outloud, "An individual would need to see the situation almost
through it's entirety, awaiting the final moment to either fall or flee." He
smiled, knowing a long and evenly matched battle would be the ultimate gift
to Raije, any situation where one party does not instantly flee the battle
field would also pay homage to the God of war. He smiled even wider at the
statue lumbering before Him.

Turning from the statue, He made His way towards the Sanctum door and kneeling,
He gathered the pavise shield and re-attached it to the harness on His back.
Tugging the leather strap holding the shield in place in an effort to tighten
it snugly, He made His way to the stairwell leading down and took one last
look upon the God of Wars statue in the center of the room. He nodded deeply,
showing His respect for the God, before continuing on His way down the
stairwell in search of the High Clerist, Mantoron.




Writer: Yannok

Date Tue Jan 23 11:28:50 2024




Writer: Yannok

Date Tue Jan 23 12:52:30 2024




Writer: Kaladon

Date Thu Jan 25 15:55:49 2024

To All IMM (RP)

Subject Fissure Research



Kaladon stands there pondering over what the Sultan said. To prove
himself as a powerful Wizard he has to solve some of New Thalos problems.
He walks into the bathhouse and looks at the aftermath of the carnage caused
by the chaos followers. He whispers "We shall have been better prepared for
this!" He goes to look at the fissure and sees the sides giving away from
time to time and decides that, that is the most pressing issue.

He sighs as he cast fly spell and decends into the fissure. At the raging
river, he notes the direction it is flowing and tries to get a rough
estimate on volume of water. He collects some water samples for later
testing. He follows the river to where it suddenly stops. Then he goes to
where it starts, counting his steps as he goes. He takes several
measurements as he is walking around. When he feels satisfied, he visits
the Ethereal Lake and collects samples of water and the rock from around the
area. Then He sits at teh bank and just watches the water. His thoughts
ponder over how this was made and why. If he is missing something or if
this is chaos magic or Drakkara. As he was staring into the lake, an
unnerving feeling started to creep into his thoughts. What if he tried to
use magic on this place and something unforseen happens and it causes more
damaage then this? He sighs as he leaves to go to his laboratory.

As he is leaving, he looks back at New Thalos and mutters in disgust. He
whispers "Had they not remodeled the Magic Tower then I could have conducted
my experiments with proper equipment." As he gets to his manor, he informs
his servants that they are expanding his laboratory. Gerterd smiles and
says "It's good to have the master of the manor back." Kaladon does not
even acknowledge her but simply hands her the list of things he is going to
need. The next day or two was spent expanding his laboratory. Then he got
started on experiments of the water, soil and rock samples collected.
Testing for everything was conducted. Poisons, foreign objects or other
material and of course magical properies.

Then came the testing on plants. One set had water from a common source and
the other sets from the fissure both river and lake water. He started
sleeping in his spare bed that is in the room while he was running
experiments. He would leave to go to remote libraries and to collect more
samples. He is searching for any and All information to help him solve
this. Has this happened before? Has something similar happened? Can a
moral reverse the magic of the Gods? Many more thoughts races across his
mind.

After several days of waiting on his experiments he decideds to form a plan
to use nature to deal with the fissure. All the while, still working on his
research, experiments and studies.




Writer: Symantha

Date Fri Jan 26 02:22:22 2024




Writer: Melchaleve

Date Fri Jan 26 19:33:44 2024




Writer: Melchaleve

Date Fri Jan 26 20:03:39 2024




Writer: Melchaleve

Date Fri Jan 26 20:07:04 2024




Writer: Melchaleve

Date Fri Jan 26 20:10:52 2024




Writer: Asrar

Date Sun Jan 28 18:38:01 2024

To Abaddon ( Verminasia Darkonin Bloodlust Shadow Imm rp All )

Subject Ride to Gathna - {uA second look



Cursion to the ruins of Gathna, Asrar went a little more cautiously. She
enters the town in the shadows of the ruins unseen. As she passes by
residents, she whispers softly, her voice mesmerizing. Slowly each of them
stops what they're doing heading through the church to the waiting carriage.
The carriage full, Asrar steps up to the bugboard as the driver begins the
short trip to the castle. As the carriage stops, nine humans exit and open
the gates, entering the ruins and are immediately set upon. Asrar, still
unseen to All but her own kind, watches as their numbers swell with the
smell of fresh blood.

Thirty, fourty, fifty, rabid, feral vampires swarm into the room as she
observes from the top of a broken wall. This is far more than she saw
before and is very glad she had chosen not to enter with the blood offering.
Though she could not see him, Vershae was watching somewhere close by in his
spirit form. Just as soon as it happened, it was over, those that had fed
looking a little less rabid but just as feral as the broken, mangled, bodies
were left behind. Moving with stealth and unseen, she made her way deeper
into the ruins, she wanted to see what they did, those that had fed. She
got her answer as she neared Causcus's receiving room. Peering inside
showed her what she had suspected : They were waiting on him hand and foot.
Their loyalties were to him which would change how they must be dealt with.
She had seen enough, and she wasn't there to engage them, just to watch.
Slowly she crept like a shadow from the ruins, making her way back to the
Bloodlands.




Writer: Tobryck

Date Wed Jan 31 07:46:19 2024

To All RP Religion Fatale

Subject The Murderous Lance: Tales From The Carrion Fields


In the dim, flickering torchlight of the Horde's dungeon, Tobryck, the
towering and malevolent giant ogre, stood amidst the stench of death and
decay. His massive, grotesque form loomed over the fresh stack of one
hundred bodies, a gruesome testament to his newfound status as the Overlord
of Bloodlust. Boof, the twisted hobgoblin priest and warlord, had elevated
Tobryck to this exalted rank in service to the god of murder and death,
Fatale. This macabre promotion had unleashed a savage hunger within
Tobryck, a hunger that could only be sated through the most brutal of
sacrifices. As he ponders what sacrifice to make with these corpses he
remembers some of his most memorable murders....


Deep within the mysterious woods north of the city of Althainia....

