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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

[Epilogue] Ranger's Assignment - The Return, Part I
[Epilogue] Ranger's Assignment - The Return, Part II ( End )
A Not So Relaxing Ride
Count (Verminasian Census)
Shards of Deceit : pt 7
The Hunt iii: Tim Longshanks part 2
Facing the Demon
The Illuminai (Pt. 1)
{nF{oo{nr{ot Ghyt
Grave Robber - Waking the Dead
The Illuminai (Pt. 2)
Courtship (1/2)
Courtship (2/2)
Hunting the Hunters of the Weak
X Uncomfortable Brightness X
[Blood Oaths] The Crystal, Part I
[Blood Oaths] The Crystal, Part II
[Blood Oaths] The Crystal, Part III (End)
Memorial Memories
Secret Salts of Nettles
The Fog (Pt. 1)
Memorial Memories pt 2
Memorial Memories pt 3
Secret Salts of Nettles (Adding Inspiration)
Memorial Memories pt 4
Memory (1/8)
Memory (2/8)
Memory (4/8)
Memory (5/8)
Memory (6/8)
Memory (7/8)
Memory (8/8)
Memorial Memories pt 5
Secret Salts of Nettles (Adding Loyalty)
Journey to the Northlands
Journey's Tragedy
Unravelling Tragedy
Unravelling Tragedy pt 2
Secret Salts of Nettles (Adding Strength)
Unravelling Tragedy pt 3
Unravelling Tragedy pt 4
The Hunt iv: The Interrogation
Submission
Back in the Dungeons in Sacnoth
Secret Salts of Nettles (Adding Posterity. Adding Truth)
Attack on the Vallens: Creature of the Night
Secret Salts of Nettles {n(Fort Ghyt)
I spy with my little eye - The Villain's Advantage
Orphanage (1/3)
Orphanage (2/3)
Orphanage (3/3)
Attack on the Vallens: The Hunted
A Trip to Sacnoth
Assassins in the Hollows
Despair
Assassins in the Hollows
Assassins Aftermath
The Hunt v: Confession
A TideWeaver's Curse
The Final Stand: The End of Tim Longshanks
A ssassin s Report
Assassins Penance
The Monster's Calm
Forgotten, Not Dead: A Simple Prayer
Assassins Penance pt 2
Assassins Penance pt 3
A Blessed Surprise
Creatures of the Night: The Return of the Hunter
Creatures of the Night: The Better Part of Valor
Slack's Unrest
The Changing Times
Not Today
Painful News
The Big First Day
Life without Rolus
Forgotten, Not Dead: Dissension
Forgotten, Not Dead: Words of Wisdom
Forgotten, Not Dead: Calm, before the...
Forgotten, Not Dead: Fast, but Slow
Forgotten, Not Dead: On Pain of Memory
House Warchylde : Preparation
House Warchylde : First Strike
House Warchylde
The last hours of Rolus Noosa'a
Assassins Links
The Following Days
A Time of Celebration
Attack on the Vallens: The Death
Part One: Letters Home
The Spirit Speaks - Rolus Noosa'a
House Warchylde : Respect
Learning Experiences
House Warchylde : Lesson Learned
Devising the Trap
X Shambling Corpses X
Attack on the Vallens: Returned to the Mother
House Warchylde : Call of Trumpets
Life Can Be A Bit Crazy
Hot off the press!!!
Reprimanding the Guards
The Witch's Journey: One
The Village
The Village Part II
The Village Part III
Forgotten, Not Dead: The Sounds of Silence
Untapped Magicks
|A| Polishing the Gold |A|
House Warchylde : Moving Forward
Childhood fading
Hell and Providence (I)
The Witch's Journey: Two
Sparks
Whitewash Mission
Watching Paint Dry
House Warchylde : Breaking Molds
"House Warchylde : Harnessing Strength
House Warchylde : Practice Makes Progress
Scraps
Fetid Waters
Scars
Who Can She Trust
Spoils
Stares
DreamWalking * Daylight
DreamWalking * Chosen
Sores
Seer
After the Joust
Who Can She Trust Part 2
Forgotten, Not Dead: Book burning
Hell and Providence (II)
Hell and Providence (III)
Hell and Providence (IV)
{oThe Boys
Spirit Walking
Spirit Walkiing, part two
The Beast Slumbers I
The Beast Slumbers II
Spiritwalk





Writer: Theya
Date Mon Feb 29 20:01:56 2016

To All Verminasia Shadow Telthian Liviya ( Imm Religion Necrucifer Ampersand )

Subject [Epilogue] Ranger's Assignment - The Return, Part I



The thick walls of heavy stone were dark and impressive, the murals carved within
capable of causing terror or inspiration. The chamber was large and lined with an
array of marble columns, divided evenly as they helped to support the roof, which
was well beyond sight within the domain of the shadows. The floor, also polished
marble and designed with patterns that would be difficult to decipher, stretched
out with austere purpose from wall to wall. The space was cool, enveloped in the
twisting shadows it paid homage to; more, it was blessedly free of humidity and
devoid of the drone of insects. The low chanting of prayers and mantras eased the
tension within her body until she felt as though she could breathe again.

Padding softly across the floor, Theya's ungloved fingertips lightly trailed upon
the edges of the pews. She stepped around the fountain though her multi-hued eyes
admired the dull glimmer of water as it tumbled and splashed into the platinum
basin. A simple thing, readily available water that could be trusted to be free
of disease and debris; how taken for granted it was. Continuing deeper into the
Altar of Darkness, Theya finally came to a slow halt before the imposing statue -
the chilling representation of Necrucifer supposedly perfect in every detail. The
carnelions that acted as the eyes were exceptional in quality; likely two of the
most perfect gems that the world would ever see. Before the statue, indicated by
the pointing, sculpted digts, rested the altar itself.

Standing there, Theya looked over the intricate details made from bone so many
aeons ago. Dutiful care kept the altar in pristine condition, even the pathways
meant for blood sacrifices visibly clear and glistening from a recent oiling. It
was impressive and for those less desensitized it was easily intimidating. Theya,
familiar as had been with the place once, felt an odd sensation within her chest.
Pain. Pressure. A throbbing ache. It felt as though a freezing cold, spiked and
razored gauntlet was gripping her hear, applying more pressure with every squeeze
to see when the organ would finally burst.

Frowning, she breathed slowly and kneeled before the altar, rolling up each of
her sleeves with careful precision. Upon her left inner forearm a sigil of the
Master of All Darkness was carved and branded into her flesh; upon the right, one
for the god of Murder, Fatale. Resting the backs of her arms against her thighs
so that the brands were visible, she bowed her head to gaze upon them and with
the angle of her position it was almost as though the statue pointed at her more
than the altar. Condemnation. Command.

The Cardinal had told her that they would continue her tutelage. With each cycle
of the sun and moon that passed, Theya lost more and more hope. The weight of her
gray world was beginning to take its toll now that she had no immediate purpose
to focus upon, to task to bend her will to. Self pity threatened to swallow her,
to prove the naysayers and doubters justified in their words; the worthlessness
she felt as the Shunned was crushing, seeking with greedy claws at every waking
moment to shred her will and distract her from the path - from the Truth.

Yes, she had resigned herself. She was Necrucifer's in her own heart, and she
would ever seek to serve Him, to act for Him, to fulfill whatever obligation she
could so that His greater Will would come to fruition upon the World, but... She
was unworthy. That was the only conclusion she could reach. She was doomed to
forever walk in the places where the Eye does not see. A suitable punishment for
one such as she, one whom had been filled with too much pride. She had none left
to cling to.




Writer: Theya
Date Mon Feb 29 20:03:39 2016

To All Verminasia Shadow Telthian Liviya ( Imm Religion Necrucifer Ampersand )

Subject [Epilogue] Ranger's Assignment - The Return, Part II ( End )



In truth, she felt unwelcomed in the Altar. Even her aura, despite All she had
done and prayed and tried, still shone with a golden light. She was a blasphemy
in flesh and bone; she was a taint upon the perfect Darkness of her Lord, blight
in an otherwise healthy tree of shadows and unity, and she was hard pressed to
not give up - to slink back into the jungle and remain a quiet sentinel there
until she failed in her duties or until the End came.

With a sigh, Theya closed her eyes and jerked her sleeves back down, turning her
hands over to rest her palms on her thighs instead.

It did her no good to sit here and wallow, to dwell on the misery of being torn
from the Master's fold. It was her fault. She deserved the endless torment that
she dwelled in, the suffering unique to her own mind and spirit. More than any
other thing or possibility, she simply desired to be acknowledge in her purpose
and to know that she had atoned enough. That told her clearly that she was not
yet ready, nor deserving. She was still selfish, still a child unable to grasp
the greater concepts of what it meant to serve God righteously, and until she
could properly release her desires and focus only on what it was she was capable
of accomplishing in His name, then she continued to fail Him.

Moistening her lips, Theya rose from her kneel and moved toward the altar, her
gaze fixed upon the dark surface. Blood was something that was most often asked
for amongst Fatale's servants and circles, but the drains within the darkened
altar hearkened by to more ancient times. In her mind's eye, she could almost
hear the ritual chanting and see the ceremonial blade plunge into the heart of a
mortal being, see the blood begin to pool and flow as it was gathered in worship
of the greatest of All Names, Necrucifer.

Drawing her dagger from her boot, Theya pressed the sharp edge into her palm and
let the blade by deep enough that as she pulled it opened a wellspring of garnet
blood. She laid the blade down on the edge of the altar and then pressed her
wounded hand into the stone as her blood ran freely.

"Master of Darkness, hear my prayer. From contrite lips pours the will of one
whom strayed. My crimes were great, but so is the penance of my heart. I seek
You, O Lord of Shadows, in every deed and word, and atone in the ways that I
know how for my betrayal. I ask not for Your judgment, or mercy any longer, but
for the strength to continue forward. I will be whatever You need of me, desire
of me - I will be supportive of Your servants and soldiers, I will be a blade to
strike against Your enemies, and I will be a pillar of example to others that
would come to know You. Your Truth is undeniable, Your Might unquestionable, and
Your Will without end. I know these things, and I seek only to be a part of this
greatness, this unity that will envelop the World and purge it of its weakness
and sin. Please allow me this, and I will e'er be grateful. In Your Name do I
offer this blood upon my vow, that with every beat of my heart I might remember
to Whom I owe my flesh and bone, my blood and breath. In Your Darkness I do
serve, so mote it be."

Withdrawing her hand from the altar and appraising the small pool of blood, she
nodded in satisfaction. The wound would heal rapidly, but she would remember. A
simple motion returned her blade to her boot sheath and she curled her hand into
a fist, more drops of blood spilling upon the floor. The wound stung viciously,
but she showed no outward signs of discomfort as she turned and headed for the
exit. Whatever task she would find to work upon, it would not be within the dark
and quiet altar.




Writer: Leylani

Date Tue Mar 1 07:34:02 2016




Writer: Ayrora

Date Tue Mar 1 11:18:04 2016

To All Ashbie Aybel Immortal Storyline Roleplay

Subject A Not So Relaxing Ride



Ayrora took the afternoon to escape to Sacnoth, a relaxing ride on her
beautiful stallion is what she needed, or so she thought. Halfway through
her ride, she looks to the fields and comes across two field workers pushing
each other around. She sighs heavily as she turns the stallion in their
direction and rides over.

"May I ask what the issue is?" She speaks in a stern voice.

They both look up at her in surprise as they did not notice her ride up in
their heated argument. Neither spoke a word.

"Silence? It looked to me as though something was quite wrong. I would
expect one of you to answer since you are both to blame for disturbing my
ride."


One of the men looked down in embarrassment as the other sighed, took off
his hat and spoke meekly, "He was working the fields with me and has stolen
one of my tools. I only wish it returned and he refused to return it."


She frowns as she turns her attention to the second man peering down at him,
"Is this true?"

The man looks up at her with a sad look upon his face, "Yes Ma'am, it is
true."
He returns his gaze to the ground sighing heavily knowing he was
now in deep trouble.

She continues to look down at the man, "You are to return his tool
immediately. This is not acceptable behavior here in Sacnoth."


She watches as the man returns the tool and faces the second man, "What
punishment do you wish placed upon this man?"


The man looks up at her questioningly, "Me? He has returned the tool which
is what I wanted. I am sure he has been embarrassed enough Ma'am. He will
think twice before trying it again I am sure."


She returns her gaze to the other man, "You have been spared by this man.
Count this as a blessing before ever trying this again for the next time you
will lose a hand. Now get back to work."


She watched as both men walked back down the field and started working. She
sighed heavily and shook her head as she turned the stallion and headed back
towards home. How she wished her mother was back already, she was just not
used to handling these types of messes. She kicked the stallion lightly
with her heels and off they went.





Writer: Thasgerd

Date Tue Mar 1 13:44:12 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Tue Mar 1 16:16:08 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Tue Mar 1 17:41:58 2016




Writer: Crelius

Date Tue Mar 1 21:34:09 2016




Writer: Mathesan

Date Wed Mar 2 00:14:35 2016

To Verminasia All Marcaus

Subject Count (Verminasian Census)



Mathesan looked over his shoulder.

"Milord?" A boy stood there. One was out on a task.

"Yes?" Mathesan's voice was cold, detached, the young boy, perhaps ten or
eleven, seemed startled by it.

"You- your t-t-tea is re-re-ready, sir." The boy stuttered out.

Pain. Mathesan's head hurt, but he held out his hand to the boy. It was
difficult to find good help. As a Madaur, there was a certain mystique
that left many commoners tripping over themselves in fear around him.

One had served Mathesan for years. He knew that disobedience wasn't an
option, but he didn't tremor in fear at the sound of Mathesan's voice
either. Other commoners seemed unnaturally perturbed in his presence, as
if they expected him to sprout fangs and slit their throats with a lash of
his serpent's tongue.

The boy before him was dressed well. In spite of his tremor, there was a
fierce look in his blue eyes, as if he dared Mathesan to try something.
Perhaps he wasn't a hopeless case after all. Mathesan took the cup of tea.
Black, no sugar, no cream. Mathesan couldn't understand why people added
such things to it when they drank.

"What's your name?" Mathesan asked as he sipped his tea. Perfect.

"I- er- my name is Yohwlen, s-sir." The boy answered. He was still
stuttering, but the look of pure terror was slowly fading. It was as
though the boy was beginning to realize he wasn't going to die.

"Yohwlen, you will deliver this to a man named Renoir. Do you understand?"

Yohwlen nodded once, firmly. Now that the terror had faded, he actually
looked somewhat confident. Good.

"When you hand it to Renoir, return with a missive sealed by him
acknowledging that he has received it." Mathesan settled his gaze on the
boy. If there was a moment for Yohwlen to betray any fear, that would
have been the moment.

Mathesan's eyes were like pure ice. One of many attributes that Mathesan
had inherited from his father. However, his eyes weren't simply cold
because they were blue. There was an intangible SOMETHING in his eyes
that betrayed a darkness in his soul that could not be denied by anyone
who looked into them.

With a moment's focus, Yohwlen's thoughts were available for Mathesan to
view.

Penetrating the minds of others was a slippery sort of magic that Mathesan
was still becoming accustomed to. It was said that the manatonics of the
world could do it naturally, but Mathesan had only been vaguely interested
in that fact. The path of the Mentalist afforded him a more direct access
to the ability.

Mathesan flitted through the boy's thoughts, but found no malintent, no
lie. The way that the boy was able to make connections was quick, allowing
Mathesan the comfort to believe that Yohwlen understood his task.

Turning around, Mathesan scratched out a quick list on a new sheet of
parchment. When he finished, he rolled up the note, tied it closed with
a ribbon and turned around to hand it to Yohwlen.

"These are the instructions for Renoir. It includes payment for you if
the message is delivered." Mathesan handed the note to the boy and took
a few coins from a pouch at his side. Yohwlen's eyes widened as he took
the money, but Mathesan merely said, "You will receive the other half
on delivery."

Yohwlen bolted from the room and Mathesan heard the front door open and
close. This one, at least, did not run in fear.




Writer: Zorreau

Date Wed Mar 2 07:02:36 2016




Writer: Leylani

Date Wed Mar 2 07:53:43 2016




Writer: Selonis
Date Thu Mar 3 11:48:11 2016




Writer: Selonis
Date Thu Mar 3 12:20:44 2016




Writer: Thasgerd
Date Thu Mar 3 20:09:02 2016




Writer: Kaleli
Date Thu Mar 3 20:17:45 2016




Writer: Mokla
Date Thu Mar 3 20:49:26 2016

To Darkonin All (Sunny Imm RP)

Subject Shards of Deceit : pt 7



Leaning on a rough wooden fence, one foot propped on the lowest rail,
Mokla regarded an empty jar absently. The grunts and snorts of the large
boar feeding greedily from the trough within the pen seemingly unnoticed by
the newly crowned king, lost in his contemplations. It had been a busy time
of late, meetings, the wedding, more meetings, All of which drew his
attentions away from the two small sealed jars awaiting his attentions.
Events had made their completion less urgent, and his current actions a mere
intellectual exercise.

Meeting the Black and getting the blessing on the marriage and plans for the
Northlands had been a pleasant reassurance. Preparing and hosting the royal
wedding had been the successful start of the new life he now shared with
Euterah. The issue of the Supreme General position had resolved itself with
the expected habits of both the former and newly appointed holder of the
post. A small grin of satisfaction passed over his face as Mokla remembered
fondly the meeting with the former king and fellow Shadow. Telling him that
the promise was kept, the stain removed from Darkonin forever, had raised
his esteem in the eyes of the former king. A model Mokla found to be a
worthy example to emulate. The delight in his queen's eyes at the gift of
Darkonin's historical tomes was a memory he hoped would never fade, and
another sign of approval for the pair the Mountain had drawn together. We
are well met, he thought in a mental nod to her cherished words.

With a final grin to fond memories, he drew his arm back and tossed the
empty jar to shatter against the cavern's far wall. Reaching within his
robe he withdrew a scroll noting the number one to coincide with that which
had adorned the now shattered jar. Noting the boar had emptied the trough
and moved to rooting in the slop, he unrolled the scroll and held it before
him. Reading from the scroll he intoned, "By order of the crown and in
accordance with the law in writ and spirit, for the crimes of attack upon
the royal person, fleeing from justice, sheltering within and lending aid to
a hostile power, a charge of high treason is issued for"
The unearthly high
squeal which issued forth from the boar drown out any further words, as it
bolted to slam against the fence wildly and then roll to it's side, legs
kicking spastically. The squeal ended abruptly in a burping gurgle as a
torrent of blood burst forth from the boar's snout and mouth to puddle
thickly around it.

As the boar finally stilled, steam rising from the puddle of it's blood in
the cool cavern air, Mokla noted the jagged lump under the skin of it's
belly and the purple stain spreading around it. Muttering a quiet oath,
Mokla nodded sagely at the evidence of success of the experiment. Running
in suddenly Humber the butcher cried out "My Boar!.." . Raising his hands
in a calming gesture Mokla fished a blue diamond from his pouch saying "No
fears Humber.. Noting your continued faithful service to Darkonin, we will
make good your loss.
This should cover it nicely, but I insist the carcass
be destroyed,, completely,, not sold.. Got it?"
Mokla said fixing his
eyes on the butcher who simply nodded dumbly as the diamond was pressed into
his palm. Mokla turned and started to leave when Humber blurted out "But..
Whud happun?"
Mokla stopped and without turning simply replied "Seems to
have been something it ate..."





Writer: Brockner

Date Thu Mar 3 21:42:35 2016




Writer: Avryenne

Date Fri Mar 4 09:58:57 2016




Writer: Takeri

Date Fri Mar 4 10:24:01 2016




Writer: Telthian
Date Sat Mar 5 10:07:10 2016




Writer: Ashbie
Date Sun Mar 6 01:11:50 2016

To All Ayrora Aybel Immortal Storyline Roleplay

Subject The Hunt iii: Tim Longshanks part 2


"Well 'lo there, lil missy."

The voice was like a purr of a cat, soft and graceful, but with heavy
undertones.

Damn. Ashbie thought, if I wasn't hunting this man, I might have
fallen for his charms myself.

Except, when Ashbie was Ayrora's age, the hand on her shoulder and tight
arm around her waist would have earned their owner a quick
over-the-shoulder flip and pin to the ground. Of course, when Ashbie was
Ayrora's age, she wasn't really the aristocratic sort. Her parents
hadn't been born into wealth and, as a result, they hadn't really raised
her with All the pomp and circumstance that Ashbie's children had been
born into.

Ashbie restrained herself. She wanted to gut the man who had wrapped
himself around her, but she wasn't here for herself, she was here for her
daughter.

Perhaps Tim Longshanks was simply a man who chased pretty skirts. He might
have been a harmless cutpurse for All Ashbie knew. However, the
intelligence she'd gathered about him suggested less savory things.

There had been lots of disappearances around the bridge, disappearances
that a boss would have handled himself -- unless he was the source.

So, instead of gutting the wretch, Ashbie giggled and played along. She
lifted the pitch of her voice, just so, playing to the innocent tones of
youth that she was passing off as. "Ooooh. Naughty hands."

Delicately, Ashbie placed her own hands against his, pretending to try and
pry them off unsuccessfully. If she showed her strength, she'd scare him
off. His hands remained firm.

"Naughty girl." Tim whispered in Ashbie's ear, "Wan'rin' down tha
less sav'ry par's of town, day in an' day out. One'd think ya wan'ed ta be
caugh'.
"

Ashbie licked her lips, slipping into his hold, playing along. "What are
you going to do, now you've caught me?
"

Tim ran his finger down her purple corset. Today she wore that with a
lovely day gown of pale pink. "Figure I can do a few thin's if ya wan'
ta come wit' me below tha bridge.
"

Ashbie giggled again, "Below the bridge? Girl like me has to keep
appearances, you know. I know a place nearby...
"

If there was one thing Ashbie wasn't going to give Tim, it was his place
of advantage. Once there, there was no telling what traps or other devices
he had at his disposal.

Tim's hands tensed for several moments. Clearly he didn't get this sort
of offer often. However, he relaxed and, with his next exhale, smoothly
offered, "Whate'er tha lady likes..."

Cocky. Ashbie thought, Good. That will be where I nail him.

It wasn't difficult then to lead Tim through some narrow alleyways until
Ashbie came up to what might have been an inn. It certainly wasn't a place
that most Verminasian nobles would be caught dead at. However, a rich
merchant's daughter might use it for a little... indiscretion. Ashbie had
cased the place earlier. She'd paid off the bartender/innkeep to keep it
empty, and to keep quiet.

As soon as she pushed the door open, Ashbie adjusted her weight slightly,
leaning away from Tim. It was only the barest hint of a shift, not enough
to give tell to the man of what she was about to do.

Tim stepped inside, and Ashbie finally relied on her strength, using her
quickness first to place her foot inside his planted foot -- the one that
would step next. As he lifted that foot, he met resistance, Ashbie's foot,
and proceeded to lose balance.

However, Tim recovered quickly. He whirled around faster than Ashbie had
expected, causing her to catch her breath.

"Wha's this?" He growled, glowering. He looked at Ashbie with the
eyes of a predator. A knife was in his hand. How had he drawn it so
quickly?

Ashbie took only a moment's hesitation, she'd dealt with far worse than
knives. She took a feint in, drawing Tim's knife hand into a swift jab,
she answered with an elbow to his wrist. The knife clattered on the
floor.

"Give up now, or I'll be the one cutting throats." Ashbie said.




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sun Mar 6 09:35:28 2016

To Ashbie Aybel All Verminasia Immortal Roleplay Storyline

Subject Facing the Demon



Rora walked down the stairs towards the dungeon, her anger building with
each step. She would finally face the man who attacked her and there was no
telling what she would do. Her anger and etiquette were battling in her
mind and ultimately one would win over the other.

She reached the door as the guard looked at her with concern, with a nod of
her head he presented the key and opened the door. Rora looked in the door
for a moment and entered to find the man shackled to the wall. She glared
at the man with a fury she had never felt before, "Longshanks I believe your
name is? Not that you actually deserve to have one."
She moved up close
to him slapping him hard across the face. "Not so tough now. Quite ironic
that a woman will actually be your end isn't it."
She slapped him yet
again.

As she turned to walk away, she took one last long hard look, "By the way,
my mother is a very good fighter is she not?"
Longshanks looked at her in
surprise as she turned and walked out.





Writer: Ozleust

Date Sun Mar 6 16:47:43 2016

To All Conclave ( IMM RP Trinity )

Subject The Illuminai (Pt. 1)


"Alright, alright, everyone keep quiet. Many cannot know about this
meeting."
The members of this meeting were quite anxious. "What if we get
caught? How can we explain ourselves?"


One of the members felt as though this meeting was needed. There has been
much change in the shift in the Towers and those involved in this meeting
have acknowledged the absence of numbers of Magi.

"Time has change. Magi are absent. Is it because of the current
leadership? We don't know."


Another raised his hand, "I know, and it is because of some of the
leadership, but from here we cannot do anything. "


A quiet Crimson Mage sat in the corner studying the commotion of the other
Magi and crossed his arms while he cleared his throat. It was loud enough
for everyone to stop and glance at the Mage.

"What makes you think we cannot do anything? This meeting is testament that
with the right people in the right positions, we can achieve balance and
restore Conclave to the way it was."


Everyone remained quiet as the Mage repositioned himself in his seat,
leaning forward.

"We need to hide in plain sight. These meetings cannot get out, but with
our unity under the Trinity, we will start shifting power around and those
who thought were in power are merely mistaken..."


"Hide in plain sight eh? That will be difficult, but it can, and it must be
done."


Affects The members of the meeting All nodded in solidarity with one
another. Some still felt anxious as a Ivory Magi raised his hand...

"How do we identify ourselves? We need something to be bound to each
other."


The Ebony leader of this group smiled as he pulled out small patches out of
his robe handing them out to one another

"These are to be affixed to the inside of your cloak, you are no longer
about your specific Tower, you are no longer Ebony, Ivory, or Crimson...
You will only be identified as Conclave".

The members looked around and puzzled faces went over them. They thought
this was some secret organization within the Towers, but they realized it
was a organization for Reform. These members were the truth oath keepers of
the Towers that will illuminate magic in every region of Algoron.

These were the Illuminai...




Writer: Euterah

Date Sun Mar 6 18:30:10 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm Scorn )

Subject {nF{oo{nr{ot Ghyt


Berox and the Witch Queen padded into the settlement, the guards snapping
to attention, appearing fierce as their Queen shed her hood and offered
smile and nod in acknowledgment. The tall timber of the wall surrounding,
become built up with stone, the walls to strengthen, easier to defend. The
massive iron oak gates, harvested from the heart of the Neverwood, opened
with a creaking groan as the ice wolf and Witch Queen entered. The
settlement bustled. It was late afternoon. The sun was once again drawing
to the sink into the west. The Witch Queen road Berox through the
settlement, the ice wolf panting from the run over the ice plains, the
people greeted them and went about their business. It was good.

The Fort was almost complete. The two story structure rose above the crude
settlement of mostly tents and one room wooden cabins. It was a beginning.
The Witch was eager to see it complete. The smell of fresh cut wood, sharp
in her nostrils as the Witch Queen explored the octagonal room, large with
stone fireplace central, almost a room to walk in itself. She moved to the
viewing tower, winding stairs taking her up. Built with slats as windows,
the viewing room offered a full view of the plains and mountains beyond.
She turned north. The dimming light from the sun on the plains like fallen
diamonds, the Witch clenched her fists as she peered.

Nothing would stop their march into the Lands the Black promised to the
Mountain. They would finish Fort Ghyt and from the march to the next
valley, next Mountain, next plain. She would send scouts out this night.
She turned running down the steps and seeking her field General to marshal
commands.




Writer: Ashtiel

Date Mon Mar 7 05:08:12 2016

To All Verminasia Imm RP

Subject Grave Robber - Waking the Dead


The village had no name.

Six dirt paths, wound through weathered cottages, made up the whole of it.
The weathered buildings and their equally weathered occupants held no wealth
worthy of coveting. The tavern and inn served as the town center and the
general store.

She took no room, not intending to stay within the area longer than her
business required but she ordered a drink and tucked herself away at a
shaded table to listen to the chatter of the locals until the last light of
the sun faded away.

