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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"

Kaladon
Kaladon
Faythe
Finneas
Finneas
Geirhart
Elathan
Kaladon
Finneas
Symantha
Kaladon
Leomire
Leomire
Rasavadi
Babooja
Babooja
Babooja
Babooja
Maithion
Eilenstred
Kaladon
Kaladon
Paxx
Mercerion
Shaunna
Paxx
Paxx
Mercerion
Scribpog
Scribpog
Scribpog
Scribpog
Geirhart
Kaladon
Scribpog
Nymaya
Nymaya
Nymaya
Nymaya
Nymaya
Paxx
Telthian
Telthian
Telthian
Finneas
Finneas
Finneas
Finneas
Finneas
Kaladon
Kaladon
Scribpog
Scribpog
Paxx
Paxx
Paxx
Paxx
Paxx
Iler'yx
Shuge
Telthian
Telthian
Symantha
Vincent
Vincent
Vincent
Vincent
Thaydius
Thaydius
Nimiane
Nimiane
Nimiane
Nimiane
Nimiane
Nimiane
Zola
Zola
Finneas
Kaladon
Geirhart
Scribpog
Faythe
Mercerion
Scribpog
Jermichael
Ithelim
Finneas
Scribpog
Leumas
Kaladon
Leomire
Jermichael
Uruvion
Faythe
Scribpog
Jermichael
Kaladon
Faythe
Scribpog
Kaladon
Uriel
Uriel
Uriel
Uriel
Kaladon
Zola
Scribpog
Kaladon
Jadelyn
Erebaal
Erebaal
Tamaska
Mercerion
Jadelyn
Jadelyn
Khet
Uruvion
Scribpog
Erebaal
Erebaal
Erebaal
Erebaal
Erebaal
Mercerion
Rasavadi
Mercerion
Scribpog
Scribpog
Jadelyn
Diuxa
Uruvion
Asyrlin
Milleuda
Scribpog
Scribpog
Scribpog
Scribpog





Writer: Kaladon
Date Tue Dec 18 21:03:39 2018




Writer: Kaladon
Date Tue Dec 18 21:42:29 2018




Writer: Faythe
Date Wed Dec 19 00:19:20 2018

To All ( Xenophon RP )

Subject Secret Meetings



After her talk with the Caretaker, the Inquisitor sent a missive to both
the Steward and the Quartermaster, asking for a private meeting with them
both. After sometime, they both sent her missives and a meeting place was
established, a place where they could speak in private without
interruptions.

They spoke of passed events, of things currently happening, of things to
come. She told them of her meeting with the man in yellow, of the cultists
and Carcosa. They All came to an agreement to somehow find and stop the
cultists. And the Inquisitor agreed she would speak with the Caretaker
about the men's desire to speak with him.

The Steward left after some time, and the Quartermaster remained to ask a
few more questions, they spoke for a bit longer before parting ways. She
would speak with the Caretaker the next time she saw him, and see if she
could have those two join them for the conversation and help put aside their
doubts.





Writer: Finneas
Date Wed Dec 19 14:23:37 2018




Writer: Finneas
Date Wed Dec 19 14:58:58 2018




Writer: Geirhart
Date Wed Dec 19 18:34:04 2018

To All Faythe Finneas Xenophon Imm Rp

Subject Secret Meetings: Power



The priest retired to his Guild after the meeting. His mind running over
all that was discussed. He had to admit, in All this he was the odd man
out. Many of the players in this event knew each other. He found it a tad
ironic how many of Fatale's faith were involved and how many disliked each
other. Just goes to show that faith can only unite so much.

As he thought upon it, it was odd that the three had met as they did. Each
one had an original connection to this event. Almost as though chosen and
now it was coming around again. Further odd, each person was a
representative of a ethos. A trinity formed by this man, Yh'till. Now
requested to assist in an event about to occur by the will of two forces.
However the man in Yellow said the Cultists were a threat.

This wasn't incorrect, they were but which was the lesser of the two evils?
Something was going to cross over it was just a matter of who would summon
it.

The priest took out a map he had bee working on. He spread it out on a
table in the guild and looked it over. His prior thoughts on the cultists
were wiped away. His idea to Meki wouldn't have worked. He didn't find
them in the taverns. It was squarely on the Quartermaster now.

As he surveyed the map he circled a small village in the far north, farther
than Shalonesti. Then he circled some ruins on Arkania.

Lastly he went continent by continent. He searched for something. It
wasn't Tropica or Icewall. Then he saw it, gap in the forest.

He knew that Yh'till appreciated power and to the priest, knowledge was the
greatest. It was time to see if he could find some for himself.




Writer: Elathan
Date Wed Dec 19 21:15:42 2018




Writer: Kaladon
Date Thu Dec 20 09:33:30 2018

To All ( imm Cayenna rp )

Subject Quest for Knowledge II



The day started out as any other day starts for Kaladon. He did his
normal routine. As he was questing and gathering, he saw Finneas. As they
chatted one thing leads to another and they decided to explore the tavern in
the Great Forest. As they sat in the Tavern, the conversation lead to the
cult, the monolith and All that is part of it.

That is when the conversation turned to Maithian, Kaladon questioned what
did he see. Finneas says 'He spoke similar to the beggar but without all
the raving. Something looking at him, watching, seeing him. Seeing
*through* him, into him. ' Finneas says 'Said it felt like it was still
there inside.. Watching him' Finneas made mention of a warning from
Vincent. Finneas says 'He is convinced that this man draws power from the
force of chaos itself. Not the man Malachive or the clan with him but that
original power the gods could not destroy but only contain' Finneas says
'And that that is why the aboleths were so interested in the amulet.. That
they are of the same essence' Finneas says '"That which seeks to undo" I
believe is how he put it' Kaladon is interested in this Vincent and what
other warnings he might have. But no more information was forthcoming.

They seem to conversate more on chaos magic and if they can research more on
the subject. After they leave the Tavern, Kaladon when back to his house to
check his tomes on any information on the subject. Nothing of note was
found. Kaladon did a limited search of some texts around and yet he has
came up with nothing. So he was left to ponder what is the meaning of this.




Writer: Finneas
Date Thu Dec 20 14:12:29 2018

To All Faythe Geirhart Kaladon Xenophon Kwainin RP

Subject Secret Meetings: Faythe to Faith



Finneas' mind swirled after the meeting with Faythe. So many answers all
at once; so many answers he wanted to believe but was unsure if he should.
The man and his city purported to be no threat to Arkane and despite wanting
to drink from that cup of sweet nectar Finneas remained skeptical. Geirhart
had suggested to seek guidance from his god as others had: caution from the
light and silence from the dark. Perhaps the father of balance would reveal
whether Carcosa was in his plans or not.

The next day, he had just arrived at the temple when Geirhart hailed him
once more. Finneas invited him to join and they discussed the information
received from Faythe. The surprises, it seemed, were just beginning. The
squeaking of a cart crept through the temple doors as they spoke; along with
a librarian behind it. Finneas had queried her about the cult and its
beginnings and it seems the answers had arrived. Ever diligent, she had
crossed continents to bring him the information directly as she had
discovered there were other, more suspicious types seeking the same records.

Finneas and Geirhart listened to her consultation before bidding her
farewell and working to secret the books away in the shelves of the
abbey. Finneas had learned All he needed to but Lord Kaladon would
surely want to pour through them. He finished his prayers in silence and
set off to prepare.




Writer: Symantha
Date Fri Dec 21 03:17:16 2018




Writer: Kaladon
Date Fri Dec 21 12:52:43 2018

To All Xenophon

Subject Quest for Knowledge III



Kaladon rolls out of bed and he just sits on the edge looking at the
forest before him. He thinks that it is so peaceful here that he might just
lay back down in bed and watch it some more. His thoughts draft to the
events of recent and before he knows it he is up and dressed and walking out
the door. He checks his missives and strolls around Arkane. One of his
stops is of course Zari's S. D. For a well deserved milk shake. After all
one does need to keep up his strength in this day and age.

A voice calls out to him to meet him in the place he showed it. It is a
secret yet not so secret place. When he goes there he sees Finneas. After
the greetings, Finneas mentions that the shadows have eyes. To which,
Kaladon invites Finneas to his house.

After the two get settled in, general conversation about their personal
lives follows. After sometime the conversation turns more serious. Finneas
relays to Kaladon what the meeting was about when they was conversating
before and he was called away. Kaladon knew that Finneas and Geirhart as
summoned by Faythe. Now Kaladon was to hear what the meeting was about. He
remembers telling Finneas to take detailed notes. And now he gets to hear
what was said.

His name is Yh'till. He is the caretaker of a city named Carcosa. It is
what rises outside of Arkane. It was mentioned that the city of Carcosa was
coming into this realm but faster then excepted. Due to the cult, and it
was unsafe for both cities. But Carcosa wants to be at peace with Arkane
and its coming here will not hurt Arkane or the surrounding areas. Carcosa
is a city that is suppose to have existed long ago but is someplace now.
Carcosa was a city of magic or so it is told. The name Prazhul came up and
something possibly about him being a Necromancer but it is hard to tell. It
is possible that Yh'till has the book and the cult has some missing papers
but more research into this needs to be done.

After that general conversation was had. One thing was mentioned was tomes.
Kaladon was drooling when he heard of these tomes. Finneas even offered to
take him to them. Kaladon didn't waste any time in getting his traveling
items together. Kaladon pulled out his traveling backpack and put in
rations of food, water, three legged stool, sleeping furs and anything else
he might need. He then grabbed his traveling cloak and walking staff and
was ready to be lead to this Monastery. After an overly long travel in the
jungle, Kaladon took the lead. He may have taken the long way around to it
but he did find it at last. After Finneas showed him where the tomes was
hidden, he set up his items and got to work reading the tomes. Finneas
excused himself but Kaladon barely noticed.

Kaladon wondered "Could this be what they was looking for? Or another dead
end?" It didn't matter to Kaladon because he wasn't going to let this
possible lead go to the waste side. He also relished in the fact of reading
old tomes that have not been read in probably over a century.




Writer: Leomire
Date Fri Dec 21 20:17:56 2018

To All Arkane Althainia Geirhart Finneas ( Imm RP Religion Xenophon Zandreya )

Subject The black Monolith - A New Hunt I



Leomire had just finished packing and was starting to step off for his
hunt. His hunt for his own answers. He had stepped away from the Arkane
tribe's hunt. It was their's and the chief had made it clear he was not
really looking for Leomire's help. Whether it was intentional or not,
Leomire had shrugged off that hunt. He had other duties.

First, his new home. The savanna he had been blessed to find near the
Althainia tribe. It was a gift from the Great Mother. Like one of the
sacred trees, vallenwood the furless called them, that tradition held only
grew where the Great Mother placed her hand upon this world.

His second duty was to look after the rest of the Great Mother's realm.
Ensure the balance of nature. Hunt down those that would upset that
balance. It was a task that often drew him far from the realm of the
furless for long periods of time, but it was his.

It was preparing for one of those long hunts, and the hunt for answers he
had prepared for now. His first stop was a place deep in the savanna that
was now his pridelands. It was a place of the spirits. It was there that
his hunt for answers and direction would take place.

Just as he was departing though, word got to him that Geirhart of the Arkane
tribe wished to speak with him.

He listened to Geirhart, the man had become Leomire's friend after All so he
deserved to be heard out at least before Leomire departed.

Leomire was surprised at the developments in the hunt for the cult that
stalked the Arkane, but it was no longer his problem. And, just as Leomire
was resigned to leave, Geirhart made him stop. It seems a few others had
come up with a plan. A hunt was being formed, and they wanted Leomire's
help. They wanted a hunter.

So, being asked again, Leomire said he would help his friend Geirhart and
the others that were part of this small party.

A few quick plans were made with Geirhart and Finneas, and as Leomire saw
it, they had two opportunities.

A quick hunt leaving in a few days. Try and catch their prey off guard. It
was a good tactic, if you had some idea what you were hunting was not to
dangerous. The safer bet, as Leomire saw it, was to wait. The signs
pointed to a few weeks delay providing the best opportunity for a safe and
successful hunt. Well, as safe as this prey was likely to make the hunt.

So, now Leomire prepared to depart deep into the savanna again. This time
to prepare for a hunt. A hunt that he may not return from.




Writer: Leomire
Date Fri Dec 21 20:45:13 2018

To All Arkane Althainia Geirhart Finneas ( Imm RP Religion Xenophon Zandreya )

Subject The black Monolith - A New Hunt II



Leomire had made good time. He found the place he had been searching for
early in the afternoon. A few hours earlier than he expected. The spirits
were strong here. The space between the real world and the spirit world was
thin, almost non-existent, here. This was the best place for what he had to
do. He had spent the rest of daylight gathering wood and preparing the
site.

As night fell, Leomire started the fire. It quickly grew high and wild.
The pile of wood was taller than Leomire, so there was plenty of energy here
now to direct his prayers to the spirits, and through them to the Great
Mother, Zandreya, and to his ancestors. The flames grew too twice the
height of the pile, Leomire wouldn't be surprised to hear the glow could at
least be seen in the stone camp of the Althainia tribe.

As the flames reached their peak, Leomire threw the bundle of sage and other
herbs into the fire as he was taught so long ago growing up on tropica.

He then drew the two long swords that hung at his side. First he drove the
tip of the sacred blade of his old pride, Sredreeowrrmgrauhrahrrdr or
Stormguard in the furless tongue, into the ground so that it stood, handle
in the air. Then he drove the tip of the blade he had had forged after the
death of his pride, Brrllahshraerhprhuhrrryhk or Blazefury in the furless
tongue, into the ground a pace from Stormguard. He then laid his bow on the
ground in front of both swords, no weapons were allowed in this ritual, but
removing them was part of the ritural.

He then picked up the old staff he walked around with, and held it aloft
over his head as he began to chant quietly. As his chant fell into a beat,
Leomire began his dance around the fire. He continued this dance around the
fire, his chant continuing the whole time, asking the spirits for their aid
on the hunt. Asking them to show him the trails not seen or smelled.
Asking them to keep him and his hunting party from notice of their prey.

The dance was the traditional dance All the hunters of his pride did before
they would start a great hunt in the savanna. The dance was as old as his
people.

Leomire changed it a bit this time, however. This prey was deadly.
Probably more so than any prey he had ever hunted, and in ways Leomire
likely could never imagine. So as the fire began to die down, Leomire added
his own twist. His chant fell into a prayer to his ancestors. Preparing
them for his arrival, and preparing his soul to find them and not remain
lost between worlds.

Using the last bits of light from the fire, Leomire turned to the paints he
had laid out. He first reapplied the symbols on his body that would draw
protective spirits to him and focus their power into the spells of armor,
shield, sanctuary, and other spells to aid and protect him in battle. He
then went to the special paint he had prepared. It was a swirl of black and
white. This he covered his face in. This, he had been taught, was his
death mask. It showed the world his soul was prepared for what may come,
what comes to all. It marked him as unafraid of death, for now Leomire knew
his soul would find peace with his ancestors.

He was now ready for the greatest hunt of his life.




Writer: Rasavadi
Date Fri Dec 21 20:49:37 2018

To Verminasia Shadow All Imm RP Cayenna Scorn

Subject Awakening



Rasavadi woke drenched in the sweat of fever dreams. No longer was he
bundled in a carpet outside of Skull Keep though, nor was he in the d'Aerthe
library, or Eclipse's outpost in New Thalos. Looking around for reference
he discovered he was in the Verminasian Stronghold, but not being tended by
the usual cleric who manned the apothecary. Sleeping in a spartan chair
nearby was Tamaska. The hours or days of worry evident upon her face.

"Awake I see, Highlord. " Came a confident, yet concerned, voice from the
shadows. Rasavadi could not determine the form of the stranger, but they
were dressed in cleric's garb and probably female.

"How long have I been out this time? " he questioned.

"Hrm, good question. All in all, probably a couple weeks. The troll was
unable to tell us how long it was before the demon brought you to him, nor
how long it took him to bring you home to us.
"

"Last I remember was being rolled in my cloak outside Skull Keep. It was
probably quite entertaining.
"

"It was I assure you. " Zerella chuckled. "This came for you both a bit
ago, but I did not wish to wake the Guardian.
" She said handing a
parchment sealed with the mark of the Keeper. A glint off an archaic,
ancient signet ring momentarily blinded him.