A young elven woman, her delivate features now contorted in agony with
broken bones protruding from her once unblemished skin. This elven eldritch
of great power dared to oppose Tobryck, Fatale's Templar and murderous
zealot. Perhaps it was to bring peace to the realm, or aide the warriors of
the light in their quest to defeat the massive giant ogre. No matter. Her
attempts to slay this beast were futile. She stood firm, her eyes focused
with brazen intent, raising her staff high as she commanding a blistering
wall of fire to consume Tobryck. The fire rained down upon this beast of
darkness, its blinding power bringing light to the dark forest. The fire
engulfed Tobryck as the elf, proud of her assumed success, smiled as she
turned her back on the beast. As the smoke cleared two eyes could be seen
coming through the embers, paired with a sinister grin now fully revealed.
Tobryck, burnt and scarred, survived the fiery onslaught. He rushed the elf
clutching at her throat as she turned around to face her demise. His grip
tightened as the elf's life slipped away. Tobryck relished the terror that
had flickered in her eyes as he closed his massive, clawed hands around her
slender throat. Her screams had echoed through the quiet of the forest, a
symphony of horror that had sent shivers down the spines of even the most
jaded of demons.


Along the roads connecting Althainia with the city of New Thalos....

Another victim had been a valiant knight, a human crusader and foolhardy
soul who had dared to challenge the might of the dark beast. The knight
screamed a battle cry as he charged the mighty ogre. He held his lance
tight, and without an ounce of fear tried to take down this beast of murder.
But this lack of fear only hastened his demise. Tobryck, riding a dark
colored steed of his own, met his challenger head on. Wielding an enormous
crimson pike he charged the knight piercing the hero in the chest, lifting
him off his horse then slamming him into the ground with a force heard from
the mountains to the sea. Crimson poured from the gash on the knight's
chest as he gasped, choking on the blood in his throat. An insidious grin
flashed over the ogre's face as he lept from his horse pouncing on the
fallen knight. Tobryck had reveled in the sound of bones snapping and flesh
tearing as he dismantled the knight's armor with his bare hands, the man's
defiant roars reduced to pitiful whimpers that faded into silence. He
pulled the bloody corpse of his fallen foe up onto a cross as a symbol of
fear for All who traveled the Eastern Road.


.... Too be continued....




Writer: Tobryck

Date Wed Jan 31 07:57:08 2024

To All RP Religion Fatale

Subject The Murderous Lance: Tales From The Carrion Fields ...continued...


... Continued....

High upon the hills and mountains near the dwarven kingdom of Thaxanos....


Another lasting murder had been that of an elderly dwarven sage, a feeble
priest of Raije, who had unwittingly stumbled into the clutches of the
bloodthirsty ogre. This follower of the god of war had tried his best to
return the murderous beast back to the path of righteous war. He shouted
his tenets and shook his blessed books but the murderous ogre had turned his
back on Raije long ago. Tobryck had taken cruel pleasure in shattering the
old man's cherished tomes and relics before ending his life in a frenzy of
savage brutality. The beast grabbed the dwarven priest by the legs,
slamming him upon the altar of Raije with a crackling sound as his bones
protruded from his skin, the echoes of the sage's pleas for mercy ringing
hollow in the desolate chamber. Finally, the ogre held the sage up by his
arms and with a mighty tug pulled the limbs off the dwarf's torso one by
one, blood splattering across the ground as the dwarf's body lay there
twitching and clinging to life. With a loud SMASH! Tobryck grinned as he
stomped the sage's head into a crimson mess.


.... Back in the dungeon....

As Tobryck thought upon the ghastly tableau of death and suffering he had
wrought, a primal euphoria surged through his monstrous heart. The air was
thick with the coppery tang of blood, and the anguished wails of the
departed seemed to reverberate through the very stones of the dungeon. With
each life he had extinguished, Tobryck had forged an unbreakable bond with
the dread deity Fatale, and his insatiable craving for carnage had only been
stoked to greater heights.

In the depths of the dungeon, bathed in the sickly glow of the torches,
Tobryck, the Murderous Zealot, stood as a grim embodiment of unspeakable
terror, a harbinger of unrelenting darkness in a world gripped by fear. And
as the echoes of his victims' tormented cries faded into the sinister
embrace of the shadows, Tobryck knew that his reign of terror had only just
begun. The roads will become bathed in horror! Symbols of fear shall be
seen in All directions!

Praise Fatale!




Writer: Haeros

Date Tue Feb 6 10:06:02 2024




Writer: Haeros

Date Tue Feb 6 10:08:18 2024




Writer: Agarwood

Date Thu Feb 8 11:46:42 2024

To All New_Thalos Sebatis ( RELIGION IMM ADMIN )

Subject The Prairie-Canyon Survey



Juxtaposed against the harsh deserts south of New Thalos, the wilds north are
a sea of grassy greens and wildflowers of many different colorful species. All
swathed in a gentle, sweet breeze, it was Agarwood's preference to find a sett-
lement in an environment that's more welcoming and facilitating of life than
that of the blistering dunes. His race would not last long and he suspected,
aside from the brown dragons, not many other races did either.

The Deacon of the Red Moon is led by a willowy man, a guide of the northern
lands by the name of Akeem. He was hired to accompany Agarwood on a short
quest to scout the northern canyons for a suitable plot of land for a shrine
in honor of Sebatis. Akeem believed in gold and silver- a god as powerful as
any other, which the arboren did not discredit. It is not his place to judge
the beliefs of others, much less challenge them. One could hardly dispute the
power of coin.

Families of prairie dogs chirped at the pair from their small mounds and hills
as they walked by. Akeem pointed at whatever he thought was interesting while
saying very little. He pointed at the prairie dogs with a slender finger and
grunted, a species of wildflower known to correct rheumatism, and a vacant
scented tall plant called fireweed suitably for making a spicy honey. Being
that Agarwood is a literal plant person, it is a common misconception among
the fleshly races that All arborens know All plants. This is not so for, like
all others, you do not know until you are taught and learn.