The book settled on the table before her drew the attention of the waitress
who served her coffee and the woman studied the wooden cover with a
thoughtful frown. 'Dinna believe I eva' seen tha language afore. ' Her
smile was cheerful and Ash returned it with a tight lipped one of her own.


'It is highly doubtful that you would have. ' Her reply was terse enough to
cut off any further questions and send the woman scurrying to tend to her
other customers.

Left to her studies, Ashtiel flipped the ancient book open, handling the
aged pages with painstaking care until she came to the map near its center.
She studied it for the better part of the next hour, sipping at her coffee
until it turned cold.

Waiting done, she rewrapped the wooden text in silk cloth and packed it
away.

At this late an hour, the streets were deserted and the darkness absolute.
Ashtiel followed the landmarks, moving through the village and into the
nearby woods. Even with the map for guidance, her destination took her
another hour to find.

The village had no name but its predecessor had. The city of Ilragorn had
once been important. The family whose name it shared had held power,
wealth, and magic. But the Ilragorns had fallen to their ruin before the
cataclysm and had taken their village with them.

The vine covered archway still bore their name. A remnant of what once was.
It served as the only marker to the cemetary that had once claimed these
grounds. The ruins of the mausoleum itself were overgrown, a pile of
blackened rubble reclaimed by wild brush.

The Countess cleared a flattened slab and sat herself upon it before she
began to sing. The words that drifted from her were familiar, full of magic
that resonated in her tone.

She repeated them, over and over again until finally a shape began to
coalesce from the rubble. Another few lines saw the form hardened into a
vague semblance of a man. It hovered before her, held in thrall and waiting
for her order.

Ashtiel lifted her face to study the spirit, her lips curving faintly at the
corners in hint of a self satisfied smile.

'Lord Ilragorn, you will tell me your story and please do start at the
beginning.
'




Writer: Ozleust

Date Mon Mar 7 12:16:37 2016

To All Conclave ( IMM RP Trinity )

Subject The Illuminai (Pt. 2)


"So what does this group entail?"

One of the Ivory Magi asked this question. The room whispered to each
other, nodding their heads in agreement of the question.

"We are to fight for the desegregation of the Towers. We will advocate and
operate because some Tower's leader is not efficient to lead. Seemingly so
they operate with much bias and not knowledge."


Some of the Magi clapped at the inspiring words of the speaker. The room
they met in was unknown to the rest of the Tower and created a magical spell
to enter its space. The secrecy of it All felt moving.

"Before this can be completed, we need to get some of the leaders we trust
on board for this movement as well... Who can we trust?"


Rumbling for the Magi came around the room, while some yelled "Musen!" .
Others yelled "Laiton!" . This was pleasing to the leaders of this
organization. For the Magi of different other Towers advocating for
different robed Leaders. This was the early stages of what might become a
new way to view the Towers. It may cause revolution or reformation, but
change was needed. The attening magi can attest to that...

The Illuminai will reconvene...




Writer: Mathesan

Date Mon Mar 7 12:34:09 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Traice Catroina Clare

Subject Courtship (1/2)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
COURTSHIP

Mathesan put down the wrinkled piece of parchment from his hand. He should
have thrown it away, he'd already read it several times, but... a sound
broke Mathesan's reverie and he turned to find One standing behind him
with a few new missives.

"Thank you," Mathesan said simply, taking the three or so envelopes and
placing them on top of the wrinkled piece of parchment. "I also have
something for you to post."

Turning slightly, Mathesan sorted through a number of parchment sheets,
all of them organized and categorized. Each sheet was in various states of
completeness. The one Mathesan pulled out appeared to be a complete
document, his scrawled signature decorating the bottom. He took an empty
envelope and handed them both to One.

One bowed slightly, keeping his eyes downcast. He nodded, then turned on
his heel and exited Mathesan's study.

Mathesan's thoughts drifted to Clare Kylen.

It hadn't seemed that long ago when his father had first suggested a
potential marriage between her and Mathesan, but it was already a little
over a year in the past. The suggestion had been made when Mathesan had
only just arrived in Verminasia at his father's summons. Verminasia had
need of Mathesan's talents, and he'd been putting them to use since
arriving.

He pursued a friendship with Clare, not because of his father's
suggestion, but because she seemed active and friendly. She got along
well with others, she had friends.

Mathesan had always found it difficult to forge friendships of his own. He
was polite, but not charming. He was friendly, but not approachable. It
wasn't for lack of trying, of course. Mathesan knew that his inability to
feel anything meant he would have to work harder at making connections.

However, Mathesan's true passion lay in learning. He loved study, reading,
and discovery. He could spend a whole week talking to no one and
experimenting with spell theory.

Forging relationships was not nearly as rewarding.

Whereas learning yielded practical benefits, a relationship outside of
business, seemed to Mathesan to be more about how it made people feel. For
him, there was no reward in that.

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




Writer: Mathesan

Date Mon Mar 7 12:35:19 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Traice Catroina Clare

Subject Courtship (2/2)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
COURTSHIP
(continued)

One returned, a small bowl of melted wax in hand. Mathesan shook his head
and turned slightly, leaning in so that he could submerge his only ring
in the gooey, red substance as soon as One placed it on the desk.

Mathesan let the excess wax drip off, then, as One placed the envelope
next to the bowl, Mathesan stamped down at the center, sealing it shut
with his own insignia, a slight variation on the Madaur crest.

One gave Mathesan a questioning look.

"My father. Count and Countess Kylen. And to Lady Kylen as well."

One nodded once and gave another curt bow before picking up the envelope.

Before One could reach the door, Mathesan interrupted, "A moment, One."

The man turned around and gazed at Mathesan equanimously. His gaze was so
even and so calm that Mathesan wondered if One was similar to him, being
unable to feel. It wasn't the first time that he wondered it. However,
the notion wasn't profitable to dwell on.

"How do you feel about the news of the abolishment of slavery in
Verminasia?" Mathesan asked. He allowed a touch of sincere curiosity in
his voice, he was familiar enough with One that he could trust him.

Mathesan didn't tend to ask One questions, due to the man's lack of an
ability to reply. However, One lifted his free hand and wobbled it back
and forth before shrugging.

Nodding, Mathesan made a dismissive gesture and One left. Mathesan looked
down at the wrinkled parchment on his desk and, shaking his head, finally
tossed it in the rubbish pile.

pg. 02
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Laeroth

Date Mon Mar 7 12:35:56 2016

To All Shalonesti Slayers Bloodlust ( Zandreya )

Subject Hunting the Hunters of the Weak



Laeroth just couldn't stop laughing to himself. The timing was impeccable,
by sheer coincidence alone. The execution almost more so.

As he had taken stock of the waking denizens of Algoron, his mind had noted
in particular a ranger of particularly cowardly stock, one that had given up
its ancestry and home among the Vallens to instead fight for the Dungeon, in
such a way as to specialise himself against those early in their training
that were weaker than he, like so many of the Dungeon and rangers of the
realm did.

Knowing it had the ability to see through his attempts at stealth, he knew
the chances of catching it were slim. But still, he had been writing and
progressing his tasks for hours. He needed, and deserved, a break.

Knowing how these things tend to work, he risked gating blindly into the
Asylum to check on things. As it happened, he landed directly next to a
lowly trained Slayer. He didn't recognise it, some ugly orc thing, but he
knew the uniform well. Disgusting.

The next step was to look about the room, and open his mind to the Asylum
whole. At precisely the same time as he noticed the ranger in the vicinity,
that he later learned was called Wraif (a self-appointed name, Laeroth was
sure), the ranger entered the room without any attempt at subtlety, and
attacked the lone orc.

'Did he not see me, right here? Did he not care? Does he think himself
invincible? Does he think me slow? Maybe he's just as dumb as he was
foolish by joining the Dungeon. Zandreya surely brought me here for a
reason.' he thought to himself in quick spurts as he jumped into the fray,
sure that the ranger would simply flee the room before Laeroth could get in
the way.

Nope. The orc ran, right away, surviving in spite of his lack of protective
spells and lucky that the silly ranger had not thought to close and block
the door first. As it happened, Laeroth DID think about this, and simply
manoeuvred his way behind the ranger as he blocked the door, the falling of
the ranger only a few seconds behind. His final blow so beautiful as to
pierce the very shell of the ranger's body, removing his still beating heart
with a mixture of pity and joy at being the one to deliver Zandreya's wrath.

The journey home was uneventful, but even had it not been, the laughter that
filled the forest would have continued on if only in ghostly tones. He was
only sad that the ranger was likely too slow to understand his folly, and
that the exercise had saved the life of a Slayer orc. Perhaps Zandreya knew
something he didn't of them though, perhaps she had plans.




Writer: Zola

Date Mon Mar 7 16:46:45 2016

To All Abaddon Bloodlust Verminasia Darkonin Immortals Fatale

Subject X Uncomfortable Brightness X


Zola did not like New Thalos. It was too bright.

Not only to say it was too much sunlight, which it was, for the merciless
rays of the day beat down upon the city from All hours. Accustomed as he
was to living in a city more veiled in shadow and overcast skies, Zola found
the brightness distinctly uncomfortable. It hurt in a way that only the
light could. Merciless and unyielding. So he tugged down his hood further
and retreated behind his mask. He steamed and stewed alive in his own
robes, which gave off fumes as if from a great fire within. At least during
the night, he had some respite from it all.

But that wasn't the only thing that bothered him. Oh no.

It was that Samaritan Headmaster... Headmistress, he corrected himself.
Cassidy. She was insufferable. Kind, giving, caring. Shackled so heavily
by her own weakness she may well have been a saint. And she was in charge
of the nearest thing the city had to a church.

Oh, Zola had found records of a Masjid that had once existed that seemed
more about matters of faith. True, requirements of healing and helping were
part of their inner workings, but he could work within those confines to
spread the hallowed word of Fatale. Not as a filthy Samaritan.

Idly he wondered just how difficult it would be to poison her.

Zola's ordained pilgrimage was twofold. To learn, and to spread the
teachings. He had no doubt he'd accomplish the former, he was already
picking up lots of useful tidbits and techniques. The latter might be
trickier, but he had some possibilities prepared. But he would not miss
Thalosia when his time came to move on.




Writer: Jadelyn

Date Mon Mar 7 20:03:35 2016




Writer: Telthian

Date Mon Mar 7 20:14:23 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Mon Mar 7 23:09:29 2016




Writer: Theya

Date Tue Mar 8 01:12:46 2016

To All Verminasia Shadow Telthian Liviya ( Imm RP Religion Necrucifer )

Subject [Blood Oaths] The Crystal, Part I


Kneeling within the Altar of Darkness, the shunned ranger's eyes were closed
as she breathed slowly and evenly. Within her cupped hands, the backs resting
against her thighs, a dark and ominous crystal rested, seeming to absorb light
rather than emit it. Her head was bent forward, her eyes closed as she focused
with acute intent upon the rare and precious gem - as dangerous as it might be
considered, she had tuned out the world to center the entirety of her awareness
upon the prism resting against her bare flesh.

Her cap removed, her slowly growing hair was long enough to tease against her
brow and her ears, though for the moment it was heavy with sweat. Her skin was
coated in more of the same as physical pain wracked her body for beneath her
bare feet and knees, pressed between her form and the hard marble of the altar
floor, sharp stones bit into her flesh sharply enough to open wounds and spill
her blood upon the ground in a slow trickle. Even this pain was beyond her
thoughts, the the intensity of the lingering bites helped her to maintain her
focus on what she was doing.

Slow breath in, hold for a heartbeat, and release the breath slowly.

Deeper and deeper she sank into her meditation. The steady, yet peculiar,
rhythm of the pulse that came from the stone drew her down further into realms
of darkness she had previously been unable to imagine; the crystal revealed
to her a path of unrelenting endlessness that at one time would have tormented
her and perhaps even driven her madness. Though her heart attempted to hammer,
the draw of the crystal was too much and so she continued, wrapped within the
ebony tide that at once attempted to crush her and rip her apart.

As her body shuddered, sweat dripping down her neck and from her chin, her
fatigues drenched over nearly square inch, her brow furrowed. Within the new
abyss she traveled, subjected to the whims of her soul and mind - to the will
of the essence that had been wrested from the demonic host by the Cardinal. At
the thought of the dark and austere figure, recent memories began to form in
and amongst the unforgiving landscape.

"Every heartbeat pumps for him, apostate... He calls to you, Theya. He has
called for you your entire life. His power runs through your veins and you
have forsaken it before. Why should He believe you are ready to answer His
calling now?" rang the authoritative voice, muffled by the ever present pulse
within her head from the crystal.

The darkness spun, or perhaps she did, and her perceptions warped and then
twisted until she gazed upon the memory as if a third party, watching herself
as she chose words carefully to reflect the truth within her heart and her
soul.




Writer: Theya

Date Tue Mar 8 01:15:03 2016

To All Verminasia Shadow Telthian Liviya ( Imm RP Religion Necrucifer )

Subject [Blood Oaths] The Crystal, Part II


"I am not a scared to be consumed any longer. I crave it. Whatever He wills,
whatever He desires, I seek to be All of that. I am not the coward child I
was any longer, and there is no more pride left to stumble over or upon. There
was selfishness before. Yes, it could be argued I am selfish, now, but I have
bent my will to Him, to be guided as needed, to act as needed. I am afraid in
the presence of His greatness, but not for myself or the consequences - only
of failure."

She watched the memory unfold, watched the leather clad hand covered in the
ichor of the traitor demon she had slain wrap about her neck from behind. Her
chin had lifted higher, not out of pride, nor out of trust, but in desire to
prove her devotion. From behind her, the Cardinal had spoken softly, but with
the firmness of a being stalwart in their faith.

"Then you will make yourself into an instrument worth of Him."

"What more can I do?" The question had been a mistake, even if born out of
honest desire - a desire to know where she could apply herself further, to
strengthen her body, her mind, her will, her faith; a desire to know where
she was still failing that God had yet to deign look upon her. The strong
fingers flexed and wrapped tighter about her throat in her memory as she
gazed upon the scene. It had not done more than make swallowing and breathing
difficult, but even in memory her heart tried to escape the steady rhythm
crafted by the crystal and race. It failed.

"You must tell Him, Theya. With eyes devoted to his purpose you must look
upon this world and act. He has given you life - what will you give Him? He has
given you the Prophecy - how will you fulfill His promise? No simpering. No
half measures. No weakness." Slowly, the grip relaxed and released her, the
lesson ending, and as if the memory were made of mist, the forms dissolved in
a black wind and drifted away until they were no more.

Beat by beat of her heart, Theya roused herself from her meditation. The
candles that she had lit had burned down and extinguished themselves, and her
body ached fiercely, her flesh burning from the wounds, her tongue aching with
thirst, and her stomach aching with hunger. This was good. She refrained from
a groan as she rose and pulled stones from her flesh, letting the rivulets of
blood run down her skin and squelch beneath her feet. With care, she gathered
each of the stones, placing them in a small pouch, but leaving the blood where
it was upon the marble.

Though her body was weakened, she stepped forward and placed her palms upon
the dark altar, bowing her head deeply in supplication before the black opal
image of Necrucifer.




Writer: Theya

Date Tue Mar 8 01:17:31 2016

To All Verminasia Shadow Telthian Liviya ( Imm RP Religion Necrucifer )

Subject [Blood Oaths] The Crystal, Part III (End)


"Master of Darkness, hear my humble prayer in this hour of shadows. Fervently
do I seek Your favor, repentant and ever dutiful of my atonement. My sins
were great, but my devotion to You and Your Will, now, is greater than ever.
Call upon my strength, O' God, and my mortal will, for though it is transient
in Your eyes, it has been forged well. I seek the redemption of Your Night,
Your Eternity, that my blade and shield would be used in Your Name.

Master, I plead you have mercy upon this lowly servant, or pass Judgment.
Until then, know I have and will slay in Your Name, that I have and will
teach of Your Ways, that I will e'er seek to grow my strength and knowledge
of that which you desire of us mortals to craft the world into an image You
have so painted for us in dark words and abyssal images.

Know, my God, that I will ne'er again forsake you, e'en as I walk this world
in gray, without the spark of the divine. Your Truth surmounts this suffering,
and is not as great as that which is born within Your presence. I will endure,
and I will pursue the Cause relentlessly in day or night, no matter the cost.
I am Yours, as e'er I shall be. May Your Darkness consume the world, so mote
it be."

Her prayer finished, Theya stepped back and turned, padding on bare, torn
feet to the fountain of platinum. Quenching her thirst, she then moved to a
pew and settled down with care. She wrapped her wounds in simple, clean cloth
before rolling her pants back down and pulling on her boots, gritting her jaw
against the burn and sting of brushing material and sweat. In time, the pain
settled into a dull ache and she looked again to the crystal that she now
carried with her everywhere. Her thumb stroked over the surface, smooth as a
fine craftsman's glass as she gazed into its hungry reflections.

For the moment, the world was quiet. A calm before a storm, or a battle. It
did not matter which it would be. She knew where she would fight, where she
belonged in service until her last breath - and beyond. She was not welcomed
in Verminasia, her aura still too bright to be tolerated by tradition and law,
much as she could not serve within Storm until such time as the Master had
deigned to judge her or grant His mercy. There were other Seekers, though, and
others blinded or deafened to the Truth. There were things she could speak of,
or do, that might reach more souls in God's name.

She risked more without magic, or a deity to call upon for safe travels and
an aura of purpose, but perhaps that was simply All part of the trials and the
purpose. No fear. No weakness. No half-measures. No excuses.

Rising from the pew, Theya tucked the crystal away and drew out her cap,
smoothing back her short hair to place the article upon her head securely. A
dawn was fast approaching on the horizon, but its light would never pervade
the sanctity of the altar. Like this holy place, she too must become a rock
upon which the light would break and fall away; she, too, must become solid
and sure in her purpose above All other things.




Writer: Mercerion

Date Tue Mar 8 12:46:44 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Tue Mar 8 12:46:50 2016




Writer: Ezek

Date Tue Mar 8 15:04:54 2016




Writer: Mokla

Date Tue Mar 8 17:11:29 2016

To Darkonin All (Sunny Imm RP)

Subject Memorial Memories



"Move along! Move Along!" Came the cry from the head of the steadily
moving line approaching the gate under the observation of a group of
Imperial soldiers. Within the folds of a tattered and filthy hooded cloak,
Mokla pressed forward in the midst of the crowd. Stealing quick glances, he
shuffled along, head down to be suddenly stopped by a rough hand upon his
shoulder. Sagging passively at the touch he lifted his head a bit at the
query which followed. "Business?" The soldier asked in the common tongue,
and Mokla replied ".. Trader.." In the the same. "Gods ya stink! What's
a sot like you trading in, eh?"
The soldier asked with a disgusted tone,
withdrawing his hand from the cloak and seeking something to wipe it on.
"Jewelry.." Mokla replied with a nervous snicker. "Jewels? Let's have a
look at your fine wares then."
The soldier said with a sneer. Mokla
rummaged within his cloak and drew out a tied leather thong on which a dozen
desicated human ears were strung and thrust it forward into the soldier's
face.

Reeling back at the gory prize, the soldier snarled raising the coiled whip
in his hand as if to strike with the knobby butt end. "MILLEN!" Came the
sudden shout of the duty sergeant, watching the scene with his hands on his
hips, adding "None of yer messing around now! Move 'em along!" Lowering
his arm the soldier roughly shoved Mokla past with a parting glare.

Passing down and through the gate Mokla walked on for a bit, before giving a
look back then ducked within a darkened alley way and shed the cloak. A
sudden shifting noise whirled Mokla about to regard a small, thin gobbo
child staring at him curiously. Relaxing a bit, Mokla gave the child a
grin, and raised a finger to his lips calling for silence. Recieving a
matching grin and nod from the child, Mokla tossed both the cloak and the
necklace of ears to him along with a few silver coins. Mokla gave a quick
wink and turned to pass further down the alley and through the mounded
garbage to a familiar shop. A nod of recognition from the shop keeper was
all that was needed for a hidden passage down to be opened. Descending into
the familiar darkness, Mokla continued down the tunnel to reach a ladder.
Pausing at the bottom and looking up, he listened for any sign of being
followed. Satisfied, he began his ascent, each rung carrying him closer to
the ghosts of the past he must now confront.




Writer: Euterah

Date Tue Mar 8 19:14:27 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM Scorn )

Subject Secret Salts of Nettles


The Witch Queen gathered them from the meadows east of Arkane, not at all
concerned with the sting of the weed. She plucked the broad leaves from the
stems and placed them into her basket. The leaves reminded her of
everything her kind was to be. Symbolic and cherished, she remembered her
Grandmother and Mother, working beside them to harvest. A bushel or more of
the greens they would need every year. Every year they lasted among the
slaves, so much was lost to her of that time.

Reverie was never her strong point, long thin pale green fingers moved
through the waist high weed, selecting the best leaves. She could hardly
explain it. It seemed her life began in earnest when she came

to the Mountain. She was so young then. She had not thought so at the
time, yet it was in hindsight now. She gave a brief smile at the thought.


Basket full, she whispered words to the gods and returned to the Mountain,
moving to the Archonites Lair. The Witch Queen hummed to herself as she set
aside her basket. She began to light candles around the cavern, preparing
the room. She opened a jar and took out a thick cone of incense. Setting
it on a scale, it tipped the balance against a pebble and feather on the
other side and she lit it letting it burn and smoke waft up before blowing
it out. The scent was heady, cloying. She inhaled it deeply, her dark
brackish eyes swirling black.

The Witch Queen hummed as she took up a jug of crystal clear water,
collected from within the Veil and emptied the contents into the cauldron.
She rough cut the leaves with her silver dagger and threw them in also.
Then taking out a sealed jar, shook it violently and cackled lowly.

The Witch Queen spoke, in arcane language, her aura flickering to life, a
crackle of energy over her. She unsealed the jar and dumped the small white
grains into the cauldron. The cauldron was cold, solid copper, the mixture
sat, doing nothing.

She nodded to herself.

Ten days.




Writer: Grotar

Date Tue Mar 8 19:20:21 2016

To All Darkonin Euterah Mokla ( IMM RP Sunny )

Subject The Fog (Pt. 1)



"Just until I reconstruct the army, eh?" Grotar was in another position
that has called him out of retirement. He became King when he was Boss, now
he is the Supreme General from being a Vizier. It seems that mountain once
again has called for Grotar to be active.

The planning of the military has been progressing in the mountain...

"The Fog will roll in and cause much destruction in its path. It is good."

Grotar has dreamed of the day when he will once again need his axe to go to
battle on his warg. He rides in the thick fog, decimating anything that is
in his path.

"Where will the Fog roll first?"

Grotar thought this to himself as he gazed at the map of Algoron. He placed
markers for Darkonin's Allies, and circled one place in particular. He
realized what war brought to Kingdoms, stimulation of the Economy. He knew
he needed to gain more money so that the King and Queen can purchase more
well trained soldiers. He knew where to strike first, but were they on
board?




Writer: Mokla

Date Tue Mar 8 20:44:50 2016

To Darkonin All (Sunny Imm RP)

Subject Memorial Memories pt 2



Emerging from the hole to face the long abandoned site, Mokla raised his
senses and took in his surroundings. The forgotten tombs, the scurry of
rats or worse, and the feeling of not being alone in this lonely place all
familiar to him from as far back as he could remember. What others may have
dread to face had drawn him here so long ago, a place of solitude in a land
which seldom held out the luxury. What others may have called ghosts did
not deter him, the ghosts he saw within his mind were real and called
memory. Walking among them he found his feet retracing steps from an
earlier time. A headstone he once rested against, an empty shallow grave he
once called a bed, disinterred bones he had sought to sharpen were All signs
of his childhood passage. Moving past these he came upon the stone
mausoleum which had begun his great journey.

Standing before the worn granite structure, his eyes travelled over the
carved reliefs. Pictures honoring a goblin from ages forgotten now, glyphs
telling of deeds and glories won. He remembered the awe he felt as a child,
to think that once one of his kind had stood tall. That was something he
knew little of then, in a conquered land where standing tall was sure to
bring swift retribution. Imperial troops with their iron-shod boots and
eyes full of suspicion, dwarfer miners taking what little worth remained and
amusing themselves with cruelty, scavengers fighting for scraps All filled
his world. Friends are seldom when survival is the goal.

The struggle of those times replayed themselves before his eyes as he stood
and gazed upon the engraved image and words beneath. So proud looking, a
sense of nobility he had no word for back then. Surely a great man he
remembered thinking, and had dreamed of him coming to aid all. Musing over
these things Mokla shook his head at the folly of youth. He had yet to
learn of the value of dreams or the wisdom to know which were worthy of
pursuit. Looking down he gave a single snort of bitter amusement and
prepared to turn away. Quite impressive, eh?" Called out a familiar
goblin voice.




Writer: Zorreau

Date Wed Mar 9 05:36:00 2016




Writer: Zorreau

Date Wed Mar 9 05:38:52 2016




Writer: Fyahy'll

Date Wed Mar 9 07:42:35 2016




Writer: Leylani

Date Wed Mar 9 08:18:20 2016




Writer: Mokla

Date Wed Mar 9 18:32:57 2016

To Darkonin All (Sunny Imm RP)

Subject Memorial Memories pt 3



"Boss!" Came the word unbidden, as Mokla whirled towards the voice
"Ghyt?..." He added as nothing but the ground hugging mists were revealed
and the sad realization his mentor was not really there. Once more ghosts
of memory had risen to taunt him in this place of the past. The voice an
echo of those fateful words of long ago, words which would herald a change
in fortunes and purpose forever.

He remembered again the young hob who turned in a defensive crouch to regard
a grinning gobbo who gestured to the tomb adding "Knows who rests there?
That be General Gew.. Greatest of All gobbos."
In a non threatening
manner. The young hob interrupted his wary gaze to snatch a quick look back
at the engravings covering the tomb and edged back as the gobbo approached
to run a finger along the meaningless glyphs. "Tells about All hims great
deeds. Well worth the time to reads."
The gobbo said. The young hob
snorted at this and finding his voice uttered "Na graets gobbers.. Na
deedins.. Yabae hoo shiney havum gobber?"
In the rough gutter-speak which
passed for language among the scavengers of Dolund'ir. The gobbo raised an
eyebrow at the garbled mix of tongues and placed his hands on his hips to
peer at the skittish hob saying "No great gobs? No deeds? Well I be Ghyt
an am tellin you is bein so.. An writin says sos right der."
Softening
his stance a bit the gobbo scrutinized the young hob and remarked, "Can't
read can ya?.. Corse not.. An speaking that mulch. What they be callin
ya, eh?"


Mokla remembered how Ghyt had seemed so tall then, a giant in stance if not
in stature. He had never seen a gobbo of his like, one unbowed and bold
where All others he had known were cowed and as starved and skittish as
himself. The look of a defeated folk their only common link. Just the idea
of speaking openly to this stranger requiring a courage he didn't know he
had.

"Mokla.." The hob whispered, pointing to himself and adding with a near
hiss ".. Warchylde mae.." . The gobbo smirked and crouched down saying
"War orphan,, been hearin dwarfers callin y'all that." The gobbo
straightened and seemed to consider All this for a moment. "Well Mokla.. I
be here tellin ya theres being great gobbos still.. An will be again. Big
world outs there, an plenty room ta makes a great gobbo place fer All them
great gobbos. Firstly.. Am thinkin a full belly be helpin ya thinks
straight. How 'bout it? Shall we finds out?"





Writer: Valanthiriel

Date Thu Mar 10 00:15:39 2016




Writer: Euterah

Date Thu Mar 10 11:49:16 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM Scorn )

Subject Secret Salts of Nettles (Adding Inspiration)


Nettle was seen as obnoxious weed. The Witch realized most thought so,
but the properties of nettles was extravagant. The plant was a gift of the
gods. In the copper cauldron it soaked, in ethereal water and sea salt, the
nettles' metaphysical essence being drawn out.

The salt of the nettle is used in many spells, remedies, alchemies and
rituals. Let set for ten days and then process, the Witch went to work
chopping lavender flowers and hazelnut. She smiled to herself, lips
curling. The knife made a pleasant rhythm.