"Nymaya, gone to find Narsh I assume. " Rasavadi surmised aloud while
opening it. "It is well you didn't, this comes as no real surprise. "

"No it is not."

Motioning to her ring Rasavadi questioned, "Still keeping tabs on things eh?
"

"Of course, a Keeper's duty never truely ends, and the Eclipse never dies.
" Motioning towards Tamaska she continued, "I was interested in your keeping
of the Guardian position began by Highlord DarkShade. Such seemed
unecessary to me, but I served in another time I suppose.
"

"The position of Guardian was retained because there is a purpose to it even
if DarkShade missed it.
He said sternly. "The Brotherhood part of the
Eclipse was forgotten, or at least paid lip service to, I wished to see it
return above All things." Seeing Tamaska stir in response to his commanding
tone he quieted down. "The Eclipse as you knew it, and I was raised upon,
are gone Keeper, and we will be better for it. The mistakes of our parents
and peers will be corrected.
" He said whistfully at nearly a whisper.
"Speaking of which, why are we not still near Skull Keep? I know my
companion was to cosign me to the care of Dark Lord McCord.
"

"You, as I understand things, were doing well until he tried to have you
brought into Skull Keep. Doing well until the wards put into place by the
Purists did their work at least.
"

Grumbling slightly in understanding he started to get up from his cot,
gracefully like a drunken gully dwarf.

"Highlord you must rest! " Zerrella hissed.

"Help me to my feet, and get my polearm, or I will tear the walls down
trying.
" Rasavadi dead panned. "Then you can explain to the Crown why
their remodeling was undone.
"

"Bloody yaenni. " She cursed while handing over the polearm and helped him
to his feet. A quiet, but not quiet enough for yaenni ears, supressed,
snicker could be heard.

"Keep laughing Guardian, " he said in a poor attempt to be stern, "I'm sure
the Queen has some stables to be mucked out.
"

Lending Rasavadi her arm she aided the cleric in getting him to his feet and
turned to Zerrella, "He never lets me have any fun. "

Smiling at the banter between the two Zerrella's face turned serious. "You
two will need to speak with the Crown soon. The Black Wind still blows, and
a voice from the tombs calls for the Highlord. "




Writer: Babooja

Date Sun Dec 23 09:18:54 2018




Writer: Babooja

Date Sun Dec 23 09:27:59 2018




Writer: Babooja

Date Sun Dec 23 09:48:32 2018




Writer: Babooja

Date Sun Dec 23 09:56:39 2018




Writer: Maithion

Date Wed Dec 26 02:08:53 2018

To All Fatale Xenophon ( Imm Rp Religion )

Subject An Overdue Hunt



The sound of fine arcanium being drawn along a whetstone filled the
temple of Fatale. Slow, precise, methodical strokes, too many to count then
an inspection of the dagger's edge before being housed back in the killer's
vest and another drawn. The process repeated.

Maithion's time sharpening and honing his instruments were not to center his
mind or being. His mind and being couldn't be centered. Some being he saw
from touching the spire in that wretched city that was being unearthed on
the continent of Arkane pierced his core. Every time he closed his eyes he
could see it, tentacles, a leering eye, watching the vampire's every move,
hearing every word spoken, making the ash-skinned elf fearful, and that fear
was turning in to anger.

He mentioned before to a few from Arkane that this cult, these people who
have been one step ahead the whole time needed to be found. He knew what to
look for, signs, yellow signs with design. Any yellow sign woul mean they
were around. Maithion found one, and his wife along with others took the
life of a huntress who belonged to the cult who were trying to speed the
arrival of Carcosa had a sign on her. Maithion saw one by the well in the
kingdom of Arkane, and was informed that the bank clerk had one, but was
being used to get on the inside by this plague of a cult.

He knew others did not understand what he had seen, or recently physically
felt. Some thought it was the work of the cult's magic, but he knew better.
He felt he was being hunted, something on a larger scale stalking the apex
predator. He felt what was seeing him had a connection to Carcosa.
Whatever this thing was, or connection to the ancient city did not want the
undead there. He was given the warning to stay away and his kind would be
left alone. Something was hiding there.

Words had not come from any in Arkane about finding cultists to Maithion's
ears, and he grew tired and restless. He would find them and he would get
answers. He would hunt them with Lagertha, he would hunt them alone if
needed. He promised Meki that torture would not be used, but Maithion was
being tortured in mind and body. Niceties were over, and he knew other ways
to get one to speak.

He finished the last blade of the many that layed in waiting in his vest to
be used and sheathed it, then rose from a pew in the shadows of Fatale's
temple and said a prayer in a whispered hush.

He would do what he did best, find and hunt prey.




Writer: Eilenstred

Date Sun Dec 30 22:33:38 2018




Writer: Kaladon

Date Mon Dec 31 12:10:37 2018




Writer: Kaladon

Date Mon Dec 31 12:19:10 2018




Writer: Paxx

Date Wed Jan 2 08:10:37 2019




Writer: Mercerion

Date Sat Jan 5 22:52:56 2019




Writer: Shaunna

Date Mon Jan 7 06:57:10 2019

To Nordmaar All Imm

Subject The Voyage Home



The voyage was slow and steady on the merchant ship, Sea Mage. While the
name of the vessel is nearly as old as time remembers, she doubts that there
is any piece of this ship from its maiden voyage. The crew of this merchant
ship has a harmonious movement as each member from deckhand to captain knows
the role to performed from completing this voyage many times over.

Such is the place she found herself now, on a merchant ship bound for her
home kingdom. She knows the reason for the summons and the need to abruptly
depart from her father's side, yet she had a pain of guilt as she boarded
the merchant ship and left her father in that foreign land. This is not to
say that she thought her father to be weak, but for as long as she was old
enough to sail, she had been at his side while he sailed from land to land
trading goods. The guilt was more that she would no longer have that time
with her father again.

Now, alone on the merchant ship with her thoughts, she contemplates what is
to come for it was her mother, the Queen, that summoned her. Her thoughts
wander back to the lessons that she struggled as a young child to learn from
the tutors her mother provided. During the seasons of the long nights, she
spent many hours near the hearth fires with her wax tablets and lesson
books. These lessons were designed to aid her as the daughter of the Queen,
yet as a child, she would have instead been doing something else on the
family estate such as riding her horse through the estates remote rough and
rocky terrain. What good those lessons did, she will soon learn.

Calls of "Land Ho!" followed by the bustle of the crew brings her out of her
thoughts. As the Sea Mage reaches the port, she gathers her belongings to
disembark and present herself to the Queen and the next adventure in her
young life.




Writer: Paxx

Date Mon Jan 7 13:22:51 2019




Writer: Paxx

Date Mon Jan 7 17:45:10 2019




Writer: Mercerion

Date Tue Jan 8 04:33:07 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Tue Jan 8 14:55:03 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Jan 8 14:58:00 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Jan 8 14:59:28 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Jan 8 22:14:06 2019




Writer: Geirhart
Date Wed Jan 9 19:12:54 2019

To Xenophon Faythe Finneas Kaladon Leomire All Imm RP

Subject Living with a Lich: Day 1



' Priest, I am awake! Get me out of this pouch! ' yelled the skull into
Geirhart's mind.

Geirhart rolled over in his bed hoping to get some sleep. He had been
working on his craft All day and his body was tired.

'Priest, do you sleep? Wake up or I swear I shall overflow your pockets
with ectoplasm!
' threatened the lich.

Geirhart yawned and responded, 'I am awake Master Prazhul, no need to ruin
my clothing. One moment.
' Walking across his small room, he took the
grinning skull out of an inner pocket.

Geirhart looked at the skull, with it's glowing eyes and small horns waiting
for it's next command.

'Alright, let me have a look around. I wish to see my new home. ' ordered
the ancient mage.

Geirhart lifted the skull and rotated it about, showing off his simple
lodging.

'Hmm, seems small, drab, and in need of repair. If I had a guess, this is a
room in an inn of some sort. Does the Church of Austinian not have lodgings
for their ranked priests? The chest I was trapped in for centuries seems
larger than this!
' chided the lich.

'Careful, I can put you right back! However, at the moment this inn suits
me. It is close to the temple, cheap, and doesn't pester me like an old
maid.
' said the priest.

'By the look of the window and your attire, it must be night. Take me out,
I wish to see the stars.
'

Grumbling, Geirhart put on his heavier robes, rubbed his eyes and trudged
out into the night. It was a slightly cold evening but the stars shown
brightly and illuminated the sky.

'Show me the sky and each of the cardinal directions. I wish to get my
bearings.
'

Stifling a yawn, the priest did as he was told wondering what the mage
wanted.

Priest! Where are the stars of the Gods? I see holes in the night where
their constellations would be!
' exclaimed the curious lich.

Geirhart began to retell the story of the God Wars and Malachive. His
recount following the God of Chaos' birth and the return of Drakkara.

'So.. Drakkara is Queen.. Well perhaps she needs a new God of Black Magic?
I am something of a master in magic..
' mused the lich

'Careful, the last Necromancer who thought to take up her role was
dismembered and his living head placed on a monolith. Didn't end well.
'

'I see, well she's probably a horrible person to work for anyway and I sense
my time to rest has come. I will refrain fron soiling your shoes tonight!

The grinning skull's eyes went dark and Geirhart put the skull gently back
in his robes. The sun began to rise so Geirhart stayed to watch it for a
moment before heading back up to his room. As he laid back down, the priest
had his first fear that perhaps releasing this Lich was not the best idea.




Writer: Kaladon

Date Wed Jan 9 20:21:59 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Wed Jan 9 22:33:36 2019

To All Julthax Fidlo imm rp Malachive Chaos

Subject Depression and the Blood Tree


Scribpog walked the halls of the warp slowly, each step heavy with
sadness and heartless movement. He walked past the lines of men who moved
about their ranks. In his mind they were angry with him, looking down upon
him, and casting him as a disappointment with the gift that was within his
hand.

He approached the bloodtree and his shadow casted out as his arm extended
and palm showed the large, faint beating heart. It was the one he never
thought he would offer to the Ivory tree, it was his own. Death consumed
him before he was cursed to walk again. He dug the organ from his own chest
and ravaged the corpse in his failure. His own blood covered his person
from head to toe. He was ashamed as he knelt and fed his heart to the
shambling tree. As he looked away and made he way out, he heard the sound
that he never wanted to hear again, the blood tree absorbing his own beating
heart. Never again would his heart be an offering. The dwarves would pay.




Writer: Nymaya

Date Thu Jan 10 16:23:08 2019

To All Eclipse Rasavadi Tamaska Narsh ( Imm Admin Storyline )

Subject Lost City - Frayed Threads


The chair was old leather but comfortably worn in.

Its scent was familiar and that was welcome but the weighty subjects on her
mind All but obscured any luxury to be had there.

Her left elbow was couched on the padded arm and between her thumb and
forefinger she gripped the bridge of her nose, contemplating the stirrings
of a headache alongside the ache in the stub of her pinky finger.

Beyond the nearby window the clouds scudded quickly past the moons, veiling
the stars and whipping feather-light snow into a frenzy. It would be a full
blizzard soon that would immerse the entire countryside in the firm grip of
winter.

She closed her eyes briefly on a rise of strong, unpleasant emotion but to
the insistent flicker of the fireplace, she opened them again. Her gaze was
as glacial as the weather while she considered the flames, feeling the aged
old draw to the Song in the sinuous dance before her.

The years had not simply been unkind and she was, for lack of any better
term in the moment, at her limit. That was why she needed to try to find
Narsh, that was why she needed to grasp this thread and follow it. She'd
had to give up so much, she wasn't about to give up on one of her last
friends, though her hopes were not high.

Faith was in short supply, though the truth that hid within her was far more
insidious, but rather than dwell she rolled her right shoulder and let her
thoughts divert. The call to attend the ruins of Dae'Tok had gone out
again. The Highlord of Eclipse had only just returned from a taxing
journey, one she knew All too well, and though her wounds from the last bout
on the doorstep of Dae'Tok had All but healed, she was not enthused at the
idea of another journey there.

That Narsh had yet to return from that place had left her with a growing
sense of finality.

Unable to sit still any longer, aware that the weather wasn't about to get
any better, she grabbed up her already packed belongings and departed.




Writer: Nymaya

Date Thu Jan 10 22:58:46 2019




Writer: Nymaya

Date Thu Jan 10 23:20:19 2019




Writer: Nymaya
Date Thu Jan 10 23:34:39 2019




Writer: Nymaya
Date Thu Jan 10 23:39:47 2019




Writer: Paxx
Date Fri Jan 11 08:54:36 2019




Writer: Telthian
Date Fri Jan 11 12:42:33 2019

To All ( imm religion necrucifer )

Subject Lost City - The Foundry - I


-*-

Days had turned to weeks which dragged onto months since the bulk of the
Knights and soldiers returned to their keeps or Verminasian lands, leaving a
modest force to man the frozen redoubt. Though much of its construction had
been complete, structures of wood and stone nestled between the battlements
of raised earth and ice provided little comfort.

Soldiers either become accustomed to hardship or they are not long for this
world.

The men and women comprising the Wardens at Eastdrift were a hard lot. Some
had served in the Marauder army under command of the former
king-turned-tactician, ably fulfilling their duty as the territories were
pacified. And again they shed blood when Raije's godly hosts stormed
Ironclad, decimating a third of Raije's armies before the Wargod ended the
battle with a personal display of might.

They were defeated, but how many could claim they brought a God to do
battle?

Now they held this stretch of frozen terrain. Pushing back roving packs of
the Ghul that ventured out from the ruin of the lost city. The wind cut
through these peaks, an embodiment of the cold bitterness felt within the
servants of Necrcucifer themselves. Turning to find some solace from the
wind, the warden spit a curse and turned from the rampart.

His heavy footfalls preceded him as he tread down the stair and into the
bailey below. A few paces and he stood shoulder to shoulder with comrades
he had fought and bled with over his years, having the good fortune to enter
into middle age together. Not All of their brothers and sisters were so
fortunate. The others raised their heads to turn their eyes from the flames
of the bonfire before nodding in stoic greeting.




Writer: Telthian

Date Fri Jan 11 12:47:53 2019

To All ( Imm religion Necrucifer )

Subject Lost City - The Foundry - II


The glow of the fire was a false promise of warmth in this frigid and
damned waste. Extending his hands closer to the flames did little more to
warm them. They were content to stand together in silence. All of them but
one, a younger man from the provinces.

Some little piece of land within Atslomme, he had said. The cold, the dark
days and nights, the skirmishes with ghul that probed at their defenses and
tested their discipline, All of it he could tolerate.

The man's question put an end to their silent vigil. 'How much longer can
it possibly be? What is he even looking for out there?' The words spilled
from the youngest amongst them, perhaps ill-advised, but belied an earnest
concern.

The veterans shared a look before paying their comrade's question any
response.

They knew the King. He was unassuming as a man, but they had fought beside
him, and witnessed for themselves the inhuman synthesis of resolve,
patience, and dispassionate brutality possessed only by monsters. The King
had pushed them hard in the campaigns, harder than their bodies knew they
could endure, and for it they were rewarded as victors.

Spitting into the fire, the old warden had little to say. The Priestking
never claimed to be much of a healer but when he took a spear to the gut it
was the king that saved him. Even visited him after, once.

But when Verminasia was challenged in the by the Del'Nichis it was the King
that fought for them in the arena, choosing to speak with the metallic voice
in his hand rather than from a pulpit. It wasn't until then, when
kingsblood pooled in the sand, that even those in Verminasia knew what the
King really was.

The question hung in the air frozen in place by the chill. Producing a
weathered flask, the old warden took a long pull, savering the rich burn of
the whisky on his palate before passing it to the boy from Atslomme.

'Reckon he's up there trying to find a way to keep us All from getting
butchered by the Witch, lad. An if th'King thinks something's out there in
the ruins to that end? Well, then that's where we'll be headed.'

-*-




Writer: Telthian

Date Fri Jan 11 12:51:36 2019

To All ( imm Religion Necrucifer )

Subject Lost City - The Foundry - III


There exists a fine line between consideration and hesitation, my child.
The former is wisdom. The latter is fear.