The periwinkle sky overhead became embroidered by long, thin clouds as the
two approached tall canyons and, not long after entering them, a large oasis
of crystalline water greeted them. This place was familiar to Agarwood, for
he had conducted a sermon here once before. The shelter of the canyon walls
made those inside feel protected while the waters are life-giving. Akeem
gesticulated Agarwood's attention and pointed north past the juniper trees
with their sappy, dry branches to a large canyon wall. The surface of the
wall, made of a beige and fine sandstone, was perfectly plane with small
laminations of iron-bearing minerals present. Agarwood ran his wooden digits
across the surface and inspected the rock closely taking a step back and
nodding his approval. The arboren presented Akeem with a handful of golden
coins. After inspecting the coins for a short moment, Akeem bowed to the
Hajji and departed without saying a word. A shrewd man of few words, but
the silence was appreciated.

This is the place, Agarwood thought to himself.




Writer: Kaerick

Date Fri Feb 9 12:03:08 2024




Writer: Kaerick

Date Fri Feb 9 13:40:24 2024




Writer: Kaerick

Date Fri Feb 9 14:00:15 2024




Writer: Vorgoth

Date Fri Feb 9 17:14:55 2024

To All Shadow Symantha Telthian Carrionmaw Drakkara Chaos ( Imm Cayenna Admin RP )

Subject Small Unit Tactics



The Black Moon hung close, looming large above the crystalline sands of
an onyx lake. Nearby, a serpentine path of crushed stone leads up, away
from the shore, towards the Night Gardens and a circle of draconic statues,
scantly illuminated in the subtle glow of umbral light and foxfire.

An ogre kneels in the sand, in obeisance and labour, scrubbing dried blood
and tarnish from an array of plate armor, and myriad weapons. Paying homage
to the Starkiller, the Queen of Evil, Mistress of Darkness, Lady of the
Infinite Night.

His first, most crucial assignment had seemingly completed itself, a first
victim of the vagaries of time, inherent in its disruption. He had now to
prove himself, to the most sacred order of Darkness, before his next could
begin. If he could not be part of a team for now, he would create his own.

He was experiencing a sort of culture shock - chrono-shock - of returning to
a familiar place, in a vastly different time. They had told him to focus on
his work, that it would fade in time. He had thought that an obvious bit of
advice, until he had been thrown into it, found the doldrums probing at him,
searching for a mental crack to take root inside.

Recognizing this new danger he faced, he was immediately on familiar ground.
He had an enemy to fight, beyond the nebulous threat of Chaos. Culture
shock, chrono-shock, doldrums, call it what you will, it is an enemy to be
battled. And so, Vorgoth scrubbed down his equipment, and when he was done,
he scrubbed down his own bare body. Submerged himself within the black,
frigid lake, and formulated his plan.

Until he could enter Storm Keep, he would have to employ another speciality
of his type of training. Small unit tactics. So-called Littlewarfare.
Part of his training, not as a soldier, an armsman, but as a Warden, was to
stand up small fighting units from amongst the local populace, teach them to
employ small unit tactics, asymmetrical warfare. He needed to get
organized, to improve his own armament over this basic, ancient arcanium,
and he needed a way to take the initiative.

He would gather his small team, establish his personal cache of arms and
armor, and make himself of use in the fight against chaos, and those who
oppose order.

Be brushed the crystalline sand from his body, dried in the chill night
breeze, and donned his small clothes. Slowly, fastidiously, he strapped
back into his pristine armor, and formulated his Littlewar plans.




Writer: Symantha

Date Fri Feb 9 20:46:52 2024

To All Darkonin Shadow Verminasia Boof Extir ( Drakkara Dragoth Imm RP ) Carrionmaw

Subject
{nEarthen Sifting



The sky was a fitful gray, the wind a gentle bitter gust from time to
time, but from her perch it was easy to ignore.

There wasn't much to see from this height but dust had still to settle from
the collapsed tunnels within the mountain of Darkonin. The goblins and
their supporters were milling about like ants through the streets that she
could see.

Carrionmaw's snort encompassed the only response needed between them, heard
amid the great sweeping rush of his wings that maintained their elevated
position.

How quickly the past was forgotten, how easily goblinoid and ogre nature was
brushed by the wayside, and the facts of past and present ignored.

The nature of the earthquake was of disturbing interest but she wondered if
anyone had stopped to wonder at its origin. While she believed wholly in
the unpredictable ways of the land and the weather, she also had reason to
believe that it was not so unforeseen.

The last determination between herself and Extir had been positive enough,
she reflected, but not without another cautionary note issued. A great deal
of nothing had followed the advice she had been asked for.

"I will go see to this comatose King once things have settled some."

Carrionmaw's acknowledgment came in the form of a grunt and, trailing an
umbral aura behind the sweep of his wings, he landed on the balcony of the
Basilica of the Fallen Sun. Built along the side of the mountain, it
offered a view down on Darkonin.

"If you wish, High Priestess." The deep draconic tone echoed through the
balcony opening. They had come to check on the Basilica. If it had
sustained damage in the earthquake, it would need to be repaired.

A mighty and persistent shame. The thought was followed by irritation as
she looked out on the kingdom of Darkonin. None of this was the legacy I
expected or hoped might follow Dialook and Dunnikin.

The goblin High Priestess of Dragoth had hied herself to Verminasia years
ago and Symantha reflected on the absence. Dunnikin was at one with the
Swarm, with the Will of Dragoth. She was also missed.

She lifted her chin after several moments of gazing out over the balcony and
exhaled sharply before turning to accompany her husband in a walk-through of
the expansive cathedral. The Dark Army stationed in the mountain could and
would be rallied to help fix this mess, as or if required.