It reminded her of her Grandmother, within their hovel, muttering a
sing-song as she worked. The gnarled fingers deft with practice, moved
through the herbs and items with the skill of one much younger. She never
told the young Euterah stories. She hardly spoke at all, so traumatized by
the war and their slavery. Euterah remembered the songs though, the hymns
of Dragoth, the ballads of those heroes whose deeds where remembered only in
verse.

The Witch Queen tossed the mixture into the steeping nettles. Both
ingredients used for muse, her batch of base constituents was coming along
nicely. She only had to be patient and wait.

Eight more days.




Writer: Glailen

Date Thu Mar 10 17:53:16 2016




Writer: Valanthiriel

Date Thu Mar 10 19:09:12 2016




Writer: Mokla

Date Thu Mar 10 19:54:07 2016

To Darkonin All (Sunny Imm RP)

Subject Memorial Memories pt 4



Yes.. We did, thought Mokla as the memory flashed by. It began so
simply All those years ago. The travels, small lessons, the education Ghyt
insisted upon, All in pursuit of a dream in which "great gobbos could be
great again". A dream a life was built around, a dream which took root in
the cold bones of the Mountain.


Turning back to the tomb, Mokla remembered the mistakes also. His own
fateful misstep for which he remained scarred to this day. Walking around
to the backside of the the mausoleum he ran his hand slowly along the stone
feeling carefully of it's surface. Finding a familar notch in the stone he
traced his finger down to where it met the ground and began to clear dirt
away from the foundation. Digging down a hands width a small loop of
twisted wire is exposed, it's trailing end disappearing down further,
angling towards the foundation. Carefully brushing the dirt aside to avoid
disturbing the wire, a hole within the foundation itself merges. It's dark
depths receeding under the tomb. Taking the wire gingerly between the
talons of his index finger and thumb, Mokla traced the wire back within the
hole to the crook of his elbow. Seconds pass and then a stone drops to roll
over his forearm as he carefull withdraws a small jar of thin glass filled
with black liquid. Holding the jar up for inspection. Mokla grinned evilly
and said "But ya aged into a right nasty bugger by now.." And spying a rat
heaved the jar to smash upon the headstone above it. Upon breaking a
purplish haze descended to engulf the unwitting rat which immediately began
to twitch and gnaw at it's own belly, dead within seconds as the liquid ran
down the headstone etching the granite.

Whistling appreciatively Mokla turned back to the hole withdrawing a mining
tool from his pack. Holding it by the head, he slowly inserted the tool
into the hole. Just past the crook of his elbow he was rewarded with a
heavy snap of metal upon wood. Pulling back from the hole he dragged out
the heavy, iron toothed gnomish contraption, it's teeth pressed nearly
through the tough wooden handle. Tossing aside the wrecked tool, Mokla lay
upon his back thrusting his arm through the hole up to the armpit and drug
out a head-sized leather sack.

Examination of the knotted draw-string and the heft of it's weight ensured
Mokla that it had indeed lain undisturbed these many years passed. His last
cache, the last efforts to secure the Mountain home he had worked for and
dreamed of so long. Ghyt had refused it, telling him to stash it for when
needed. Mokla had asked then how he would know when the time came.
"Sometimes ya just am feelin it" echoed the voice from mists and memories.
Looking up and grinning, Mokla nodded to the empty air.




Writer: Mathesan

Date Thu Mar 10 20:21:59 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Clare

Subject Memory (1/8)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
MEMORY

Mathesan's eyes scanned over the pages. He read, page after page, with
little more than a glance.

Few people knew that Mathesan had an eidetic memory. It wasn't a fact that
he generally wished to share. With but a brief look at something, he could
picture it over again and again in his mind. It was a remarkably useful
trait, though it was also occasionally a distraction.

While Mathesan was unable to feel anything, there were some memories that
repeated over and over again, an incessant replay of events better left
forgotten.

One memory in particular haunted him. If he was able to feel fear, that
memory would have been it.

{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-

Mathesan was only five years old at the time. Of course, he was already
a better reader than his caretaker and his father had sent out for the
best scholars around Algoron.

One such scholar introduced himself as Anadeis Winthrop. He was a wizened
old man, schooled in, as he put it, the "precise arts" of mathematics.
The myriad of complexities in mathematical therom would eventually be
something that Mathesan would fall in love with. However, the man who
taught it was not.

Anathras Winthrop was as strict as they came. Five year old Mathesan was
still struggling to work through multi-step problems in his head, which
earned him much derision and abuse from "Scholar Winthrop".

Again and again and again the man jeered. He told Mathesan repeatedly that
he was unfit to be graced with such learning.

In spite of Mathesan's fierce desire to learn, Anathras infuriated him.
Mathesan had never been one to stand on privilege. He fully expected to
have to earn respect at every turn in spite of his heritage, but he knew
that he was worthy of Anathras' teachings.

It was Anathras that Mathesan first planned to kill.

The man was a monster, and Mathesan knew that he didn't lock his study.
Setting up the kill would be All too easy. Every morning, Anathras woke
up, went down to the kitchens for his tea and breakfast and brought them
up to his study. He finished his breakfast, then went out for an hour to
walk the grounds. It was during this time that Mathesan would enter the
man's study, and then poison his tea.

An honorable kill would have been better, but Mathesan was only five.

It didn't work.

pg. 01
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Writer: Mathesan

Date Thu Mar 10 20:22:55 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Clare

Subject Memory (2/8)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
MEMORY
(continued)

Mathesan was certain he had chosen the proper poison and amount, he had
read up on discreet poisons and their uses. It had been All too easy to
memorize the entire book, slip into the apothecary's stores, and find
the poison, unlocked, and labeled on the shelf.

However, Anathras showed up for Mathesan's lesson the next day. He didn't
even look as though he'd suffered any illness as a result of the poison.
He also treated Mathesan no differently, berating him that day for
misplacing a carry-over number in his long division problem. Small
mistakes, according to Anathras, were a sign of laziness. Lazy and
useless, Mathesan would never amount to anything.

It was that evening that Mathesan had his first nightmare. He'd never
felt fear before, but, in his dream, his imagination vividly created the
sensation as best as it could. He'd stabbed Anathras repeatedly in the
chest, sinking the blade in with stab after stab. However, the man simply
cackled, laughing as five year old Mathesan tried to kill him. Eventually
he grabbed Mathesan's throat with one hand and began to squeeze.

Mathesan felt the air leave him, the dizziness, the sensation of mortal
peril was All too real. Then, miraculously, he woke up.

Anathras was only a man. Mathesan knew there would be some way to get to
him. It was possible, though unlikely, that the man had checked his tea
for poison. A man who didn't bother to lock his door was not that
paranoid.

There were other thoughts that occurred to Mathesan, but none of them
seemed likely. There was no reason for Anathras to have specifically
developed an immunity to that sort of poison. The only likely suspects
were some natural form of immunity, or some trick of magic. There was
one another remote possibility: that Anathras wasn't alive. Undead were
resistent to All manner of things.

Mathesan explored the first few things first. It wasn't easy to dig up
the past of Anathras, he wasn't from Verminasia. However, Mathesan's
efforts were finally rewarded when he was eight.

pg. 02
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Thu Mar 10 20:24:25 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Clare

Subject Memory (4/8)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
MEMORY
(continued)

Anathras' family were All devout followers of Kwainin, or, at least, the
Church of Kwainin located in their city was the place of record. It was
churches, not governments, that had a tendency to keep such things, a
service they provided for their followers.

In spite of this fact, Anathras was estranged from his family. A matter
which took quite a bit of digging to find out. However, the Church of
Fatale had records pertaining to a one Anathras Winthrop around the same
time he went missing from the records of his family's church.

This alone wouldn't have been fascinating, were it not for another fact
buried in the records. Anathras, brilliant, focused, ambitious, was a
rising star in the Church of Fatale and, as a result, had been chosen
for a particularly auspicious honor.

The family gardens were indoors. It was a fact that Mathesan hadn't given
much consideration to. However, with the new knowledge in hand, he
realized what Anathras' walks were for. The man missed being able to be
outside with the natural world. Night time was the only time for such
excursions, and the world looked different under the light of the moon.

There were sections of the Madaur family gardens that used entirely
artifical light sources. However, some of the plants there also provided
plenty of cover. At eight, Mathesan was better able to come up with a plan
that he could execute himself.

The most difficult part of the process was purchasing the needed
materials. It turned out that vampire legend was mostly myth. Most
stakes would do nothing to the vampire. Instead, he needed a stake made
of dreadwood, tipped in silver. Only then would it be sufficient.
Even with such a weapon, one needed the force to drive the stake through
the vampire's heart, and the stake wouldn't kill it. Instead, a
vampire staked through the heart would effectively go into a sort of
hibernation state as long as the stake remained.

It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was a plan.

pg. 04
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Thu Mar 10 20:25:19 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Clare

Subject Memory (5/8)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
MEMORY
(continued)

The plan had to be carefully set out.

While Mathesan was certain that murdering a vampire wouldn't be soemthing
his father was proud of, he doubted he was risking his life with it
either. Still, better to make it look as though Anathras had abandoned
his position. Especially if he ever did get free and came back with
accusations.

Also, the thought of killing was sort of... thrilling to Mathesan. He only
felt alive when he took risks. He had never felt happiness, sadness, or
even really anger. Instead, the adrenaline rush he got when he was
preparing for something dangerous, that was the only real feeling he
knew.

Other than the emptiness of course.

In any case, attacking in the gardens in the early morning was unlikely
to draw much attention. Anathras probably preferred it because so few
chose to venture that way in the morning.

The biggest problem was getting Anathras out of the gardens and buried
somewhere. Burial was the best way to ensure that no one managed to free
the vampire by accident.

For that, Mathesan planned to use a wheelbarrow filled with dirt. He
would dig the plot in advance, it was the best way to ensure it was
deep enough so as not to be discovered in a year or two. It also gave
him cover. A wheelbarrow full of dirt wasn't suspicious. And while
Mathesan never really had to perform manual labor, it wasn't unusual for
him to pick up his own projects.

Mathesan spent the entire night before in the gardens. He hadn't wanted
to wake up in the morning and find he had to rush to set things up. He
didn't wait up All night, but the sleep wasn't really restful. Instead,
Mathesan spent most of the night fantasizing. In his mind, he saw himself
stabbing Anathras repeatedly. Each attempt more successful than before.

One sure thrust. Complete surprise. Everything would be perfect.

The morning woke Mathesan up slowly. He'd stretched out his limbs slowly,
easing the soreness from his muscles. Mathesan had only just gone through
a recent growth spurt, and his legs and arms felt gangly and unfamiliar.

Nevertheless, he was youthful and limber. The pain in his back, arms,
and legs would go away quickly enough. The first thing was to find
the stake and practice a few thrusts with it.

However, when Mathesan reached out, the stake was gone!

pg. 05
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Thu Mar 10 20:27:27 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Clare

Subject Memory (6/8)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
MEMORY
(continued)

It had to be there. Mathesan had put it securely beneath his leg before
dozing off to sleep.

Yet, Mathesan couldn't feel the stake beneath his leg now, it wasn't on
the ground next to him. He turned over, searching for the previous weapon
on his hands and knees. His fingers tore through the dirt, ripping up
roots, digging frantically, helplessly.

It felt as though a drum was ripping at Mathesan's temple. He could
feel his pulse racing.

Sweat beaded on Mathesan's forehead, mingled with his dark hair, that
fell across his eyes.

He shut his eyes tightly, calling up his memory. He could remember
everything. Yet, every memory of the stake confirmed that it should have
been where he expected it.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. A half a dozen or so
stretches away. The answer was immediately obvious, he must have kicked
it away while sleeping.

Relief flooded Mathesan's veins in a flood. He relaxed, reached for the
stake, and gripped it firmly in one hand.

Thrust. Swing. He made punching motions, remembering every instructor
that his martial mentor had taught him.

The silent patter of soft footsteps broke Mathesan's focus. Someone was
coming. He tilted his head, closed his eyes, and let himself melt into
the surroundings. The steps were faint, barely audible, but were most
assuredly the footsteps of his mathematics mentor, Anathras.

Mathesan held his breath. He didn't want to be heard.

The silhouette of Anathras cleared the corner next to the tree that
Mathesan had chosen as his hideout. Mathesan was ready, crouched in
preparation like a cat.

One. Two. Three.

Mathesan leaped toward Anathras, murder in his eyes.

For his part, the vampire did appear shocked. His eyes widened, and he
didn't get his own hands up quite fast enough to stop the lunge. However,
he did manage to feint left slightly, pushing Mathesan's hurtling form up
just enough. Mathesan's head impacted Anathras' shoulder and he felt the
jolt All the way down his spine.

"Well... this... was unexpected... " Anathras' voice was as calm as
ever. He caught Mathesan before he fell to the ground.

The vampire's grip was as strong as it had been in Mathesan's memory. All
of those times he had held Mathesan's wrist, twisting his arm, causing
his senses to explode with pain.

Mathesan tried to resist, tried to bring up his hand with the stake.
Anathras held on, holding back any progress.

"You think... that this... will kill me?" There was an arrogant sneer
to his voice.

Anathras threw Mathesan off, letting the ground finish its previously
delayed business.

"Come then. Show me what you've got."

pg. 06
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Mathesan

Date Thu Mar 10 20:30:01 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Clare

Subject Memory (7/8)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
MEMORY
(continued)

With a furious yell, Mathesan got up and charged the vampire. Anathras
chuckled and stepped to the side, allowing the eight year old to charge
past him.

"Pathetic... " The venom dripped with every syllable. When Mathesan turned
around, he could see the disdain in the vampire's gray eyes.

"Useless. Lazy. Arrogant." Anathras' smile curled, "My turn."

With inhuman speed, the vampire fashed forward. His nails, those horrid
nails that Mathesan was all-too-familiar with. Filed into sharp points,
they were like daggers. Anathras didn't hit anything vital. Unlike
Mathesan, he could be punished for murdering the King's son. Though only
Mathesan knew that it was unlikely. As far as Marcaus was concerned, if
someone in his family was weak enough to be killed, they weren't worth
being concerned over.

Reflecting on the memory, Mathesan realized that the inhuman sense of
speed was likely due to the fact that Mathesan was eight and Anathras
much older, with a lifetime of combat experience.

However, in the moment, he felt horridly outmatched.

Blood dripped down his left arm, four scratches running in horizontal
lines across in eerie parallel.

Mathesan stabbed out again, but Anathras was gone.

Wheeling around, Mathesan gazed at the vampire, who was now about ten
stretches behind where Mathesan had stood.

"Fun, isn't it? Exhilarating really." Anathras charged again.

Mathesan screamed out as he took the pain again and again and again. New
wounds showed up on his cheeks, his other arm, his legs, and his torso.
Mathesan did his best to stay with it. He'd been trained well, but he was
no match for an experienced combat veteran.

Finally, at some point, Mathesan on his hands and knees, Anathras
stopped. "What is it that you thought you could do, Mathesan?"

"Stop... ...you... " Mathesan managed with some effort. He spat out some
blood. At eight years old, he'd never felt pain like this before in his
life.

"Well, you've done an excellent job then," Anathras said, his tone
dripping with his sarcasm.

Mathesan gripped the stake in his hand and closed his eyes.

...pain is fleeting... ephemeral... it is simply...
...communication from the body... a warning system...
...it can be ignored... delayed...

The lessons of his martial mentor filtered in. Mathesan took a
steadying breath. Anathras was laughing now. The drum pounded against
his temple again. Slow. Steady. Mathesan could feel the wood of the
stake biting back into his hand.

With speed that surprised even Mathesan, he stood up, thrusting the
stake upward in the same motion. The momentum carried through the swing
and the silver-tipped stake embedded itself in Anathras' chest, where
his heart should have been.

The laughing stopped. Anathras' eyes widened as he stepped back, his
movements sluggish.

"W-what... did you... do... to... me?" His eyes were frantic, confused,
trying to piece together what was happening.

"Stopping you," Mathesan whispered, he gave the stake an additional shove
for good measure.

pg. 07
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Writer: Mathesan

Date Thu Mar 10 20:30:33 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Clare

Subject Memory (8/8)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
MEMORY
(continued)

For as messy as the encounter had been, the cleanup went exactly as
planned. No one stopped to question Mathesan as he wheeled the massive
pile of dirt out. It took awhile, even though he wasn't weak by any
means, the weight of the wheelbarrow was a bit much. He'd ended up asking
one of the stableboys to help.

The dim-witted boy didn't ask questions as he wheeled up to the deep
trench that Mathesan had dug into the earth.

"Dog..." Mathesan offered as the boy glanced down into the hole. Shrugging,
the stableboy walked off, leaving Mathesan alone to bury his mentor.

{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-{-

Mathesan closed the book he'd been reading. It was an exact copy of a book
he'd read earlier. He transcribed it entirely from memory.

He'd already given the journal back, but his thoughts kept playing the
words over and over again in his mind.

She'd seemed so disappointed, Mathesan knew why. There was only one way
to rectify the situation. Mathesan sat up and grabbed a nearby quill.
Blank parchment was always at hand.

With that, he began writing...

pg. 08
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Writer: Mokla

Date Thu Mar 10 21:45:58 2016

To Darkonin All (Sunny Imm RP)

Subject Memorial Memories pt 5



Hefting his burden over a shoulder, Mokla began the walk back to the
ladders and tunnels to emerge once more into the darkened streets. Finding
a shadowed spot from which to watch the activities at the gate, Mokla
settled in and waited patiently. Passage to and from the occupied city may
now be possible, but Mokla was untrusting in the matter of whether searches
still occurred. Treaty or not, any attempt to relieve him of this package
would lead to mayhem before it's seizure would be permitted.

After nearly an hour of wait, Mokla was alerted to the event he waited upon.
The hoarse bellowing of a bugbear rolled out across the crowded square,
calling out to goblinkind to leave this place of desolation and join the
swelling ranks of settlers moving on to the Northlands of Icewall where all
were welcome and fortunes could be found and kept. The rousing speech drew
many to stop and listen, including the Imperial gate guards. As the Bugbear
hollered of crushing the enemies of the Mountain, Mokla saw the Imperial
sergeant finally react. "Aww Bloody Raije!.. Millen, Henson! On me, now!"
The sergeant cursed, leaving the gate line with his men in tow to wade
through the gathering crowd of the square.

Watching the Imperials pass from his hide, Mokla knew his time was now and
slipped out into the street and through the crowd towards the gate. Seeing
the light of recognition in the lifted eyes of the gobbos there, Mokla
grinned and nodded. "He's telling the truth of it, ya know? We stand
waiting .. Room fer All of ya.. The Mountain waits!"
Mokla told the
crowd. Eyeing the water bucket the guards had been drinking from, Mokla
said "Come.. Join us.. Leave these damned Imperials behind forever..
They've taken enough from us, Ileave them with only this.."
And turned to
spit in the bucket. As he moved onward through them Mokla glanced back and
with a grin of satisfaction saw many sharing their own gifts with the
guards. Perhaps one simple defiance could start something greater. Mokla
knew.. Small acts could fulfill dreams.




Writer: Euterah

Date Sat Mar 12 19:09:22 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM RP Scorn )

Subject Secret Salts of Nettles (Adding Loyalty)


She began to record what she learned in the cracked journal of note, what
had passed and dreams. Her rescue, the first marriage, the parade of
royalty, generals came to life in the book she thought. The memories of the
time she could not control her aura, of the trials and tribulations that
followed, she flipped through the pages. Her life since coming to Darkonin
revealed through her simple scrawl. Even the handwriting recorded her
journey, from childish common to the more elegant cursive common, practices
in other languages and then the mastered slanted Goblish. The Witch gave a
brief smile.

She jotted down what she had seen and heard, her feeling as to the coming
days and signed her name, almost putting Ghuti once again. She frowned to
herself. She had come to equate herself with the name, was it wrong?

The Witch finished with a flourished /Warchylde/. After all, she was a
child of war, of slavery and poverty, but with the gods favor she rose above
what she was born into. She worked hard to educate herself, learned of the
world, its people and its ways. She loved Mokla, they were well met as a
couple. The name would grow on her and with her. She would make it hers to
wield as she had the Ghuti name. The Witch settled into a chair at the back
of the library, to work in peace. Warchylde. Was she?

She wrote her thoughts, indelible now. Her tumultuous rise to Queen once
again, her grasping of politics, places, titles, and positions needing
refinement, the March to the Northlands, the Neverwood, her people and their
work. Giving a sigh, flexing cramped fingers, she ended the entries. The
Witch stretched and rose from her chair.

Family. She thought about her own, long dead, mere ghosts of memory and her
cleaving to Mokla, a new branch of history to grow. Warchylde.

It was so strange. Not at All as she ever envisioned it to be, this
confusing amalgamation of personalities, opinions and needs. Mokla was
correct, the Mountain was more her family than anything. She looked at all
the citizens as something akin to brothers and sisters. Somehow she needed
to translate that feeling to the rest of her kin. She strode from the
library and bound down the stairs, moving to the lair. It was time to add
the next ingredients.

The blue flowers she gathered from Tropica and ground them in the pestle
along with lemon zest and rosemary, scraping the pulpy mixture into the
copper cauldron.

Six days.




Writer: Gaurak

Date Sat Mar 12 19:48:17 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Journey to the Northlands



The bugbear was pleased.

He had travelled to many cities with his message of unity for the races of the
Mountain and the promise of the Northlands. He had talked to many goblinkind,
orcs, trolls and ogres. Not All had joined, but some had and that was enough.
He and his followers would start the way back to Icewall and eventually to the
Mountain and Fort Ghyt.

He had not encountered much resistance to his message, only a few stares and
some brief unfriendly issues from humans and other lesser races. But they did
not matter. The look on the faces of the goblins of Dolund'ir and elsewhere as
they filled with hope and zest were what mattered. There was much to do, much to
prepare, much to hopefully eventually plunder. The bugbear rubbed his chin in
anticipation of the items and foods he would enjoy.

But first, the boat. He ushered the group on-board the great ship headed towards
Icewall. The Mountain would rise. It would grow strong, and the Northlands
would be conquered. As the boat was almost full, he stared at the plank and
gripped his symbol of Lord Dragoth and muttered.

"Things will change for our people."

The bugbear turned his head towards the boat, with many faces looking towards
him. He walked up the ramp slowly, with purpose for the future.




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Sat Mar 12 20:06:22 2016




Writer: Gaurak

Date Sun Mar 13 13:18:25 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Journey's Tragedy



The boat had arrived at the dock in Icewall. The bugbear walked down the plank
first and watched as the people unloaded. They had a long journey across ice
plains and forest to reach their destination. He led the people first through
the ice plains All the while checking for threats. The ice plain was dangerous.

A goblin child stopped and stared into the distance and slowly more people
turned to see a white cloud on the ground that seemed to be moving towards them.
Gradually a roar of hooves could be heard. The bugbear turned towards the sound
and spied a raiding party of minotaurs bearing down. He quickly ordered the
giant ogres to the front and trolls, orcs, bugbears and the larger hobgoblins to
the flank and rear. An ice plain was not an ideal place to fight and the
minotaurs knew it.

As the minotaurs approached, the bugbear drove his staff into the ice and began
chanting. A great storm of fire spouted from the sky and some of the minotaurs
were immolated. Their screams echoed on the plains as some fell dead, but the
majority still advanced. The minotaurs broke into three groups and crashed into
the lines. The ogres held and though some were gored, were able to snap the
necks of their foes and flung their lifeless corpses aside. The others held
their own, but some minotaurs were able to break through and attack those in the
center. Several goblins were trampled and gored to death before the minotaurs
were brought down in a flurry of goblin blades.

The bugbear knelt by the goblin corpses and slowly prayed. Spirits screamed
from the corpses and flew at the remaining enemies. They suddenly fell as if
their hearts had burst. The battle was over and the bugbear checked the
minotaur corpses for any still alive. One still breathed.

"Who sent you, cow?"

The minotaur did not answer. The bugbear asked again but no answer. He picked up
his staff and savagely pulverized the minotaur's head until it was no longer
recognizable. The bugbear then looked again to the small twisted mangled
corpses of several goblins, none were very old, too small and slow to escape the
charge. The weeping of mothers was clearly audible with nothing on the plain to
break the sound. He shook his head slowly. No minotaurs had escaped. But the
price was goblin lives.

The folk tended to the wounded, buried their dead as best they could in the
frozen ground and feasted on minotaur flesh. What minotaur flesh they could not
bring with them, they burned and continued on through the ice plains and the
Neverwood. They finally saw the lights of Fort Ghyt. He quickly hurried them on
to safety.

His task accomplished, the bugbear shouted their presence to the Fort and
watched as the massive gates opened. He had led the people there but some
questions still had to be answered. Where had the minotaurs come from? Who had
sent them? He pondered over these questions. Maybe the King and Queen knew?




Writer: Mokla
Date Sun Mar 13 19:16:59 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Unravelling Tragedy


Mokla sat within the small gloomy office, reading over Gaurak's report of
the attack upon his new settlers again. Prying apart the words seeking any
overlooked or seemingly unimportant detail. In All regards, the bugbear had
done exceedingly well and his promotion to Seeker deserved. The unprovoked
attack a blight upon what should otherwise have been a sparkling example of
one citizen reaching out to better the Mountain.

Unprovoked.. Seemingly so.. And yet the description of events nagged at
Mokla as lacking any sense of purpose. He understood well most of the usual
incentives, greed, hate, conquest, and snorting to himself he thought,
stupidity. Right now this affront stood apart from All but the last. A
small group of Minos, more suited to raiding than any other purpose,
attacking what was obviously a poor threadbare group of settlers would find
little of coin and plunder. Hate could always be found as a motivation in
some, but if destruction of the settlers was key, why so few to take on a
job the proximity to Ganth could have supplied vast numbers to? Numbers
enough to finish the job completely. Even then, there would have been
attempts to secure prisoners for the slave traders. No such effort was
made, and to the contrary point, children were targeted for slaughter while
honorable combatants were bypassed. A strange move for Minos of any
standing. Conquest seemed unreasonable, if such was the aim why bother to
announce the presence of moving forces by attacking such a meaningless
target? Shaking his head, Mokla's thoughts circled back to stupidity.
Never assume diabolical reasoning when stupidity fit the bill as well.

Feeling he had gleaned All he was going to from the report, Mokla set it
aside and leaned back in the simple wooden chair rubbing his eyes and trying
to clear his mind for a fresh perspective. The last realization had him
leaning forward to consider, "fresh eyes" may be exactly what was needed.
He had means to that end, and a bit of urging could put them in motion. The
Vizier had proved invaluable in past efforts and could be again. He would
seek that means later though.

Rising from his desk he resolved to pay a visit to an equally steady
influence in the form of Dkom, the officer in charge of security in the
Hollows. Perhaps a scouting mission under his charge would provide insight,
if the party were properly constituted...




Writer: Thasgerd
Date Mon Mar 14 08:55:00 2016




Writer: Trylum
Date Mon Mar 14 11:37:04 2016




Writer: Mokla
Date Mon Mar 14 19:27:14 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Unravelling Tragedy pt 2


Dkom reread the written orders one last time as he rode to meet the rest
of the patrol within the gates of Darkonin. They were fairly straight
forward even if the urgency called for a rapid departure, he welcomed the
chance to ride once more and for a time leave his usual duties.
Investigating the site of the raider attack was the command, and he hoped
some small success would lead to freeing him from the drudgery of garrison
duty. Tucking away the orders, he saluted the gate guard who returned the
salute and promptly opened the outer gate for his entry.

Passing through he regarded the four riders waiting with their mounts,
securing and readying their gear. Two goblins fighting to pry apart their
snarling wargs, an ogre waiting stoically upon a gequine, and a hob feeding
pieces of meat to a heavy war warg comprised his small troop. The salute of
the ogre alerted the gobbos who quickly followed suit, and lastly by the hob
still holding a chunk of raw meat. A glare at the two gobbos straightened
them up smartly and he turned his gaze upon the hob who dropped the meat to
be snatched up quickly by the warg. Regarding the hob he noted the strange
collection of gear making up what passed for a uniform these days.
Approaching the completely scarved and goggled hob, he called out "Name,
trooper?"
"eh.. M.. M'kod, ser!" Was the muffled reply of the hob.
"Well eh M'kod.. We ain't on parade here,, cut them damned bangles loose..
You'll bring every eye on Icewall with their jingling!"
He said motioning
with a hand at the brass rings on the hob's bridle. With one more glance
and a nagging sense of familiarity, he turned away to regard the group.