-*-

The cold was almost a bitter comfort in a world where everything else
had changed.

The wind whipped the loose unpacked snow back and forth as the gale twisted
around the formation of jagged rocks and ice descending down from Eastdrift
into the snowplain below. Icewall had grown no kinder in the months that
had passed.

Only a few souls cut their way along these trails each week, the scouts
performing little more than token patrols to conserve both strength and
resources. The going was slow, but, gradually the redoubt fell away off in
the distance, shrouded behind a curtain of white. Shouldering his supplies,
the old warden pulled the dense, thick fur mantle close about himself as he
approached the ruins of the foundry.

The low curtain walls had long since toppled in on themselves in areas,
producing a jagged and uneven image, like fingers jutting up from a palm,
the covenant's foundry itself cradled in a hollow at the center. Ahead, the
priest-king raised a hand, halting their march. Unease roiled the warden's
stomach, and he barked orders to the others to fan out and survey the site.
One by one the other guardians returned. After a few gruff exchanges he was
satisfied there was no sign of the Ghul and began to make temporary camp,
such as it was.

The dark priest would need time to breach the covenant's entrance, and the
old warden would make damn sure it went uninterrupted. He was not surprised
to find it was an unusual construction. No, not a simple gate or door.
Everything about the hinterlands of Dae'tok was unusual. Set within the
center of the crumbling courtyard lie what the King described as an iris -
though presently it resembled a coarse disc of frozen metal.

Taking his position at the flank, the old warden drew his sword, letting it
lie across his lap and watched as his King began the tedious task ahead.




Writer: Finneas

Date Sat Jan 12 18:08:22 2019

To All Geirhart Faythe Kaladon Leomire ( Xenophon RP )

Subject The Great Hunt: Five by Land and Five by Shadow (I)


As the sun's orange hue crept warmly over the far horizon, Finneas felt a
deep rumble in his gut that told him the time pursue the cult again was
drawing near. Having spent days with Kaladon pouring over the tomes brought
to them by the librarian they were certain that their leads to Serpantol,
however tenuous they appeared, were certain to bear some fruit.

Finneas and Kaladon rallied to Leomire in hopes that the spirits would share
the same sentiment that it was time to move. Leomire obliged that the day
was fortuitous and the three of them awaited Geirhart's awakeneing to join
them. As the hours passed, a cold chill crept along their spines and made
them increasingly more uneasy until it was clear the time was at hand.
Finneas contacted Faythe in the hopes of rounding out the party and the lady
obliged.

Swiftly, the group headed into the Shalonesti woods and cut their way
through the thick brush toward the ruins of Serpantol. The tomes had spoken
of Prazhul's imprisonment by the Order in times long past and it was written
that he was confined there even after death for fear of some continued
threat. As they approached the ruins of the city, Leomire took the lead to
search for clues. Fresh, familiar tracks confirmed to them that the cult
had indeed been through recently.




Writer: Finneas

Date Sat Jan 12 18:22:04 2019

To All Geirhart Faythe Kaladon Leomire ( Xenophon RP )

Subject The Great Hunt: Five by Land and Five by Shadow (II)


Having scavenged the ruins before, the tracks heading toward the keep
suggested to Finneas that an especially enchanted prison cell he knew of in
its dungeon was likely to hold what they sought. He took the lead and
guided the party toward the keep from the city. As they approached its
walls, the wind carried to them the cacophony of wailing spirits from
inside. Clearly something had riled them into severe agitation.

Finneas pressed on and drew the group down into the musty, grime-ridden
hallways that wind deep into the earth below the keep to its dungeon.
Drawing near the end of the architecture the group came upon a sight that
none of them had beheld before: a humming ward of mixed divinity and arcane
power hung infront of the cell door that Finneas had suspected. At the
ground infront of it lay the bubbling, charred remains of an unfortunate
soul that seemed to come upon it prior to them.

The magically inclined of the group began to work over the seal to
investigate and, by great stroke of luck, Geirhart awakened to join them at
the ruins. Finneas set out to retrieve Geirhart to the group and no sooner
had they arrived than the cult had chosen to make its presence known. The
shadows themselves in the corner of the room took form into a group of cult
members brandishing wicked scowls and blades alike.




Writer: Finneas

Date Sat Jan 12 18:47:28 2019

To All Geirhart Faythe Kaladon Leomire ( Xenophon RP )

Subject The Great Hunt: Five by Land and Five by Shadow (III)


As the party flung questions toward the group of cultists their inquiries
were met with nought but a cold voice that turned a pointed finger at Faythe
then Geirhart. "Kill the men. Take those two alive," he instructed his
fellows as the groups clashed against each other in a violent flurry of
blades and magic.

As the battle drew to a close, two cult members lay dead on the floor as the
rest of them fled back into the shadows in cowardice. Inspecting the bodies
gave a clear revelation to everyone that these cultists were Arkanian.

With the threat abated their attention was turned back to assess the ward.
Working around its edges to read the symbols the group began to hear muffled
noises from within the cell. Their questions, however, were only met with
knocks and taps in response. Recognizing that the symbol bore the mark of
Austinian, Geirhart beseeched the group that he should enter to determine
what was going on.

With no other option at hand he was reluctantly obliged. The others waited
in the dank hallway of the dungeon as Geirhart was bathed in light and
seemingly taken into the cell. Calling what he brought back with him
"unexpected" would be a grand understatement. A new charge was theirs it
seemed: to lay an ultimate judgement on Prazhul and his works.




Writer: Finneas

Date Sun Jan 13 07:22:27 2019




Writer: Finneas

Date Sun Jan 13 08:08:16 2019




Writer: Kaladon

Date Sun Jan 13 09:32:16 2019




Writer: Kaladon
Date Sun Jan 13 14:31:11 2019

To All Xenophon imm

Subject Power the Seductive Force II



As Kaladon sat in the chair of his makeshift office, he stared into the
fire in the fireplace. Everything that has happened seemed like another
life he has lead. Like he died and was brought back different yet the same
in some odd way. His upbringing in a purist cult. His banishment from
them. His living in the forest. His joining Althainia. His joining
Arkane. His joining Verminisa. His joining Arkane again. What he did in
each phase of his life, has left a mark on him. But each seems like a
chapter that is closes as a new chapter opens. But will he survive this?

His thoughts drift into the nothingness. He remembers in vivid color the
experience the Monolith showed him. It's power was old, ancient and
possibly predating the Gods? Or was it the same as the Gods? This is a
question that Kaladon can't answer but it haunts him.

Kaladon's mind seems to be struggling to grasp it. Memories of traveling to
Icewall on rumors of ancient runes or Tropica to study old wards dance
around his mind. All of his long years he has always strived to study magic
in any form. Always tried to understand it at it's most basic form. He has
always prized his knowledge of All things magic. Even if he hasn't studied
the books of other professions, he has tried to gain an understanding of it.
Even dreamed of blending them together.

He has even boasted that every part of his being is magical. If this was
the case then why was he rejected so? Or was this the answer he seeked but
yet can't understand? Was there still Beings or places that contained more
power then any, currently living, can understand? It has been a good long
time since Kaladon has seen any Angels or Balanxs or Demons. Have the Gods
withdrawn their own? Are the Gods having their own power struggle and we
are caught in the middle? Does this city have something to do with the
Gods?

As Kaladon stares at the fire a new thought creaps into his mind. This city
has been around for a very long time. But for some reason it went into
another realm. Could this city...... Hold the key to immorality? Could
this be the reason why the city does not like Vampires? For they are
immortal too? But there are similarities to vampires. To many questions
and not enough answers.

What if I touched it again? What would it show myself? I shall be better
prepared for it? Or will it crush myself? Or is this how it starts? One
with questions and seeks answers but gets caught up with the power? Could I
be following in the footsteps of those before myself? Or could I be
different? It did choose myself to show this too?

Kaladon stares at the fire letting his mind wonder.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sun Jan 13 14:55:12 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sun Jan 13 23:01:46 2019




Writer: Paxx
Date Mon Jan 14 06:15:11 2019




Writer: Paxx
Date Mon Jan 14 09:07:15 2019




Writer: Paxx
Date Mon Jan 14 09:22:05 2019




Writer: Paxx
Date Mon Jan 14 11:10:04 2019




Writer: Paxx
Date Mon Jan 14 11:25:54 2019




Writer: Iler'yx
Date Mon Jan 14 20:30:16 2019




Writer: Shuge
Date Mon Jan 14 20:57:35 2019




Writer: Telthian
Date Wed Jan 16 14:49:37 2019

To All Verminasia Shadow ( Imm Religion Necrucifer )

Subject An Abbott's Prayerbook - I



To truly embrace your purpose with the patience and sacrifice it demands
is to ensure your day will come.

These are grim times. Some say this is a test from God to strengthen our
spirit.

Perhaps this is true.

Or perhaps it is simply a pious lie meant to keep hope alive.

But hope fails. It is strength, it is will, and it is blood that change
this world.

We trusted that the world as it was would never change, but by our own hand.
This despondence is the legacy of that trust. Empires fall, and regimes
change.

Is it better to die a principled death than to make sure we are still
standing when the dust clears? If the truest test of our philosophy is
sacrifice, as Necrucifer spoke, then is death not the option for us?

Or do we fight the long war, suffer the humiliation of defeat and cover
ourselves in cowardice, enslave ourselves to the whims of the disorganized
mess that is the Ebon Tower? The very Tower that TURNED ON US in the battle
leading to Necrucifers death?

And to what end? Does Drakkara now seek a world of Order?

At the height of our power we were betrayed and cast out by our kin.
Bodrum. Omngoten. Boof. Zola - these are names I curse. It is this
hatred that has sustained me through these months. I tend it with
bitterness. I nurture it with a cold determination and patience.

We who secured the shards and led the Darkness until we were betrayed. A
thousand eggs spent, only to buy my Master a death at the hands of his Wife.



The bitter irony. If power alone was paramount then we would have served
Drakkara already. The Darkness is weaker for the loss of Mencius and you,
my Master, and they celebrate it, the fools.

They doubt You. They believe you claimed by death, but you are its Master -
its very Creator.

There will be no compromise. There will be no capitulation. There will be
no false unity.

And so we will fight the long war on our own terms, and in pursuit of your
Return. They will call us mad. They will call us traitors. They will call
us fools.

But in the end, they will meet your judgement.



Consume my soul, Master. Leave nothing but your Will.





Writer: Telthian
Date Wed Jan 16 14:52:41 2019

To All Verminasia Shadow ( imm Religion Necrucifer )

Subject An Abbott's Prayerbook - II



A black sun rises above the multitude of nations as a battalion of
cavalry race across the plains.

Some fall, and are thrown from the saddle. They are trampled and left
behind, and the other riders do not look back.

Bloodied and battle scarred they continue to gallop for their lives. Their
chargers hearts thunder in their chests, their mouths foam, and their lungs
burn as they run at a speed previously unthinkable.

Far ahead on the horizon, the cliffs fall away to the jagged shoreline
below. It is certain death, and yet they race towards it.

For behind them lies the searing black conflagration of reprisal and
judgment. Behind them lies the tortuous screams of giants and dragons
mightier than they might ever have been. Their life is forever snuffed out
and their souls are destroyed.

Everything they are and were is consumed in the Aphelion.

For they were false. Kings, lords, priests, soldiers, bakers, peasants.
They offered only lip service. They shared the tenets. They praised their
Gods. But they served themselves.

No power exists that might save them, for the White Throne is toppled, the
Usurper slain, and the scales of balance forever broken. It could be
dismissed as a fever dream, if not for the twisted faces of the damned,
piled high and cloaked in torment.

The winds of the Aphelion rip at the flesh of the steeds and their riders, a
piercing gale that plate and mail offer no solace against. With every
pounding hoofbeat, hellfire slowly blackens their flesh. Beneath their
helms their eyes burn and their lips crack.

They run for some time. As their horses die the mortals continue on foot,
limping on battered joints. Some cannot continue on, their feet black and
broken and they give in to their despair and madness.

The few that make it to the coastline plummet to their death, dashed upon
the rocks that meet the sea. Indeed, they die. But their souls are not
spared. The crests of allegiance that adorn their miserable bodies mean
nothing.

They meet judgment within the Aphelion and their souls become His.

One by one they die, leaving no bones, no remains. They who were impure:
the cultists, the traitors, the defiant, and the false are forever
forgotten. Like a leaf in an icy world, their memories fade to nothing.

And those who kneel, those who bowed their heads and begged for mercy and
atonement, those who wept and knew the truth - that they were not worthy
-
they are spared. They behold the infinite malignity of the past, huddled
together with praise on their lips as Necrucifer returns to Algoron.





Writer: Symantha
Date Wed Jan 16 17:04:21 2019

To All Shadow Verminasia Eclipse ( Necrucifer Imm Ampersand RP )

Subject Small Sacrifices



The night wore on, ebbing into day.

The acolytes moved about the cathedral, the pilgrims came to leave offerings
and prayers. She remained where she was.

Blood dripped with a slow but steady cadence in the cavernous sanctum.

Years ago, during the deepest and darkest days of the Exile, she had been
late to a mass. It had been a small gathering, one she had striven
personally to pull together as a Supplicant of the Templar. Her brother had
drawn his sword when it ended and, in recognition of her error, had bade her
lift her palms upward.

The blade promptly sliced through her flesh and with remorselessness, she
had been ordered to stand before Necrucifer's altar and bleed.

Penance for her failure. Penance for All of them.

For that night and half a day, she bled for her sin and though she knew it
was a small enough gesture in the moment now - she again let her blood flow
on His altar.

She had learned. The Elders, the Dark Lord, and the Council that had
managed to hold on through those terrible days had taught her humility.
Sacrifice. Submission. Penance.

They had All been punished together for hubris, they were All required to
seek redemption as such.

Pain, nausea, the strain of ligaments and muscles, the ache and stiffness of
limbs held unmoving assailed her but it was nothing next to the wrath of the
zeal that kindled inside.

The funnels along the top of the black altar were red, her palms turned down
over each side and her haggard appearance bent over it with reverence while
she alternated between spoken and whispered prayer.

It had given her time and focus though. Time to think and focus toward the
tasks at hand. It wouldn't change what had come to pass but it served to
remind her that she was a servant of the Master of Darkness.

To whatever end, she was His servant.




Writer: Vincent
Date Wed Jan 16 20:38:39 2019

To All Ithelim Shadow Verminasia Eclipse ( Necrucifer Imm Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject The Nullstone: The Ritual of Sight Pt. 1



The Ritual of Sight.

For lack of a better name, the gruesome rite ahead of Ithelim Nyiodail was
but an archaic means of scrying. Though finite, the prime material plane of
Algoron was still vast. They may as well have been searching for a
particular single grain of sand within the desert. They had failed to find
the Half-Elf through traditional methods.

Seeing orbs, pools, mirrors and eyes littered the Infernal Planes, though
they were hardly available to all. As a horse was above the means of the
average peasant, these enchanted items were beyond the reach of most lesser
denizens of the realm. Devoid of such a device, the task became much like
traveling on foot: largely possible, but far more hazardous and much less
convenient.

A ritual born of ambition and dark magic, for Xaran'xaxes it was a staple
tool in his arsenal. Its applications were manifold to the inventive mind,
examples of such feats stories unto themselves. In this scenario, the rite
would be called upon to fulfill its basest function: to seek. The spell
would remain unbroken until the caster laid eyes upon their prey or their
prey was destroyed, be it by death or consumption.

The exchange for these heightened senses was a price of eyes, soil, and
blood. Fortuitously few of the ingredients, if any in this mortal's case,
came at the practitioner's personal expense. Untested on the Human
populace, Ithelim instead risked death, or worse, loss of sanity.
Specifically, the concoction called for the following: the eyes of a
creature the same species as the seer-focus, Abyssal soil, and demon's
blood, mashed and boiled under the breath of an arcane verse.

The Shadow Knight Zayk Atennim, then Chancellor of the Keep, had volunteered
to gather the soil. The fiendish instructor had reasoned that Hell would be
an ideal place to collect it. Abyssal debris regularly found its way into
the Nine Hells by way of demonic invasions against the lawful devils.
Though the knight would need to descend to it's lowest levels to find his
prize, by comparison to the rest of the Dark planes it was a relatively safe
venture. The man had weathered worse storms.