Writer: Maccus

Date Sat Feb 10 02:41:51 2024




Writer: Maccus

Date Sat Feb 10 09:45:46 2024




Writer: Maccus

Date Sun Feb 18 13:58:19 2024




Writer: Maccus

Date Sun Feb 18 13:58:33 2024




Writer: Malkavia

Date Wed Feb 21 11:36:03 2024

To All IMM Religion

Subject An artist's work, Mending the broken


A roaring cacaphony of cries and screams rip through the air. The
sounds ricochet off the walls, bringing an eerie symphany to Malkavia's
ears. A grin creases her lips, sardonic yet gleeful. She walks about the
building, letting the piercing cries permeate her mind, building her
happiness. She peers through the bars set into a door, a small holding room
where a few subjects hang from chained collars and shackles.

"Oh Dears.. I see you need some help, " Malkavia chided playfully, "Allow
me to mend those ghastly wounds.
" With a wave of her hand, her body become
transluscent and pale, and she walked through the doors. The cries rose as
the inhabitants recognized the pale form floating in, hard to mistake such a
hulking haze. The moans became near deafening as fear rose and hope quickly
fell.

"Now now, that's no way to greet someone out to help you. Look at those
wounds.. No no.. That just won't do. Quick. Let's clean that up!
"
Malkavia said gently, her voice almost sweet and sensitive.

A soft whisper leaves her lips as tendrils of light snake outward and lap at
the wounds of those hanging. Divine nature grasps their bodies, entwining
them as they magically heal. "See my friends, I am not All bad. "

As the forms shudder in fear, knowing what is about to come next, their eyes
are glued to the Priestess, the divine tendrils healing their wounds.
Malkavia whispers something almost intelligble, and as the tendrils stop,
she reaches down and unfurls a bloodied whip covered in shards of glass.

"Now then... Where were we? " Her voice ragged and sharp, a distinct
difference from her previous tone. "Ah yes, we were practicing the Tenets,
for you need to learn to bend a knee and serve.
"

A quick flick of her wrist, experienced and true, sent the falls flying
across the room, seeking newly healed flesh. The jagged edges of the glass
catch sending out a new wave of fear and screams. The room rang with
screams of pain, newly instilled into those hanging, for the punishment was
far from over.

"We're All sentenced to solitary confinement in our own skins. " Malkavia
replied to her victims with a sardonic gleeful edge. The falls of her whip
lashed out, each time they made purchase, the screams radiated outward,
their bodies being broken, again and again.

"Oh no! You are getting blood on yourselves... " Malkavia said in a sweet
motherly tone, "This just can't not be done. " She stopped her lashing and
surveyed the new cuts and slices, the copper smell rising to her nostrils,
as she breathed in deeply. "Now now.. You look just awful, you really
should get that looked at.
" Her soft voice spread through the chamber as a
light grew from her hands, the divine tendrils seeking out the fresh wounds.
"Isn't that just dreadful, let's get you cleaned up. " She smiled, her grin
stretching from ear to ear. The divine healing once again sought the fresh
wounds to heal and close them.

"Are you ready to kneel now? " the sharp voice rang out, just as the lash
leapt to life.




Writer: Altacas

Date Wed Feb 28 10:20:32 2024

To Slayers Mantoron Cayenna Raije All ( Imm Religion RP )

Subject The pilgrimmage for Faith



The days had begun to run together and the faces he had seen and spoken with
melted and merged to form a single face. This face seemed watchful and ready
with piercing eyes and large horns. He realized the likeness was that of
Raije's statue in the Holy Room of Greystoke. He shook himself awake as the
thought seemed to resound with an audible click.

Realizing He had fallen asleep on the deck of the Silver Bass and the click he
had heard was likely one of the crew adjusting the rigging high above him, he
smiled as he wiped the remaining crumbs of sleep from his eyes. It was early or
it was late, either way he determined it was time to wake up and eat. Grabbing the
top of a nearby barrel, he hoists himself to his feet and stretched for a moment.
Tilting his head to the side and looking left and right until he heard his spine
align with a soft crack. He stared out from the deck, searching the dark sky with
his slate gray eyes, the hints of green reflecting the bright stars intently
staring back at him.

The ships crew worked busily around him as he walked the starboard side of the
vessel towards the bow. From here he could see the twinkling lanterns of the Port
of Althainia. He knew the Silver Bass had to be near the continent as they had set
sail from Arkania what seemed almost a week prior but he knew that was an
exaggeration. He felt as though he had slept most of the voyage and rightfully so.
He had traveled Althainia to Icewall and then to Arkania in search of Raije's temples.
He had met dwarves and humans in the churches on Althainia, minotaurs in the Kingdom
of Ganth, Priests of many races in the churches on Arkania. However, he now headed
back to where his quest had started. Where he initially began to comprehend his own
understanding of faith and how he had previously approached it, how he had served
Raije, what he thought was correct and just in the name of War. Most recently,
where he began to question his efforts and his own worship. It had never occured to
him that there were more paths to Raije and that an alternate path would be where he
should be walking.

Growth through experiences and conversation, he determined to be the catalyst. He
had met many people since joining Greystoke. Every one of them worshipped with
personal elements, however, those personal elements seemed to stem from specific
paths. Those of gold alignment, those of evil intent, and those who walked between
and offered balance. Everyone he had met walked one of these pathways to Raije.
Everyone he had met and learned from had developed a deeper understanding and
connection with Raije beyond their path. Courage, Loyalty, and Victory. The three
tenets of Raije. He could see how each path led to these tenets and how each path
interpreted them. He smiled, recalling a conversation he had with Mantoron, the High
Clerist of Greystoke, prior to his departure. His smile faded to a smirk and he
laughed to himself.

This pilgrimmage had done wonders for him and he believed Mantoron knew it would.
There had been a glimmer in the minotaur's eye when he relayed the news of the
pilgrimage. He had seen battles and groups of men surround a single. He did not
partake in many of them, however, he had joined the losing side of each in an effort
to even the odds and glorify the moment by prolonging the excitement of battle. He
exhaled, casting his eyes out to where the lantern light of the port had blinked and
could now see forms scurrying up and down the docks. He turned from the sight and
headed below deck to gather his belongings.