"We are going to scout out the site of the raid upon the settlers. We will
be looking for any sign of set up, camps, or trails. We will move fast..
We will move quietly.. And we will avoid contact.. Questions?"
He
announced harshly and with a glare confirmed the lack of misunderstanding.
"MOUNT UP!" He added with a nod and led the small party from the gates to
begin down the winding trail as the gates closed behind them.




Writer: Euterah

Date Mon Mar 14 19:54:12 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM Scorn )

Subject Secret Salts of Nettles (Adding Strength)


Gaurak had given them the account. The Mountain's family had been
threatened, the young and the old slaughtered by what appeared to be a rogue
band of some Minotaur. The Witch was seething inside, her countenance and
demeanor placid with careful practice, as she mulled over the news.

The candles guttered the incense cone was almost gone. The lair cast in
shadows that crept around the cavern. She had earlier traveled once more to
find the Flowers she needed, bright red, sticky blossoms and gathered wild
garlic within the Blackwood. Now she set to rough chopping the flowers,
pale green flesh staining with the lurid color, then moved on the garlic not
bothering to peel them. The smell overpowered the room. Though the Witch
was used to piquant smells, she did try to avoid them. She sniffled and
blinked back offensive tears.

Four days and then she would be able to travel to Fort Ghyt to look after
the immigrants that had begun to settle in. She was now more grateful than
ever the gods had brought Mokla and her together. He had sent Dkom to look
into the raiders. His quick wits and problem solving were such assest. The
Witch grinned with sharp white teeth, it was not at All bad that he was so
attractive also.

Four days.




Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Mar 14 20:27:14 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Unravelling Tragedy pt 3


The cold, blowing wind whipped ice crystals along the plain stinging the
uncovered faces of the goblin riders who tried to shield themselves within
their hoods. The ogre seemed indifferent and unaffected to the elements,
and the hob unashamedly used him as a wind block. The first sign of the
site came with the mino horn standing abruptly out of the newly formed
drifts. Raising a fist Dkom signalled for a halt, and pointing down gave
the order to dismount. Gathering in a group, Dkom ordered the ogre to dig
up the mino and the other three to fan out and search, while he scanned the
terrain's features.

Mostly flat with a slight rise to the north, there was little of note.
Drifting snow obscured many of the tracks, even those of the heavy footed
ogres and minos. Dkom trudged off towards the rise and gaining it's low
summit, looked beyond into more open plain. As one of the gobbos moved off
to his left, he saw the sudden disappearance of the trooper and moved to see
what had happened. Reaching the spot he looked down to see the gobbo
thrashing within the collapsed drift formed in the shadow of a large
boulder. He offered a hand and easily pulled the smaller gobbo up and out.
Looking down he noticed a dark smudge at the bottom of the hole. Easing
himself down he dug a hand into the smear and came back with a handful of
soaked ash. Straightening up he motioned for the others to rejoin him and
directed the search in a circle of the area.

Clearing away the drift from the boulder, the remains of a small campfire
and strewn bones were revealed. Stopping suddenly he regarded an unforeseen
sign, and closer inspection confirmed his initial thought. A goblin print.
What the print would be doing here vexed him. A whistle barely heard over
the wind brought his head up to see the hob waving an arm over his head and
pointing down and then off to the west. Gathering with the others at the
new find, a plainly visible trail of mixed gobbo and mino tracks led towards
a shallow dip in the landscape. Clearing away the freshly drifted snow
revealed a man-sized slab set into the ground. The ogre made short work of
wrenching it open and revealing the icy passage beneath which disappeared
into the dark depths. Considering a moment, Dkom regarded the darkening
skies and and made a decision. An ice storm approached and further
investigation would lead to four dead mounts and a report that might never
be filed. As they reached their mounts and began to saddle up the ogre
approached Dkom and held up the severed mino head he had retrieved from the
ice. Dkom was about to tell the ogre to leave it when the ogre's insistent
pointing drew his eyes to brand burned into the remains of the neck. A
brand quite commonly found within the Ice prison.




Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Mar 14 20:58:34 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Unravelling Tragedy pt 4


Within the small office, Mokla sat scratching his signature on random
pieces of daily paperwork. The knock upon the door was answered with the
command "It's open!" Without raising his head. The tall hobgoblin officer
entered and snapped a smart salute. "Have a seat Dkom.. I've been
interested in hearing from your patrol."
Mokla said as he stood and closed
the door then gestured at a chair.

"I have made a final report with All the details, M'lord" Dkom stated
passing over a folded parchment. "Anything interesting?" Mokla querried.
Dkom rubbed a hand over his face and glanced sideways at Mokla then settled
back in the chair. "Is it necessary to go over it?" Dkom asked peering at
Mokla confidently. Raising an eyebrow at the remark Mokla regarded the
officer with narrowed eyes. "I fully understand the need to get out and
about, M'lord. It must get stuffy in here, but if I may make a suggestion?"
Dkom said with a sly grin.

Mokla gave a small slow nod to the grizzled officer and clasped his hands in
front of him. "Well then.. If you intend to pass yourself off as a lowly
trooper, I'd suggest you leave off the DeathRider issued riding boots.. And
most definitely the Reaver rank pin from your cloak."
Dkom said with a
knowing grin. Looking down and nodding his head guiltily, Mokla sighed and
said "Alright.. You got me. Just keep it our secret, you of All people
should understand the need for a little action."
Offering his hand to the
king, the officer said "No more garrison duty?" Mokla didn't hesitate at
all to clasp the hand firmly and say "Deal"




Writer: Ashbie

Date Mon Mar 14 21:16:19 2016

To All Ayrora Aybel Immortal Storyline Roleplay

Subject The Hunt iv: The Interrogation


"No! Stop- ...please."

Ashbie stopped, though the casual way in which she leaned against the cell
wall suggested that she did so more for her own amusement than because of
a request.

Tim Longshanks didn't look quite so dashing at the moment. He wasn't
chained to a wall, not anymore at least. However, he looked as though he'd
gotten into a fight with a street gang and had the worse end of it. One of
his wrists hung limply, there were bruises the size of oranges mottling his
cheeks, chest, and arms. Blood trickled from several open cuts on his lips
and from a severely broken nose.

"When would you have stopped?" Ashbie asked. Her expression was coy,
playful, almost innocent. Her voice was colder than an Icewall driven wind.

"I- what? I- I don't know wha-what you mean." The stutter in his voice was
pathetic. Ashbie wondered how she'd ever found it alluring, even if only
for half a moment. She aimed a kick for his ribs and was rewarded with a
satisfying crunch. Tim groaned.

Ashbie's brutality had been on a short leash for too long. The anger of
Mencius demanded its due, but she had honed it over the past decade. Raising
children certainly helped, she really couldn't kill them. Curious, that.
It was because of Ayrora that she was here, delivering her own special brand
of justice.

In truth, Ashbie wasn't sure what Tim would have done with her daughter.
Technically, he'd done nothing. However, an increase in deaths among women
in the area that street-folk knew to be "his" territory could only mean so
many things.

The very thought of it repulsed her.

Still, perhaps Tim was simply making a pass at Ayrora. Even though her
daughter didn't flaunt her wares quite as much as Ashbie had at Ayrora's
age, it was difficult for any woman on the streets if they weren't
careful. Most noble women had guards, and Ashbie would have provided
some for Ayrora, but the damned girl was so headstrong.

Ashbie reached for a dagger at her side and, quicker than Tim could
react, descended on one of his legs, pinning it beneath her own body
weight. She grabbed one of his hands, pressed it flat against the ground
and with a quick, fierce slash, separated Tim's index finger from his
body.

"Wha- in the- BLO-" Tim's response was cut off in a blood curdling scream
as the pain and horror of the moment settled in. Blood began to run from
the wound.

Messy. She'd have to have a healer make sure he didn't bleed out.

She was still seeing red. Ashbie needed to find a way to focus her rage
elsewhere for a little while, before she killed the man. That was still
not out of the question, but she needed more first.

Confession. Only then could Tim be freed.




Writer: Milleuda

Date Tue Mar 15 11:40:51 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Tue Mar 15 13:01:27 2016




Writer: Leylani

Date Wed Mar 16 02:02:52 2016




Writer: Fyahy'll

Date Wed Mar 16 09:03:06 2016

To All Shadow IMM Necrucifer ( RP Ampersand )

Subject Submission



'...I am your instrument of order. Amen.'

Fyahy'll made the sign of Necrucifer before her, and rose to her feet. Days
had past, yet His mark remained upon her forehead as the Cardinal had
designed it. A ragged, reddish brown mark, stark against the pale of her
skin...it marked her as Apostate.

Albeit annointed and named before God, she still was bereft of his favor.
Yet daily her prayers was offered, the scriptures studied...her submission
complete and unreserved. Brushing the sand from her knees, Fyahy'll
dipped her hands into the cool water of the fount and drank.

Hours had passed in her prayers and the sun had begun it accustomed descent,
leaving the heat of the day to dissipate into the arid sky. She had
become as these....an occurence a force which happened, had its time and
ended to begin anew another day. And so it would be until God saw fit
to return purpose to her hands.




Writer: Ayrora
Date Wed Mar 16 15:15:37 2016

To Ashbie Aybel Verminasia All Roleplay Storyline

Subject Back in the Dungeons in Sacnoth



Ayrora arrived at Rashburne Manor and stood out front watching the
building, the anger and frustration of the past few days eating at her.
There was far too much on her mind and something had to give. She took a
final look at the outside of the manor and headed in towards the dungeons.




She descended the steps to the dungeon as her hand gripped her dagger.
After hearing Longshanks would not confess to her mother, she was determined
to get him to open his mouth to her next time. With determination in her
step and anger flaring in her eyes she continued down the dungeon steps only
hesitating for a few moments once she reached bottom. The guard watched as
she approached he could sense her anger which made him a bit edgy. Working
for the Tenneals was not bad but you do not mistaken when the Ladies of the
land were angry. Just a glance and he knew to unlock the door and allow her
entrance.

The guard stood to the side as Rora walked in, the fury in her eyes directed
at Longshanks as the guard enters behind her and stands on guard. She walks
up to the bruised and battered man, "Looks to me like my mother has done
quite an interesting job on you." Her hand gripped her dagger tightly the
closer she got to him. "She tells me you will not talk to her, I find that
quite interesting since you had something to say to me on the bridge."
She stopped when she reached his side. "Lady Tenneal, I would not stand
that close to him if I were you."
The guard seemed a bit worried for her
safety. "Let him try anything I will slit his throat." Longshanks looked
up at her with laughter in his eyes, "You kitten? You would not hurt a
fly."
Ayrora swung her dagger before she could think and cut Longshanks
along the cheek as blood flowed down his face. "This kitten has claws and
she is not afraid to use them. You are worthless and if you do not find
your way to speaking to my mother, I will return and end your life before
she gets to it. Heed my word."


The guard watched as she turned and walked out trying hard to hide his grin.
She watched as he locked the door then turned and headed back up the stairs
and out of the manor. She had much to do yet and a Ball to prepare for.




Writer: Euterah

Date Thu Mar 17 12:03:36 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM Scorn )

Subject Secret Salts of Nettles (Adding Posterity. Adding Truth)


The most ingredients to gather, allspice, clove, nutmeg, sage, tarragon,
the Witch went All over the realms to collect. This brew was tiring, but it
would produce. The Witch Queen was vigilant. She chopped and ground and
poured into the copper cauldron. She glanced at the cone of incense also
gone, a sliver. She smiled, pleased.

Dkom had gone out of the way and spoke to her in person of the events taken
place. The brand on the Minotaur, the suspicion of the ice prison, the
goblin tracks by the smothered fire, the Witch stood in the Archonite's lair
lair her mouth agape. Looking at the cauldron that sat cold and saturating,
those strange metaphysical properties of wild magic steeping, the Witch gave
a deep sigh and waited.

Another day passed, more time, time was good. It practiced her patience.
The Witch had worked this for ages it seemed. She rough cut morning
glories, silky white scraping her cutting board into the cauldron, shaking
her white gold waves in wonder. She uncorked a small bottle and dumped the
contents in, smelling somehow more powerful than the fresh flowers, the
perfumed oil from Jovar.

How was it that the ice plains were a honeycomb of tunnels? The raiders
appeared to know what they were up against now that Darkonin had showed its
force. Her Vizier had done a job very few could accomplish and she was
grateful he returned to the Mountain. Yet, his wounds were grievous this
problem would need to be solved. The Witch was not going to see those
immigrating from Dolund'ir hurt any more.

One more day, then she would be able to travel and place some protection
over the Fort.




Writer: Andreyna

Date Thu Mar 17 21:39:37 2016

To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom Knighthood Zandreya Nadrik Imm Rp Religion

Subject Attack on the Vallens: Creature of the Night


The night was cool and the temple was quiet, despite the amount of elven
guards patrolling about. There must have been some sort of disturbance that
evening, many guards were posted throughout the massive temple in
Shalonesti. The elf-queen could feel the tension in the air as the elves
paced about. Several guards filled the alcove as she sat with the High
priest of Shalonesti and spoke to the Elder elf of this year's planting
season. Despite sensing the nervous feelings of the guards, Andreyna
continued to speak with the High Priest, ignoring the feeling of the need to
return to the safety of the groves, the elf having grown comfortable with
the usual peace and quiet of the Vallens. She had decided this night was no
different, the elves were simply on high alert with the threats of war all
around. The Vallens were safe as usual.

The Deacon's laughter filled the room as she spoke with the High priest, the
two elves sharing fond stories of planting festivals of the past. Sounds of
an owl flying over the elven city suddenly ended the joyful conversation,
the hoots of the large bird echoed throughout the kingdom. The elves were
naturally used to the sounds of owls about them, especially in the dark of
night, but this call was different.

Andreyna excused herself from the conversation and rose from the lush pillow
she sat upon before making her way across the alcove, peering through the
glass to look down upon the elven city. The owl continued to circle the
kingdom, calling relentlessly to the elves. It was warning them. Something
was wrong. The Mother's forest was under attack.

The elf-queen pressed her hands to the glass, her keen elven eyes quickly
scanning the kingdom. Elves began to emerge from their homes, guards poured
into the streets. All hearing the warning calls of the bird circling
overhead. Andreyna motioned to the guards behind her, ordering several to
join in the patrol of the kingdom.

The Deacon's gaze quickly returned to the streets, a flicker of movement
catching her eyes. The elf narrowed her sight, focusing upon a creature
moving about the shadow. The elf tilted her head as she watched, unsure of
what she saw before her. A chilling howl came forth, the unnatural tones
drowning out the sounds of the night. Then just as suddenly, All was
silent. Andreyna scanned anxiously for the creature she had seen within the
shadows, but it was nowhere to be found. It was as if it were never there.



The elf continued her search, drawn to the window, unable to leave the
sights before her. Her breathing hastened as an uneasy feeling grew inside
of her. She knew she saw something, she just did not know what it was. An
elven guard walked down the street before the temple, two more not far
behind him, All three examining their surroundings, searching for the cause
of the owl's alarm. Andreyna's eyes caught movement again, a large figure
lurking within the shadows behind the first guard. The guard stopped
suddenly, hearing the movement behind him. Quickly he spun around with
sword in hand, just in time to see the large rabid werewolf leaping at him
from the darkness.

In one swift movement the massive wolf leapt upon the guard, knocking him
down while sinking its glistening fangs into the neck of the elf. The
werewolf shook his head, ripping and pulling the elf's throat away in one
vicious bite. The other two elven guards stopped short, arrows from their
bows sinking into the skin of the unnatural beast the moment it leaped from
the shadows. The werewolf spun around with its attention upon the two
remaining guards, the bloody flesh of the elf still hanging from its
snarling mouth. With a low growl it suddenly lurched forward with fangs
bared and attacked the two elves. With a loud scream Andreyna ran from the
window, not seeing what became of the two guards. Down the temple stairs
she ran, the Deacon's robes and platinum hair glowing brightly as her elvish
tongue shouted divine incantations.

TBC




Writer: Leylani

Date Fri Mar 18 00:10:55 2016




Writer: Aliera

Date Fri Mar 18 11:38:22 2016




Writer: Aliera

Date Fri Mar 18 11:40:46 2016




Writer: Euterah

Date Fri Mar 18 18:49:32 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM Scorn )

Subject Secret Salts of Nettles {n(Fort Ghyt)


She lit the lair with her aura, sparking over the copper pot, brilliant
arcs of blue and white static moving over the bowl, coalescing materials,
physical and metaphysical, melding, molding. The Witch concentrated
focusing on the spell, murmuring under her breath. The bowl spilled with
lightning, almost looking as if it bubbled with iridescence.

Then dark as she closed her aura and stopped. She looked in the bowl to
find the fine glittering salts she had brewed. The Witch laughed to
herself, success. She opened a silk bag and began to gather up her efforts,
the bag bulged as she finished.

She left the lair and went to the ice caverns, tucking the bag away in her
mage pouch. She whistled for Berox, who trotted out toward her like some
found shadow. She mounted the ice wolf, clutching Berox's shaggy neck. The
ice wolf seemed to know where she set off for, moving through the caverns,
coming to the Hollows, where she was greeted with enthusiasm. She laughed
and nodded as Dkom ordered an escort to accompany her over the Hollow road.
The Witch felt confident with Berox, the wolf licking its maw as they went
from the main cavern, the market, past the throngs of harried haggling,
smells of cooked food and rotten All mixing together pleasant sweet and
gamey.

They rode over Hollow Road. The Witch admired the avenue of frozen trees,
their crystalline branches arching over to dim the sun and shadow the road.
At last they came to Fort Ghyt, the finished gates bolstered by stone,
creaking open with struggle against the weight.

She entered into a confusing consolidation of people and the Witch was
pleased. Ogre, goblin, orc and ice goblin All ranged around milling in the
Fort. New housing had sprung up, the Witch noted and as she passed those
who noticed bent knee, lowered heads and bowed. She paused near a group of
ragged and gangly children and handed out coin and loaves of bread she had
on hand before moving to the fort. It rose over the hastily built houses
and tents as a beacon. Come, come, come see what is new and to be, she
dismounted and walked the length of the fort, long, Berox trotting next to
her. The Witch drew out the silk bag, heavy in her hands with promise, wild
magic and All her hopes and prayers. She turned east and bowed.

For All who have ears to hear and eyes to see know I banish, with power of
sky and of earth, All those who wish us ill from this Fort, may it be a
refuge for those who wish to grow beyond what they have been.


She spoke no more. Wild magic was funny that way, often it blew up in your
face. Like wishes, the Witch supposed. She sow the salt of nettles in the
earth around the Fort, trying not to think of anything but the gift of
Drakkara. Berox ducked looking around, the large shaggy ice wolf, following
slowly, ears flat as the spell built. The lines she drew in the ethereal
void stretching up, crawling over the fort in wispy filament of some magical
happenstance.

The Witch closed the circle of power and the night became still. She
blinked trying to catch up with the time spent. Berox was panting heavily,
stressed. The Witch-Queen inhaled her hands empty and went to the Wolf,
leaning to wrap her arms around.

That is All I can do. For now, Berox. I am tired also, let us rest. She
spoke into the chill. She spoke to no one.

The Witch and Wolf slowly made their way to the edge of the settlement and
there nestled in thick furs and Berox's warmth, the Witch fell asleep.

Almost hidden within the ice wolf's pelt, almost.




Writer: Euterah

Date Fri Mar 18 19:28:11 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM Scorn )

Subject I spy with my little eye - The Villain's Advantage


They trailed her - the Witch on her Wolf, a quarter mile behind watching
through a rude spyglass. Covered in ice wolf skins creeping over the plains
when they chose, ducking down into tunnel to cut time, they knew the
underground well. They were gathering information. Two attacks and they we
not as successful as they could be, their leader tossed a one horned head,
snorting as he watched. They should be much more.

The Witch rode close to the Wolf. She was a competent rider. The Wolf
would go down though.

They came close to the Mountain, to the Hollow Road. He raised a mailed
fist to halt progress. He stood for a long while, peering through the spy
glass. The goblins around him grew restless, grumbling among themselves.
The minotaur crouched like silent stone statues. He smirked.

They would enterprise from this movement with the great city of Darkonin.
He knew just what he would do.




Writer: Avariece

Date Sat Mar 19 08:57:57 2016




Writer: Mathesan

Date Sat Mar 19 20:12:23 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Avariece

Subject Orphanage (1/3)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
ORPHANAGE

Every three weeks, Mathesan found himself back before the tall, forbidding
stone building that rose before him now. The weeks in between seemed to
go by quickly. By the Old Calendar of reckoning, he visited once a week.
It was, strangely, something he looked forward to.

As Mathesan stopped on the winding pathway leading up to the building, he
took a moment to reflect on how it All began.

Mathesan had always struggled with the concept of what a parent should
have been like. It was no mystery that his father was, by All accounts, a
rather absent parent. Mathesan didn't blame him, being one of the realm's
dignitaries and Crown to the kingdom of Verminasia, he had much to keep
himself occupied.

Nevertheless, when Mathesan was younger, he had often requested his
father's presence in the hope of learning about the man who had brought
him into the world. The truth was, even as an absent father, Marcaus was
better than his other option.

The only person who knew who Mathesan's mother was his father, and his
mother. Whoever she was.

It should have been painful to have been so casually neglected by his
parents, but Mathesan felt nothing. However, it also made him different,
and Mathesan did not like feeling different.

So he tried to get his father's attention. However, his father only
seemed to notice him when he'd done something wrong, or something
embarrassing to the family. It didn't happen often, but he was a child,
he wasn't perfect.

Mathesan began to walk down the pathway once more, approaching the
building's broad double doors.

Perfection.

It was towards perfection that Mathesan now strived every day. It was,
theoretically, impossible. Nevertheless, it was Mathesan's goal to one
day achieve it. Necrucifer was perfection, so it naturally followed that
the closer His followers got to perfection, the more useful to Necrucifer
they would be.

Of course, if Mathesan actually achieved or drew too close to perfection,
it was likely the Master would destroy Him. That didn't deter his course,
he would perish one day anyways.

As Mathesan finally reached the doors, he stretched out a hand as if to
open them, but then stopped.

It took a moment, but Mathesan managed to put a smile on. It was a lesson
that the orphanage had taught him quickly. Mathesan was so used to a world
where a smile meant too much, much more than it should have. He was used
to an expression of chiseled stone, unmoving and unchanging.

However, here, in this world, one needed to be unguarded. A child couldn't
trust unless they were trusted. It had been difficult at first, Mathesan
was certain that the children simply hated him. He wasn't sure that he
liked them either.

Then she happened.

pg. 01
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Writer: Mathesan

Date Sat Mar 19 20:13:35 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Avariece

Subject Orphanage (2/3)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
ORPHANAGE
(continued)

Rose was her name. She was a slight thing, hardly taller than three feet,
and a most precocious child. Where the other children seemed to run from
Mathesan, Rose simply refused to give up on him. It was as though he was
there for her help, rather than he for her.

Nevertheless, Mathesan took that offer of interest and he taught Rose many
things of the world that even she could not have dreamed up in her
imagination.

In turn, Rose tried to find ways to melt his heart. Mathesan had only just
returned to Verminasia, it was like coming back to an old friend that one
had found was changed. He questioned whether or not he belonged.

It was Rose who had first gotten him to laugh.

Mathesan had just relayed to her a story of his attempts to communicate
with a Leonine tribal chieftan on Tropica. His own attempts at the tongue
of their people were, as Mathesan put it, like a toddler trying to read the
Ancient Art, a history of arcane magic in Algoron.

She giggled then, her blonde ringlets bouncing as her pink cheeks flushed
and laughter bubbled out past her lips.

It was Rose's laughter that sparked his own. Hers was so innocent, so full
of child-like beauty, he let his guard down for the moment and reflected in
appreciation of how amusing it was to imagine a toddler with such a book
in hand.

Their laughter had, naturally, inspired the curiosity of others. It only
took a moment, but in that moment, Mathesan had become someone new. To
the kids of the orphanage, he became "Math, the Storyteller". He smiled,
made appropriately self-deprecating jokes, and taught the children about
life. A life outside of the walls of their orphanage.

His intention hadn't been selfless. Mathesan's volunteer work at the
orphanage had been part of a suggestion that one of his former mentors
made when he returned home. He remembered the bright blue eyes of that
man, the only thing that age hadn't robbed him of.

"You go. Do that work and you will remember why you returned."

So he did, for a time.

Mathesan went as often as he could. Every three weeks wasn't often enough,
but his duties in the capital were not easy to compromise with. Still,
his visits had become a part of those duties, though he found himself
looking forward to them more than anything else about his new life at home.

Today was not one of those days.

It started with a letter. One had delivered it to him in the early hours
of the morning. Mathesan's servant knew not to intrude upon his sleep
unless it was an emergency. So, when One handed him the sealed envelope
with the seal of the orphanage, he tore into it.

"To Master Mathesan Madaur,

Your monetary gifts and personal hours spent
in service to our orphanage do not go unnoticed.
Many of the children have come to eagerly
anticipate your visits. None more than Rose
Oscariot of Lamordia.
Thus we regret to inform you that she has
recently taken ill. What started out as a mere
cold has taken to something much worse. We dipped
into the funds you provided and brought a divine
healer, but he was unsuccessful in his efforts.
We fear that Rose's time is short. If you would
like to visit, we can make arrangements at any
time for you.

Sincerely,
Malda Hopwarden"

pg. 02
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Writer: Mathesan

Date Sat Mar 19 20:14:56 2016

To All Verminasia Marcaus Avariece

Subject Orphanage (3/3)



-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
ORPHANAGE
(continued)

Mathesan remembered his fingers growing cold. The letter fell from his hand
to the floor where One recovered it and replaced it on Mathesan's desk.
The servant simply looked at Mathesan, expectant for some sort of order.
After a few moments, Mathesan composed himself and, rising from his bed,
he said, "Prepare my horse."

It was late morning by the time that Mathesan arrived. Now he stood in front
of the door, unable to open it. Was he afraid?

There had never been a moment that Mathesan could truly describe having
felt fear. Even his oldest and most reviled teacher had simply inspired
survival instincts. Perhaps that was the only time Mathesan could come
close to describing something like fear.

No. Mathesan was not afraid. He was, perhaps, avoiding what would follow
when he opened up the door, but he did not believe that it was out of
fear. He was simply not ready to put up his face, to wear the mask.

Nevertheless, the door had to open. Mathesan's fingers clenched tightly on
the handle before he wrenched it open.

There was an expectation of someone at the door to greet him. Instead, the
entrance hallway was deserted. Lamps lit the way for Mathesan down the
unusually dim corridor.

He watched the flickering light of shadows as they played across the
dark wood that lined the walls.

Finally Mathesan came to an open doorway, light poured out from within,
spilling carelessly out into the hallway. Taking a deeper breath, though
he wasn't sure why, Mathesan turned the corner.

Inside the room were four women and a man. Lying in bed was a pale, thin
blond girl. Rose.

One of the women was Malda. Her orange hair, plump cheeks and bright
green eyes were easily recognizable. However, unfamiliar was the withdrawn,
sad look to her features. She seemed weary and exhausted. Mathesan had
never seen her that way, even with a dozen children hanging off her
arms.

Two of the other women he recognized, caregivers that worked at the
orphanage underneath Malda. However, the man and woman he did not
recognize. Their simple robes and the holy symbols they brandished
identified them as healers.

Rose appeared listless as her eyes shifted toward Mathesan at his
entrance.

"...Math..." She whispered, even that simple utterance seemed to take
energy out of her. Rose's voice shook.

"Don't..." Mathesan said, "Save your energy." His voice and Rose's
welcome stirred the attention of the others. Malda approached.

"They say she doesn't have much longer." The woman whispered, "We didn't
think you'd make it in time..."

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Under normal circumstances,
this would have provoked an unpleasant reaction from Mathesan. However,
his usual sense of emptiness, somehow, felt magnified. He didn't simply
feel empty, he felt a loss.