To capture or summon a lesser demon would undoubtedly attract the attention
of others nearby, an observation which if investigated could potentially
escalate in importance until it reached the ears of the newly crowned Dark
Lady. It was too great a risk to acquire the reagent. Despite the
restraints of his flesh-and-bone tether to Algoron, the archfiend retained a
measure of his unholy power. He believed his fuel, the mortal blood he had
regularly siphoned and suffused with his dark essence, would have to
suffice.

The eyes would need to be harvested from still-living beings and used before
their "donors" expired. Due to the half-breed's muddled ancestry, they
would require those from a Human, a pure-blooded Elf, and another
intermingled offspring of one such a union. At the shadow mage's behest to
hear as well as see, their ears were also required. Though others were able
and willing, Master Nyiodail proferred himself for the task.




Writer: Vincent
Date Wed Jan 16 20:40:23 2019

To All Ithelim Shadow Verminasia Eclipse ( Necrucifer Imm Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject The Nullstone: The Ritual of Sight Pt. 2



From the eve of his arrival, the archfiend had tested the faith and
resolve of his creator's mortal servants. With few exceptions, no question
or answer, statement made, or favor asked was spoken with singular intent.
The fiend was always prying beneath the bezel, analyzing and deconstructing
the mechanisms which made these mortals "tick." Now came Ithelim's time.

The Master of the Rose usually presented with a jovial and sarcastic
demeanor. On the surface he was thoughtful and kind, often times immature,
yet always possessed of unfaltering confidence. This, of course, was a
mask. A ruse employed by the keeper of Storm Keep's intelligence to disarm
the common populace during the performance of his regular duties. One that
was elaborate, well crafted, and adept at concealing his dark and ambitious
nature, but a mask nonetheless.

Like a blacksmith appraising a freshly forged and sharpened sword, the demon
knew this instrument of Evil possessed a keen cutting edge. Of equal
importance, the blade was flexible. He'd not have attained his station
otherwise. What the demon truly held on trial at this time was the blade's
durability.

On whether Ithelim was capable of inflicting such savagery unto his fellow
mortals, Xaran'xaxes had no doubt. The knight would not so easily
disappoint his Dark Master, but would the acts required to obtain these
necessary ingredients leave the metal chipped or would he return fully
intact?

{-

Several days later the knights had returned to Storm Keep. Once gathered
within the central chamber, a stained bag landed at the feet of Vincent de
Vere, casually tossed over by the Master of the Rose.

"Happy Gift Day."

The man's face answered the demon with a smile and the demon smiled back.
It was
that time of the year. Ithelim appeared without guilt, his mask
undamaged and unchanged. Yet even for that brief second, as he peered into
the mortal's eyes Xaran'xaxes noted change. The roots of Darkness bore ever
deeper into his soul. He had grown closer to God.




Writer: Vincent
Date Wed Jan 16 20:44:51 2019

To All Ithelim Shadow Verminasia Eclipse ( Necrucifer Imm Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject The Nullstone: The Ritual of Sight Pt. 3



Danu mixh visus utra ispektu
Danu mixh canetis utra auxidus
Okulis qiua serspixio
Oribus qiua auxio
Haecc lazgior Imperium Tenebrous
Praevixx mixh qiua praexa quoerer.


"Marron Trent."

Words chanted from the mouths of demons and devils throughout the Abyss and
Nine Hells now echoed throughout the marbled halls of Storm Keep from the
lips of a mortal man. While Ithelim recited the spell, Xaran'xaxes prepared
the ingredients.

Through de Vere's hands the demon crushed the eyes and macerated the ears.
Into the cauldron he dumped the unholy soil, kneading the aforementioned
into it to form a vile mash. In one smooth motion, he wiped the remnants
from his hands against the lip of the cauldron, produced an obsidian knife
from his belt, scraped the cleaned mash from the cauldron lip with the
blade's dull side, and flicked it back in with the rest. With that same
knife, he slit his wrist and poured a measure of his dark essence into the
crucible.

Once the mixture had boiled and the resulting brew cooled, the shadow mage
harvested it into a gourd which he examined tentatively. Taking a whiff of
it, his bowels lurched and further urged him not to imbibe the contents
within.

"Can we add some flavoring to make it more palatable?" Ithelim half-joked.


"No," Xaran'xaxes replied, "but you may chase away the taste afterwards if
you so desire."

The Master of the Rose shrugged and, after a brief moment of consideration,
raised the gourd in toast before consuming its contents. To the mortal's
credit, he seemed to stomach it well. There came a silent pause, All eyes
gathered watching Ithelim with anxious anticipation.

"I don't think i-" he said, breaking the silence.

The knight's mouth remained open as if about to continue, but produced only
a choking noise accompanied by a face contorted in agony. The gourd fell
from his hand as he braced his stomach and fell to his knees. Soon after he
clutched his head, his stifled gasps replaced with pained groans exhaled
through teeth clenched shut as tightly as his eyes.

Concerned, Symantha started to step forward. De Vere extended an arm to
halt her advance, despite the scene of alarm unfolding before them. "It
will pass," he reassured her. She had grown to trust this proclaimed
creature of God enough to not intervene.

For a moment, as the mortal before him writhed in agony, the archfiend
wandered if Ithelim would survive the ordeal.




Writer: Vincent

Date Wed Jan 16 20:53:09 2019

To All Ithelim Shadow Verminasia Eclipse ( Necrucifer Imm Ampersand Cayenna RP )

Subject The Nullstone: The Ritual of Sight Pt. 4



"Ithelim. What do you see?"

At last the storm settled and Ithelim spoke, albeit in hushed whispers.

"Ugh... I'm in a bar.. Tavern.. Thing. It's loud, but not really too
much. Everyone's... There's a large fire.. Roaring... Door opened and
...Snow. There's snow.
"

"Would that it gave you omniscience as well..." Xaran'xaxes quipped at the
vague answer before continuing, "There are countless such places across
Algoron... Can you discern anything? A language. An accent. A dialect."


"Shhh.. I'm.. Getting used to it... " Ithelim wheezed, briefly breaking
a hand's clutch from his forehead to shoo at the demon's inquiries.

"It's... Nordish. I know this bar now. It's the Viking's Tavern.

He's waiting... Tapping his fingers... There's a drink in front of him but
he's not drinking it. He's waiting on someone.
"

A pause. A curiosity-spurned tilt of the mage's head.

"Someone is coming towards him.... They sat down. I can't see inside their
cowl... They're talking about the heirloom.

They're... Planning an expedition north into the mountains. Won't say
what's there...

He pulled out the heirloom to show to the man. Yes, a definite mans
voice... He's urged to put it away. The cowl lit up... It's an ugly man..
Scarred up and down both sides of his face. The other man does... He told
him to put it away rather hastily.

The man is leaving now... They depart in the morning.
"

"And Trent?"

"He's just... "

Ithelim jerked violently and fell to his side, grabbing his throat and
gasping, eyes wild and open. The knight was quick to regain his composure,
though bewilderment lingered in his eyes.

"They killed him," Ithelim concluded.

"WHAT?!" Xaran'xaxes erupted with rarely displayed rage. All this effort,
only to have the stone change hands. They no longer had a name to place to
the bearer's face. The ritual would not work without one.

"As the scarred man was turning away... Hands grabbed him, took the
nullstone and slit his throat." Ithelim rubbed at his neck again, "That...
Is such a weird feeling..." He was again himself.

The shadow mage rose to his feet, stumbled over towards and dunked his head
into the nearest fountain. Rising from the water, he wiped his face,
slicked back his hair, and exhaled a breath of relief. The fiend had
likewise cooled, marked by de Vere's regained composure.

Who were these others that knew of the nullstone? Did they truly know its
potential value, or had they other reasons for wanting it? Of greatest
importance, where were they taking it? These questions and more filled the
air and mind alike. As Ithelim recouped, they would deliberate the
possibilities and plan their next steps.




Writer: Thaydius

Date Wed Jan 16 22:25:19 2019

To All ( Religion Siccara Imm )

Subject Conclusions



A delicate speck of light set within his vast palm produced enough
radiant energy to sanctify the entire glade around him. For whatever
reason, its existence eluded the young druid. She was a willowy thing,
young and full of life, who had a white rune in the vague shape of a hand
displayed over her cloth-stitched gloves. Even though he was sitting, she
wasn't tall enough to meet his shoulders, and she asked him the same
question she had been asking for a while.

When are you going back?

Thaydius smiled brightly at the meek elf before his attention turned to the
speck of essence that danced between his stretched fingers. He had found
the effervescent energy days ago and contemplated on it in silence. While
he had kept away from the happenings of Algoron at large, he wasn't entirely
unaware of its trajectory. Drakkara's threats weighed on his mind but
ultimately he concluded he was of no importance to the Goddess of Power. In
truth, he saw her reign as a necessity within the sphere of darkness. For
eons the world had been force fed the sentiment that All the children of
darkness were toiling to build a great throne upon which Necrucifer would
sit and validate their beliefs and their works. That finally they would be
right, and All the horrible things they had done to reach that point would
be justified, and those who had doubted or questioned them would be dealt
with.

His own mother had given her life too recently in the name of preventing the
suffering that Necrucifer brought upon the world. To some degree, one might
suggest that the rise of Drakkara in that vacuum might elicit another
grandiose response in the name of preserving that bright Light established
by the Goddess of Healing. But the children of Necrucifer had been taught
their whole life to do nothing but venerate "Him" and they would accept no
substitutions. They were not particularly well known for concessions or
pragmatics. Whatever the status of Necrucifer, who as Thaydius already knew
was beyond the simple concepts of life and death, a great rift had formed
between the children of darkness.

The Black Throne would always exist. Until the end of time, forces will
fight over who gets to sit upon it and who is right and who will succeed in
their conquest. All of it stood in contrast to what the White Moon was
building and working toward. Austinian didn't cherish some symbol of
status, he promoted the betterment of the lives of his children and in fact
the lives of All mortals. Even without him, his lessons and his power would
guide them and bring love and hope to the world around them. For the first
time since he had learned of his Mother's death, he had finally found that
spark of hope within him.

There's something I need to understand first. I don't think it will take me
long.


With a reassuring smile, he rose to his feet and closed his hand around the
powerful fragment of divine power. When his fingertips touched to the jut
of his thumb he felt a tremendous pulling sensation as the rifts of magic
grabbed him and transported him to a place south of Arkane. Once upon a
time, before everything was carved and given off to nobles, the holy lands
of Kadiya had existed nearby. But in a world of war and spectacle, of
arenas and treasure, he saw an old and historied place and watched the
fragment zip away over the top of the Church of Stars.

Thaydius followed, drifting effortlessly upon his endless magic over the
vast grounds that celebrated his family and spotted a sight that had slipped
his mind for years. It was the great vortex of holy power, where the Father
of Goodness himself had left the world after blessing the world with Love
itself. The little fragment deposited itself in the overly bright storm of
energy that would obliterate the wicked in an instant. An unfamiliar
sensation, hesitation, swept over Thaydius for just an instant.

Warily, he followed the floating light until the overwhelming light consumed
him.




Writer: Thaydius

Date Wed Jan 16 22:25:52 2019

To All ( Religion Imm Siccara )

Subject Conclusions II



Thaydius was far from a pure being such as a true divine god of Goodness
or even an angel brought about by the gods themselves. The overwhelming
radiance was only half of the issue in comparison to the raw force of energy
pushing down on him like a torrent of magic that started to stretch at his
own aura like rushing water. His heart, racing in his chest, tried to
attune itself to the bit of essence that had led him to this very place.
Hundreds of great battles against men and dragons had presented a challenge
to the center of his life and soul but nothing quite like this. But here,
in this radiant light, it made a sort of strange sense after being born in
light to maybe be unborn in that same energy.

He tried to endure the storm for several seconds, but it frantically tore
away the ice and frost over his body and made his cold presence
insignificant. He remembered ascension, perhaps too vividly, as a process
that had felt like it took years, as his mind and body expanded and
stretched, his bones and body breaking to be reformed. But now he was
simply being cleansed, by that powerful light, like weak dye upon a rock in
the pouring rain.

Why? Why this? Why now? More questions raced into his head but that was
the way of his life, so so many questions without answers. For so long, all
he had thought to do was ask whether he had changed the world or not. But
here, as his body was being ripped apart, he finally felt a bit of
inspiration. Maybe it didn't matter if he changed the world. Maybe the
world didn't need to change, or couldn't change even if it wanted to. Like
with the Black Throne, there were things in the world that neither he nor
Siccara nor anyone could change no matter how much power they had. But it
wasn't the world that needed to change it was just the people and people, he
truly believed, could always change.

He started to think of the many mortals he had met and closed his eyes,
which did nothing to mitigate the endless light as his vision stayed a pure
white. As he huddled, the little fragment of light that he had followed
sought him out and affixed itself to his crouched physique. Moments later,
a thousand other little bits of that essence descended from the storm itself
and pressed into his shivering flesh.

The warmth of the radiant light started to dull out of his senses. For a
moment, he considered it might just be like a numbness from some sort of
excess stimulation. When he opened his eyes to try to make sense of the
change in his situation, he saw through the light and out beyond the clouds
and then past the moons unto the end of the stars. After a few silent
moments he stood unopposed by the magical onslaught and looked outward to
the White Moon. With unknown speed and force, he took flight and zipped
like a streak of light across the sky and outward, leaving a white trail
over Arkane for no more than a few moments.




Writer: Nimiane
Date Thu Jan 17 06:53:07 2019




Writer: Nimiane
Date Thu Jan 17 06:53:24 2019




Writer: Nimiane
Date Thu Jan 17 06:53:37 2019




Writer: Nimiane
Date Thu Jan 17 06:53:43 2019




Writer: Nimiane
Date Thu Jan 17 06:53:49 2019




Writer: Nimiane
Date Thu Jan 17 06:53:55 2019




Writer: Zola
Date Thu Jan 17 18:43:57 2019

To All Arkane Bloodlust Black_Robes Immortals Fatale Rhien

Subject X Dark Seas - Fruitless X


As ordered by the King and Queen of Arkane, the Silverwind was taken out
for a number of excursions into the ocean, in order to investigate the
reports of monsters and underwater quakes.


Two such Privateers, off shift and relaxing, struck up a conversation as the
sun continued to set on the horizon.


"Starting to weird me out, mate."

"I know. Bad time to be setting out. Dark clouds in the skies, the seas
restless,
" the other one replied."

"And did you hear the mission? We're to find out what's causing it all.
Could be dangerous. I got youngin's I need to be getting back to, they
won't appreciate it if their pa is eaten by some sea monster.
"

"Talkin' 'bout monsters is dangerous, " he said, casting a look around as
the skies continued to darken. "'specially with what I've been hearin'
about the commander an' all.
"

The first sailor looked up a that, surprised at the sudden turn in
conversation. "What're you talkin' about? " he asked. "Don't get a much
straighter shooter than Captain Finneas.
"

"Not him, " the other said, casting a glance up at the wheel, where the good
Captain was over seeing ship operations. "He ain't leadin' this mission.
He's answerin' to someone else. And whoever it is... Never comes out of
their cabin. Not durin' the day.
"

The two of them shared a look then, and at once glanced westwards. Where a
thin sliver of red marked the departure of the sun. As the old saying went:
red sky at night, sailors delight. But neither of them felt very reassured
by this. And they felt even less comfortable when the door to the Captains
Quarters opened and a shadowy figure emerged.


Arkane's Admiral.

Zola.

Sweeping past the crew, most of whom were veterans and thus ignored him, he
made his way to the bow, peering out at the dark ocean view. By now, they
were nearing Baaren Gaer, where the first reports had come in of undersea
attacks. It was well below the surface of the water, but there was still a
chance the Silverwind would be able to find something to report on.


Thus far, the Privateers have found no direct evidence of anything, though
the popular theory we are coming to is that our enemy may lie beneath the
ocean, instead of above the waves.


For that, they would need a way to get a closer look.