He would soon be home, his back against the sealed door of the Sanctum. He had not
heard much, if anything, about the Manor while he was away. He looked forward to
seeing the Highlord, Captain Tremere, Lord Shrike, the Slayer, and many more.




Writer: Drogan

Date Wed Feb 28 15:12:01 2024

To All Darkonin Imm Mencius

Subject Rise of the Bear Tribe: Wolfsong



Drogan, shaman of the Bear Tribe, had returned to Darkonin ages ago and
lingered amongst it's caverns. He had left his tribe of northern Icewall to
learn more about the Mountain. Over time he had seen kings and queens rise
and fall, he had witnessed the pikes paraded through the streets, and
watched the citizens drift away. Now, as the debris was cleared away, he
had seen the new king fall to the Mountain's wrath. The coal black eyes of
the ogre watched them cart the unconscious king away. Silver haired head
raised into muted respect as the body passed him.

The Mountain Spirit Speaker, an old goblin shaman, had claimed the kingdom
needed a new leader. Drogan felt the time was ripe to bring the people back
to the old ways but to do that, he needed to journey home and claim what he
had left behind. It was time to return to the village of Ormatrug. Using
his spear as a walking stick, he began the slow descent down. His journey
would take him across the fields of ice, north through the destroyed kingdom
of Gruntz, and finally into the valley of Uxikorik.

WOLFSONG

It was night when Drogan began the trek across the fields of ice. The howls
of the wolves greeted him but he carried on using the stars to guide his
path northward to Gruntz. His heavy form crushed snow, ice, and rock as he
moved across the fields. Footfalls leaving divots behind him. However the
ogre's mind was elsewhere.

"Drogan! You spear is too low! " yelled Ogluk. "Lift high, pierce heart
of prey or you become meal.
" Ogluk smacked the ogre child in the back with
the butt of his own spear. Drogan lifted his spear higher to the same
position as the other ogre children, the pain radiating up his back. They
had formed a circle in the village center thrusting their spears into
enemies made of straw and wood as the old hunter instructed them. From a
young age, ogre children learned the ways of hunting and killing. It was
how they survived in the harsh climate of Icewall.

Some of the other children chuckled under their breath and received a
reminder that Ogluk did not take kindly to distractions as the spear came
down on them as well. "Keep stabbing! " The children returned to their
work, stabbing into the practice dummies. As the afternoon turned into
dusk, Ogluk sent the children home but one child remained. Drogan had
stabbed his wolf into bits, a hole forming in the wood that would have been
the heart. The anger was in him, anger at being reprimanded, anger at the
laughs of his peers. The anger gave him strength.

Ogluk stood behind Drogan and grunted his approval. "Rage is the bear's
power. Rage make you strong.
" spoke the hunter and turned away towards
the warmth of his hut. As the cold rain began to pour, Drogan continued
until his hands were numb and his breath could be seen in the cold air. His
blood however ran hot.

So entranced was he in his thoughts that he did not notice the pack of
wolves surround him until it's alpha was growling before him. The Ice
Plains wolves were white furred with blue eyes. The alpha was larger than
the rest with a gash of missing fur on his flank, signs of his fight for
dominance. Drogan readied his spear but did not unsling his shield. At
this display of aggression, the alpha made it's attack as the other four
flanked the ogre.

Raising his spear, the shaman went to stab alpha but the thrust missed it's
chest, grazing it's white coat but enough to make the wolf miss it's mark.
The wolf on his left, a skinny thing, pounced but was caught mid jump by the
throat. Drogan slammed the wolf down with a sickening crunch as the life
was crushed out of it. The other three wolves attacked his right side and
back bowing the Ogre under their weight. However with a gutteral chant, the
translucent spirit of a wolf rose from the corpse and began to assist the
shaman in his fight.




Writer: Agarwood

Date Wed Feb 28 16:14:03 2024

To All ( Sebatis Admin Religion Imm )

Subject Circles of Cogitation (1/2)


Few places of worship please Agarwood as the Magnetizing Circle does. That may
also be due to there being very few places of worship dedicated to the Young
Master Sebatis, but if there were more temples, the Circle would remain his
favorite. The quartz pillars, the sparse decor bearing no trace of comforts to
distract from one's thoughts, and the mysterious magnetizing hum All aided the
arboren in his exercises to digest, interpret, and commit Sebatis's precepts
to memory. The Deacon wandered about the room following the outermost surfaces
of the quartzose pillars, pausing in word, motion, and thought only to listen
to the hum.

"It is He who presides over magic for magic's sake. He and those who follow
love magic even in the absense of additional purpose. Our love for magick is
unconditional and it is valued for its own sake."

The hum returned. Agarwood froze in place and waited for it to dissipate, then
he continued, "Neither the Light, nor Darkness, Nor Balance could sustain the
world alone. With All of these, share His gifts and His words as is fit. Keep
an open ear toward the thoughts of others, as they too compose the world. The
world cannot hope to survive if it falls to any extreme. Each has something to
offer and, conjoined, they compose the world."

"Power remains with those who command it. Fear it, and it rules the holder.
Crave it, and it eludes the seeker, as water from a clenched fist. Those that
reach and grasp at power desperately are the ones in power's control. To be
powerful is to have mastery over one's self, even in the pursuit of growth.
An obsession with power can hinder one's ability to obtain and maintain it."

"Control over magic is essential. Protect it from those who would manipulate
it without mastery. Those who use His gifts muyst be conscious of the impact
of magick. To do otherwise perverts and endangers. Those that wield magic
must hold a high degree of control over it, for improper handling can have
lasting negative consequences. Guard against the misusage of magick. Wielding
magick without mastery has a corrupting influence."

The hum returned. The Deacon inhaled slowly as he collected his thoughts,
yet leaving them blank and plain. He could feel this hum deep within his heart
wood and it left an impression on him. When the hum passed, he pressed on,
"His gift of Spirit exists in All mortals and incites All acts of purpose,
whether it works to honor Him. Respect the Spirit that flows toward a goal,
even if it drives the acts of a foe. There is a shared spiritual essence that
connects All living things. This commonality is the gift of Spirit that drives
us forward in a direction unique to each individual's unique compass needle.
To be true to your motivations and beliefs is to honor Sebatis. Respect the
motivations and the individuality of friends and foes alike, even in times of
conflict."