The girl in the bed didn't seem like she could be Rose. Her eyes, her
general features were familiar, but she was so thin, struggling for
every breath. The joy and happiness that suffused her features was
gone. Replaced only by the haunting image of the child she had once
been.

Finally, Mathesan stepped away from Malda. "Why haven't they been able
to cure her?"

"They say they've seen it before. It's rare, but, whatever it is, it's
beyond their powers. Only the gods could save her now."

Mathesan continued gazing. He stayed, but there was nothing he could do.

pg. 03
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-




Writer: Andreyna

Date Sat Mar 19 21:24:05 2016

To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom Knighthood Zandreya Nadrik Imm Rp Religion

Subject Attack on the Vallens: The Hunted


Andreyna ran out of the temple and into the street, spells of protection
glowing brightly around her. Several royal guards quickly followed her out
of the temple. The Deacon stopped suddenly at the sight before her, an
audible gasp escaping her lips. Blood and gore covered the beautiful elven
street, fleshy pieces of the three elven guards strewn about.

On top of one of the bodies sat the werewolf with his head buried into the
elf's open chest, powerful jaws chewing hungrily. The wolf raised his head
as his attention was drawn to Andreyna and the guards, blood splattered over
his large snout. Several of the guards drew their swords and other's their
bows, their arrows already raining down upon the wolf.

The guards rushed in quickly to attack the werewolf, but the creature was
faster. With a leap he jumped at one guard and knocked him over with a
powerful swipe of his large paw. The wolf ran away quickly before he was
able to sink his teeth in for the kill, two more guards had come upon him,
their swords slashing and stabbing into the wolf's thick flesh. Andreyna
shouted incantations, attempting to slow down and weaken the werewolf to
keep it from escaping.

The Deacon's attempts were ineffective and the wolf ran swiftly from the
elves, disappearing into the shadows. The elf-queen and her guards spun
around, their elven eyes desperately searching for the wolf. Not finding
him anywhere nearby, they began to make their way through the kingdom
looking for any sign of the creature.

The elves continued their search along the streets of their kingdom, guards
and citizens alike on watch for the werewolf. Andreyna and her group of
guards walked down a side street, seeing no sign of the wolf since their
original encounter. A rustle in the leaves alerted the elves to an area in
the trees behind them. They approached the patch of woods lining the side
street with caution. Another rustling sound came forth, it came from behind
them again, causing the elves to spin around once more. Something was
closing the elves in. The wolf was hunting them.

Andreyna and her guards moved closer together, knowing they were being
watched. The Deacon whispered softly, refreshing her spells of protection,
a white aura brightening the area around her. Suddenly the wolf leaped from
the darkness, his fangs and claws bared as he attacked Andreyna. The
elf-queen was knocked away, the glisten of a sword flashing across her eyes.
Andreyna fled quickly, turning around to find two of her guards in battle
with the rabid wolf.

The werewolf growled in frustration, glaring at Andreyna as she distanced
herself from the fight. In an instance, the wolf bounded into the trees and
disappeared from sight once more. The elf-queen looked anxiously All around
herself before rushing to join the two guards. Andreyna ran down the street
toward the elves, a sudden dark blur knocked her over. She lightly shook
her head, immediately standing to her feet with her staff in her hand. The
werewolf stood in front of her and blocked her path to the guards, cutting
her off from the rest of the elves.

The rabid wolf snarled and growled, foaming at the mouth, blood dripping
from multiple stabs and slashes to his body. The guards sprinted toward her
with their swords in hand, slashing fearlessly at the wolf, drawing his
attention from the Queen once more. The Deacon began reciting divine spells
again, rays of light leaving her palms and harming the wolf. Andreyna
searched her mind as they fought the werewolf, desperate to find a way to
defeat the werewolf. Finding no solution, Andreyna called out to allies for
help. A familiar voice answered her call.

TBC




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sun Mar 20 07:47:56 2016

To All Verminasia Roleplay Storyline Immortal

Subject A Trip to Sacnoth



Ayrora's trips to Sacnoth were becoming a habit now, the exhaustion from
the first few weeks no longer bothered her as she enjoyed some time with the
workers and had finally gone to rest. She awoke early and quite refreshed
the following morning and decided to go out for a long ride. She dressed in
her usual riding attire and grabbed her boots with a smile. She had been in
an unusually good mood lately and she shook her head as she tried to put it
out of her mind. She pulled on her boots and looked at herself in the
mirror. Happy with the reflection she left the room.

She quietly walked to to stables and reached her lovely stallion who greeted
her with a nuzzle on the cheek. "Good morning Braedan, ready for a nice
ride?"
The stallion tossed his head as if in agreement as she laughed
softly. She entered the stall and saddled and bridled the stallion as she
hummed a soothing tune that the stallion seemed to enjoy. Once done she led
him out of his stall and took him outside.

There was a slight chill in the air and the stallion stomped the ground with
excitement as she smiled up at him. "Alright, alright." She swung up on
the saddle in one smooth move and down towards the orchards they went. The
air was quite refreshing for both her and the stallion, and time was not
even a thought as they continued on. When they are together nothing else
exists but rider and horse. The beauty of the lands surrounding them a
picture of how serene and promising life can truly be.

As the hours flew by, she finally noticed the sun high up in the sky and
with a soft sigh, turned the stallion towards home. Her smile returned as
her thoughts went to her her day.





Writer: Euterah

Date Sun Mar 20 12:30:14 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM Scorn )

Subject Assassins in the Hollows


The Witch and the Bandit King rode through the ice caverns, bringing a
few supplies to put in the communal crevice of the Hollows. The
overcrowding was becoming a problem and people needed to be encouraged to
move from the general safety the Hollows to begin to build their own homes
and explore the lands. The Witch was thinking of All the uneducated
unskilled people coming to Fort Ghyt. She would need to begin work on the
school soon. She thought over the many things she wanted to start for her
people, so long oppressed by seeming political strife. She needed Masters
of building, blacksmithing, stone masonry, those skilled in geology and
mining to begin apprenticing those that knew very little. She would need
teachers. She hugged herself into the shaggy fur of Berox as they rode.
Mokla riding his gequine stallion as Berox led.

They arrived at the entrance to the Hollows, the guard bowing and opening
the doors to the growing village. If it could be called that, it was so
crowded, she dismounted, making her way to the crevice, depositing the goods
within. The throng had finally noticed her presence and she was surrounded
by her people, clasping arms, conversing and complimenting as she tried to
answer questions and hold babies and give of herself as the people needed.
She called over the crowd.

'People of the Hollows! Darkonin understands your plight! You who can,
those with need for more space and a place to build. Seek to move to the
Fort! 'You shall find those there that will teach you to make your homes
stable in the North, supplies from the Mountain and land! I encourage you
to move forth and claim what you would! ' The people set up a cheer. The
Witch was pleased and for a moment All seemed to be well.

Then everything exploded with a light and a great sound that deafened prat
of the crowd and set up wails and shouts and chaos. A bomb? In the
Hollows? The Witch was jostled along with the rest of the crowd that tried
to flee the source. She saw Berox but a hand clasped around her wrist as
she fought her way back to the ice wolf. The Wolf tossed its head back and
howled low, the Witch turned expecting Mokla. It was not her King, but some
cloaked figure who quickly clamped a hand over her mouth to silence spells.


The Witch struggled and sparked her aura, there was a curse and she was
released. She tried to crawl away. She could hear Berox baying and the
gequine screaming. Then a tremendous pain filled her mind, her vision went
black and she sunk into that hazy place of unconsciousness.




Writer: Fyahy'll

Date Sun Mar 20 15:00:35 2016

To All Shadow Telthian Liviya Symantha IMM ( Ampersand Necrucifer RP )

Subject Despair



The rain fell steadily from the night sky. A constant patter upon the arched
latticework over her head. Designed to provide shade, not shelter, the invading
water fell upon Fyahy'lls upturned face. Cool against her feverish skin, the
wet was welcome, for it hid the presence of its salted cousins on her face.

Upon her knees for hours now, her arms hung limp at her sides. Her skin and
features slightly sunken from weightloss and too little sleep, she appeared more
corpse like with each day. Her empty hands poorly bandaged after fits of impotent
rage continued to serve no purpose as she looked into the darkness of the sky.

'why?'

She touched the symbol on her forehead as a reminder of focus, yet she had begun to
doubt herself. Would she ever be fit for more than spurn? Her heart heavy and
spirit flagging, she reminded herself the only way...is forward. Forward and
God would find her soon. This is the only way.




Writer: Mokla

Date Sun Mar 20 15:39:07 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Assassins in the Hollows


Standing apart from the throng which were always drawn by the Queen's
presence like iron to a lodestone, Mokla pondered the evident joy and easy
manner in which she interacted with her people. He studied it silently
standing with the gequine whose stature had parted the crowds warily. Never
completely at ease where any potential danger might find it's way near her,
Mokla shook off his contemplations and scanned the crowds again as he was by
nature compelled to do for an uncounted number of times. The many faces
displaying evident glee, hopefulness, and curiosity were passed over easily,
but the sight of two figures on the outside drew his focus. Upon their
faces he read something quite apart from the rest of the crowd, expectation.
Expectation of what? The thought brought a chill to his blood, his ever
suspicious nature screaming out warnings as he began leading the stallion
nearer. His movement drew their eyes to lock with his own a moment then
drew away returning to the throng about the Queen. The crowd thinned a
moment for Mokla to spy what appeared to be the end of a bow stave below the
hem of one's cloak. It was then the world shuddered with the concussion and
smoke of something within the crowd near the Queen.

A moment of decision had Mokla pulling himself atop the stallion and
plunging into the smoke, yells and confused flight of the crowd, the two
figures dismissed for the more urgent need to find Euterah's side. Heading
towards the sound of Berox's howls, he glimpsed a figure grappling with the
Queen, who struggled within his attempted grasp. The flash of a drawn
dagger in the hand of Euterah's attacker had Mokla drop the rein of the
bounding steed, and leap from it's back to roll to his feet. Following
training and instinct the gequine finished it's last bound to clamp it's
jaws down upon the shoulder of the attacker. Mokla was nearly bowled over
by the flashing icewolf who latched on to the attacker's leg as he was
lifted from the ground in the gequines jaws, to be worried by both steeds.
A sudden flight of arrows struck and brought down both animals, the gequine
crushing it's victim beneath it.

Reaching his fallen Queen, Mokla drew her stilled form into his arms and
dove for cover behind the fallen bulk of the stallion as the next pair of
arrows hummed in. Ducking to cover his mate too slowly one arrow ripped a
chunk from his ear to plant itself in the top of his shoulder. Grimacing
with the pain Mokla continued his cries for Dkom and the peacekeepers, as he
huddled to shelter Euterah. The approach of hob-nailed boots proceeded the
rescue. Peering over the carcass Mokla saw the guards in pursuit of the two
strangers and turned to find Dkom kneeling over the royal pair.




Writer: Mokla

Date Sun Mar 20 16:27:08 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm Rp )

Subject Assassins Aftermath


Looking to his Queen, Mokla searched for any evident wound upon her
senseless form finding only the rapidly swelling and purpling knot upon the
side of her head. His emotions ran from concern to sorrow, to rage and
lastly guilt for what he felt a failure of vigilance. A sudden spike of
pain caused him to lash out smacking the hand of Dkom as the officer tried
to pull the arrow from his shoulder, snapping the shaft away a few inches
from his skin. Mokla snarled "Leave off damn ya! Yer no healer! Get
somebody to look after the Queen!"
"They approach already, M'lord" Dkom
replied tossing aside the broken shaft. Mokla looked over the scene, and
felt a pang of loss noting the stilled icewolf, Euterah's companion of many
years.

He turned back to see the local healer gently examining Euterah, then
whispering unheard words of power as she traced runes across her forehead
with a finger. The flicker of her lashes was a welcome blessing to the
turmoil of his thoughts. Mokla turned to shield her first confused gaze
from both his wound and the fallen Berox, gesturing to a pair of guards to
remove the fallen icewolf discreetly. "Hers gonna be fine.. Bumped not
broked.. Needing ices an keeps wake fer while"
the healer instructed to
Mokla who sighed with relief. Mokla's attention was broken for a moment as
he looked up to see a pair of guards dragging on of the bowmen back from the
direction of the pursuit. "Let's get you home, My Queen.. There's nothing
to be done here yet."
Mokla said trying to raise her to her feet with a
painful grimace at the simple exertion. "But,, Berox,, where.. Where's
Berox?"
Came the question softly as the queen sought to sort through the
fog of injury. "He's gone off.. After the attackers I would imagine..
It's you needing worried over right now, come"
Mokla said softly ushering
her towards the waiting portal.

Pausing before the portal Mokla turned to Dkom raising a taloned finger and
saying "I want a report soonest.. And keep that bastard alive.. I will be
back for him .. He has much to answer for and payment comes due."
As the
royal couple disappeared into the portal, Dkom turned and knelt before the
sagging assassin. Clenching the hair of the attacker and lifting him to
stare into his face, Dkom said "You have just incurred a debt I think will
be the end of you, boyo."
Then dropped the hair and waved the guards to
take him away.




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Sun Mar 20 20:15:21 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Mon Mar 21 00:13:00 2016




Writer: Avariece

Date Mon Mar 21 07:31:16 2016




Writer: Fyahy'll

Date Mon Mar 21 15:34:28 2016




Writer: Ashbie

Date Mon Mar 21 21:45:55 2016

To All Ayrora Aybel Immortal Storyline Roleplay

Subject The Hunt v: Confession


It had been a particularly awful day that had driven Ashbie to it. She was
new to the pirate thing. There were days that she questioned her decision to
run away from home. Her parents weren't really All that bad, and she'd had
it nice in Verminasia.

Still, there were days like today.

The Captain had reemed her out personally. It was unusual for the Captain to
take matters of discipline into his own hands, there were plenty of men
who had rank on her on the ship, and there weren't any women among them.
Well, except the First Mate. But Old Salts had never treated Ashbie nicely.

Old Salts had found out Ashbie's true identity. A real feat, considering that
Ashbie had mastered the art of faking her identity by the time she was
twelve. It didn't surprise her though, Ashbie had picked up quickly that
the woman was good at what she did. It was no surprise she was First Mate.

Ashbie had screwed up badly. She had finally been given some measure of
responsibility and Old Salts had given her some of their cargo to sell off.

Taking care of ill-gotten goods quietly was no easy task. If a merchant was
clean, they'd report you to the authorities and take a nice little cut. You
had to be sure the dealer was someone who played dirty. You had to get skin
in the game to get that sort of information.

It happened that they were making port just outside New Thalos. The paper
she'd been given was stamped with the Captain's personal seal. Well, the
one he used for his Captain identity. It had been given to her to be
delivered to a specific merchant he knew outside the city limits. The
instructions had been explicit to the letter, including how much to
barter towards in order to get the price the Captain was expecting.

Ashbie knew the cargo. She also knew a merchant in New Thalos she'd been
able to use a year ago and she knew she could get him to turnover for a
lot more than what the Captain was expecting...

She shook her head. It wasn't any good dwelling on what happened. What
mattered was that she was sitting in a temple to Austinian, wondering if
any of their inane spouting made sense. Maybe she needed to confess. Then
again, no one was holding a knife to her forehead.

Ashbie grinned. The tip of the blade of her dagger drew the tiniest pearl
of blood. In front of her was Longshanks. Tim Longshanks. She'd left him
waiting for a confession. This was a far more fun way of getting one. Plus
she didn't have to admit anything at all.

She liked this game.

"Blo- bloody heeeeelllllllllllll..." Tim was breathing heavily, "...woman,
ya aren' righ', ya know tha'? Somethin's wrong with ya."

"I want one thing, and then I'll be out of your hair..." Ashbie whispered,
adding in a little sensual purr to the end. Yet, even as she did so, she
drew the dagger down, allowing it to part his flesh cleanly in a shallow,
but painful cut.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!!! Fi- fine!" Tim
whispered, his voice raising in pitch, "I was gonna have my way an' then
dump 'er off tha bridge. Just like tha others, alrigh'? Le' me go!"

Pouting a little, Ashbie withdrew the dagger. Longshanks gasped in relief,
immediately taking in huge gulps of air as if he'd been drowning. Ashbie
stepped away, wiping the blood off on a cloth at her side and sheathing
the dagger as she walked out.

"Lock him in." Ashbie muttered to the guard. The man shivered, the tone
of her voice was so cold, like the air at the top of one of Icewall's
great mountains.

An avalanche was coming.




Writer: Mercerion

Date Tue Mar 22 00:06:47 2016




Writer: Mercerion

Date Tue Mar 22 00:07:21 2016




Writer: Aearion

Date Tue Mar 22 03:27:02 2016

To New_Thalos Fastia Kwainin ( RP All ) Imm Gryko

Subject A TideWeaver's Curse



All the years of travel, the time spent in Baaren Gaer, the moments
dedicated to prayer and meditation. Had he been running or searching this
whole time?

Verily, he could imagine the voice of his grandmother patiently speaking to
him, urging him to be calm, take his time and determine his path.

"When you run out of time and patience, simply begin again. " She had
advised. "Begin again. " He muttered to himself, his gaze drawn to the
flickering of a candle's flame on the table. It was not as easy as he had
imagined it might be but there was a comfort in familiar things.

The scent of the books around him, the desert beyond the door, the dry chill
in the night air. The shifting of the shadows. He saw them, from the
corner of his eye. They didn't match the flickering flames.

Tension tightened his shoulders and sang down through his back. This was
familiar, he knew what it meant, what it would lead to but he couldn't stop
it. He couldn't entirely understand it either.

Lightning began to flicker. He couldn't tell if it was outside the temple
or within but something his grandmother had said - something Fastia had told
him years ago, lifted out of the ashes of time.

"The flickers of lightning - a sign of the imps - could be seen in the room."

"Kwainin preserve me" He breathed, his hands fisting on the table as he
braced himself.

Gryko.

They came at him, dove beneath his flesh. They ripped and tore, set a fire
in his blood and All he could do was scream.

He awoke to the echo of his terror, his skin chilled by sweat, his hair
clinging to his face and neck. Frustration couldn't immediately replace the
terror but it lifted alongside it and with a sharp motion he pushed away
from the table where he had nodded off and paced the confines of the night
dark library.

Nightmares had plagued his father. He had for a time thought he would
escape that curse but even as a child, there had a been something wrong with
him. With his dreams. He understood now the weight he was intended to
bear, even two generation removed from the days the former
goblin-turned-creature-of-nightmare had haunted and attacked New Thalos.

Perhaps a sliver of its plan had succeeded.




Writer: Ayrora

Date Tue Mar 22 11:27:54 2016

To Ashbie Aybel Verminasia All Immortal Roleplay

Subject The Final Stand: The End of Tim Longshanks


Ayrora walked calmly down the dungeon stairs her objective as clear as a
sunlit day. The guard could hear her footsteps and started to get uneasy
not knowing what to expect or what mood she would be in. She turned the
corner and smiled at the guard leaving him even more confused. "Open."
She pointed to the door where Longshanks was being held and the guard
quickly obliged.

She entered the door, with the guard close behind her, and looked at the
bloody and battered man. "I returned. I always keep my word." Longshanks
looked at her angrily through swollen eyes, "I should have killed you when I
had the chance."
She smiled calmly as she stared down at the pathetic and
broken man, "You lost your chance. And since my mother did not finish you
off, I will have to see to it myself."
She feigns a sigh. "So the sweet
little kitten thinks she can put me down for good?"


Rora grinned as she turned to the guard, "Your sword please." The guard
looked at her in surprise, not only in the calm way she asked for his sword
but also the fact that she asked for it. "I shall not ask again and I am
waiting." The guard unsheathed his sword and passed it to her. Longshanks
looked at her thinking she would not do anything. In a quick movement she
grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, and slit his throat releasing him as
he flailed on the ground.

Rora turned and handed the sword back to the guard, "I apologize for the
disgusting mess on your blade. Make sure to have someone clean this room
out I do not wish his stench to linger anywhere in the manor. Thank you for
your service."
She turned and walked out the door. She left quite proud
to be her mothers daughter.





Writer: Mokla

Date Tue Mar 22 13:59:49 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject A ssassin s Report


Sitting within the royal apartments and supposedly allowing the medics
work to take hold, Mokla grew steadily impatient and stewed inwardly

With a growl he rose from the bed and approached the parlor table sorting
through the piled parchment until finding Dkom's expected report. Seating
himself at the table he unrolled the scroll and the pouch within. Dkom's
familiar scrawl covered the parchment in a detailed account of the attack
and the findings of his investigation afterwards.

Three attackers, one now dead, one escaped, and one in a cell. Their
efforts had resulted in twenty-eight injured to varying degrees, two dead
mounts, and the injuries the queen and he sustained. The attackers appeared
to be of common stock ice goblins with no distinguishing markings. The four
cast steel arrow points retrieved from the bodies of the mounts and leg of
one ogre bystander were common ice goblin crafting. Spilling them from the
pouch, he regarded the broadheaded points well suited for bringing down
large game.

Mokla sat back dragging a hand over his face as he considered the four
hunting points... So unlike the forged barbed bodkin point drawn from his
own shoulder. Vershae's warning of opportunistic third parties came to mind
again.

He leaned back in his chair in surprise at the instant hope that it was he
and not Euterah they targeted. His thoughts on this combined with the
already present anger and he felt the unwanted, yet familiar cold shadow
move across his soul. Like a hunger, it called for it's needs to be met.
Slipping his arm from the restraining bandages, he reached for his leathers
knowing where the need would be quenched.




Writer: Mokla

Date Tue Mar 22 16:57:32 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Assassins Penance


The sounds of occasional drips from the ceiling and the sizzle when one
found the glowing coals within the brazier near him, were the only company
for the ice goblin chained and stretched across the wooden table in the dark
cell of Darkonin's prison. Attempts at struggle had ceased days ago when
futility finally sank in. The only one he had seen since they had chained
him spread-eagle was the dark uniformed hobgoblin who silently entered and
merely fed and stoked the brazier and left as silently. He measured the
time with his comings and goings, mentally clicking off another notch in
time as the sound of the door rattled and opened behind him.

The sound of light steps moved about him slowly, within the shadowy limits
of his vision as the door closed solidly once more. Sensing something
different in the daily ritual he mentally girded himself against the likely
torture he knew to be forthcoming and called out in challenge. "Hoo ya?...
Vatcha vantin?.."
He spit out to the shadows in the goblin accent of the
Ice Folk. Silence answered back, only broken by the slight sounds of
breathing which continued it's circling. Minutes passed like hours drilling
deeper into his brain as the unknown presence paced. The mounting anxiety
was punctuated suddenly with the wooden thunk of a stool being set upon the
floor near his head and next to the brazier.

Twisting his head to the side he made out the form of another large
hobgoblin in the glow of the brazier's coals. It's silence and lack of
uniform puzzled him as it slowly stirred and shifted the tongs and pinchers
within the brazier, inspecting the cherry red glow of their ends. It turned
to face him silently, the brazier's glow casting shadows across it's face
leaving the bright yellow eyes to peer at him from the dark recesses. The
purity of the glow within those eyes left him awed and as his skin tightened
over his frame and ice filled his veins, he knew it by it's true name,
malice.




Writer: Euterah

Date Tue Mar 22 17:37:21 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM Scorn )

Subject The Monster's Calm



He waited within their cramped quarters, All sorts of degenerates ranged
around him. His rag tag band that consisted of the dregs of Icewall, seized
from their doomed lives in the Prison were ultimately more loyal to him than
any other. The ex-general grimaced a smile and scratched absently at the
missing horns base. Soon everyone would know his name and fear him. There
was a scrabbling near the entrance to their hide-out. The Minotaur rose,
ducking his head to avoid cracking his one good horn on the caverns ceiling.


Jardor, where is Gyff? He called out, striding to the ice goblin that
entered. Their eyes met. The Minotaur grunted.

Let us hope he does not talk for his familys sake. I told you to be quick
and unseen. You obviously did not listen.


The ice goblin cringed, lowering his eyes. Vasnt our fault, Lord. Dere vas
anudder. Fouled up da plan.


The Minotaur snorted. Tell me.

Dere vas one not of us. He did try fer the Queen. Not our plan. But goot
news. Her King vas vounded in the fight. By one of the Masters arrows. So
poison. Mebbe die, ya
?

The Minotaur clenched his fists for a moment, flexing. The ice goblin back
away hurriedly. Not our fault! Not our fault!

The Minotaur turned moving back to the place he rested at before the goblin
came. He grew silent, contemplative. He turned to a slip of a hobgoblin,
thin and grimy.

Vermat, you go out and see that Gyff isnot talking. Make sure he cannot.

The hobgoblin turned, eyes glittering with the madness one only gets from
long years of isolation and torture. He nodded mutely and took his pack,
leaving the cavern.

The Minotaur settled. He would wait. He would keep watching the Mountains
movements.




Writer: Arreana

Date Tue Mar 22 17:39:49 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: A Simple Prayer



--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------01
In Algoron, there was one kingdom alone that admitted no red auras within
its ranks: Althainia. Of course, the organizations of the Wrath of Justice
and Gareth Keep of the Knighthood, along with the White Robes also barred
membership to those who either worshipped the pantheon of Evil deities or
worshipped one of the deities of Balance, but fought for the causes of
Evil.

Devion; Mencius; Fatale; Dragoth; Drakkara; and last, but greatest of all,
Necrucifer. The deities of Evil remained strong.

By contrast, the light of Goodness worshipped a family of deities that had
lost one of its own, Kadiya. Left were: Nadrik; Kantilles; Siccara;
Taliena; and the greatest of these: Austinian.

Arreana knew the stakes. Nadrik was held prisoner on the Black Moon, a
location where he could be killed permanently, where his Immortal soul was
unprotected.

There was a hope, however. One of Algoron's most famous, and infamous,
arcane casters was a man simply known as Seanan. His powers had become so
formidable that he had created a device that it was believed could summon
a deity from anywhere.

Naturally, such an artifact was disturbing to the deities of Algoron. In a
rare moment of unity, they broke apart the item, but its magic was either
too powerful to destroy, or none of the deities of Algoron were willing to
openly admit that such an artifact could prove useful. So the Shards of
Seanan were created. Legend had it that if enough shards were obtained,
the device would function and it would be possible to summon a deity.

The path laid out before them was clear. Recover enough shards to bring
Nadrik home, or suffer yet another brutal and tragic loss while Evil
continued to gain a stronger hold in the world.

Shaking her head, the Ariel priestess, a Bishop of Taliena, looked down
at a small book in her hands. There were no engraved titles, and the
pages, when she opened them, bore the signs of wet ink, as opposed to
some of the magical means of transferring words from a page to another.

The handwriting was familiar as well. Anyone who had read Elrei's work
once would easily identify his work elsewhere.

Taliena's Prophet was more of a hermit these days, but his legacy
continued on. It happened, that just a few days previous, he had chosen
to approach Arreana with something.

A book.

Elrei was already known for his Book of Love, an extensive treasure of
parables, poems, and songs relating to the many virtues, qualities, and
realizations of Love.

This book was different though. It was so much simpler and smaller, a
handbook. In it were brief, easy-to-follow instructions for any follower
of Taliena to understand how to interact in an Algoron plunged in
darkness, as it presently was.

Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps it was fate. Either way, it didn't
matter. What mattered was that Arreana had intended to write a book too.

Arreana's plans were a bit more ambitious, but Elrei's handbook reminded
her that ambitious plans were best achieved when working together. The
ideas of others would help simplify, clarify, and ensure the finished
book would be a worthy guide for ANY follower of Goodness to follow and
ensure that their actions in the world were in line with their deities.

Perhaps then they would be inspired to wake. To return home from sojourns,
to fill up the ranks in not only Althainia, but across Algoron. Reminding
the world that Goodness had not lost. They were not defeated.

They were not dead. Just forgotten, and what is forgotten can be
remembered.




Writer: Mokla

Date Tue Mar 22 17:44:28 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Assassins Penance pt 2


Mokla simply gazed at the restrained form before him, his mind filling it
with All the rage, loss, pain, and worry this goblin had brought into being.
The emotions were lifeless things now, frozen and unfelt, he floated above
it and stood apart in a place where life never reached. He spent several
minutes savoring this state of being, unblinking and poised over the
question of how to proceed. The gobbo attempted to challenge again, "V..
Va.. Vatcha .. Vant.?"
, The steel in his voice melting away in the
quiver of his lips as he stared back into Mokla's eyes.