Writer: Zola

Date Thu Jan 17 18:47:38 2019

To All Arkane Bloodlust Black_Robes Immortals Fatale Rhien

Subject X Dark Seas - Submersible X


When the Silverwind returned to dry dock a week later, most of the crew
was relieved to have found nothing in their search of Algoron's oceans. Not
a great sea beast with a multitude of eyes, or else signs of upheaval or
destruction. Everything seemed to be as it had always been. Wind, water,
salt, and sea life.

The Admiral was less than pleased.

Frustrated, Zola disembarked before the Silverwind had even docked, vaunting
over the side of the ship to land on the docks, strolling across them
without even pausing. Sailors working to tether the ship stumbled out of
his way as he swept past them with an ominous hollow breathing.


Nothing could be found above the waves, so they needed to search beneath.
Trusting the Captain Finneas to make the appropriate report to the King and
Queen (and now Marshall, he assumed), he made his way elsewhere in order to
continue his work.


Moving underneath one of the Arkanian piers, Zola sent out the appropriate
summons, then waited. Night turned to day turned back to night, All while
he waited in the shadows of the pier. Finally, as the sun set on the
horizon, a hideous sight came into being, as something stumbled out of the
surf and onto the cold, wet rocks. Something that might once have been
human, but not was a hollow parody of its old life.


Flesh clung to his bones in blue-tinged clumps, exposing organs and muscles
in places where decay had set in. Both eyes were hollow, and his hair clung
to his hair as limp as seaweed.


Not your typical undead, this ocean dweller was a rare type of undead called
a Sea Zombie. Possessing a mean intelligence and a hatred of sailors, they
usually hung out near reefs and other perilous locations to attack them.
The Admiral was in no danger, however. This was what he had summoned.


"You know what I intend for you? " Zola inquired.

The drowned one nodded, water spilling from his blackened lips. His task
was simple enough. To scout out and report back to Zola what he would find
beneath the water. The summoning spell had conveyed his purpose to him, and
they now shared a tenuous link. Zola would know what he knew, or learned
of.


"Then take a walk, " Zola commanded ominously. "And show me what is out
there beneath the waves."


The Sea Zombie nodded again numbly, stumbling back into the waves and
submerging beneath them as it walked out further. Without a need for air in
its necrotic lungs, it would never be able to swim, but it would scour every
inch of the deep beneath the waves until it found what it was looking for.

Or was destroyed. But it was expendable, and Zola paid its safety no
further mind.


He needed answers. The attack on Baaren Gaer was no coincidence, nor was
the Aboleths who'd been involved with the amulets. If this was indeed tied
to the Monoliths, it was a danger to Arkane. While not frightened by the
prospect of danger, Zola intended to be ready for it. For that, he needed
information.


Soon he would have it.




Writer: Finneas

Date Fri Jan 18 17:31:05 2019

To All Imm RP

Subject Elves Adrift at Sea



Perturbed by the recent events with the tremors and now more spires
rising across the continents, Finneas took to the seas to scour for signs of
trouble. His voyage with Admiral Zola around the inner waters some days
before had drawn no new information but the events gnawed at his thoughts.

The hours at sea on dolphinback began to cause his thighs to ache and toes
to numb in the cold, harsh waters. Seeking a respite on the shores of
Tropica he warmed his face with the beaming of the sun as his eyes fell
across the horizon.

'Might as well check on the sea elves since I'm here, ' Finneas thought to
himself as he whistled for his dolphin. Swiftly, they cut through the
waters toward the surface above the city and just as swiftly two objects
came into view on approach. Bodies. Mangled and bobbing in the waves as he
arrived. He lashed them with a rope and towed them back to Arkane to notify
the others.




Writer: Kaladon

Date Sat Jan 19 11:00:26 2019

To All imm Xenophon Cayenna imm

Subject Quest for Knowledge (Fight)



As Kaladon looked down at the list he thought "What is it with
necromancers getting their animated heads place on sticks?" He sighed as he
looks over the list. The events of the evening was wearing on him.

Fighting through the Great Library of History to let Finneas map the area.
The group was large but as the evening drew on it shrank. The hour was late
and the three surviving members was Faythe, Finneas and himself. Golem
after golem assaulted them, but they beat them back. After what seems like
an enternality, Finneas finally mapped enough of the Library that they
started finding new rooms. One lead to the Golem that carried the core.

Emotions and spells ran rapid. That poor golem did not know what hit it.
They walked in, blood covered and golem parts clinging to them, it attacked.
The golem was laughing at them, his core was glowing. It pounded on Finneas
but Finneas expertly dodged and parried the attacks. Kaladon raised his
hand and with the power of the Red Moon stripes its protective spells. Then
he releases volleys of acid blast at it. Faythe swinging her axe also cast
her mentalist spells which reduced the golem to a weeping puddle of goo.
Finneas was attacking with his double laywer's teeth started to strip away
flash and muscle.

It was not anytime before the golem was gasping its last breath. Finneas
yelled out for the group not to sacrifice the corpse to the Gods but it was
to late. Kaladon had already done it. Kaladon smirks as he hands over the
core. Kaladon explains that he is use to checking the corpses because of
his ball of light.

They tried to leave but the magic in the library prevents them. They meet
twin golems and Kaladon lights them up with chain lighting as Finneas's
sanctuary spell stops working. After that fight they laugh and joke that,
that fight was harder then the one before.

Kaladon uses one of his warpstones and cast nexus and they exit and go their
seperate ways. Kaladon continues to search for the missing components on
the list as the others slumber. After some time has past he walks back to
Arkane, looking at the stairway from the Archway. He shakes his head. He
walks into the throne room and looks for the King. Exaustion settles in and
he stumbles back and falls into the King's throne. Sleep takes him quickly.






Writer: Geirhart

Date Sat Jan 19 21:56:14 2019

To All Kingdom Clan Finneas Leomire Faythe Xenophon Imm

Subject Living with a Lich: Day 15



The knuckles on the old man's hands were sore from his long day of
writing. So many questions from the Empress, to Carcosa, to other kingdom
business had left Geirhart at his desk most of the day. The activities and
duties had worn the old man thin as had his new charge. His final writings
of the day were however his most important.

'Priest, what are you writing over there? I can't see from this angle. Is
it about how helpful I have been?
' asked the Lich whose skull was now
infused upon a gilded staff.

'No, Prazhul. It is a sermon I am writing. ' responded the priest.

'Boring! You should be writing about our adventures. '

'It is a sermon on power and it's purpose. '

'Only slightly less boring. Also, you have a wizard of immense power right
here! I should be a part of your sermon!
'

'Oh and what does power mean to a skull with an over amplified sense of
importance?
'

'I will disregard your insult for now, priest. Power is a tool to reach
unimaginable heights! Look at me, I have crossed planes, found immortality,
and can vaporize a cult from miles away. That option remains on the table
by the way.

'And in your pursuit of this tool, you have murdered, corrupted your
prodgeny, and perhaps fueled the destruction of our world.
'

'Eggs have to be broken to be scrambled, priest. If mortals didn't play
with fire we wouldn't have many things we rely on today.
'

'Power itself is not wrong. A despot may use their power to keep a kingdom
under their thumb but a kind ruler may use that power to help their
citizens. The problem with power is the corruptive nature of it. People
believe their power grants them a sense of importance that puts them above
others. A good ruler may, in seeking to help her people be more virtuous,
outlaw certain practices or force her people to believe as she in order to
save them. A mage may sacrifice a cult without putting them to trial for
their crimes and offering them a chance to repent.
'

'Hmrph, well my way gets results. Restraining yourself may cost lives or
more!
'

'And that is the difference, good knows that power is a responsibility and
that its use has consequences. We must take All of it into consideration.
Evil will not, they will wield it as a instrument without caring whom it
harms.
'

'Well, I have a powerful spell to prepare in order to save lives! You enjoy
writing your sermon which may only be heard because I saved their ears from
melting off.
' and with that, the flames in the skull's eye sockets went
dark

Geirhart chuckled and turned back to his parchment.

'I shall send word when I return from Arkane. Kiss my grandchildren for me. I love you.

Your father.'





Writer: Scribpog

Date Sun Jan 20 11:09:22 2019

To All Erebaal Geirhart imm rp Malachive

Subject Preperations of sacrifice



Scribpog stood amidst the grouping of corrupted that surrounded him. His
nude form showed between each as they handed him his battle armor. Each
piece shined, lacquered with blood and flesh stains. Large dents covered
the dulled studs as the armor was placed upon his form, each piece fitting
with perfection, as if the armor was made for the massive bugbear.

As his armor fell into place, Scribpog nudged the grouping back with subtle
hand gestures. The men stepped back, and listened as the bugbear spoke.
Each word, nothing more than broken commen, nearly impossible to understand
but the formation took it in as power. They were All in awe of who stood
before them, the bugbear who had become known as a Warbeast by their own
Wordbearer. The bugbear barked orders of the coming battle, the necessity
of slaughter and the death of a man in yellow. His life belonged to the
Warp and none would come between their goal.

As Scribpog's words came to a close, he gestured his arms out to his sides
and raised them, causing the gathering around him to whoop and hollar in
excitement, at the thought of the deaths and destruction that would come on
this day. It was an end to the chains of the gods and a beginning that
Erebaal had promised.

Scribpog stepped back and left through a corridor, making his way toward the
stables to fetch his trusted fish-horse. His thoughts raced as a grim smile
trenched across his face. Erebaal was proud enough of the bugbear that he
was given command of the upcoming battle and there would be blood in his
name. The Blood Tree would have its blood this eve.




Writer: Faythe

Date Sun Jan 20 11:55:30 2019

To All ( Xenophon RP Imm )

Subject Musings...



The amulet remained as cold as death, and the Caretaker's voice had been
absent for so long now. She worried that they might have gotten to him, the
torn sleeve found in the Garden was clue enough that he had been there, the
blood and the upturn earth... The signs of a fight, meant the cultist had
been after him... And the monolith had changed after that, the tremors that
shook every continent and the sea, the new structures, they All happened
after.

She visited each structure, shaking her head as she studied them, frowning.

Too fast... Too soon, this wasn't what the Caretaker had wanted, at least
she didn't think it was, it wasn't what they had spoken of so long ago.
People weren't supposed to worship the monolith, they weren't supposed to
interfere, and now... They had and things were moving out of control.

What was going to happen now? Could they find Yh'till? Could they stop the
Cultist?

It felt as if time was running out and soon... They would know.




Writer: Mercerion

Date Mon Jan 21 03:40:37 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Mon Jan 21 11:01:50 2019

To All Chaos imm rp Malachive

Subject Failure is only a beginning



Scribpog drug his feet as he entered the Warps gathering area, weapons
slumped over in his hands. This coats of blood covering his armor were
thick, yet reeked of failure. The blood was none other than his own. Large
holes made from dragon claws, swords and polearms covered his form, yet as
the healer approached, he pushed them away with what little strength he had
remaining.

None fell to his blade, even the sailors were able to get away. He would
suffer, as was right in his position. The field was desecrated and littered
with corpses, only those of the warp and the aboleths were left behind.

Leaning against a wall, Scribpog slumped to the ground, his eyes wandered up
and over to the Blood Tree. Treachery and failure scattered through his
mind as the tree screeched to him telepathically, yet it was only his own
thoughts screaming at him. His eyes widened as his mind raced. He
suffered, it was not a failure but a beginning, a new opening of what was to
come for the opposition. They too would suffer, they would learn and free
their chains.

Scribpog stood, his battered body fighting against his movement as he
hobbled from the floor to the couch. Reaching out toward the table before
him, his shaking hands defying his wants, he pulled out a parchment and
began to pen a missive to the cultists. It was time to meet.




Writer: Jermichael

Date Mon Jan 21 21:09:30 2019




Writer: Ithelim

Date Mon Jan 21 21:29:43 2019




Writer: Finneas
Date Tue Jan 22 17:49:55 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Jan 22 20:05:33 2019

To Uruvian Gabriella Shalonesti Chaos All imm rp Malachive

Subject The Makings of War



With the actions of the elves, Scribpog was angry. He stormed through
the halls of the warp and took to the couch, his large form slamming against
the soft cushions. He pulled out a detailed map of Shalonesti and began
planning his revenge on the two who wielded staves.

As night fell, the walls of Shalonesti grew dim with the faint flicker of
candle light hugging the streets below. Scribpog went through, slowly
melting against the shops and homes, keeping out of sight so he may not be
recognized by any bystanders.

Slowly he entered the temple of Zandreya, checking about for any who would
tend to the temple at night. A few elves remained, dressed in cloth long
robes. Scribpog assumed them to be priests and priestesses. As they moved
about the temple, none the wiser of his location, he snuck through and took
a seat in a pew. His form was covered in thick garbs, hiding himself from
any who would see him. As an elf approached, their voice bellowed out.?
Sir, the temple is cl-? His voice grew faint at the end of his words as
Scribpog swung up with a quick movement, his serrated blade plunging through
the man? S heart and pierced out the back of his robe.

The man slumped over and none knew the wiser, or dared raise alarm as
Scribpog stood and drug the man out, moving quickly from the city and met
the outside of Shalonesti's walls. Scribpog slung the corpse to the ground
and shoved his hand into the man's unopened chest. Blood began to spurt out
and coated the front of Scribpog. As he smiled in amusement, the only thing
that showed through the dark was his vicious teeth.

Slowly Scriblog drew his hand from the man's chest, heart in hand, quivering
as it took its last breath. He pocketed the trophy and kneeled next to the
wall, fingers gently sliding against the cold bricks, writing in large
bloody letters, ? Uruvion is next. ?

The bugbear sprang to his feet, mouth agape as his voice echoed against the
trees in a maniacal cackle. The birds nearby jumped from their branches and
flew off in a fearful scurry.

As he walk back through the opening of the Warp, his twisted fingers danced
across the walls, leaving a thin blood trail that tapered off, growing
thinner and thinner. Joy showed on his face at his doings as he slapped the
emptying heart against the floor, leaving a fresh morsal for the Blood Tree
to ingest.




Writer: Leumas

Date Wed Jan 23 09:34:59 2019




Writer: Kaladon
Date Wed Jan 23 17:19:03 2019




Writer: Leomire
Date Wed Jan 23 17:55:19 2019

To All Arkane Althainia Geirhart Finneas Kaladon ( Imm RP Religion Xenophon Zandreya )

Subject The Great Hunt - Preparations



As the sun rose, Leomire looked over the equipment he had laid out. The
fire he had burned last night was smouldering to it's conclusion. It had
been huge, the low hanging clouds almost glowing with the light from it. He
had cleansed himself and his tools for the upcoming night.

This was no hunt he prepared for. If the fight was to send him to his
ancestors, he now went clean of his past. The spirits would judge him on
this night.

This hunt he had started, investigating the strange towers so many months
ago, had led him to many new magics that did no belong, that had no place
among the mortals of this world. Furless trying to control a power from the
creation of the world. A skull that would not die. A cult that moved
through shadows, not just hiding in them.

This was All an affront to the Great Mother and Her realm. It All a threat
to Her balance.

It was his duty to protect that balance, as it had been the duty of his
pride since his ancestors first learned to hunt.

Leomire picked up the paints in their bowls. Blacks, and browns, and
greens. All made so as not to have a scent, and would help to mask his own
scent.

This time, Leomire would forgo the usual tribal symbols invoking the
protection of the spirits, favoring a pattern to break up the outline of his
body in most any enviroment. He painted patches from head to tail, leaving
most of his natural fur showing, only doing enough to help conceal himself.
This was a new technique, not one he learned as a young hunter in the pride,
but one through years of hunting while living on his own.

Next he slide his normal harness over his shoulders, centering the ring on
his chest, the leather forming an x across his torso. The bundle of arrows,
each one painstakingly crafted by his own hand to fly straight and true,
went into the quiver handing on the back of the harness. The large hunting
knife, most furless would call it a fighting knife based on the size, he
sheathed on the lower left front of the harness.

Next he picked up the ancient blade of his pride, one that had been handed
down from lead hunter to lead hunter for more than 6 generations.
'Sredreeowrrmgrauhrahrrdr' he whispered it's name as he sheathed it along
the left side of his body. Stormguard as the furless could call it, though
the true translation to furless speak was Incarnation of the Guardian, was
large enough most furless would have had to use two hands to wield. The
history of the sword was long, almost as long as the history of his pride,
now that he thought of it.