Writer: Agarwood

Date Wed Feb 28 16:15:37 2024

To All ( Sebatis Admin Religion Imm )

Subject Circles of Cogitation (2/2)


"Those driven by the command of oneself honor the spirit that He has bestowed
upon us. The obedient are not forgotten, so long as they act with All of their
heart. Those driven by their inner calling or sense of purpose act with the
full gift of Spirit bestowed by the Young Master. Honoring the gift of Spirit
means living and behaving true to yourself. Let the wisdom of others guide
your actions and influence your Spirit, but never let them dictate what shape
it should take."

"Waste neither the moment nor the blood of His pious. A hidden dagger is secret
only once. Seek balance between impulse and patience. Actions should be taken
purposefully and not flippantly. Be mindful of the transience of secrecy and
the inevitability of truth. Find a balance between action and mindfulness to
consider the appropriate time for engagement."

The arboren placed a hand on the cool surface of a quartz pillar. He could feel
the hum gathering in the air and, soon, it was upon him. He closed his eyes and
allowed it to wash over him. When it waned, the Deacon continued, "Love Him and
His magick in the fashion of your own spirit. Worship Him in the method of your
comfort and He shall be pleased. Appreciate and love both magick and the Young
Master in the unique shape of your spirit. Let it represent the unique form of
your devotion. Be comfortable in this, knowing that these shapes and forms can
differ from yours and change just as you do."




Writer: Milleuda

Date Thu Feb 29 20:00:30 2024




Writer: Cid

Date Tue Mar 5 12:04:23 2024

To All ( Austinian Admin Religion Imm )

Subject A Knight's Quest



In the heart of the formidable Gareth's Keep, amidst its towering walls and
shadowed corridors, there roamed a solitary figure. Cid moved with a
deliberate grace, his footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stones
beneath his boots. Each room within the keep held secrets, whispers of
forgotten tales whispered through the ages. And it was within these chambers
that Cid embarked on his clandestine quest, his purpose known only to
himself.

Room by room, he traversed the labyrinthine passages, his senses attuned to
the slightest disturbance. With a careful hand, he would move a tapestry
aside, press his ear against the cold stone walls, and listen... In the
relative silence of night at Gareth's Keep, every whisper carried weight,
every rustle of fabric held significance.

Yet, the object of Cid's search remained elusive, a mystery patiently
waiting to be solved. He sought something precious, something hidden within
the very depths of the Keep's ancient walls. Each room thus far had yet to
yield unto him the clues he pursued.

As the hours stretched into morning, Cid's determination remained
unyielding, his resolve unwavering in the face of uncertainty. Though he
seemingly made no progress, he refused to succumb to despair. For within the
heart of every knight lay a flickering ember of hope, a flame that burned
bright even in the darkest of nights.

And so, as the sun rose over the horizon and cast its rays upon the
weathered stones of Gareth's Keep, Cid stood alone in the quiet embrace of
the castle's walls. His spirit remained undaunted, his courage unbroken.

With a solemn vow upon his lips, Cid turned to face the new day.




Writer: Lavinah

Date Thu Mar 7 17:48:57 2024

To All ( religion rp immortal dragoth cliath )

Subject A Return to Reading



She hated this library.

No, not the library itself. The library was magickal, vast and simply
inspiring. She had spent moons here many times, researching the rose,
history, and many other things in time. Now, she looked for any clues on
the creation of goblinkin, as asked by the new crown of the Mountain.

It was vast, more books than she could ever read, even with the lives of
many elves, and her quick pace of reading.

No, it was not the libary she hated. It was the confounded maze and balanxi
magicks that kept her from finding it for hours. But, eventually, she did.


And there she prayed, asking for guidance and luck in finding a suitable
work, something to steer her tale to tell when the King called for it. If
such a record did exist detailing the creation of goblinkin, it would be
here, in Cliath's own wing of the library of the balanxi.

She simply wished to not bleed on any of the books from her wounds getting
here.

Grabbing a stack of books - being careful to note their shelf and order for
when she returned them - she began paging through each, resisting every urge
to stop and read the countless topics that piqued her interest.

There would be time to return in the years to come. For now, the expanse of
the pantheon, and her service, was her focus.




Writer: Lavinah

Date Thu Mar 7 22:05:42 2024

To All ( religion rp immortal dragoth cliath )

Subject Reading and Reading and Reading and...



She looked around with sigh and dropped her shoulders. She was tired, an
odd feeling for the woman.

Her Lord had given her many blessings: the swarm's presence in her arm, the
tattoos on her skin, and perhaps the most curious - removing the need to eat
or drink.

A curious side effect was that she was rarely tired and did not need to
sleep. Which had the further effect of adding to her already notable
irritability and making her terribly bored. And while she would enjoy a cup
of tea from time to time, it never sat quite the same in her stomach.

Still, a blessing. If her mood needed to be more vile and cruel she was
certainly willing.

But here, perhaps due to the overwhelming presence of creation and it's
lord, even one tied so closely to hers, or the sheer amount of books she'd
thumbed through... She was exhausted.

One thousand, four hundred and seventy two - and not a dent in this
library's wing made.

She new this well enough, her years here earlier barely got through a full
shelf. And while there was no doubt the answer was here, somewhere, finding
it was surely a fool's errand and she was gladly playing the part.

She closed her eyes and thought about anything else for a few moments and
her mind jumped a thousand different directions, freed of the shackles of
just one more book which was never the last.

And like that, she picked up the next: a heavy, thick tome that she thumbed
through in a few seconds. And the next. And the next and the next...




Writer: Lavinah

Date Fri Mar 8 09:14:52 2024

To All ( religion rp immortal dragoth cliath )

Subject ...and reading and reading...