Mokla turned away slowly, stirring the brazier as the gobbo stammered on
about not talking and of course knowing nothing. Reaching into the brazier
Mokla picked up a brightly glowing marble-sized coal between his talons and
dropped it onto the bare stomach of the gobbo. Screaming and bucking
against his bonds, the coal rolled and traced a blistering path across his
skin before falling to the floor. Mokla watched passively as the gobbo
writhed in torment, his face devoid of any expression. "I don't care if you
talk.. I don't think anything you could say matters to me."
Mokla stated
softly and prodded at the newly raised blisters with his talons. {"Oh I could
play the games.. Make you see me as your Master.. Or perhaps even the
friend who saves you from All this... But even though I could never get
bored hurting you, your debts are not to me alone.."
Mokla continued
dragging his talon through the scorched flesh amid the thrashing. "I'm sure
Dkom would take whatever you wish to say.. I need something else."
Mokla
said returning his gaze to the gobbos face.

"You see you and your band hurt a lot folk.. The Queen's folk.. My folk I
suppose.. What shall they take of you?"
Mokla said tapping his finger
against his lip in contemplation and raised it to shake at the air as he
nodded thoughtfully. "You see many of them were newly arrived from
Dolund'ir, and were drawn to the Queen's generosity in search of food,,
you're always hungry in Dolund'ir you see.. So your attack interrupted
that. So to fix that, I think a blending of cultures is in order."
Mokla
began. "Back in Dolund'ir on occasion we were able to kidnap an unwary
Imperial,, or even a dwarf which was better. Sturdy sorts always worked
better for a little thing we called 'The Buffet'.. It met the needs of hate
and hunger All in one motion,, very clever."
Mokla said nodding.

Noting the confusion on the gobbos face, Mokla patted his head gently and
said "Don't fret I'll gladdly explain it to you.."




Writer: Mokla

Date Tue Mar 22 18:34:44 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Assassins Penance pt 3


"You see, we would take our capture and bind him very tightly, then cinch
a cord high up the legs.. About here."
Mokla said softly reaching to
trail his talon across the join of the gobbos thigh and hip, "Always the
legs first.. That's important."
"Then you gather the folk who come by and
carve a bit of meat for themselves and family, gotta keep the cinch tight to
keep then from bleeding out. Then you move to the arms, after cinching at
the shoulder of course."
Mokla crooned softly Mokla noted the quiver of
the gobbo with satisfaction and stroked the gobbos hair, leaning in nearer
his ear. "If you do it right.. You avoid them getting shocky and
croaking,, keeps the meat fresh. That's why dwarves are favored,, very
sturdy.. Like us in someways."
He said. Rising to his feet Mokla trailed
his talons along the straining gobbo as he walked to stand at it's side.
"Keep them going helps the flavor.. Of the sweet meats. The last part of
the menu."
Mokla said slapping the tight belly of the prisoner.

"I think they will appreciate the small gesture.. Bringing a bit of home to
their new lands, don't you? That will be what you owe them for your actions
I think."
Mokla then moved to crouch once more near the head of the
trembling prisoner and ran a finger across his sweating brow. "As for what
you owe me.."
Mokla whispered then drew in deeply from his nostrils,
letting his eyelids flutter closed, then licked his finger. "I think I have
what I wanted now... Your fear."


Mokla stood and cackled loudly, his mood enlightened and invigorated. He
turned and strode to the door banging loudly and shouting "All yours Dkom!
Go easy on the delicate bits!"





Writer: Laleina

Date Tue Mar 22 21:33:25 2016

To Vulgrim All Immortal Roleplay

Subject A Blessed Surprise



Laleina arose early, which was very abnormal for her, her normal routine
lately had been to sleep in quite late and laze about the house. She barely
had the energy to get out and do much but this day was different. She had
gotten up and cleaned the house, took a long walk, she went to the Shrine
and cleaned out some of the pit, and even had gotten to the Altar of
Darkness to clean it up and pray and meditate.

She had seen signs but did not think anything of it. Since the move to the
desert she had not been feeling well due to the change of the temperature so
she had started spending more time in her home in Verminasia. She walked
down to where Vulgrim and her met and smiled. A baby, hopefully a girl this
time. She placed her hand gently on her belly. Now to tell Vulgrim.





Writer: Thasgerd

Date Wed Mar 23 11:28:34 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Wed Mar 23 11:51:15 2016




Writer: Glailen

Date Wed Mar 23 15:45:59 2016




Writer: Glailen

Date Wed Mar 23 15:46:08 2016




Writer: Glailen

Date Wed Mar 23 15:46:25 2016




Writer: Glailen

Date Wed Mar 23 15:46:28 2016




Writer: Glailen

Date Wed Mar 23 15:46:35 2016




Writer: Rellinath

Date Wed Mar 23 20:44:10 2016

To All althainia shalonesti_kingdom shalonesti knighthood nadrik zandreya imm RP

Subject Creatures of the Night: The Return of the Hunter



Rellinath sat at the gypsy camp beyond the forest of Gathna,
contemplating his findings over the last few days. After the attack on the
Vallens, he had come back out to the dangerous forests to investigate his
suspicions that something was amiss in Gathna. The reports stated that the
beast had reverted to a human form instead of that of a wolf upon being
slain, and that he appeared to be a gypsy. That evidence was too compelling
not to investigate further. And indeed, he had found several things to be
concerned about since his arrival. The gypsies were All holed up in a
single tent in the camp, sleeping together as if sheer numbers alone would
protect them from the horrors of the night. The hunters themselves,
normally roaming the wilds with silver-tipped arrows, were gathered about
the entrance to the camp, refusing to go out to hunt. Only a scant handful
of brave souls stalked the woods at night in search of their quarry.

And the creatures themselves! Their numbers had multipled, likely due to
the hunters' negligence of their duties in keeping them in check, and though
Rell had not fought against the beasts for some time, he could sear they had
grown in strength as well since the last time he was on the Hunt. Every
night, as the sun set, he and Minah would head out into the wilds fully
prepared for battle, and every morning at sunrise, they would come back to
the camp, some nights limping with wounds, some nights just panting with
exhaustion, his blades slick with the blood of his foes and his armor
splattered with that and, more often than not, his own as well.

The invitation to come spend some time at Aliera's house came as welcome
relief, as he'd not seen anything resembling civilization for almost a week.
Though his last visit to her house had left him feeling out of place and
awkward, especially the parting comment from Glailen, he was grateful for
the chance to take a break. As he walked, he tried his best to scrub the
worst of the blood off of the gleaming arcanium scales of his armor, and
apparently to some success since nobody made mention of it on his arrival,
though that could be because they'd All seen each other battle-weary and
wounded so often that it wasn't anything out of the ordinary anymore. A few
hours later, after spending some time with his adopted family, he made his
way back out into the woods, his bear companion Arval at his side this time,
leaving Minah comfortably napping in "her" chair in Aliera's den. The
kitten had done well over the last week, and deserved some rest.

They arrived at the entrance to the woods shortly after dark. Rell drew his
blades and walked confidently into the forest, knowing the path well enough
to walk it even on a moonless night, though the white moon shone brightly in
the night sky this evening. He and Arval turned a corner in the path...
And stopped dead in their tracks, nearly three dozen pairs of blood-red eyes
and drooling maws filled with sharp, white teeth along the sides of the and
filling the clearing ahead of them.

(continued)




Writer: Rellinath

Date Wed Mar 23 20:49:44 2016

To All althainia shalonesti_kingdom shalonesti knighthood nadrik zandreya imm RP

Subject Creatures of the Night: The Better Part of Valor



Rellinath looked down to his blades, then back up at the mass of beasts
before him, then off to the side at Arval, who turned his great, ponderous
head to look back at Rell, then back to the beasts once more...

And then they turned and ran like hell. Rellinath was a capable fighter,
strong, graceful, and imbued with newly found abilities that augmented his
fighting capacity beyond most mortals, but he damned well knew when he was
outmatched, and sometimes discretion was the better part of valor. He'd no
less than promised Jadelyn that if he came across something he could not
defeat that he would flee rather than fight, and there was no way in hell
they could take thirty of the beasts at once! Five, yes. Six, maybe. But
thirty? That was folly, and he knew it.

They dashed back down the pathway the way they came, the sounds of the
creatures right behind them, Rellinath sprinting with inhuman agility down
the pathway and Arval simply crashing through any undergrowth that got in
his way, the contrasting display of grace and brawn probably quite hilarious
were it not for the fact that they were pursued by death itself. Finally,
they broke free of the forests, the werecreatures stopping at the edge of
the woods and howling for blood, unwilling to pursue their quarry any
further.

They camped there until daylight, when the werecreatures reverted back to
their wolf form. Throughout the day, Rellinath and Arval purged the woods
of no less than sixty of the beasts, and even then by the time they dashed
into the gypsy encampment just before nightfall, there were easily still
scores about, transforming into the weres once more and howling murderous
threats throughout the night.

Something was very, VERY wrong with the forests of Gathna, and Rellinath
wondered how long it would take him to get the beasts back under control,
back to tolerable numbers. But at lest he no longer wondered why the stink
of fear permeated the camp.

He knew full well what they were All so scared of.




Writer: Aliera

Date Wed Mar 23 23:16:11 2016




Writer: Glailen
Date Wed Mar 23 23:19:56 2016




Writer: Erwin
Date Thu Mar 24 11:12:16 2016




Writer: Euterah
Date Thu Mar 24 22:01:31 2016

To Vitriosablet Mokla Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm Scorn )

Subject Slack's Unrest



Slack paced over the windowsill, pensive, ears back. Rumors, rumors,
rumors was the Noosaa leader passed or not?

It twitched Its tail. It turned Its head to the Witch, sleeping,
distressed. Stupid Witch.

Slack bounded off the sill and moved out of the Tower, mincing through the
door of the Darkonite as a customer left. The Cat shivered, fluffy black
fur against the wind. Skirting boots and heels, keeping to the shadows as
It could the Cat slunk into the Hearth. It needed Its friend, but sniffing
the scent was old. Slack sneezed. Padding to the other room and slipping
into the in between to arrive at the Icewall port the Cat moved beyond.

Slack knew and began towards Its destination.




Writer: Euterah
Date Thu Mar 24 22:09:47 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny IMM Scorn )

Subject The Changing Times



The Witch paced, waking from a forced nap, too long awake trying to
recover some facts of what happened after the Joust. It was days ago now
and the note was disturbing. The fact that they could not find Rolus Noosaa
was more perturbing. She had tried to discover the facts of this event
though, very little had been uncovered. She remembered vividly the bright
crimson that dripped heavily from the Ogre as he came to where Gaurak and
she were in the stands. How the both greeted, Gaurak offering healing.
Rolus shaking his head, refusing. Why?

She did not want dark clouds to bank against her Kings success. She was
uncertain how to proceed. Memorial? Or, a celebration? No one seemed to
understand what was going on.

Mokla had done what none had sought to do in a long while and triumphed. It
was such a time for joy, yet that

sense of anxiety still held her, something, her heart was distressed.
Something was amiss and the Witch found herself drawn in thought to the Ogre
leader who had prevailed against so much.

The Mountain was silent to the Witch. She waited with breath tight on
inhale for word.




Writer: Vincent
Date Fri Mar 25 00:10:37 2016




Writer: Vincent
Date Fri Mar 25 00:12:41 2016




Writer: Ayrora
Date Fri Mar 25 07:55:48 2016

To Verminasia All Immortal Roleplay

Subject Not Today



Drip... Drip.... Drip...

The rain woke her and she groaned with frustration. She had not slept well
that night and did not feel like getting out of bed and the rain did not
help.

Drip... Drip... Drip...

Rora pulled the comforter closer around her trying to get more comfortable,
trying to fall back to sleep, trying to stop the thoughts that now started
racing through her mind. She knew at that moment that trying to sleep was a
waste of time. She frustratingly tossed the comforter aside aside and sat
up.

Drip... Drip... Drip...

She stood up and walked over to the window. It was pouring. She sighed and
shook her head before turning to her wardrobe to get dressed. No ride to
the Orchard today which is what she looked forward to every morning. She
would have to take the carraige to the city to start her day.

Drip... Drip.... Drip....

How much she despised the rain....




Writer: Balloria
Date Fri Mar 25 19:14:46 2016

To New_Thalos Darkonin All ( Raije IMM RP )

Subject Painful News



The Ogress was pretty distraught upon reading the news of Rolus' death.
She had heard some rumors previous and had discounted them as not being
true. 'Raije no let Rolus die. ' she had calmly assured herself. But now,
apparently, he was dead and buried. She thought back on their wonderful
life together. Sadly, she recalled the last several days of his life. She
had gotten herself badly stuck not once, but twice, deep inside Ravencrest
castle while completing the Sultan's quest. She could have, no, she
-should- have spent that time with Rolus. Hindsight was far clearer than
foresight it seemed. She had thought he would be so proud of her for doing
it All by herself.

As she returned to their home in the desert, she was wondering how to
contact their son. He was off adventuring in Icewall and she had not heard
from him for some time. He would need to know of his father's death. Upon
opening the door to their home, she heard a bloodcurdling noise. She rushed
in, weapon drawn, to find Rolus' akita making the noise. The dog was wildly
running about to the end of his leash and howling loudly. Balloria tried to
calm him, even removing the leash. The akita then rushed to the door,
scratching on it furiously. Balloria was puzzled, but when she opened the
door, the akita ran out heading south and quickly disappeared from view.
Balloria sighed and closed the door. 'Maybe tomorrow be a better day. '
she thought to herself.




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Fri Mar 25 21:34:25 2016




Writer: Thasgerd
Date Fri Mar 25 21:34:59 2016




Writer: Vyasa
Date Sat Mar 26 22:39:28 2016




Writer: Evanlyn
Date Sat Mar 26 23:29:30 2016




Writer: Evanlyn
Date Sat Mar 26 23:33:15 2016




Writer: Evanlyn
Date Sat Mar 26 23:37:51 2016




Writer: Vyasa
Date Sun Mar 27 16:21:27 2016




Writer: Rosaeria
Date Sun Mar 27 17:10:43 2016

To Verminasia All Roleplay Imm

Subject The Big First Day



Rosa set foot within the manor for the first time after a long time of
waiting for people to get to her about things about being a servant.
Finally she could not wait any longer and unlocks the doors, pushing them
open with both hands. At first sight, a gasp of awe escaped her and she
nearly tripped upon her dress as she tried to shut the door behind her in
her hurry to look around.

Shaking off her awe, she quickly heads to her task of cleaning up. Pushing
up her glasses she heads off to the cleaning supplies within the servants'
quarters and grabs many things to keep the place looking spick and span. "I
should get to work on the railings of the foyer and work up from there! "
she thinks to herself, grabbing her rag and one of the few cans of polish.




Humming a small tune as she dabs her rag into the can and starts to shine
the foyer banisters. "Oh I can not believe how I have been so lucky and
happy lately... " she talks to herself as another servant taps her on the
shoulder, "Miss? Are you okay? " Nearly jumping out of her skin, Rosa
whirls around to look up at one of the housemaids, "Oh! Y-yes ma'am...
Why? " The maid makes a small laugh as she looks at the railing, "Well, you
are using shoe polish and ruining it. "

Her eyes go wide as she turns back and looks over the railing, noticing it
is now black from shoe polish and not at All right. "Oh no! I must have
grabbed the wrong one! " she panics, quickly grabbing a new rag from her
pinafore and doing double time to get the polish off before it set. Soon
the banister is shining anew before Rosa sighs heavily at her blunder nearly
already messing something up.

Thinking it best to continue her railing cleaning while she has the right
polish and continues on up throughout the manor. By the time she is
finished, the day is nearly over and she collapses with a bright smile and a
heavy sigh upon the steps. "She will be home soon and I hope All is well...
Tomorrow maybe I should cook something for her...That sounds like a great
plan! Tomorrow it is!"




Writer: Balloria

Date Mon Mar 28 11:18:52 2016

To New_Thalos Darkonin All ( Raije IMM RP )

Subject Life without Rolus



It had been several days now since Rolus' reported passing. Balloria
still did not really believe it. She was so lonely it hurt. During the
day, she found herself looking up at every sound, expecting to see Rolus
walking through the door as if nothing had happened. She was having a hard
time focusing on any one task, and found herself wandering from room to
room, starting and stopping work on one project after another.
Occasionally, she would lean out the window and call for Rolus' akita. It
had never stayed away from home this long before. But, she remembered,
Rolus had been there then. Every day she felt more and more sad and the
days dragged on, seeming longer and longer each passing day. Yet, at the
same time, she felt as if she was waiting for something to happen. The
Ogress could not figure it out. No matter what it was, she was not sure how
much longer she could go on this way.





Writer: Arreana

Date Tue Mar 29 06:43:02 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Dissension


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------02
"If I ever get my hands on such a book, I will burn it."

Arreana had never felt particularly like a controversial figure before.
She had always done her best to be friendly with everyone, and that had
worked well for her.

Until now, apparently.

While the choice of name for the book she was attempting was still up for
debate, she saw no reason why such a book would be considered heresy. It
didn't make sense for the book to be titled after Love, Honor, Healing, or
any of the other traits associated with Goodness.

That which is holy has the blessing of the divine, and if the Light of
Goodness' followers could not receive such a blessing, then there was
something seriously wrong with their faith.

There were, however, a lot of legitimate questions to be answered. Such a
project was oft pursued by those who sought to enhance their own glory.
However, Arreana didn't even have plans to attach her name to authorship
of the book. It was meant to be a collaborative project. A gift from
mortals to their immortal guardians.

Arreana sat at her desk, contemplative. Her wings were outstretched, but
were curled in a fashion that suggested comforting rest. Few truly
considered how Ariel's differed from the rest of the world. Her wings were
easily the most considerable part of her form. They stretched out as wide
as she was tall. Their volume could shelter others in shade against the
sun. They also enabled her to fly.

Closing her eyes, Arreana drifted into a memory. She was high above the
desert west of New Thalos. It was a sea of sand that spread out for miles.
Behind her was the road that led to Althainia, and, off in the distance,
she could see the walls of New Thalos.

She pitied those who could not fly. Only the dragons shared the skies with
her kind, though they were fiercely defensive of their domains. There were
other creatures in the sky as well, birds, and wyverns.

Yet, of the sentient races, the Pixies were the only ones who could be
considered to fly, though their flight was more akin to a hover, one that
could be duplicated with a flight spell. Anyone trying to fly in such a
manner simply could not ascend too high, or they risked being taken by the
fickle nature of the wind. Rip currents were horrifying phenomenon within
the sea. However, up in the sky, hook currents were far too common.

An Ariel's sharpened senses allowed them to detect subtle changes in the
air that identified such currents. Dragons could also detect them, though
most simply brushed such currents off as easily as one might brush ants
off their clothing.

Arreana brought herself forcefully back to the present.

She looked down at the parchment in front of her. Arreana had worked on
the art for over three days, painstakingly detailing the scene that would
be shown on the cover of the book.

There were things that she needed to work on in getting ready for initial
input from members of the Light of Goodness when they met on the 27th of
the Old Calendar.

She was nervous.

It had been a long time since Arreana could remember her hand trembling
as it did now. Perhaps the first time she had gone up to speak as a mere
Novitiate of Taliena.

Arreana was being bold, and being bold took risk. For All she knew,
Taliena might smite her down. She felt it unlikely. In fact, Arreana was
confident that the Holy Mother would see her true intentions behind
the project.

The real question was: would everyone else?




Writer: Arreana

Date Tue Mar 29 06:45:20 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Words of Wisdom


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------03
It was pouring outside. Arreana had a feeling that this would be a day
spent indoors. She had cause to dislike rain more than most, it made it
difficult for her to fly.

Of course, it wasn't impossible. However, in addition to the extra weight
it put on her form, the rain was often accompanied by incredible winds.
What might be something that seemed slightly ominous to those on the
ground was outright terrifying in the sky.

Arreana cozied up to the warm fire burning away gaily in her fire place.
In her hands she held several pieces of parchment, All from the same author.
The writing was remarkably neat, considering who wrote it. However, far
more impressive than the penmanship was the content of those letter. Here
was the writing of someone whose wisdom easily surpassed Arreana's own.

When reading the thoughts and philosophies of others who had spent time
contemplating the will of the deities, Arreana often found a beauty to the
way that some minds approached it. When one was familiar with another's
style of thought, they could often see the point being made long before
the other author got around to it.

Taking up a quill in hand, Arreana began transferring her own thoughts to
the page. She always had blank parchment, ink, and a quill ready when she
read something. More often than not, the thoughts of others would inspire
thoughts in her as well.

She paused for a moment in her writing and stood up, looking around her
study. Piles of blank parchment lay against the walls, giving off that
distinct earthy aroma that those who wrote as much as she did were
intimately familiar with. However, Arreana's attention was drawn to the
window.

As much as she disliked rain, Arreana could nelp but be fascinated by
the sheer, and often brutal, power of the storms. There was something raw
and primal about it, something she could appreciate, even if her prayers
did not go to Zandreya.

This storm, however, she connected with on a different level. It mirrored
Arreana's mind. Her thoughts felt as turbulent and discordant as they ever
had. It was difficult, therefore, for her to feel the peace and grace
that she needed to be receptive to the thoughts of others.

Arreana wasn't entirely certain why she felt the way she did. In her
heart, she felt confident she was on the right path. The Light of Goodness
needed to see more leadership and activity, to remind its faithful that
champions of goodness still fought for them, and that Nadrik would not be
forgotten.

Never would she forget the day that Taliena visited her with a reminder of
Nadrik's plight. While the Holy Mother hadn't sounded fearful, there was a
certain pain that Arreana felt.

She wasn't just a priestess of Taliena, but, instead, of All of Goodness.

No matter that Arreana gave her prayers to Taliena, could talk at length
about Taliena far more than any other deity, and was charged by Taliena
with specific tasks, there was still a sense of duty that ran deeper than
everything else.

It was Arrena's job to not only to preach to the faithful about Love and
Taliena's role in the world, it was also her responsibility to teach
others how to follow in the Light of Goodness, and also to show those of
dark and other ill paths what the Love of the Light truly was, for it
extended far beyond Taliena's Love. The Love of every family member of
the pantheon of Good was a testament to the holiness of the path.

It wasn't just something for those who followed to know. That fact had to
be known throughout Algoron in order for it to truly take root.




Writer: Arreana

Date Tue Mar 29 06:49:43 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Calm, before the...


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------04
It was always somewhat ominous the moments of expectation preceding some
tremendous event. Even if Arreana was hopeful and excited in the event's
coming, she could not deny that her own mortal failings made it so easy
for doubt to creep in. That doubt created foreboding.

For many, the fear of the unknown held them back from doing things. Many
were inspired by Arreana's "bravery" of being able to go up before a crowd
and speak of Taliena. Their own fear of speaking restrained them, caused
them to become paralyzed to the point of inaction.

Arreana let out a breath.

The air was chilly today and she was thankful for the added layer of a
cloak to drape around her slender form.

Like All of Arreana's clothing, the cloak was designed such that a wing
could fit through the garment and then neatly appear as though her wings
were sprouting from the fabric itself. Such clothing didn't come cheap, it
had to be custom tailored, but Arreana hadn't had to worry about being
poor since the day when she finally chose to fight for the Wrath of
Justice.

Previous to that, it had been difficult. She had to forage and beg,
appealing to the gentler sides of the sentient races of Algoron, All the
while realizing that most wanted to take advantage of her.

Pausing for a moment, at a vegetable stand, Arreana began to look through
the produce for the freshest, most appealing vegetables. Since Arreana
didn't eat meat, she had to ensure she found the best vegetables, fruits,
beans, and nuts to fill out her diet.

Being an Ariel meant that she couldn't eat too much at once, it was bad
for flying. However, her metabolism was so high that she needed to eat
often. She couldn't afford to go hours without a meal, unless she had
prepared for it in advance. The only way she could fast was if she had
intentionally gorged herself, realizing she wouldn't be able to fly
during the fasting period.

It was an upcoming fast that had brought Arreana to the market, even
on a day when the weather was less than favorable. She drew up the cloak
more tightly around her and continued to sort through the bins.

Arreana planned to fast on the day leading up to her first meeting with
those interested in a collaborative, unified text for members of the
Light of Goodness. She had received both encouraging comments and outright
hostility after announcing the project.

Who would show up to the meeting?

A brief image of commoners with pitch forks, being led by some champion
of the Light, All of them chasing her and calling her a heathen. Arreana
shivered, she knew as well as anyone how cruel those of Goodness could be.
Mortals were All fallen. Capable of both Good and Evil, but having to
constantly decide between the two.

Their free will was both a blessing and a curse. While it meant that even
those who committed the most heinous of deeds could be saved, it also
meant that they constantly had to be vigilant for those who might lead
Good people astray.

It meant that, even those who had showed their absolute devotion to faith
could be questioned by anyone who might think to be suspicious. Even
when those suspicions were unfounded.

Arreana shook her head and, finally, selected what she needed from the
stand. She held up her purchases to the merchant in the stall. She needed
to make sure this meal counted. It was the one positive thing she would
have until tomorrow's meeting. Tomorrow would be spent in prayer, offering
supplication to Taliena for Her blessings on the endeavor.




Writer: Arreana

Date Tue Mar 29 06:55:18 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Fast, but Slow


--------------------FORGOTTEN, NOT DEAD-------author:Arreana------------05
There were few pains like hunger pains. Arreana was intimately familiar
with them. As an Ariel, she began to feel the clawing pains if she didn't
eat something every hour and a half or so. By the time she was several
hours overdue for feeding, she was usually found in a struggle to
reconcile the pain within without letting her suffering show without. The
entire point of fasting was to offer dedication to a person, thing, or
cause. It was an intimate offering of one's own ability to handle
suffering for the greater good.

In Arreana's experience, the deities of Goodness rarely asked their
followers to suffer. Such things were typically limited to those who had
recanted their Evil ways, a test to see if they were ready to give
everything in that conversion. Suffering would also be handed down when
one had truly earned the wrath of a deity. Justice, not vengeance, drove
the deities to punishing wayward followers. However, suffering was their
last weapon of choice.

Nevertheless, she fasted.

Fasting was sacrifice, but it was nothing compared to the blood and death
rituals of the darkness of Evil. They were branded, burned, and subjected
to excruciating pain as a test of faith.

By contrast, Arreana felt a little light-headed and there was an awful
gnawing in her stomach, but she also had more time to contemplate the
peace and beauty of her existence. An existence where she could fast
voluntarily.

The pain achieved another purpose as well. It was as much a test of
her own personal will as anything else. She would be tested again and
again by her brothers and sisters in the Light. Some would have the best
of intentions, and yet might lead the project astray. Others would be
outright hostile, cursing her name and anything to do with the project.

It had happened once. It would happen again.

Arreana got up from the altar where she had been kneeling. Her knees
protested quietly. Though Arreana remained active and fit, her age was
slowly catching up to her. She understood now why so many older clerics
preferred kneeling cushions.

She spent All day in prayer for good cause though. Even now, Arreana felt
the gentle touch of Taliena's grace. Even though the Lady had not spoken
to her, she knew that she was on the right path.

Arreana would guide others of the Light into the creation of this book.
Together they would share their experience, their love, and their wisdom
with new and old followers alike, with Algoron at large.

All would take notice and realize that the Light of Goodness was the one
true way. The one true path.




Writer: Vyasa

Date Tue Mar 29 10:53:15 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Tue Mar 29 23:37:23 2016




Writer: Elrei
Date Wed Mar 30 15:21:45 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: On Pain of Memory



Elrei's mind wandered as his practised hand scribed the words of a
third copy of his latest endeavor. It was an attempt to extract the essence
of what he had intended for the Althainian church, and distill it further
into something that could pass beyond walls and borders, something that
could serve Taliena's Church as a whole.

He had given the first copy to Arreana. As one of only two Bishops
within Her faith, and the only one Elrei still knew to be active, he felt
she would likely be best suited to give a critique of the work. Her
response to it would tell him whether it was something worth pursuing, or
whether his current task of making another was simply more wasted time in
his life.