He then picked up a near identical, though clearly newer sword.
'Brrllahshraerhprhuhrrryhk' he whispered. Blazefury, or more accurately,
glory of broken families, had only come into Leomire's possession since the
death of the rest of his pride. This one he sheathed along the right side
of his lionine half, opposite of Sredreeowrrmgrauhrahrrdr.

Finally, he picked up his bow, and tested the new string he had placed on it
yesterday. His fingers, he ran over the engraved symbols used to evoke
forgiveness in the spirits for those he hunted and killed with this bow.
The bow had yet to reveal it's name to him. Perhaps that would change after
this night, though Leomire did not dwell on that thought. Weapons revealed
their names when they chose, one only had to listen to them and respect the
weapon to hear it.

He was now ready. He was now death walking for any who were his target.
His prey used the shadows to travel and hide, well now so did Leomire.




Writer: Jermichael

Date Wed Jan 23 22:17:25 2019




Writer: Uruvion
Date Wed Jan 23 23:20:48 2019

To Scribpog Gabriela Shalonesti Chaos Zandreya Malachive All ( Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Making War - Gnawing



Uruvion kept glancing off in the direction of the city through out the
day and evening. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind. What it
was, he wasn't certain. The eldritch sat under a tree by the pool and was
tuning his guitar, or trying to at the very least when a young elf from the
church came running in, pale as a ghost and very shaken.

Uruvion looked up at elf garbed in the robes of the Zandreyan faith, genuine
worry and concern came over him. "What's the matter? "

The young acolyte looked as if he was trying to get the words out but
something was holding his tongue. Uruvion sat his guitar against the tree
and stood before the distressed elf, being patient to see if he would speak.
"The g-g-gates, sir. Come. "

The eldritch snatched his staff up and hurried himself to the gates of the
city where a small crowd had gathered at a section of the east wall. The
crowd of elves fell silent as they saw Uruvion stand in front of a body of
an elf of the church. A jagged cavity in the chest where the heart should
have been was very present as what was left for the eldritch to see above
the lifeless body on the stones of the wall.

Uruvion is next

The pale armed elf pulled a couple guards and some clergy to his side,
ordering them to take the body, inform the deceased's family and see he got
a proper burial. His hand gripped his staff as he glared at the words
written in blood, a fire lit in his hard gaze, "Scribpog. "

His jaw set as he turned away from the wall, telling a gate guard to scrub
the wall clean as he passed and walked back into the hall and up into the
tower of the Moon into the eldritch's circle. "He will burn. They all
will.
"




Writer: Faythe

Date Thu Jan 24 00:16:42 2019

To All ( Xenophon Imm RP )

Subject Search and Rescue, and a Deal to Make



The ritual had worked, it had showed them the Caretaker and the Cultists,
it gave them the direction of where they needed to go to rescue him. They
ran out the door and made their way to the old vaults, to the old library,
there they encountered the cult and their leader. There, on an altar was
Yh'till, tied down by chains, his chest opened wide and the cult's leader's
hands deep in that chest.

Anger surged through her at the sight of the healer taking the Caretaker's
heart out, holding the beating muscle in his hand. Words were exchange,
threats here and there. The cult's members hovered around her small party.
Blows were exchange to no avail, each party standing back to glare at each
other, while Danforth the leader, spoke, wanting the amulet the Inquisitor
wore. She refused to give it to him, even with his threat of ending
Yh'till. Deep inside, the Inquisitor believed that giving the amulet to the
man, would spell disaster for the whole world.

They All argued for what seemed an eternity, but the choice was hers to
make, Faythe held tight to the amulet, refusing to part with it. The deal
was hers to strike and no one else's.

Finally, an agreement was reached, one she could agree to even if not All of
those in her group did, the Leader would give them the Caretaker, and they
would All meet again in four days at the black stairway of the Monolith.

As the Cult and their Leader walked out, the Inquisitor approached the
altar, others moving forward as well to help out, while others discussed
what to do next. Priest and Paladin worked their healing spells as the
Captain picked the malformed beating heart from the basin, handing it
carefully over to the Inquisitor, who held it for a moment, looking confused
at opened chest, so different from a human... Where to place? Unsure, she
placed it in the chest and hoped it would settle itself in the right spot,
the healing spells began to knit the wounds closed and Yh'till seemed to
stir a little, although remaining unconscious.

Where could they keep the Caretaker safe? The Cardinal suggested Arkane,
for it's strong military presence, and although it would seem a safe place,
the Inquisitor wanted to remain close to one who was a friend. In the end,
even Prazhul agreed that keeping the Caretaker and the amulet close together
would be the best choice. With that, Faythe moved to pick Yh'till up along
with the Captain's help, and her spell of flight to make the man in yellow
easier to move. Everyone said their farewells, All returning to their
cities to attend important matters.

The Inquisitor opened the nexus that would take her home, and with help from
the Captain, led her charge home. Once they settled him on a bed in a guest
room. The Inquisitor set up her protective wards around her home and
assembled her staff and guards giving them specific orders, setting guards
all around her estate, then finally, much to her annoyance, assigning two
guards to be her official escorts whenever she left her home.

She would watch over her friend, and prepare for what was coming, four
days... That was All the time they had.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Thu Jan 24 16:50:51 2019

To All Chaos imm rp

Subject Past, Present, and Future


Amidst the deserted wastelands of Icewall, in the midst of open fields of
frozen tundra, stood a single hole, wide enough to fit a full sized ogre.
The hole was not easily found, unless you knew what you were looking for.
Slowly, a large group of soldiers marched on, moving with heavy boot steps,
the sound of crunching snow filling the air.

The soldiers were human, distinct in their features, their height and the
lack of tipped ears. The band moved toward the hole, barking at one another
as laughter fueled their vocal cords. In their arms rested young and naive
goblinoids, shaking from the freezing temperatures that their bodies were
not yet accustomed to.

The soldiers approached the hole and kneeled down, resting the goblinoid
children above the hole and released their grip. Their small frames began
to fall, the hole opened into a chamber made of dirt walls before their weak
shapes hit the stone ground. They did not move, their small shapes began to
shake violently as tears began to run down their cheeks, their mouths
freeing an echod shriek of fear, yet none answered.

Night came and their chamber became dark, sans the dim moonlight that peeked
through. The two cuddled for warmth in a sad attempt at survival. The
young knew nothing, they were merely babies. They had no hope as their
stomach growled and their beaks went unmet with liquids. They could not
speak to justify how they felt, their tears coated their face as snot oozed
from their noses.

Booming noises began to ring out. Voices echoed against their walls until a
bit of flesh was dropped down the hole and liquid was pour down and pooled
in a small crevice. The two did not move, not yet. They were scared and
weak. Neither tempted their fate.

Night turned to day multitudes of times and the two grew accustomed to the
actions of their captives. They ate what was thrown down and they drank the
stout liquids that were poured down. Their cage began to reek of filth and
feces until their snouts became accustomed to the scent.

Years passed and they grew, their arms and legs had become a tool. Their
time was spent wrestling with one another as they awaited their meals and
the sound of those who kept them alive. They knew no better, they had no
ability to communicate besides basic grunting and a showing of their teeth.
Growling showed their anger, pointing was a tool to decide who was allowed
the right to use the rock against the walls.

The sun rose from the east, its warmth peeking its way into the hole. The
two began to sit beneath, doing their best to collect the warmth that
collected against their skin, which was a sign the morning meal would be on
its way. The foot steps against the snow sounded out and the pair grew in
excitement. A figure, blocked out by the suns rays, peered down the hole
and a chunk of rotting flesh fell down, slapping against the floor. The
figure yelled an inaudible command before screaming out in pain. Blood
began to pour from the hole, descending in long streams against the
goblinoids faces.

Again a figure stood in the hole, this one different and unknown. The sun
forced the figure to seem as a shadow, completely hidden besides a
noticeable set of horns protruding from his forehead. The goblinoids began
to panic as two ropes dropped down. They were scared and unsure of what was
happening.

Two men, clad in leather armors, dropped down into their hole and casted
magics, forcing the two to calm down and sleep. As one awoke, his vision
slowly came to and the horned being became clear. Pale skin and cloth
cloaked his form, excluding the horns coming from his head.

The being spoke, ? You are free now. Set out and serve me. Make the world
suffer and find your way.
? Simple words that the bugbear did not
understand, yet he would never forget. The being left the two bugbear alone
within a new surrounding to find their own way.




Writer: Jermichael

Date Thu Jan 24 18:16:53 2019




Writer: Kaladon
Date Fri Jan 25 11:06:20 2019




Writer: Faythe
Date Fri Jan 25 12:02:07 2019

To All ( Xenophon Imm RP )

Subject Watching Over a Friend, Two Days Left



She wandered through the mansion, lost in thoughts, hardly aware of the
maids scurrying by, or the guards standing at attention along the hallways.
Necessary protection to keep her friend safe, and herself... That she had
to admit reluctantly.

She climbed the stairs and walked the down the hallway, stopping before a
door, knocking slightly just in case her guest had awoken, waiting for a
brief few seconds before opening the door and stepping in.

There he lay on the bed, just the same as when they had first brought him
in, cleaner now, she had seen to wiping All the dried blood from his skin.
With a sigh she walks over to the bed and sits on the chair she had previous
set beside it.

"Yh'till... I hope you can at least hear me... Get better soon, please.
I'm.... I'm sorry we didn't get to you sooner. If we had... I'm sorry.
"
The Inquisitor lightly touches the Caretaker's hand, watching his face for a
reaction... Any reaction.

"We need your guidance in this... You, out of anyone else, know Carcosa
best and what will happen when it rises now. Danforth wants to meet us at
the stairway... In two more days. I refused to give him the amulet but we
had to come to a deal in order to get you back...
" she whispers softly as
she touches said amulet, looking down at it as it rests against her fingers.

Lightly touching the Caretaker's forehead, she gives a small sigh, "We'll do
all we can to protect our home, and to save yours as well. Danforth will
not succeed.
" She nods in affirmation before rising from the chair and
walking out of the guest room, closing the door softly behind her.

Two more days to go before they All gathered at the monolith, with her in
the center of it all.




Writer: Scribpog

Date Sat Jan 26 11:58:40 2019

To All imm rp Chaos Malachive

Subject Past part 2, Present, Future


The bugbear took to those who looked like him and over the years he
learned the language that they spoke, goblin. This however, was not enough.
Most who lived in this kingdom, while not in the sewers, spoke a different
language, common. The young bugbear wanted to learn so he could learn to
speak to All of the weird creatures. In this time, the bugbear was happy.
When around his own kind he was treated well. While within the walls of the
city he was looked at with queer eyes, sneers and often times, spit.

He made a decision, and a drastic one. He wanted to join the Althainian
academy. When the sun began to rise he was guided by a much older
goblin-kin and made their way to the school. Every face turned away from
them, or shouted a string of insults, All of which he could not understand,
so he wasn't bothered by them.

The bugbear was lead into a small office set with a large desk and two
chairs. On the other side sat a fat man. The bugbear and his escort were
gestured to take a seat and so they did. The escort and the fat man spoke
the language that the bugbear didn't understand. The man spoke loud and
strenuous, pointing at the young bugbear. The escort turned and glared at
the bugbear, their large yellow eyes peering deep within, as if grasping at
his heart, asking, "What is your name? "

Name? What was this. He had never been given a name. He was trapped and
treated like a captive for so long. He had heard others called out by
specification, yet not himself. "I don't have one. " The escort was mad
and turned back to the man sitting at his desk. "Scribpog. " Scribpog,
this was a word he knew. In his own language this was a way of explaining
someone who was a failure, or an imbecile. It was a word meant to hurt, a
word used to demean the subject. Tears rolled down the bugbear's cheeks as
the fat man penned down his name and repeated it. The word tore through
Scribpog's chest and clamped onto his heart. Each use just as painful as
the last.

Days later Scribpog started his first day. He made his way to the room he
was told to begin in. Peeking into the doorway, he saw a mixture of races.
Some short and bearded, some slender with pointed ears. Each just as
confusing as the last. None were green, or yellow, or his shade of brown.
None smelled good as he did. None of them wore the tattered patterns he
had. They were different.

He made his way to an empty seat and the room fell silent. He was singled
out and disapproved how he felt yet said nothing. They wouldn't understand
him, just like he couldn't understand them. As time progressed, Scribpog
did his best to cope with the learning, yet it was difficult. He was
teased, made fun of, and tortured. Each passing day in this place was his
own version of hell. None understood him and who he was, and worst of all,
none accepted him.

One day while heading to the academy, Scribpog came up from the sewers and
headed down the Market street before something caught his eyes. Amidst a
wall of posters for help wanted, or common tasks of lost puppies and the
like, sat a large poster with the words WANTED written in big, bold letters.
The man was painted to be pale, with dark hair. The one thing that stuck
out to Scribpog the most were the horns that protruded out of his head. He
recognized this figure. The man once saved his life.

Scribpog tore down the poster and decided enough was enough. He would
search out and find this man and do as he was once told, he would serve.




Writer: Kaladon

Date Sat Jan 26 20:14:07 2019

To All Xenophon imm

Subject Quest for Knowledge IV



Kaladon goes to every library and asks about All of the things on his
list. Gathering a massive amount of tomes, he takes them to his house. He
puts them in his vault, but one. As the days go by he studies them. He
looks for anything that might aid Arkane in the days ahead. Anything he
finds, he takes notes and writes the notes in his secret language.

As the time draws near, the pressure mounts and he works feverishly. For
going sleep and sometimes meals to spend more time studying. He whispers
"There has to be a way to stop this." "Arkane is counting on myself." "The
realms is counting on myself." "Foolish people and their delusions." "All
odds are stacked against us." "But there has to be a weakness." "Somewhere
somehow we shall prevail." "If not All is lost."




Writer: Uriel
Date Sun Jan 27 10:22:07 2019




Writer: Uriel
Date Sun Jan 27 10:23:22 2019




Writer: Uriel
Date Sun Jan 27 10:27:42 2019




Writer: Uriel
Date Sun Jan 27 10:28:36 2019




Writer: Kaladon
Date Sun Jan 27 11:54:29 2019

To All Xenophon rp imm

Subject Quest for Knowledge (End of times)



As Kaladon finishes the last tome, the flings it across the room.
Always the same. Either nothing or little bits that get yourself in
trouble. I have failed everyone. There is nothing left for myself to do
but prepare for the end of times.


He grabs two bottles of wine and two glasses and thinks. In All of this, I
have had little choice. Choices was made for myself and I had to try to
correct them. This should have ended that faithless night. Once again
someone making choices that affect everyone without care nor though. Once
again I am trying to correct their mistake. But this is to grievous of one
for myself to correct. There is but one thing to do. Prepare for the end
of times.


With that he moves into his outdoor living area. He sets the bottles and
glasses down. He unties his robes and lets them fall to the ground. He
uncorks one bottle and fills both glasses. He picks up both bottles and
glasses and moves over to the hot tub. He slides into the hot tub and sets
the unopened bottle in a holder in the arm of his chair. He hands the two
glasses to two attractive females that are in his hot tub. They come up to
him smiling and takes the glasses from him. Kaladon wraps his arms around
them and takes a drink of the bottle of wine and grins.

If this are truly the end of times then I shall choose how I shall die.
Not someone else. I shall enjoy this until the very end.


He gives both of them a very long and passionate kiss before taking another
drink from the bottle of wine.

Death comes to us all...... It is but time and method.




Writer: Zola

Date Mon Jan 28 17:52:06 2019

To All Arkane Bloodlust Black_Robes Immortals Fatale Rhien

Subject X Traces X


Well, that was a thing, he mused.

To say the arrival of Carcosa's heralds had been hectic was a mild
understatement. And that was before Chaos had become involved on the side
of the destroyers and the necromancer Danforth and tried to ruin the realm.
They might well have succeeded
too, with their tactic of capturing wisps.
Surprisingly clever. Once again Zola was forced to concede the heathens of
Malachive were very dedicated in what they believed. Now if only they would
believe something that wasn't a horrific lie.