One thousand seven hundred and twelve:

A History of the Avacado Stick. Seven hundred and twelve pages.

Two thousand and ninety three:

Blacksmithing. A tome so thick she could barely lift it.

Two thousand nine hundred and thirty two:

Bugs The Feed On Tree Leaves. She'd quite like to read this, another time.
Fourteen hundred pages.

Four thousand two hundred and eight:

Untitled, a cage to hang a child out a window. Near three thousand pages.

Nine thousand five hundred and one:

The Candle. Perhaps the most important creation that she had stumbled upon
so far. Four volumes, each larger than the Blacksmithing tome.

She slid to the floor, cross legged and read for a bit to simply clear her
mind. And candles seemed as good as option as any.




Writer: Asrar

Date Sat Mar 9 17:44:27 2024

To Abaddon ( All Imm rp Xenophan )

Subject Betrayal



The demon pulled back from Asrar, making itself unknown to her. The elf
and her ogre have betrayed it. It steps from its cave in to a plane of
mountains and stone. Twighlight claims the plane, imps smarter than their
instincs give it a wide birth. {u'Asrar is mine, He cannot have her.
It
grabs a passin imp. Opening its jaws wide, nearly splitting its face in
two, it sucks the spirit from the imp, devouring it. Tossing the limp husk
aside she roars into the twilight.

If he wants her, he will pay a dire price. Asrar is its portal to the
mortal realm, and it will not give that up without cost. Returning to its
cave it begins slipping its claws into the wild elf known as Asrar,
strengthening its hold on her. He will not take her from it.




Writer: Asrar

Date Sat Mar 9 17:57:04 2024

To All ( All Imm rp Xenophan )

Subject Betrayal - Wrath


Deeper into Asrar the demon plies its many claws, seperating the spirit
from the mortal. Memories of pain, of suffering; shame and loss. Grinning
wickedly it pulls the memory, claiming it, devouring it. {uAsrar the
Betrayer. You are mine, yet you forsake us.
' It works tirelessly, imps
baying close by sensing the demons change of focus. The demon must finish
before the ogre and his mortal ritual, if not, if its hold on the elf is not
strong, it will be successful and the demon will... It does not like that
thought and banishes from its mind and continues its work. Minutes turn
into hours, each passing moment weakening it but it pushes on entwining
itself into Asrar.




Writer: Piknim

Date Sun Mar 10 19:36:27 2024




Writer: Piknim

Date Sun Mar 10 20:02:35 2024




Writer: Lavinah

Date Tue Mar 12 22:40:13 2024

To All ( piknim religion rp immortal dragoth drakkara )

Subject Broken



She stood before the kender, one she once considered a friend, and took
the insult. She would take many more before things were through, she
assumed, due to the posturing, the need to impress, and perhaps cowardice.

But it was also failure. Hers.

It was time to turn her eye to herself, to find the cracks, and the let the
swarm flow into them. Whatever he past might have brought, whatever she
might have achieved, she now saw - no, felt - her failure taking root more
and more each day.

The distain, the ignoring. The cold. The lack of interest, the lack of
voice, lack of progress. She knew this feeling well, she had been here
before. The last time it ended in her death. This time, if it came to
such, perhaps the Mistress would let her stay dead.

Like a book, so many that she had read, she would try to turn the page,
curious. This is what she believed, these trials make you stronger, or they
cull you.

But there were dreadfully few pages left to turn and it appeared as they had
already been written.

And this time the ending was certainly a whimper, not an explosion.




Writer: Lavinah

Date Fri Mar 15 14:42:31 2024

To All ( religion rp immortal dragoth )

Subject Broken II



She got lost.

One of her favorite bits of magicks, and *poof!* she was somewhere new,
somewhere she'd likely had never been and hopefully somewhere where she
would be left alone.

What was first a sickly mix of anger and sorrow had now become simply
sickly. And this was worrisome because she hadn't eaten in months. So, the
churn that started in her stomach was now quivering across most of her
chest.

There, in a forgotten guardhouse, where the only guard on duty slept off a
drunken bender - or the overworking of some Lord - she pulled her knees to
her chest and muttered the prayer her mother had taught her, although she
hadn't a clue to why.

"Aeli si cxe lsssel vziaei lxeie le zia lv sepe asa leec zr le rzc ee'icsi'
lv sepe 'ess e'' ce rseee s xza z keccse e' k'iv'iav lsie lv sepe rxe asa
iec iiel re seesreiea cxzc aezi ssccse vsis ei cxe kziir kesel

Which, roughly translated, was about poisoning the one you love because
they fell asleep at the wrong time and you got bored and drunk.

How perfectly fitting.





Writer: Lavinah

Date Fri Mar 15 18:48:43 2024

To All ( religion rp immortal dragoth )

Subject Broken III



She rocked, knees pulled close to her chest, as if she was making herself
smaller and hiding from the world.

That did not matter when the guard woke. After a moment of disorientation,
he yelled something at the woman, about intruding and not being allowed
here.

In normal times, with her wits, a word would have slain the man, his corpse
falling to feed her Lord. But she had no fight, no will, and simply looked
up to the guard as he poked his halberd at her. A moment or two more, and
maybe, finally, gracefully, it would be over.

And then she coughed, uncontrollably. And a few bugs flew from her mouth,
to the guard's horror. Her left arm pulsed, perhaps sensing this, and she
convulsed, uncertain what was wretching inside her stomach.

It was only a moment of wonder.

She heaved, attempting to vomit. But no sickly green brown spew came, as
there was nothing to expel from her stomach. Yet she lurched, her stomach
churning, as the guard panicked, brushing away the fly that landed on his
arm.

Then, suddenly, a flow of insects, flying from her mouth as it stretched
wide, crawling out her nostrils and pushing agaist her cheeks as she
shrieked, silently, a flood of wings and pincers and thoraxes swarming
towards the guard.

He was gone, devoured in a moment. And she rocked, unsure of what happened,
if it even did at all, as the churn in her stomach gone along with the
remains of the guard, the room now empty except this elf, making herself
tiny in the world.