Ever since the troubles in Althainia, he no longer trusted his own
judgment in such a valuation. Truthfully, his self-confidence had never
been whole since his removal from the Senate in Shalonesti, so very long
ago. Always, it seemed, he was put into roles which were ill-defined -
roles which, in theory, held some sort of power or authority, yet never with
any idea of its extent. He had been hurt, so very many times, by apparently
overstepping those unstated boundaries. He was tired of the pain. That was
why he resisted the repeated inquiries from Althainia to return, why he
resisted the siren song of community in any location. That was why he
turned to the Bishop, to judge his work.

But as with his Ceremony of Affirmation, that he had sent to All of Her
priests some years before, it seemed his words lacked the necessary power to
inspire others to respond either in the positive or negative. Once again,
it felt as though he sent his words into a void, uncaring and unresponsive.

Elrei set aside his quill, resting it in the inkwell, and gently rubbed
his hands together. They were cold, shaking slightly, whether from the
slight chill in the air or from his own thoughts. Regardless of source, he
could not have such marring the book, no matter what its eventual fate may
be.

Several times, since the last rites he had given to his former Regent,
Daun'valyn, Elrei had commented on what he called "Love's Memory" and
"Nature's Memory," and how they differed in remembering the dead. Nature
did not remember the individual, but they would live on in new forms as
their body fed the earth. Love remembered the person, what they were rather
than what they might become, and, as he often pointed out, they would never
truly be gone until they were forgotten.

But what about those who were forgotten before death?




Writer: Leylani
Date Thu Mar 31 18:02:00 2016




Writer: Corlan
Date Thu Mar 31 18:47:59 2016




Writer: Mokla
Date Thu Mar 31 20:26:24 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Preparation


The sound of laboring breath came from the empty stall at the end of the
stables, each breath punctuated with a grunt. Standing within, Mokla
Warchylde strained with the effort to raise the heavy jousting lance in
uncounted repetitions. From thigh to above his head, each lift calling on
recovering muscles and pulling tightly upon the still fresh stitch work in
his shoulder. Face pinched tight in concentration, one thought curled
around his brain, .. Is there time?..

The announced joust had found him lacking the preparation he had hope to
achieve before the first test of the fledgling house's efforts to bring
glory to the Mountain. The attack in the Hollows had left him with an arrow
wound and the dead carcass of his primary mount. The skill of his lance
work remained from the days of the DeathRiders and had returned quickly, but
lance work required him being able to hold a lance first. He momentarily
reconsidered his resolve to be the first rider of the House with the twinge
of pain as he gripped the lance. Gritting his teeth and offering the pain
as tithe to the gods and knew his earlier decision was sound. If he was to
ask another to face a test like this, he would know full well of All it
required and face it to it's end. What seemed wisdom before tasted of folly
now, but resolve stayed.

The sudden sounds of a gequine's hoarse braying, bangs against the stable
wall, and a gobbo squealing caused Mokla to drop the lance in disgust and
storm out through the stable door to the training corral. Placing his hands
on his hips, he regarded the sight of the stablehand being lifted into the
air by his arm and banged about by Malice, the gequine stallion chosen as a
replacement mount. "WE.. DO.. NOT.. HAVE TIME FOR THIS!" Mokla roared
across the corral as the stablehand batted at the gequine with his other
hand in futility before being tossed loose to bang against the stable wall
once more. Marching across the sands Mokla approached the rearing stallion
ignoring its tantrum and stood scowling at the beast. When the stallion
lowered to snap at him in it's rage, the toothy jaws found only air soon
replaced by the sting of a studded leather fist upon it's sensitive muzzle.
It's fury lost in sudden confusion, Mokla snatched the halter and twisted
it's head to peer through slitted eyes into the gleaming red eye of the
stallion. "Your name may be Malice, but was I who laid it on you.. And I
you'll heed to."
Mokla whispered softly. The gequine steadied slowly
nostril flaring with each breath, but relaxing within the grip upon it's
halter.

Gazing over at the bewildered gobbo now picking himself up from the ground
Mokla said "If you act weak.. You are weak.. And next time Malice will
gnaw your bones, got it?"
. Nodding slowly with a wary eye to the stallion
the stablehand brushed himself off and worked at his arm. "Now get him
saddled.. And fetch my lance and shield, we've work to do."
Mokla said
and peered into the stallion's eye once more whispered "Both of us.."




Writer: Mokla

Date Fri Apr 1 17:42:45 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject House Warchylde : First Strike


The noise of the crowd's wild cheers filled the ears and hampered the
efforts to calm the eager gequine Mokla grasped by the halter as his
opponent was announced. Looking up at the sudden embrace of his queen, the
kiss and whisper of "You make me proud" swelled his chest. The thought of
bringing honor to the name she wore, his name, steeled him and brushed away
any doubts over his course as he watched her stand upon the sands and
announce his name amid the jeers and murmuring of the crowd at this new
unknown house. Fate had set him a daunting challenge, to face a champion in
his first ride, and the one who had offered advice and lessons in the
formation of his house. He hoped a more serious lesson would not be
forthcoming as he stared down the length of the run at the steady and proven
foe. Final instructions given, he took his place at the end of the till
fighting to rein in the rearing stallion which snapped at the air amid the
noise and foreign smells. Then as he looked down the run once more, a
curious feeling overcame him. The run seemed to stretch before him, the
crowd noise fading and the totality of what he a faced enveloped his mind.
This stood apart from any experience before, unlike a duel where escape
could be found, or war where chaos created change by the second, this stood
to be faced to it's end. There could be no turning away, and only certainty
could be found in the glinting lance head poised to seek him out. As if
sensing the stillness of it's rider the gequine settled and gave one last
snort as it too stared down it's own version of fate. The eerie calm broken
by the call, "CHARGE!"

Setting his heels to the stallions flank both rider and mount jolted
forward. Unable to steady the bobbing lance at the gequine's eager pace,
Mokla curled behind his shield, eyes glued to the onrushing threat. The
sudden crash came before expected as the opponent's lance struck the shield
and skittered free. His own passed by low and untouched, as he leaned out
to the side absorbing the shock of the blow and continued on to the end of
the run clinging to his mount with gripping legs. Turning his mount around
he cursed himself for taking a losing tact in focusing on the threat and not
the target. Steadying himself once more he resolved to maintain his focus
and let fate settle the bill.

The second pass saw both lances find some purchase and his confidence grew
with the third pass taking toll on both riders. The fourth proved to be a
telling moment, the stamina of the riders and power of the mounts being
measured and leaving Mokla's opponent found wanting. The strike upon the
other rider's shield turning him aside to falter and slide from his mount
washed away the growing ache within Mokla's shoulder from the constant
pressure of the heavy lance. His pride swelled as he turned the stallion to
look upon the fallen champion and then gaze to the stands to find the
beaming face he most wished to share the moment with. Approaching slowly to
his opponent he felt compelled to offer a simple salute, new found respect
he hoped was shared.

Raising his lance to the crowd as the announcement of the victory rang out,
he simply stared to where his queen stood amid the throng, and hoped she
knew the calling out of his name was her victory as well.




Writer: Euterah

Date Fri Apr 1 18:49:55 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sun IMM RP Scorn )

Subject House Warchylde


It was not as if she had not ridden before, strapped in practice armor, a
long sharpened stake in her hand. She would first see is it was possible to
ride the fierce gequine stallion. She barely stood at its withers. The
Witch steeled herself and walked up to the stallion.

The garish horse reared, almost hauling one of its goblin tamers up off
their feet. The stallion stamped, shaking its great head, staring at the
Witch with fiery eyes. She paused, took a breath and ordered the stallion
to calm, putting her wild magic, willpower and power behind the command.
She did not draw much from the Mountain, but the Witch felt she needed to
make a point. The stallion snorted, pawed the ground again. She flickered
her dark brackish eyes over the tamers and they unlooped their ropes. The
Witch ignored the stallions boasts, grabbing the saddle, hooking a boot into
the stirrup to mount. Kreegah shivering with a snuffle of hot breath, yet
letting the Witch settle over his back. She grumbled to herself as she
realized she needed to hand off the long sharp stake. She finally found
herself atop the gequine, reaching down to accept the long sharp stake.

{uKreegah, you be nice now.
The Witch admonished the stallion and forced
what power she had into the beast. The strange dappled horse shivered and
stilled. She looked at the target, a straw figure on the pulleys. Taking
up the reigns, she went to the start of the list. Kreegah tosses his head,
flecking the sand with foamy spittle, All too ready.

The Witch tried to focus on the stallion under her and the target before her
and the weight of the long thin stake in her hand. Balancing All this
proved rather difficult for the Witch. As the call for charge was shouted,
Kreehag pounded forward intent on his own role in the game, the Witch caught
off guard brought the stake to high as she gripped the reigns, clinging,
managing to squelch her cry.

The power and strength of the gequine hit the Witch and her dark eyes
flickered with static electricity, righting the stake just before the straw
dummy, it stuck awkwardly and fell to the sad. She could only manage to
stay mounted from the recoil of not letting go soon enough. A valuable
lesson, her arm throbbed.

Kreegah was not finished though, a war horse, blood of fire and conquering.
Though the Witch tried to control the gequine he thundered after the straw
figure, hopping the separation ropes of the run. Gaining on the straw
figure the gequine dashed it with front hooves lashing out. The Witch clung
to the reigns with All her strength as the stallion trashed the figure
snorting and stomping and then prancing the Witch screeching for the
stallion to cease. With a blowing of lips at his fallen foe, the gequine
turned his neck gazing with fiery baleful eye attentive to the Witch.
Catching her breath, loosening her fingers that somehow found way into the
thick bristling mane, she murmured, Good boy.

Certainly unsure of this endeavor as the tamers came, lassoing the gequine
and she was helped off and whisked back into the stables. This was
important and she knew it. She would not be detered by this beast. She
clenched her sharp white teeth, determined.




Writer: Rolus

Date Fri Apr 1 22:14:08 2016

To Lunez Nazirah All citizens of New_Thalos Raije Derigimus Tashio RP

Subject The last hours of Rolus Noosa'a



Rolus hobbled as he left the sand of the Althainian arena, dragging his
right leg. He had been dismounted in a quick blur of medal and blood.
However, he was focused on his leg and it's strange wounding. It bleed
profusely and the leg was rendered useless yet completely painless. In
fact, his elblow and neck hurt worse from the rushed dismount. Huffin and
the remainder of his gnomish entourage gathered his mount and circled the
wounded ogre. "Crownguard, should I fetchahealer? "; note + Huffin
questioned as he took notice of ogre's walk and posture. Rolus looked to
his leg and back to Huffin with a smirk as if amused by Huffin's concern.
Is good. Is just blood. It don't even hurt. Rolus looked around to his
crew and ordered. Ready the caravan. We go soon as I get back. He closed
his robe, concealing the wound, and headed for the stands. Huffin chased
him down the corridor pleading "Rolus, lemme getahealer. Hecan bind itinthe
stands. You're bleedin'good.
" Rolus paused at the first rail and raised a
hand, singaling Huffin to wait. He gaze out to the sands as the king of
Darkonin charged a brave squire. The would be knight met him with an
equally fierce charge but still fell under the might of the new king.

Rolus lowered his hand and grunted as he turned to Huffin This one wants
more. Him win.
; Huffin was to focused on the wound to care about the
joust. He could see the blood running across Rolus' right foot, soaking his
sandal, as they headed to the upperdeck. "Ah don't thin-" the gnome was
quickly cut off by the excited ogre. "Yes! Him beat Perion. That one has
most wins... All champions are falling..
" Rolus slurred before chuckling
lightly as he swayed. "NOROLUS YOURLEG!! " the frantic gnome exclaimed.
Rolus stopped at the entrance to the upperdeck and turned with low growl.
Rolus stared down intensely at the gnome. "Go back now. I be there after
next fight.... Go, leave Rolus be
. " Huffin tugged his goatee in silent
frustration and headed to his duties with a nod.

Rolus walked into the upperdeck as the crowd frenzied and howled, banners
waving in unison. Rolus began to feel dizzy and hobbled to a seat. He
peered around, watching the king's house led in cheer by their enigma of a
queen. She glanced over to Rolus and quickly turned offering healing. The
weakened ogre stared in confusion. He saw her mouth moving but could not
hear any words. He slurred and mumbled to himself, as he began to think he
had been poisoned. He stood up and stumbled. Barely catching himself on
the rail, he slid his body along the rail to the exit. He felt weak and
disorientated. In his confusion, he wandered into an empty part of the
stands and sat to rest.

Rolus sat and wondered if this is what death feels like. He wasn't scared
or pain. "Why they scream? " he wondered. He felt cold and too weak to
move. He stared off as his mind wandered. He was content in All things he
had done but felt something missing. He thought to the one thing
unfinished..... The word bearer. Rolus began to wake as he grew angry.
The thought that this false prophet has inflicted horror on his people,
swore war againist the gods and to undo All they have done. Rolus burned
with rage, still unable to move. He wanted to kill the retched creature but
no one seemed to be able to do it. Now he would never know the Crownguard's
retribution. Rolus laid there, fixated on this thought, as he bled to
death.




Writer: Aliera

Date Fri Apr 1 22:41:20 2016




Writer: Glailen

Date Sat Apr 2 10:16:35 2016




Writer: Leylani

Date Sat Apr 2 23:37:10 2016




Writer: Mokla

Date Sun Apr 3 15:37:06 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject Assassins Links


The Queen's inquiry into the matter of the prisoner's interrogation had
caught Mokla off guard, and the momentary sense of guilt had been difficult
to suppress. She had both the right and need to know both held greater
weight than his own need for retribution. The sense of selfishness had
overridden duty and he would not, could not allow it to create space between
them. It was after All a matter she may understand and pardon, as she often
and regularly surprised him with her innate resiliency. In any case, she
would judge with All the facts and details in the matter, to do with as she
wished.

Upon reaching the small office within the Hollows, Mokla was ushered in
while the peacekeeper explained that Dkom was expected back from patrol at
any moment. Waving away offers of refreshment he was left within to study
the simple and orderly furnishings, eyeing with a small grin the unused
cookstove left behind by Dkom's predecessor. Noise of tramping feet and
hushed conversation broke his contemplation as the door opened once more.

Dkom entered and snapped a rigid, closed fist salute still dressed in his
patrolling trappings and covered in the slowly melting frost of his journey.
Acknowledging the officer in return, Mokla greeted the steady hob he had
come to rely upon and even admire for his strict discipline. "This is
unexpected, M'lord.. If I had known.."
The officer began before desisting
at Mokla's raised hand and reply "Not necessary, I needed to get out and
cover my own lack of attention to matters. Your own patrolling continues I
see?"
The start of a slight grin began at the officer's lips before
discipline returned to settle it as he replied, "Yes, M'lord.. With your
permission I have, and glad for it. Seems to strip back the wear of age, I
feel years younger already."
Nodding with a grin of his own Mokla said,
"It does that.. I had a bit myself"

"A well known tale hereabouts.. It's caused quite a buzz among the guards
and folk. Seems they have found a new hero."
Dkom replied no longer
suppressing the grin. Mokla smirked at the notion and replied "Obviously
they misunderstand the label.. It's you they should look to, not me playing
at war."
. Dkom nodded at the compliment and said, "Very kind of you to
say, but it's not me they imitate down at the dtodzus fields."
Mokla
raised an eyebrow at the notion then simply shook his head, and thought to
himself that if the Hollow folk found a bond with the Mountain in such
silliness then so be it.. Any bond was welcome and any distraction from the
earlier troubles worked also.

"Perhaps I'll look in on it.. But I really came to ask for the full report
of your interrogation of the assassin. I'm sure you filed it, but I most
likely have yet to sort it out of my paper pile.."
Mokla said as Dkom
closed the door and they settled into chairs. Drawing a set of parchments
from his desk Dkom glanced at them briefly before sliding them across to
Mokla and said "A few added details.. Some confirm what we knew.. Others
may lead to dismissing other false leads.."
Mokla nodded as he skimmed
through the report and Dkom continued. "He didn't have a lot to offer.. A
low level figure for sure.. Probably why he was the quickest to flee. He
showed little resistance and we felt he had given up All he was capable of."
"Amid jabberings of freed prisoners, and pleading to be spared he did offer
something we did not recognize."
Mokla glanced at the officer without
raising his head from the report and the officer explained "A name.. It
sounds like a cow name. Kar'.. Gas.. Kar'g.."
Frowning at his own
struggles over the pronunciation, Dkom settled upon "Kar'geshk.. Yes..
That's how he said it. Kar'geshk was who we sought was an answer we got
enough times to make me feel we had All we could from him."
Mokla looked
up, placing the finished report on the desk and said quietly ".. And the
prisoner?"
Dkom's face tightened a bit and replied "Your orders were
followed exactly.. The settlers took to it with relish."





Writer: Euterah

Date Mon Apr 4 19:49:16 2016

To darkonin All ( sunny imm rp scorn )

Subject The Following Days



The Spirit of Rolus Noosaa appeared before them suddenly, the Witch and
the Bandit King. It was certainly troubling and confusing. In the
courtyard, the Heart of the Mountain, the Witch had made a circle of power
and called the Spirit forth only to become more puzzled as the Spirit wailed
against the circle, breaking it. She swore she could still hear its
reverberating screams in her head. The Witch inhaled sharply, covering her
ears for a moment, shaking the memory from her. She tried summoning the
Spirit again, but was either too inexperienced or too weak to maintain the
circle. Even with the extra support of the priest Zola.

The Witch pondered All this and kept herself in close counsel. This was
certainly troubling. She had only discovered a few people who seemed
concerned.

Walking to the stables, she found herself standing in front of Kreegahs
stall. She could hear the stallion snort and paw the ground as if it knew
she was there. Seeing no stable hand, she let herself into the gequiness
presence, closing the door behind her. This was one thing she could
accomplish.

Kreegah stomped, fierce independence in his fiery gaze, the Witch let her
dark brackish eyes settled on the beast. The gequine tossed his head,
gnashing its sharp teeth. Foam flecked its lips, a certain hatred fixed on
the Witch.

Euterah centered, no mere beast would best her. She drew back her
frustration and anger and mourning as if it All coalesced into an arrow.
The bow was taught in her hand, she felt All that stress of the last few
weeks become a metaphysical weapon that she wielded. No, she would not
indulge the stallion any longer. As Kreegah reared meaning to harm her she
let loose, fingers releasing All that energy against the gequine. It was a
spectacle. The magic laced around the stallion as he landed heavily and
shivered his hide, whipping tail over flanks as if he itched. The Witch
watched as the wild magic of her aura bled into the gequine. Kreegahs
dappled gray hide shimmered for a moment and dulled.

Kreegah snorted again, but the fire was calmed in his eyes. The Witch
looked up at her new companion, wondering at what they would be able to
accomplish together, yet thoroughly pleased was she. She placed a bridle
over the stallions head, crooning to him and led his to the practice lists
in the arena.




Writer: Ssaithis

Date Mon Apr 4 21:58:09 2016




Writer: Vershae

Date Tue Apr 5 10:16:50 2016




Writer: Ayrora

Date Wed Apr 6 08:14:11 2016

To All Aybel Ashbie Verminasia Roleplay Immortal

Subject A Time of Celebration



Rora led Braedan to his stall after their morning ride, she had already
unsaddled and removed his bridle and put on his soft harness. She washed
him down, dried him, and put his blanket over him making sure her prized
stallion was taken care of. She made sure he had plenty of oats, hay, and
water before she was satisfied and left the barn. While most would leave
such menial jobs to the stablehands, she would allow no one to touch the
stallion her father had given her with much love. Braedan was hers and she
took care of him as a mother would a child.

She started walking torwards the side of the Manor where tables and
streamers and balloons were everywhere. People were chatting happily,
children running about playing, and so much food and drink everywhere. So
many things had happened in the past few weeks that had left her pondering
many aspects of her life. She watched for a while as more people gathered
but stayed far enough away so she could not be seen. She had awoken in a
wonderful mood that morn but this was a bit much.

She walked into the front of the Manor and through the large halls going
straight to the kitchen. A few servants were cooking and chopping
vegetables as one stopped what she was doing and walked over to Rora, "May I
fix you some breakfast Lady Tenneal?
" Rora sighed softly but smiled at the
young girl, "I am fine. I can handle it. " The servant frowned slightly
but went back to work. Rora poured herself a glass of orange juice and
headed up to her room.

Rora looked in the mirror and smiled. She could not get him off of her mind
no matter how hard she tried, not that she truly wanted too. With her goal
for the day complete, she now prepared for the traditional function. She
despised being the center of attention but she would have to handle it for
one day. She decided on a deep blue gown, combed her hair into an upsweep
with a crown of deep blue flowers, then stood and looked in the mirror yet
again.

She hears a knock on the door, "Enter. " In walked the chambermaid,
"Someone wishes to see you. I told him it was not proper but he is
insistant.
" Rora smiled at the young woman, "It is fine but you must
remain in the room.
" The young woman agrees and allows the gentleman
entry. Rora turns and smiles at him as he walks up to her and kisses her on
the cheek, "You look beautiful, my dear. " She blushed slightly, "Thank
you, dear." He held his arm out to her, "Shall we? " She placed her hand
in the crook of his arm and they walked out the door.





Writer: Zelatia

Date Thu Apr 7 21:04:43 2016




Writer: Glailen

Date Thu Apr 7 21:40:13 2016




Writer: Erwin

Date Fri Apr 8 00:47:28 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Fri Apr 8 08:17:39 2016




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Fri Apr 8 08:18:09 2016




Writer: Andreyna

Date Sat Apr 9 04:27:33 2016

To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_Kingdom Knighthood Syrrlarialth Zandreya Nadrik Imm Rp Religion

Subject Attack on the Vallens: The Death


'Where are you? ', came the familiar voice of her friend, Dame Aliera
Amarandus. 'Shalonesti', was Andreyna's reply, she and the elven guards
struggling with the beast prowling in the kingdom's shadows and slaying the
elves one by one. The Knights of Gareth's Keep were on their way, they
would soon be here to aid the elves, proving once again the strength in the
alliance between Shalonesti and Knighthood.

The werewolf suddenly appeared, lunging at the elf-queen as she made her way
through the kingdom's streets. The priestess moved quickly, narrowly
escaping the swipe of the wolf's large paw. She spun around to face the
werewolf, bright rays of divine power coming forth to sear the skin of the
unnatural beast. Arrows embedded themselves deep within his thick skin, the
wolf ignored the pain and readied himself to attack again.

Andreyna whispered softly, spells of protection replenishing themselves and
glowing brightly around her. She held her staff in her hands, ready to
defend herself against the werewolf's attacks on her. A blinding ray of
light rushed past her. Andreyna quickly turned her head, relieved to see
the Priestess of Nadrik standing nearby, spells of her God leaping from her
hands and striking the beast with precision.

Battle cries filled the elven city as more Knights rushed down the street,
charging fearlessly at the werewolf. Swords, arrows, and spells came at the
wolf in All directions, overwhelming it, causing the beast flee and hide in
the shadows once more. The party of elves and humans roamed the streets of
Shalonesti, every eye searching, every ear listening, each member ready to
defend themself against the wolf.

All throughout the elven kingdom, the group traveled, the wolf jumping out
at them periodically, his main target the elf-queen. Time and again, the
party beat the wolf back, causing it to flee and hide in the shadows over
and over. 'Allow us to come to you. ', came the serpentine voice of a
Firstborn. The wolf attacked again, Andreyna deflected its swipes with her
staff. The elf-queen responded to the dragon, allowing the Firstborn
permission to gate to her.

Within a second the massive silver dragon appeared, a thundering roar echoed
throughout the Vallens. Dagger-like talons clawed at the werewolf, quickly
ripping and shredding flesh from his body. The werewolf tried his best to
get away from the relentless attacks, unable to escape the claws of the
dragon.

The Knights and elves continued their attack upon the werewolf, blood
pouring from his wounds, growing weaker as his life began to fade from him.
Andreyna faced the wolf, the Mother's spells glowing brightly around her,
divine rays shooting from her hands, the wolf's flesh burning before her.
'In the name of the Mother you will leave Her chosenlands, demon. You will
go back to Hell from which you came.
', the Deacon declared as the
werewolf's body slumped into a lifeless heap on the ground.

The group stood silently around the body of the wolf. An elven guard nudged
it with a sword, laying the flaccid corpse upon its back. The body of the
wolf began to transform. Its snout and fangs shortened, its fur smoothed
into skin, the body of a human now lay before them.

He was close to middle-aged and he had handsome features for a human.
Andreyna's heart softened as she continued to look upon him, feeling sorry
for him. The elf-queen tilted her head, noticing a marking on the human, a
tattoo design that she had never seen before. 'The mark of the Gypsy',
Aliera said aloud to the group with a nod, furrowing her brows slightly,
clearly in thought. The tattoo raised more questions than it gave answers.

TBC




Writer: Celestaea

Date Sat Apr 9 04:42:05 2016

To Shalonesti_kingdom Shalonesti ( All )

Subject Part One: Letters Home



Resting in a hammock within the groves of Shalonesti, she careful hands
smoothed out a piece of fresh, crisp parchment. Though the smell of green
growth was everywhere, the faint acidity of the ink bottle, uncapped nearby,
tickled her nose. The quill within her grasp was familiar, the enchantments
within the grip familiar and cool to the touch. Nearby, a Queen and a
Prince worked on their respective tasks, paying her little mind, though she
was grateful. It was difficult to be in the presence of Royalty, even if
Andreyna and her son Heiryal were both kind - the latter was even like
herself in that he enjoyed the company of books to people. Or maybe it
wasn't that he preferred their quiet companionship, but, like her, was more
comfortable with them. Social situations could be... Messy.

Focusing on the task at hand, Celes bit down on her bottom lip and dipped
the quill before she began writing. As she wrote, drops of ink would smear
her gloves, sleeves, or skirt, but the enchantments woven into her items by
her father held strong and an attentive eye could watch the ink slowly fade
away before disappearing entirely, which left her white clothing immaculate.
She had promised to write home, and while she was eager to, she also found
that the words were difficult in coming. She was so excited, she had no
idea where to begin first.

+++======================================================================+++

Dear Momma and Papa,

I know that our farewell was somewhat sad, but I want you both to know
that I am doing really well in my new home of Shalonesti. So many kind elves
have been helping me. There is Elder Elyrial, who handled my registry papers
and even went so far as to buy me a few books for my research after giving me
a tour of the Groves. You will never believe how much green there is here,
and it is everywhere - I can smell
it. There is a sea elf here whose name
is Folt, and I think he may be a pirate-dolphin. He was with me for some of my
guild training, and he talked a lot about rum and the sea. He kind of reminds
me of dad with All of his energy.

I have met so many of the Shalonosts. Queen Andreyna seems very nice, if
a little tired. She must get overwhelmed helping to run an entire nation of
elves, All with different agendas and ideas. I hope she gets enough sleep. I
know you would like the princess, momma. She granted me some training armor
to wear while I was studying with the others, though I've since given it to
her younger brother, Prince Heiryal. Heiryal spends a lot of time with me in
the Groves - he reads Ancient Elvish, sort of, and works hard to translate it
into the more common form. He recently finished a text called "The Stained
Glass" and I think you would both enjoy it. With his permission, I will send
a copy of it along with the letter!

Papa, I know you are worried about me, and that was why you worked so
hard on my clothes. Thank you for them, papa. They are very popular here with
a lot of elves that do research. Their may be a big influx of business for
you both soon, if I keep spreading word of your work, and I hope the fresh
coin will help you both, and my siblings.

I have joined a House! I wanted to be a part of the Sha'tavas, but it
seems that House was absorbed into the Sha'enlas, so I am officially a Named
elf. I hope you will both be proud of me. I want to work very hard at my re-
search and help the world become a little closer to Zandreya with the results.
After all, She is Sebatis' mother, and a lot of our magical supplies come
from items She grants us, just like you both have always said.

I need to get back to work, but I love you all, and hopefully soon we can
arrange for a visit!