Well, no matter. Their interference had not prevented victory on behalf of
the rather oddly assembled defenders of Algoron. As had been pointed out:
Knights and Assassins, Priests of Light and Darkness and Death, All united
in a common cause. Under
normal circumstances, the Deathscythe would have
used this as further proof of his own doctrine, that everyone were ruthless
killers, cutting down the titanic heralds who threatened their existence.
But he said nothing as he departed the former site of the monoliths, now
little more than ruins.


He had more important things to do.

Specifically, the first thing he did upon his return to Arkane was make his
way to the Azure Tower Laboratory. While he would have preferred the
Laboratory of Blood in the Grand Temple of Fatale, it wasn't finished yet.
Construction had been
delayed, citing a need for approval from higher up the
church echelons. Bloody bureaucracy. Zola would have cut to the chase (and
killed someone) if that speeded things along, but even in the Church of
Fatale there was a limit to how many
you could kill so freely.

So he was using Arkanes Laboratory. He sealed the dark wisp inside a glass
jar, closed tight and covered in mystic runes that would remain its contents
were thoroughly sealed. And when not being studied, in a protective metal
box (also
runed) deep in his vault. Away from prying eyes and scrying
minds. He did not want a repeat of what had transpired with the cultists
and their book of spells.


Now he could study more about this strange Nightmare realm.

Just this tiny little trace remained of the huge heralds. Great and
powerful, re-shaping the world with their mere presence. Such power was
awe-inspiring... As well as dangerous. Zola was no fool (despite many
claiming as much), he knew
such would be dangerous. He'd felt the draw of
power from the Monoliths, from Carcosa. And it was powerful. There was no
sane way to dispute that. Study would have to be done. Careful, controlled
study. Not the reckless work that Danforth had been doing, or Prazhul
before him.


He would take his time, and he would do it right.




Writer: Scribpog

Date Tue Jan 29 16:01:51 2019

To All Shalonesti_clan chaos Uruvion imm rp Malachive

Subject Making War: Tainting the Waters



Scribpog knocked on the mahogany door with a rhythmic rasp of his
knuckles, signaling to those behind that he was the type to enter. The door
opened with a soft and padded squeek, before the moonlight from outside
introduced the pig faced goblin that stood inside. The bugbear was allowed
into the small cavern hidden under a hill in the midst of the lands just
north of Althainia.

The room was small and freshly dug out by those who kept it. Once a month
the group moved to keep from being caught by the authorities. Scribpog
looked about at the wares the band kept, eyeing each illegal substance or
item they claimed to be hot from theft. Liquids oozed and caged creatures,
some so rare that they were the last of their breed, lined the floor and a
small folding table. Scribpog swept a bottle into his hand and stared into
it. He slowly dipped his grotesque finger tip into the lip of the thick,
sludge and his skin began burning away, the flesh underneath began to spurt
out blood. Scribpog grinned and wiped his throbbing finger against his
leggings, wiping away what was left of destroyed flesh.

Scribpog threw a bag filled with one hundred beautiful jeweled eggs on the
table and the goblin's eyes grew with wonder but no questions were asked.
Scribpog corked the bottle and made his way out of the location. As the
night loomed above, and time marched on at a crawl, Scribpog made his way to
the Vallens hall of warriors, watching closely at the times when men left
and came, when the guard's shifts ended and a new pair met at the entrance.


Night after night, Scribpog watched from a distance, hiding within the
shadows of the great trees that stood outside. Tonight was the night to
strike. Scribpog snuck through when an opening was perfect. He moved
through the front door and made his way through the halls, peering within
doorways and looking over the sleeping elves. The bugbear grinned as he
entered the main hall of the building, each sleeping pad lined with elves
weary from combat from the day. He tiptoed through, doing his best, not to
nudge a single body, as he went and knelt over their drinking pool.

Quietly Scribpog uncorked the sludge liquid and poured it into the water.
Within a moment, long enough to inhale quietly, the sludge took over the
waters form and contaminated every inch. Scribpog's lip quivered into a
deep grin, his bright teeth were the only thing seen. Without a second
thought Scribpog made his way back toward the brush near the entrance of the
Keep.

Soon came day, the sun shining over the trees and Scribpog did his best to
stay concealed. Screams of horror and pain, pure suffering, began to bellow
out of the halls of the Vallens. Scribpog knew he had succeeded.

Once the consequences of his actions came to a halt, and bodies were pulled
from the keep and taken to the mortuary, Scribpog's curiosity got the best
of him. He made his way inside as the keeper left for the night.

Scribpog uncovered the first body and cackled with a dark glee. The elves
ears and hair were still well kept, yet the eyes were large with horror.
The nose ran with snot and thick slime. Just beneath, the jaw and throat
were completely missing. Where the two once were was nothing more than
coagulated blood patches and pits of puss. Scribpog wanted nothing more
than to sit here and enjoy the sight of his trophies, the souls of elves
that the Blood Tree would consume.




Writer: Kaladon
Date Thu Jan 31 13:22:50 2019

To All Xenophon Geirhart Faythe Leomire Finneas

Subject Quest for Knowledge (Conclusion)



Kaladon, bold and cocky, walks up to the Monolith. He puts his hand on
it. He uses his magic to try to find the answers to Carcosa.

Much like the archway, whatever this thing is you get a sense of immense
power. So much so you feel a chill run down your spine and settle inside
you.

All you have to do is reach out. You feel it, a wellspring of power there,
somewhere beneath the surface.

Before your eyes an expansive horizon opens, stretching outward to a black
precipice. It goes on and on into eternity. As your mind reaches out, you
find yourself unable to stop.

Vistas of emptiness reveal themselves to you, stars flicker in the emptiness
of that void. You sense a token of hope somewhere inside, something
recovered from the encroaching emptiness.

Your mind swims at the expanse, overwhelmed by it and a great weakness
settles into your limbs and body. You are small. You are insignificant.
You are nothing, you life gone in the blink of an eye. What is man compared
to this place?

That abyss returns the boldness of your gaze, and finally you are able to
pull yourself away - if you wish. To remain would be to be lost in that
yawning maw of emptiness forever.

The mind is fragile as a robin's egg. Your cheeks begin to feel wet with
moisture as you realize you are weeping.

Your knees are weak, they begin to fail you as you lose your balance. You
feel a great despair, a sadness at your own insignificance welling up
inside.


Bolting up from his bed with fire coming from his hands and his eyes are
dancing flames ready for battle. He looks around and sees he is in bed and
starts to claim down. After he is calm and no longer on fire, Kaladon gets
out of bed. He walks over and looks at the night sky, judging it is still
hours away from daylight. He walks over and gets a bottle of wine and
starts drinking straight out of the bottle.

This..... Nightmares.... Have.... Started to fade. But they are not
completely gone. Could it be, because of that seed still here? I thought
it was going to end us all.
He shakes his head and he continues to drink
the wine.

We are still here so I must fight this. I must be the rock to get this to
end. It now has little to no sway over myself. I am stronger then this. I
have experienced this, and now it is over so time to move on. It is not
over and I shall have to be strong in the days to come. To many have played
with my mind. Too many.

There is but one path ahead of myself. I shall get stronger. I shall gain
more power. I shall gain more knowledge. I shall overcome this. This is
but a chapter in my life. One that is now closed. It is time to move on.


I might be needed in the days to come. I must be there for my family.....
My Arkane family and those else where. Besides, who else will vex Meki like
I do.


Kaladon smirks as he finishes his bottle of wine. He goes over and lays
back down. With a grin on his face.

I am back.





Writer: Jadelyn

Date Thu Jan 31 22:03:52 2019




Writer: Erebaal

Date Fri Feb 1 11:09:18 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds I


The man stepped off of the ship and onto the Althainian port, heavy
bootfalls catching attention before being quickly dismissed. Though he was
broad and tall, the hood over his features hid whether it was due to
prodigious birth or merely ogre blood in him. Such presumptions suited the
man, who turned his armored back on the men who had ferried him across the
tumultuous sea and made his way inland.

Gone were the defiled fetishes and intimidating spikes, the monstrous visage
and the hateful etchings that enveloped him from head to toe. That suit of
armor, fitting for the battlefield, could barely avail him, so badly fallen
into disrepair as it had been since the abduction of his favored smith.
Warpeye's capture had struck a telling blow, though it took the passage of
time to reveal how deep it had been. Now, unpainted metals fitted over
leather sheathed his broad form, the lines curved and smooth in contrast to
the hulking, jagged figure he was used to. The armor was of consummate
quality- he would not deign to don anything subpar in his position- but it
was not his armor. He did not feel at home within the unfamiliar confines
of the platemail, and the irrational urge to carve into the metal, to mark
it with the device of his allegiance was a niggling thought that toyed with
his perceptions.

The road from the port to the nearest city was a long one, passing several
temples of the faiths. From each, the distant chanting of praises and
exhortations met his ears, and each time, the man clenched an armored fist
under his cloak. The droning of voices raised in monotonous praise was less
than anathema to him, it was repugnant in every conceivable way. Passing
the great Temple of Kwainin, the man checked his motion when he found a
leather gauntlet straying to the knife that hung from his thick belt, the
wide sheath hiding its true shape from sight. To draw it here would arouse
unwanted suspicion.

Gritting his teeth with a growl, the man continued into New Thalos, drawing
back his hood only when challenged by the guards. Black eyes stared out
from a weathered face, grey hair spilling down over his shoulders. The face
of an older man than his true age, the price paid for the path he had
chosen. The guards scrutinized him for a moment, but allowed him to pass.
Mercenaries and adventurers were, after all, fairly commonplace.
Shouldering his way through the gates, pushing aside smaller folk who
gathered around the opening portal. Those who protested overmuch were fixed
with a dark look, and the menace that came so naturally to the man was given
a brief instant to show itself. The commonfolk presented with this facade,
to a man, fell silent and meek, allowing the warrior to pass unchallenged
from there. None would dare speak of the incident, mundane though it
seemed. The purity of the man's malice was almost a living thing, coiled
beneath ashen skin and ready to inflict itself upon the foolish.

The streets of New Thalos opened to him, the warrior ducked away from the
main thoroughfare, pushing into the alleyways away from the bustling crowds
of smallfolk joining the city's markets at the start of the day. In the
side streets, the congestion was more tolerable, fewer requiring shoving
aside, fewer eyes to identify the man as he once again pulled up his hood.
His destination was nearby, but unknown to him. Dark eyes scanned the
waning gloom of the alleys, examining each passerby as he brushed past them
aimlessly. Some of them returned his stare, despite the chill down their
spines. Others immediately turned down their gaze, staring at the ground
before them as they stepped aside to give him his berth. None of them were
of interest to him.





Writer: Erebaal
Date Fri Feb 1 11:19:32 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds II


It was only the matter of an hour later before he found what he sought.
The gentle sway of a knife from a belt, the design of a leafless tree
stamped upon its leather sheath. The merchant who owned it peddled from a
dim corner of the market square, his back facing the alley. Despite his
hawking and hollering, few were those willing to glance over his cheap
wares, clay bowls and wooden utensils. Meager tools even by commoner
standards in the desert kingdom. As the gaunt specter loomed out of the
alley behind him, the merchant rounded on him, angry diatribe dying on his
lips as he saw the bulk of the man accosting him. He looked up into the
shadowy hood, eyes widening but not recognizing. It was as it should be,
for the warrior.

'You are with the Brotherhood of the New Dawn. ' The massive warrior
growled the statement, bereft of inquiry. The merchant nodded, paling as
the name of his fraternity was spoken. A growl escaped the warrior, and he
offered an upturned gauntlet to the merchant. A sack of gold coins rested
in his palm, 'Take me to them. '

The merchant eyed the gold, then peered up at the warrior, 'L-loyalty to the
Brotherhood is not bought, my friend. If you want an introduction, I- I
know who can induct you into the fold, b-but...
' His words died on his
lips, however, when the man pulled back his ragged cloak, revealing the
dagger at his side. With care, the warrior drew the weapon, crimson blade
glinting its bloody sheen in the low light. Upon its hilt was a dwarven
rune of destruction, and etched into the base of its pommel was the minute
mark of the eight-pointed star of Chaos, 'I have come from the Warp, and I
would speak with your brethren. Take me to them.
'

The merchant trembled, understanding now the enormity of the situation.
Giving one last longing look at the gold, he capitulated, folding his hands
together, 'Y-yes, I will take you there... Has... Has HE sent you..? '

The question was met with silent staring, the unnerved merchant All but
squirming with terror, 'The- the Everchosen! Has he sent you to guide us?
'

The hulking warrior allowed himself a rare, wolfish smile in the shadows of
his cowled hood, 'I speak with the voice of the Everchosen in this. I will
speak with your kin, and I will bring you his will. Now. Take me to them.
'

Cowed and yet filled with a sense of renewed purpose, the merchant nodded
and quickly disassembled his stand. Meager though his means are, some care
was put into their maintenance from the way he stacked and locked them
beneath his humble stall. Satisfied with his quick work, the merchant
turned and tried to squeeze past the warrior into the alley, 'Yes, great
one... This way, my friend, yes. It is not far, not far at all.
'

Turning to allow the merchant to pass, the warrior cast one last lingering
look over the seething masses of the unanointed, then turned and followed
the merchant into the myriad corridors of the desert kingdom's sprawling
alleyways, toward his true destination.




Writer: Tamaska

Date Mon Feb 4 00:48:19 2019

To All Eclipse Shadow Verminasia Necrucifer Immortal Rp Cayenna Scorn

Subject Lost City - Vanguard


'We leave immediately. ' Tamaska had chortled to herself at the
Highlord's words. She had long since become accustomed to her brother's
penchant for springing things on those of Eclipse. It kept her on her toes
at least and ever ready.

Tam had passed the word on to the others and now she stood on the dock,
watching her brothers and sisters as they were readying their gear and
packs. Many of them taking time to put on warm furs under their armor and
fill their packs and saddle bags with extra blankets. They were venturing
back into some of the more brutally cold parts of Icewall. The cold winds,
constant blizzard conditions and the wet was not likely something any of
them would forget soon enough.

She shifted her gaze to the icy waters, her hands dropping down to the
flasks that lined her belt as she mentally counted them off. It was an
attempt at distraction, a failed one but her thoughts were on the losses
they had incurred on the last trip. Her and Nymaya had been charged with
performing the vision and blood oaths posthumously on those who fell in the
battles. The deafening silence, where their oaths would have been repeated,
still echoed in her ears and haunted her at times.

Expecting there to be no loss of life was a foolish expectation and one she
knew better than to hope for. Lives were lost and more would be but it was
still not something she would ever enjoy or get used to. There was no joy
taken in the deaths she dealt or the losses they took but for each death she
vowed that any life lost not be in vain.

The sound of footsteps snapped her out of her thoughts and drew her gaze.
At sight of her brother, the Highlord of Eclipse, she turned towards the
soldiers and called out, "Load the ship! We have work to do. " The
Guardian nodded towards Rasavadi and picked up her own packs, hefting them
over her shoulder and heading towards the ship. She really hoped they'd find
Nymaya and with her, Narsh.




Writer: Mercerion

Date Mon Feb 4 02:29:18 2019




Writer: Jadelyn

Date Mon Feb 4 21:54:57 2019




Writer: Jadelyn

Date Mon Feb 4 21:57:07 2019




Writer: Khet

Date Tue Feb 5 15:09:32 2019




Writer: Uruvion

Date Tue Feb 5 19:31:41 2019

To Shalonesti Chaos Scribpog Gabriela All Zandreya Malachive Xenophon Rhien ( Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Making War - Message Sent



A hand the color of fine and pure snow etched with some demonic markings
kept balling in to a fist and unclenching. A deep sigh left the eldritch,
there was still no feeling in his right hand, arm, and shoulder. Maybe
another time he would feel a brief sensation or the markings would tingle
like they did at the Black Rose. Uruvion wasn't even sure if it was a good
sign, he could only pray it was.

Praying was another thing he had been doing more of lately. Praying for the
poisoned elves in the bunk house in the kingdom, praying for the cleric of
Zandreya that had his heart ripped out, his blood used to leave a message
for Uruvion. He prayed for the Vallens, and he prayed for himself. He
prayed not in a sense of asking for guidance but prayed that he wouldn't
lose his center.