Writer: Lavinah

Date Sat Mar 16 08:02:30 2024

To All ( religion rp immortal draogth )

Subject Broken IV



She rocked, back and forth, back and forth.

She had become less sure of where she was, if not less certain of everything
at all. The guardhouse seems to stretch, to pull, the sleeping guard
sometimes there, sometimes not, and sometimes screaming, being devoured by
bugs.

Her neck spasmed, causing her head to twitch. Occasionally, she would cough
and something would crawl out of her mouth or nose, or fly out for a few
moments. She could feel their tarsus under her skin in her arm more clearly
than ever, now over her chest, in her throat.

In front of her, His cycle played out ad nauseam, the guard sleeping, being
eaten, rotting only to be sleeping again. And while she did not remember
moving, she'd see herself over him, spewing insects from her mouth at times,
a flicker in her eye like the torch on the wall. And, rarely, it would be
her on the ground, being eaten away, a swarm of maggots devouring her flesh
while she also was kneeling above, the swarm flowing into, and out of her
mouth.

Her mind flickered and what she saw changed, the guard screaming.

And she just rocked, pulling her knees closer to her chest.




Writer: Lavinah

Date Sun Mar 17 18:46:25 2024

To All ( religion rp immortal dragoth )

Subject Broken V



She threw up today. Or maybe it was yesterday, she didn't know.

Her eyes shut a moment as she rocked, it might be seconds or days when she
opened them again. And while it could be explained away by magicks, she
knew that wasn't the case.

It was her, getting lost in her own tiny world.

Except the guard, sleeping away, confused her. He barely stirred, but she
could hear his breath, the slow measured pace sound of sleep... That was a
constant, or her mind was making it so.

So she decided, in a moment, to examine him. And she stood, confidently,
nearly fully, before collapsing to her hands and knees, retching. Her mouth
opened wide and insects poured out, spilling onto the floor of the
guardhouse, a scream in mandibles and wings. Her left arm, where He had
gifted her, pulsed and quivered, and the spew stopped as she collapsed
forward, now on her side and pulling her knees up to her chest.

Then she remembered her grandmother, singing her to sleep.

ssccse ksiav, ssccse ksiav
Eele rsiv le ve'i reiv
s'pe z rxeic csle ce ke xeie lscx ve'
zia z seiv csle ce ke veie

She had such a short time to be here, but ever so long to be gone.




Writer: Aescyprium

Date Mon Mar 18 02:11:20 2024

To All Imm Religion RP Taliena ( Tarabella )

Subject {pTough Love
: {nDesert Edition



{oCopper wings skimmed through the light cloud coverage beneath the
moonless desert night sky. After resting for the day and practicing the new
feeling of scars upon them, the {oCopper rose from their lair and took to the
night sky, looking to hunt down the remaining bandits that had attacked so
vehemently upon the caravan route. That had hurt an innocent elder dwarf
and for what? The coin and wares in their cart?

The {oCopper and a handful of Champions of the Realm had defended and beat
back the bandits with little to no true injuries themselves. A small
miracle considering the number of bandits. Those from Arkane and Verminasia
came to the call for aid and together, both Light and Dark worked to protect
grandfather and grandchild. A reward was not even proffered before hand as
far as the {oCopper knew. Yet they worked together and put themselves in
harms way to protect strangers, to protect innocents. Compassion can be
found in many places, the {oCopper mused to himself as eyes designed to hunt
in both day and night caught the light of a campfire in the distance.

Slowly the {oCopper lowered closer to the ground and identified a group of the
bandits that had fled from the walls of the Desert Jewel. With narry a
sound the {oCopper flew by and unleashed the gas that filled the air sacs
within their chest. Before the bandits knew it they were actions were
slowed and their legs and arms felt like lead. Another pass and the {oCopper
released the acid within their belly, deluging the area in it. That was
when the night erupted in the screams of the bandits, though their cries
were short lived as the {oCopper came back around and let loose the entirety
of the acid chamber within their body. Nothing but an acid etched crater
remained moments later, steam rising up from the still disolving sands.

Without roar and without words, the {oCopper rose back up into the air on
scarred wings and hunted once more. It is said that for a week after the
caravan route was the safest it had been in a long time. All thanks to the
{oCopper
.

{n******{o*************{o*******{n******

The old man smiled as the children got up from the campfire in the middle of
the caravan and found their respective families with a few of them flapping
their arms like wings as they did so. As the old man reached for his pipe
and tobacco a young man caught his eye. He was clothed in desert robes but
underneath armor gleamed in the firelight. Plated armor of copper scales.
He spoke not a word as he himself stood up, his eyes of molten copper
catching the firelight.

"{oShukran lak 'ayuha alshaykh.
" was All he said as he turned and strode
into the desert night.




Writer: Lavinah

Date Mon Mar 18 10:38:05 2024

To All ( religion rp immortal dragoth )

Subject Broken VI



She woke up to the sounds of guards shouting at her. How unpleasant.

She wasn't sure that she was sleeping, or for how long. It had been years
since she slept and now, her consciousness coming back to her amid the
bellowed threats, it felt like she had been alseep for decades.

Her eyes fluttered a moment. A spear poked at her chest.

Pushing back to the wall, she forces a small bit of space. The guards paid
her little mind, past that of an intruder - the woman was frail and broken,
although a few wondered uncomfortably how she got here in the first place
then just... slept.

Sliding up the wall, she braces her back there, unable to yet summon the
strength to hold herself upright and raised her eyes slightly. Eight
guards, All with pointy, sharp, worthless weapons.

'Ve' lsss iec lzie sc cle rceer celziar le.' she whispered, which none of
the guards could understand, but they certainly felt the shivers down their
back at the bile dripping from each word.

Then she speaks another, unholy flames igniting each guard, their screams
strengthening her as she stands full, her skin stretching to refit her body,
her bones cracking as they reset in place.

And she left the guardhouse, ignoring the guards pleading as they burned in
a plague ridden fire.



 


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