With love,
Celes




Writer: Euterah

Date Sat Apr 9 10:55:24 2016

To Darkonin New Thalos All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject The Spirit Speaks - Rolus Noosa'a



The Mountain thundered around her through her, over and under and she was
reduced to liquid bone and skin. The essence of the Mountain rising within
her blood, flooding her brain as she let loose her control and let It speak.


It called, {uRolus Noosaa speak.
It was like always, that same heady sense
that she was there and yet not, because All was unfocused as if she looked
through clouded glass. The Mountain used her voice and called forth the
Spirit of Rolus Noosaa, the apparition appearing though she could only sense
it vaguely through the Mountain presence. The Mountain ignited her aura and
she felt the lightning rake through what seemed like a cold hole in reality.
Yet is seemed to strengthen the Spirit and indeed it did speak.

Few words, but precious words to those who searched for answers to this
perplexing problem.

Fallenall. THE GREAT NOTHING AWAITS!

And odder still.

[RRaulosht is mine Witch


The Witch was left with more questions.




Writer: Mokla

Date Sat Apr 9 12:18:57 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Respect


The tingle along his skin and roaring of All his senses filled Mokla with
a rush as heady as strong drink as he guided Malice out through the arena
tunnel to the ready rooms. Although longing to ride this new found wave he
fought it back to concentrate on readying himself anew. Gaining his
assigned stall he tossed his lance to the waiting stable hand and
dismounted, moving to grasp his mounts halter in a steadying grip. Noting
the stablehand's reluctance to deal with the large, ferocious, and
unpredictable gequine, Mokla called for buckets of ice water. "Easy now,,
easy.. You'll get your fill.."
Mokla whispered to the still
battle-inflamed beast whose nostrils flared and blew foam from it's mouth as
it shifted constantly, twitching it's sweat-covered flanks. He had worried
over Malice's stamina in these warmer airs, but those worries were overcome
by the hoped advantage of size, power, and strangeness the beast might
provide over other rider's mounts.

Looking over to the bucket laden stablehand who approached, Mokla ordered
one set before him and the others dumped over Malice to cool him rapidly.
Glancing at the tall mount warily the Hand moved over a barrel to stand upon
and raised a bucket to pour. The first splash caused Malice to jolt a bit,
causing the Hand to nearly leap away in panic. Eyeing him with a scowl,
Mokla's demeanor compelled the shying Hand to follow through with the other
two buckets as he raised the last to allow the mount to drink greedily.
"Leave off brushing, you'll just irritate him.. And find some meat he'll be
thinking on food if we make it through the next round. He's not as much fun
when hungry."
, Mokla ordered grinning at the last instruction.

Tying off the mount, Mokla turned to inspecting the lance and his equipment.
Scuffs and scratches stood visible but no functional damage to be found on
the studded leather armor. The lance however showed the stress of impact in
cracks and a few missing splinters, a new one needed. Selecting and testing
a new lance, Mokla placed it in the ready rack and went to turn away, but
found his eyes settling on the heavy two-handed warhammer. Something
beckoned in his mind and the remembered sight of the bevy of weapons his
opponents carried. He called for the Hand to see it strapped to his saddle
before the next round, and looked up suddenly as the noise of the continuing
contest changed from wild cheers to a unified cry of alarm followed by an
ominous murmuring. After a final thorough check of his shield, he readied
himself to go into the stands and await the next call of the lists.

Reaching the northern stands where he knew his Queen and the Darkonin
contingent awaited, he let slip the ready grin he could never suppress at
the sight of Euterah. The excitement dancing in her eyes as they embraced
overrode his usual aversion to the touch of strangers as many a hand shook
his shoulders and clapped his back in congratulations. Nodding and
murmuring thanks his eyes turned to the limping approach of an ogre whose
size alone bore out the name commonly used, Rolus, the Mountain. Mokla
watched the ogre settle heavily onto a seat and their eyes met and held a
moment before Mokla broke to approach. Mokla gave a nod of respect as he
stood before the champion, and noted the deep wound to his thigh, the
entrance small but the welling blood bore the dark aspect of serious danger.
Raising a steady finger towards Mokla, the ashen faced and labored ogre
spoke with a voice sure as stone. "Do you know what you just did?.. Who it
was you beat?"
The ogre asked insistantly, never breaking the lock of his
gaze on Mokla. The moment seemed to stretch in time as Mokla read the eyes
of the ogre finding a sense of bond, some respect and possibly even
expectation. All these thoughts settled into him cementing his earlier glee
into their proper places. All the thoughts flooding his mind stilled and
settled into the clear simple statement he offered "Yes.. I understand."




Writer: Rolus

Date Sat Apr 9 14:19:35 2016




Writer: Rosaeria

Date Sat Apr 9 15:37:22 2016

To Verminasia All Roleplay Imm

Subject Learning Experiences



"Another big day! ", Rosa thinks to herself as she wakes up and
stretches. Sitting up in her bed, she reaches over to the bedside table and
feels about for her glasses... Wait, they are not there! "Where are
they... " she starts frantically looking around in her nightgown, looking
under the bed and over every nook and cranny before she realizes they are
were on her maid outfit.

"Oh I am so forgetful... " she giggles softly as she places the wide
glasses over her ears and on her nose before dropping out of her gown, only
to replace it with her normal everyday clothing. Leaving the one little
room she is happily staying in, she gets to work on cleaning. Dusting the
walls, making the bed, cooking some food for when Lady Valanthiriel awakes,
and polishing silverware and dishes.

As she tidies up the kitchen, cleaning out some pots and pans. She hums
gently to herself as she peers out a window and smiles happily as she
daydreams. A moment later she snaps back into reality as the sink overflows
with water and over the floor. Quickly, and nearly slipping, she grabs a
mop and starts to clean up the mess and finishing with a heavy sigh, "I do
need to be more careful...I will certainly work harder at it!" she
declares to herself, a happy smile over her face before ironically tripping
over the mop and dropping a plate to the floor.

Later in the day, she finishes up her daily chores. A heavy sigh escapes
her as she smiles happily and giggles as she looks down at her stained and
worn out outfit. "Time to do some laundry I suppose" she thinks to herself
as she heads back to her room to change. After she is finished and lays the
clothing to dry she smiles happily to the sky through her glasses.

"I wonder... If I will ever be able to put it behind me... " her smile
slowly fades as it is replaced by a stern frown. She closes her eyes as she
reaches up to take her glasses in her hand, and slowly pulls them from her
face. As she opens her eyes, they shift from her unaware and clumsy look,
to a more focused and serious gaze. She slowly scans the area, taking in
details never noticed. Her eyes taking in small scratches upon things such
as stone, tiny bugs crawling over the trees from far away. After a moment
she quickly shakes her head and shoves her glasses back on as she falls to
her knees with an exasperated gasp, "Oh my...I...Should not have did
that... " Slowly she picks herself up and dusts herself off as she glances
around as if anyone but her and Lady Valanthiriel was there and recollects
herself. "Not today... Maybe I can try again tomorrow... " she sighs as
she takes her dried clothing and returns to her room.




Writer: Rolus

Date Sat Apr 9 16:35:22 2016




Writer: Mokla

Date Sat Apr 9 17:34:43 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Lesson Learned


The blare of horns signalled the call to return to the lists, and Mokla
nodded once more to the seated champion, pushing the thought of the grievous
wound from his mind. Returning to the stalls he found Malice ready and
seeming eager at the call of the horns. Mounting up and accepting shield
and lance he took a deep breath and steadied himself before leaving the
stall to check the lists for his opponent. A banner emblazoned with
Knighthood markings and a name he did not recognize stood across from his
own warg-headed banner.

Emerging from the tunnel he took position and waited as the other's herald
introduced the opponent. Malice flared his nostrils at the first strange
scent and sight of the brightly clad knight atop a unicorn. Rearing and
snapping at some new challenge the mount fought Mokla's reining. As they
readied themselves for the call, Mokla watched the other rider intently.
Noting the loose, upright posture and bobbing of the lance something seemed
to call out in his mind as he continued to fight back Malice's eagerness to
have at the strange beast.

The signal to charge was called out and Malice leaped ahead, clawing speed
from the ground. The rider came on easy still riding tall in his saddle,
unlike his own bunched and tensed frame. The difference struck him suddenly
as the nagging crystalized to clarity. The rider had had the advantage of a
bye in the first round, and though still fresh Mokla sensed by his stance
this likely his first ride ever, evidenced by the mistakes he himself had
made in his very first pass of the first round. Too tall.. A big target
and already leaned back in anticipation of the clash. The lance wavered..
Concentration rested upon Mokla's steadily oncoming lance seeking avoidance.
Mokla recognized it All in a flash and knew where his advantage lay.

As the moment of clash came, Mokla took the instant before to roll his
shoulder forward driving the steady lance solidly and surely into the middle
of his opponent's shield. Braced to deliver the blow, the full weight of
the much larger gequine travelled through the lance and it's target which
was deposited untidily on the ground in the pass. Malice taking advantage
of the exposed rump set teeth to the staggered unicorns's rump tearing loose
a strip of flesh before proceeding past. Reaching the end of the run Mokla
turned to see his opponent stirring from the ground and approached slowly.
Stopping before the fallen knight, Mokla gave a simple salute then leaned to
say in hushed tones only the two could hear "A rough first ride.. But it's
all part of the show"
and gave a simple wink. The simple courtesy seemed
appropriate and Mokla felt a bit magnanimous at it. Malice however, had his
own sensibilities and took the moment to pass casual water in a spreading
flood upon the ground near the rising opponent across the fence.

Hearing the rush, and seeing the spreading puddle, Mokla reached to tear a
bit of the unicorn flesh from Malice's jaws and chewed upo it slowly and
with a full mouth grinned and said "Beasts.." And with a shrug made for
the arena exit.




Writer: Nostarion

Date Sat Apr 9 17:42:39 2016




Writer: Euterah

Date Sat Apr 9 18:35:48 2016




Writer: Zelatia

Date Sat Apr 9 21:08:16 2016




Writer: Zelatia

Date Sat Apr 9 21:11:44 2016




Writer: Zelatia

Date Sat Apr 9 21:16:02 2016




Writer: Zelatia

Date Sat Apr 9 21:21:19 2016




Writer: Shiara

Date Sun Apr 10 10:01:46 2016

To Conclave ( Tashio Roleplay Drakkara All )

Subject Devising the Trap



"Without knowing the particulars, it's your business of course, can't say
I'd jump at the chance." Her colleague was already dismissive, returning to
his own interests. Probably tired of her loitering near his favorite books.

How dull. Timidness never led anyone to greatness, but the line between the
bold and the reckless is a thin one.

She had scoured the libraries, maybe an excuse to stall for time. It was
tantalizing, that curious mix of excitement and apprehension. The allure of
the opportunity had not yet overcome concern.

To trap a soul, to capture and hold it in an object. Krankle's scheme,
somwewhat old now though not forgotten, had seemed sound. But not just
one... Some unknown number?

His theory was based on an item of middling rarity, the quality here would
have to be exceptional. A gem of sufficient purity, properly prepared might
require much less work. In this particular case, even remove the need of a
transmuter altogether? But at what risk?

Reading it over and over, delaying again. Stuff your notes, get up and
leave. The only obstacle is yourself.




Writer: Zelatia
Date Sun Apr 10 11:07:25 2016




Writer: Zola
Date Sun Apr 10 19:07:53 2016

To All Abaddon Bloodlust Verminasia Darkonin Immortals Fatale

Subject X Shambling Corpses X


Zola did not like Arkane. It was too dead.

The irony was not lost on him, but he had not expected this when he'd
bypassed the crumbling keep of Ironclad and come to the Mystic Kingdom. By
all reports, a vibrant city full of people from All walks of life. Every
race, every culture, every sort of faith. To say nothing of his old friend
and mentor the Cardinal. He expected to learn much in Arkane.

Instead, he found a city of walking dead. People who went through the
motions of life without truly being alive. Many barely acknowledged him as
they went about the day. Be it crafting yet another identical metal or gem,
or reclaiming another lost trinket for the High Priest. None of them were
alive. None of them had purpose. Their eyes were open... But they were
dead.

His efforts to rouse them prove fruitless. Don't trust him, they whispered,
Zola is dangerous. Don't listen to him, he doesn't say anything we want to
hear. It was infuriating to see such potential wasted. Death would be a
kindness to visit upon the majority of Arkanians.

Zola would not miss Arkane when his time came to depart it. What little he
had learned here was that it was a waste of his time. A time was a precious
commodity, after all. Life was not meant to be squandered.




Writer: Zorreau

Date Mon Apr 11 06:19:10 2016




Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Apr 11 08:52:06 2016




Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Apr 11 08:55:29 2016




Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Apr 11 08:58:07 2016




Writer: Archal
Date Mon Apr 11 12:06:38 2016




Writer: Archal
Date Mon Apr 11 12:07:45 2016




Writer: Erwin
Date Thu Apr 14 01:00:07 2016




Writer: Zelatia
Date Thu Apr 14 14:50:06 2016




Writer: Nymaya
Date Thu Apr 14 17:04:03 2016




Writer: Nymaya
Date Thu Apr 14 17:16:46 2016




Writer: Nymaya
Date Thu Apr 14 17:42:09 2016




Writer: Nymaya
Date Thu Apr 14 17:49:26 2016




Writer: Andreyna
Date Fri Apr 15 04:29:33 2016

To All Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Knighthood Syrlarrialth Zandreya Nadrik Imm Rp Religion

Subject Attack on the Vallens: Returned to the Mother


Andreyna and Aliera knelt upon the ground before the shrine to the Mother
located outside of the elven city's southern gates. The body of the human
lay between the two priestess, having been brought there by the Knights of
Gareth's Keep. The humans and elves gathered close behind them and stood
quietly, some with their heads bowed in prayer. The silvery-blue scales of
the steel dragon glistened in the rising sun as she hovered lightly nearby.


The elf-queen nodded silently to the statue, remembering the words of the
Mother. She was to slay the unnatural beast and free the human of the demon
controlling it. She had done just that with the much needed aid of allies.
The werewolf was gone and the lifeless body of the human-host remained. She
was now kneeling before the shrine, Zandreya having declared that the
human's body would be returned to Her.

Andreyna gathered a handful of soil and sprinkled it lightly over the corpse
as she prayed to the Mother out loud. She thanked the Mother for keeping
them safe and giving them the strength they needed to protect the Vallens
from the undead. She asked the Mother to bless the human and accept his
freed body back to the earth to be with Her always. On the other side of
the body, Priestess Aliera softly whispered the blessings of her own Lord
over the human lying between them.

The earth suddenly began to trimmer as long vines grew out from beneath the
shrine, twisting and winding their way toward the body. The vines entanged
the corpse, wrapping securely around its limbs and torso. With one fluid
motion the vines pulled the corpse beneath the shrine and into the ground,
welcoming it back to the earth.

A comforting voice washed over Andreyna, praising her for her dedication to
the Mother and her elves, as well as praising the Knights and Lady Steel for
their loyalty to the Vallens. The elf-queen rose proudly to her feet,
having ascended in the ranks of the Mother's church. She would continue to
lead the elves in the Way of the Mother. She would protect the Vallens from
any undead and return their freed bodies to Zandreya. And she would
remember the aid she received from old friends.




Writer: Thasgerd

Date Fri Apr 15 20:19:57 2016




Writer: Mokla

Date Sun Apr 17 17:04:41 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Call of Trumpets


The cheering and excitement in the stands afterwards was a welcome
distraction to the endless thoughts of what came next. An opportunity to
ring a bell in history, and let All see who rings it for a change. A chance
to see Darkonin listed first, the Mountain rising, sending thrills he pushed
aside to begin mentally preparing himself once more to face fate. The
embrace of his Queen and the gleam of her eyes settled him into purpose,
knowing clearly why he rode and eager to get it done.

Checking the lists as he passed to the stalls, he noted the Arkanian colors
once more set opposite his, then entered to find his readied mount. Double
checking his equipment, he led Malice out of the stall to approach the
tunnel as the fanfare began to build in the arena. The call of his name
sounded, he exited the tunnel leading Malice to the far end of the run and
mounted up, his eyes searching and fixing the Darkonin contingent in the
stands.

Turning attention to his newest opponent, Mokla noted the lack of lance and
the drawing of a long sword. Mokla had never faced this in actual tilt, and
wondered at the lengths of the differing weapons. The familiar prickle of
facing the unknown set his eyes narrower, and breath to deepen. The call to
ready, brought his thoughts back to the present fighting to hold Malice from
his eagerness for the signal.

The command given, and dropping flags had Malice surging forward in an
instant, clawing ground as Mokla continued to eye his target warily. The
weaving sword gave Mokla a sense of it's reach, and he settled to take his
aim on the center mass of the rider. The crucial moment came suddenly as
his lance was parried away to scrape ineffectually across the riders shield.
And Mokla forced to duck the passage of the blade narrowly in the instant
following. The second and third passes went much the same with tighter
results both given and taken as they found the reach and timing of the
opponent. The satisfation at landing one solid hit dimmed quickly at the
jarring his shoulder took on top of All it's other pains. The fourth
brought end to the stalemate, as Mokla's lance splintered upon the passing
blades edge, leaving him to toss the handgrip away in disgust.

The stablehand rushed to retrieve a new lance but stopped at Mokla's wave of
negation. Peering down the run at his opponent once more, Mokla knew the
game must change before his frothing mount wore out or his own aches ended
his ride. Laying a hand to the side of his saddle, he slid a long, heavy
headed hammer and wrapped the long leather leash around his wrist. Mokla
rocked the hammer back and forth on it's strap, then drew it in a two handed
grip into a whirling circle. The swoop of the hammer became a whir overhead
as Malice cantered slowly forward sensing the tightened grip of his rider's
legs. His opponent charged forward, blade pointed like a spear as Malice
slowly gained speed yet steady to the efforts of Mokla's exertions to keep
the hammer aloft. The moment came in fractions of time as always, the
thrusting blade passing through the space to land and tear loose the studded
shoulder cap of Mokla's armor jolting him back in a painful flash. The
hammer would not be stopped though, the energy stored in the tilting swing
added to that of the bulk and power of Malice's final bound, to bring All to
bear flatly, solidly, and terminally against the side of the target lifting
it bodily and brushing it aside to find the dust.

Turning slowly, the end of the run a memory of pain and a jolt which passed
through his frame nearly losing his grip on the hammer, he saw the fallen
opponent, the knowing smirk lost from his face. The roar of the crowd came
back to him as realization settled in on what he had just done. The
announcement and trophy awarding were a blur in the face of his whirling
thoughts and no thanks uttered matched the grin and raising of the trophy to
the stands where he watched the wild cheering of his source of strength and
greatest backer.




Writer: Symantha

Date Mon Apr 18 02:42:40 2016




Writer: Ayrora
Date Mon Apr 18 15:52:42 2016

To All Ashbie Verminasia Immortal Roleplay

Subject Life Can Be A Bit Crazy



Rora needed a day to get away, a day to not have to think of anything,
just a day. The plans for the Fools Day Bazaar, working on her weapon
making, the wedding plans, working with the planners for the house it was
just far too much for one person to handle.

She galloped Braedan down to the creek bed, somewhere they rarely went for
it was far into Sacnoth lands. The guards wanted to follow her but she left
before they could gather their horses, she did not want company today. She
dismounted quite easily, accustomed to so many years of riding with him, and
walked along the creek bed as she watched the water flow. She was trying
her best to push everything from her mind.

Rora pulled an apple from her satchel as Braedan nudged her shoulder, "I
know silly boy have patience."
He tossed his head in understanding as she
laughed at him. She cut the apple in half and offered half to the stallion
which he quickly devoured, she then cut the other half in half and started
eating a portion of one as she offered the other to the stallion which he
quickly ate.

Soon Braeden's head went up and his ears went straight and she knew they had
found her. "I guess we have been found and it is back to reality we go."
She sighed softly as she mounted her stallion and the guard appeared. "We
have looked All over for you."
She looked at the guard disapprovingly "Did
you ever think I did not wish to be found?"
He looked at her in shock for
a moment, "My job is your protection as per your mother." She smirked at
him. "And since when have I ever had guards follow me by orders of my
mother?"


Rora turned Braedan and started galloping towards home.





Writer: Ashbie

Date Tue Apr 19 07:24:30 2016

To All immortal roleplay

Subject Hot off the press!!!



Ashbie kicked her feet up onto her desk and leaned back in her chair. Her
heeled boots were clean, she was fastidious about that. In her hands was a
newspaper, the smell of fresh printing-press ink gave off a distinct odor
that permeated the office.

She had to admit, she hadn't expected to be doing this.

After the last ACFL season, Ashbie had shut down the print shop in
Verminasia that she had built specifically for the ACFL News. However,
when the season was over, the only writer on staff was Ashbie. There'd
not been much interest from others in contributing to it.

Then there was the demand.

Citizens All over Algoron were appalled by the fact that they would
no longer be receiving the ACFL News. The vast majority of commoners
would never be able to attend a match. Having the paper deliver on a
regular basis kept them as a part of the action.

A wry smile curling on her lips, Ashbie thumbed through the pages. She
couldn't deny, she loved the flair and attention.




Writer: Zorreau
Date Tue Apr 19 09:09:14 2016




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

To All Ashbie Aybel Immortal Roleplay

Subject Reprimanding the Guards



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

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


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





Writer: Euterah

Date Tue Apr 19 15:29:26 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP Scorn )

Subject The Witch's Journey: One



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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Cleo

Date Tue Apr 19 19:38:20 2016

To Niles All Imm (RP)

Subject The Village


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

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

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

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

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

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

Their mother had not survived.





Writer: Cleo

Date Tue Apr 19 20:09:45 2016

To Niles All Imm (RP)

Subject The Village Part II


The loss of their mother had hardened their father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The twins witnessed the removal.





Writer: Cleo

Date Tue Apr 19 20:38:39 2016

To Niles All Imm (RP)

Subject The Village Part III


.. The violence and hatred were contagious..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The pall of death was All they had ever known.

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

Hatred became rage.

The nomad twins turned their vengeful eyes onto the world.




Writer: Maithion

Date Tue Apr 19 22:35:16 2016




Writer: Ryim

Date Wed Apr 20 02:36:28 2016




Writer: Arreana

Date Wed Apr 20 09:59:39 2016

To All Immortal Religion Storyline Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: The Sounds of Silence


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Ozleust

Date Wed Apr 20 21:28:21 2016

To All Conclave ( IMM RP Kyri Trinity )

Subject Untapped Magicks



Shinalstin... Shinalstin...

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

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

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

He will find answers.




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

To All Arkane Gypsies Arthais Flike Perion Meki Cayenna

Subject |A| Polishing the Gold |A|


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

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

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

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




Writer: Mokla

Date Thu Apr 21 18:44:38 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Moving Forward


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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Kabal

Date Fri Apr 22 21:56:21 2016




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Sat Apr 23 01:38:45 2016




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Sat Apr 23 17:16:28 2016




Writer: Ocelotia

Date Sat Apr 23 18:50:40 2016

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

Subject Childhood fading



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

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

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




Writer: Archal

Date Sat Apr 23 20:38:30 2016

To All Shadow Crelius Necrucifer Reklah ( Ampersand Imm RP )

Subject Hell and Providence (I)


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

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

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

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

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

He hadn't embraced madness.

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

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

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

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

Oh. This was new.

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





Writer: Euterah

Date Sat Apr 23 21:41:41 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject The Witch's Journey: Two



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

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

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

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

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




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

To Raije All Imm RP

Subject Sparks



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

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

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

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

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




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




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

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

Subject Whitewash Mission



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

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


The truth was there was a lot to be considered.




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




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

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

Subject Watching Paint Dry



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

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

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

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

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




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

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Breaking Molds


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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Mokla

Date Mon Apr 25 19:32:49 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject "House Warchylde : Harnessing Strength


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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Meki

Date Mon Apr 25 21:01:25 2016




Writer: Rarau

Date Mon Apr 25 23:56:02 2016




Writer: Zorreau

Date Tue Apr 26 05:37:15 2016




Writer: Euterah

Date Tue Apr 26 20:05:25 2016

To Darkonin All Mokla ( Sunny IMM RP )

Subject House Warchylde : Practice Makes Progress


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

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

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

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




Writer: Roi'ken

Date Wed Apr 27 09:36:09 2016




Writer: Skylla

Date Wed Apr 27 12:45:39 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Wed Apr 27 22:04:20 2016

To All Rp Raije Imm

Subject Scraps



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

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

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

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

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

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




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




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

To All Rhyane ( Abaddon RP )

Subject Fetid Waters



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

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


The dead were always dead weight.

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

The ship sailed on, uncaring.




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

To All Raije Imm

Subject Scars



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

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

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

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

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




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

To All storynote Immortal Roleplay

Subject Who Can She Trust



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

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

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

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

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





Writer: Symantha

Date Sat Apr 30 01:36:29 2016




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

To All Raije Imm

Subject Spoils



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Odin

Date Sat Apr 30 10:44:16 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Stares



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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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





Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Sat Apr 30 10:58:40 2016

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

Subject DreamWalking * Daylight


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

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

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

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




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Sat Apr 30 12:08:17 2016

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

Subject DreamWalking * Chosen


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

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

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

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




Writer: Odin

Date Sat Apr 30 19:15:32 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Sores



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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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




Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 1 06:23:27 2016




Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 1 09:50:08 2016

To All Raije Imm

Subject Seer



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

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

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

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

"Vhy?"

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

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

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

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




Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 1 12:27:31 2016




Writer: Euterah

Date Sun May 1 13:53:34 2016

To Darkonin All ( Sunny Imm RP )

Subject After the Joust



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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Ayrora

Date Sun May 1 15:14:37 2016

To All Storynote Roleplay

Subject Who Can She Trust Part 2



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

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

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

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





Writer: Odin

Date Sun May 1 22:27:01 2016




Writer: Glailen

Date Mon May 2 07:03:52 2016

To All Arreana Knighthood Immortal Religion Roleplay

Subject Forgotten, Not Dead: Book burning


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

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

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

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

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

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




Writer: Kalanie

Date Mon May 2 08:00:00 2016




Writer: Archal

Date Mon May 2 19:50:21 2016

To All Shadow Crelius Necrucifer Reklah ( Ampersand Imm RP )

Subject Hell and Providence (II)


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

He was remembering.

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

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

It would be short, after all.

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

He was Kayen, after all.

'Kayen... '

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

'Kayen! '

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





Writer: Archal

Date Mon May 2 19:52:46 2016

To All Shadow Crelius Necrucifer Reklah ( Ampersand Imm RP )

Subject Hell and Providence (III)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All around him, he saw himself reflected.





Writer: Archal

Date Mon May 2 19:55:48 2016

To All Shadow Crelius Necrucifer Reklah ( Ampersand Imm RP )

Subject Hell and Providence (IV)


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

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

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

And he succumbed to his dark thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had remembered. Hell was furious at Storm Keep.




Writer: Archal

Date Mon May 2 20:11:39 2016




Writer: Ocelotia

Date Mon May 2 21:07:59 2016

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

Subject {oThe Boys



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

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




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Tue May 3 20:12:41 2016

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

Subject Spirit Walking


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

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

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

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




Writer: Trai'tyn

Date Tue May 3 22:33:30 2016

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

Subject Spirit Walkiing, part two


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

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

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

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




Writer: Rhyane

Date Tue May 3 23:40:26 2016




Writer: Erebaal

Date Wed May 4 03:30:53 2016

To All Chaos Malachive ( Scorn Storyline Converts )

Subject The Beast Slumbers I


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

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

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





Writer: Erebaal

Date Wed May 4 03:41:43 2016

To All Chaos Malachive ( Scorn Storyline Converts )

Subject The Beast Slumbers II


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

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


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

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

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




Writer: Ocelotia

Date Wed May 4 13:13:21 2016

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

Subject Spiritwalk


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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

Taking my Spiritwalk? She asked. The fox chortled.

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


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


Hmm, the fox said and nothing more.

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

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

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

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


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




Writer: Roi'ken

Date Wed May 4 13:47:04 2016




Writer: Malthiel

Date Wed May 4 17:17:54 2016




Writer: Archal

Date Thu May 5 03:00:15 2016




Writer: Kabal

Date Thu May 5 12:14:22 2016




Writer: Kabal

Date Thu May 5 12:23:16 2016



 


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