He came close to losing it once and the aftermath was an arm whiter than a
new porcelin cup with some kind of demonic markings and a wicked scar over
his heart.

He hadn't lost center yet, no. He wouldn't, but he could be as vicious as
Scribpog. The eldritch were the living weapons of Zandreya. He swore an
oath to protect the Vallens, and Her gifts.

His mind wondered off to earlier in the day. A couple of young tainted
minds of the Warp were roaming about Tropica's dock, spreading their
propaganda of freedom and salvation from the chains of the Gods. Uruvion
had been watching the pier from a distance in the sky while his gryffon
hovered quietly. When he decided the time was right, Uruvion gave the
creature a gentle pat to the side of one her haunches and she dove towards
the two of Malachive's fold, snatching each one in a large talon and rising
back up into the sky. Screams of terror were blocked by the wind, and the
eldritch grinned.

A small flight of diving and rising in to the sky, the talons squeezing and
digging into the Warpling's body wasn't good enough for Uruvion. He had his
own message to send to Scribpog.

The Wolf of the Arlathil called down a vortex of the Mother's fire and
listened to the pleas and beggings of help before they ceased and nothing
but bone and ash were left of one of the men. The other was held to the
ground by his gryffon, made to watch.

Uruvion crouched to the young member of Chaos and spoke clear and with
conviction, 'I let you live to deliver a message. Tell Scribpog the Mother
provides.
' He nodded once and the gryffon's talon released the man to run
for his life. Ash and bone were spread with the toe of his boot before he
and his gryffon came home.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Tue Feb 5 21:30:16 2019




Writer: Erebaal
Date Tue Feb 5 22:20:48 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds III


The dingy cellar was stuffy and dry, dust cascading down from the wooden
beams that served as the floor above whenever the proprietor of the run-down
inn deigned to walk across the floor. The man looked about the drab
surroundings, the half-burned candles and the inane scrawlings daubed upon
the stone. Beside him, a dark elven woman hovered, cowl obscuring her
features. In the dim light, it was difficult to discern specific features
of her face, and in truth, the man cared little. A smattering of people of
various backgrounds had meandered in over the past few hours, the merchant
delivering him to the cellar door of the seedy establishment and having been
dispatched to gather other members of the Brotherhood with All due haste.

The seeming-leader of this cult had viewed him with a measure of disdain and
distrust until she had been shown the Warp-etched knife. Even beneath her
hood, the man felt the detached amusement in seeing narrowed eyes widen,
revealing one blinded orb hidden by her facade. In an instant, her demeanor
had been changed, arrogance traded for supplication in the presence of one
of the Champions. He had been shown their meeting place, this pitiful fane
just large enough to allow some thirty people at most to gather. Despite
their grandiose name, the Brotherhood of the New Dawn had at best meager
means at their disposal but were at the very least in possession of enough
sense to remain inconspicuous. They operated subtly and, from his cursory
glance at the other people gathering, some in hoods and others in clothes of
various backgrounds and wealth, drew from a wide pool of seekers. In this,
at least, he could approve.

The elven woman at his elbow coughed quietly, and he grunted, turning his
black stare upon the dark elf. The cultist took a half-step back
involuntarily, feeling the ill will wash over her but forcing herself to
retain face in the presence of the Warp's messenger, 'That should be most of
them, my Lord. Any others will arrive when they can, or else have their
obligations that keep them from joining us toni- Aaaaagh!! '

Like a cruel afterthought, the man's arm was extended, and blood and jelly
dripped from the tip of the crimson knife in his armored grasp. The
cultists recoiled as their leader shrieked, doubled over and clutching at
her ruined face. Her hood fell in her thrashing, revealing a face that
could have once been pretty if it had not been marred by burns that painted
waxy scars over her cheek and over her blinded eye. Now, another wound
defaced her features, a line intersecting the other eye and crossing the
bridge of her nose, drawing welters of blood that ran down her cheek as she
fell to the floor.

The man began to speak over the piteous screams, his deep voice carrying
through the shrieking, 'Cult of Malachive, Seekers all. The Eye of the Warp
has fallen upon each of you. Your work in the Desert Rose has caught the
attention of the Everchosen, and on this day, I speak for him. Hearken unto
me.
' Despite their shock and revulsion at the man's casual violence, the
cult drew in toward him, snared by the force of his command. The man raised
his unburdened hand and drew back the cowl of his hood, revealing his drawn
features, turning his unhidden visage to examine each of the score-and-some
who had come to hear his word, 'Present your blades, followers. Show me the
marks of your fealty to the Hungering God.
'




Writer: Erebaal

Date Tue Feb 5 22:23:22 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds IV


There was a group fumbling, the slide of metal and leather, and more than
twenty blades were lifted, some presented forward, others raised high. Each
was unique from the last, some purchased and tailored afterward, others very
clearly made by their wielders from metal or stone, with disparate degrees
of craftsmanship. Each of them, however, were etched with the crude design
of a leafless tree upon the blade or hilt, each of them looked after with
reverent care. The warrior gave each a cursory glance, and spoke once more
over the dark elf at his feet, whose screams had devolved into whimpering as
shock set in, 'These blades are the symbols of your purpose and the key to
your shackles. Even if you must cut your own hand off at the wrist to be
free of the chains that bind you in service to apathetic gods, you refuse to
bend the knee to them, to offer yet more of your blood and your kin to their
designs.
'

Around the room, heads nodded, others murmured in affirmation, 'However,
each of you lacks the strength to act meaningfully. You are not fit to take
to the battlefield with the Everchosen. You cannot exhort the masses,
cannot break bodies nor spirits with force of arms or will. You are weak.
' Silence, now. Faces fixed upon him read with measures of anger, fear, and
despair to varying degrees, 'Instead, the Everchosen has decided upon a new
path for you. In his right hand, he wields the blades of Malachive, the
Champions of the Warp whose lives are bound to his. In the left, he bears
the Cults of the Tree. You are but one of the many who have taken root in
the cities of Algoron, and I have come to bear witness to your devotions and
to enlighten you. You shall not go ignorant into the coming days, and you
shall understand the reason you have been chosen to die.
'

More anger, more fear as cultists recoiled. One in particular took a step
forward, his gaze tightening into a narrow focus upon the warrior of the
Warp, but he was arrested in place by the restraining hand of his partner
upon his shoulder. The Champion took three powerful strides and was before
him in seconds, an armored hand closing about the wrist of the hand holding
the blade, 'You would raise your blade against me, knowing that to do so is
to die as surely as any other?
' The man struggled, his face twisted in
anger and terror as he fought the unyielding grip that held him fast, 'All
life is fated to end, boy. Know that, for it is one of the few elemental
truths that the Gods thought to lay claim to, the simple facts of existence
that they would take credit for. The Gods have stolen many things, taken
credit for others, painting themselves as benevolent lords, as loving
masters of their creations.
'

The warrior tightened his grip, and bones began to grind against each other
in the cultist's wrist. With a cry, he dropped his blade, which was
snatched out of the air by the Champion. Turning his own crimson kris over
to hold both blades more easily, he raised the cultist's knife to the light
and examined its make before casually flicking the keen blade across the
cultist's palm. Blood poured from the deep cut, turning the base of the
young man's palm crimson and running over the older man's leather gauntlet
before the Warp's speaker released the boy and offered the hilt of the
bloodied knife back, 'Take it. ' Wincing and delicately, the boy accepted
the blade back, holding it in his undamaged hand as his attacker turned his
back, returning to the front of the impromptu congregation, toward the now
mercifully-silent cult leader.




Writer: Erebaal

Date Tue Feb 5 22:24:43 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds V


'Life ends, for that is its nature. We as mortals have been controlled
from birth, our every decision stripped from us and tampered with by
manipulative gods and their vessels, their priests, who exhort us to fight
in an endless war in the name of mastery over Algoron. The Gods desire sole
dominion over this world, and so the ancient brothers from the dawn of
Creation raised armies- created we mortals- to do battle on their behalf.
They, who are too afraid to fight face-to-face, instead rely upon us to
display the courage that they lack. We, who fight and kill daily in the
name of our masters, gladiator-slaves in a great contest to determine who
shall inherit the world.
'

There was a grim finality to his words, the baritone voice underscored with
absolute conviction, as though born of some dreadful epiphany, and the Cult
was ensnared, even the wounded leaning in to hear, 'And so we are stripped
of agency in our lives, bound to live in predetermined courses that end when
our master no longer has need of us. We are consigned to oblivion, or to be
added to some wretched collection of souls should we curry enough pleasure
or disdain from our patron God. That is what the world would have us
believe. That is the lie told to All who walk Algoron's soil. That is the
lie you have begun to see through. It is the lie you have refuted, and have
come instead to hear the Will of the Tree.
'

One cultist cleared his throat, the sound dispelling the forceful magnetism
of the Warp-speaker's words. Eyes turned toward him, and he seemed to
shrink in place, retreating into the depths of his face-obscuring cowl,
'T-then... What is different about what the Everchosen offers us...? ' The
Speaker recognized the voice of the merchant, who had evidently taken it
upon himself to disguise his face before returning to the fold,
'S-service... And death at his discretion, the way you paint it... Isn't
that the same thing..?
'

The man tensed as the Speaker's gaze fixed upon him, but the massive warrior
made no move, instead raising his hand to show the blade in his grasp, 'The
difference is in choosing. We, who were denied All choice in our youth,
choose instead the manner of our dying. We choose a sacrifice, to give up
our lives and our selves in a great conflagration, for that is the promise
of the Dead God, Malachive. Years ago, the Lord of Chaos was slain.
' This
was met with more recoiling as a dreadful truth settled upon them, 'But for
some, death is not the end. Unlike his fool of a Father, the Dead God's
physical form rained down upon Algoron, pieces that were recovered. A great
ritual was concocted, an effort to reincarnate Malachive and continue his
great work preparing for a new world to supplant Algoron's failed creation.
However...
'

The Speaker growled, shaking his head slowly as though dismissing a poor
thought, 'The ritual was a failure. Instead of a living god, we were given
the Tree of Pain, whose design you now bear. You bear the mark of the Dead
God, the physical form of fallen divinity. The pain you inflict with these
blades are a prayer, your willingness to kill and die are an offering to the
Hungering God, for each life taken, every ounce of pain gives strength to
him. He feeds upon the anguish inflicted and the suffering felt by his
followers, and when he has regained his might, he shall return in physical
form, ready to end this foolish war. We shall All be destroyed, consumed by
the fire that turns Algoron to ash. Every man, woman, child, and beast.
Every plant, every city incinerated. A pyre worthy of a world.
'




Writer: Erebaal

Date Tue Feb 5 22:25:59 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds VI


Again, silence and staring, the dreadful implications hanging over the
air, 'But that End is merely a new Beginning. With the Gods dead, slain
upon the ruined battlefield of their failed world, it shall be Malachive
alone who is given reign to create a new world, one unspoiled by the
brotherly hatred that tainted our flawed Creation. He alone shall have the
power of authority, and he shall invoke a new world for mortalkind to
people. The God raised as a Man shall create, and then he shall live among
his creations, as he was born. Wars, conflict, hatreds shall be born of
mortal desires, not by divine will, and whatever fate befalls that world is
not due to the negligence of apathetic gods playing at General commanding
their slave-armies, but due to our own vices, should we fail to overcome
them. That is the world which you are charged with bringing into being.
'
He raised his hand, crimson kris flashing in the low light, 'Kill if you are
able, die if you must, but most of all, bring more into the fold. Spread
into every corner of this city, whisper in the ears deemed safest, spread
the Word of the Everchosen, and let His Will be felt in this place. When
the time comes, he shall call upon you to act, and your resolve shall be
tested then. We All shall die in this venture, but it is a question of
when. Your strength alone shall determine when that day comes. Look to
yourselves, and find the answer on your own.
'

He looked out over his followers, black gaze meeting each in turn. Some
held furious resolve, others outrage, some were clearly afraid and shrunk
away from his gaze, and some simply looked back, devoid of emotion. Not all
of them were suited for the task, this he knew. Many of them would falter
and fail, some would retreat from the fold entirely, and yet none would dare
speak of what they had once indulged in. What they had become part of in
what they considered a moment of weakness. They simply needed a final push,
to burn this mark of Chaos, to affirm those weaklings' sense of shame. 'The
Tree, Malachive, however, eternally hungers for the blood of friend and foe
alike. Take your blades, and carve the devotion into your palm, as I have
with one of you already.
' His stare pinned the maimed young man once more,
whose composure was closer to anger than fear. It was a good sign. This
one, at least, had promise, 'And you, boy, are trusted with the honor of
greater suffering. Once more, into the cut.
'

There was hesitation from some, but to a one, each man and woman present
raised their blades. The soft slither of metal and stone across vulnerable
flesh was carried out across seconds, accompanied by the hiss of pain from
individuals not yet inured to such pains. Blood flowed, dripping to the
floor in droplets and ribbons, painting their abstract designs upon the wood
and stone. The Speaker watched impassively, before turning to indicate the
near-unconscious dark elf, 'One final offering shall suffice. Each of you,
see this wretch and know the fate of the unworthy as you take her life.
'
His gaze picked out the ones he had marked as weak, addressing them
specifically, 'Or else it shall be you who is sacrificed next. '

The weight of command was dreadful, was irrefutable. Faltering steps drew
the cultists forward, the hideous ramifications of their charge laid bare.
Knives were held in trembling hands, growing slick with blood for some as
they clasped blades with both hands. The dark elven woman tried to raise
her head feebly, delirious with pain and giving weak, incoherent protests.
They went unheeded as, step by step, the Cult descended upon her. Knives
rose and fell, piercing flesh even long after she ceased to cry out and
resist, each cultist driving their blade into her and backing away, many of
them sporting fresh light in their eyes, of sorrow, of exhilaration, of
shame.




Writer: Erebaal

Date Tue Feb 5 22:27:11 2019

To All Kingdom Chaos ( Scorn Immortal Storyline Malachive )

Subject Sowing Seeds VII


When the last cultist, a woman, backed away, the corpse of the woman was
a mess, torn to shreds in places where multiple blades had pierced. Blood
formed a pool around her, and the Speaker only then stepped to the body,
kneeling with no small effort to daub the blood on his gauntlet and turning
to the wall, where he brushed the cooling vitae onto stone. The Cult looked
on, fascinated and repulsed, as he worked, until he backed away from his
creation. A leafless, lifeless tree some seven feet tall, rendered with a
remarkable care to detail in its dead branches, rose upon the wall where
once the cult leader stood, looming in the murky gloom, 'Here is where the
Brotherhood shall gather, here is where you will ordain new brothers, where
they shall offer their blood as you have. Those who could not attend my
message today shall be bled here, and a new sacrifice will be made, so that
they may join you in the burden you share. You have taken your first step
upon the Path, one that leads only to the abyss, but shall lead to freedom
to those who come after us. You shall be forgotten by history, for nobody
shall remain to remember it, but the greatness of the cause is comfort
enough, when you learn to embrace it.
'

The Speaker allowed himself a grim smile, his second in a day, as he looked
over his new following, 'The Everchosen has but a single benediction. A
command and a well-wish, perhaps the only one he knows. He bids it unto
those who carry out His Will, and so I give it unto you. Carry it close to
heart, and strive to live up to his order, for it is now he who holds your
life in his hand, in the name of the Dead God. Suffer well, he says, and so
now each of you must abide. Suffer well.
'

The cult gazed at him once more, parting as he took a step forward, then
another. Without another word, he brushed aside his Cult and opened the
door, replacing his hood against the oppressive light as he exited. He
required a fountain, first, to clean the blood from his gloves. The body
was now the concern of the Cult. Whether they succeeded or failed left now
to their own ingenuity. If they thrived, he would return and lead them to
greater glory. If they failed...

The Everchosen growled beneath his hood, making his way back to the main
roads of New Thalos. If they failed, he would be forced to call upon
another of his Cults. Even now, his thoughts drifted west, toward the
vaunted City of Light. It was time to see what the seeds he had sown there
had borne.




Writer: Mercerion

Date Wed Feb 6 04:15:14 2019




Writer: Rasavadi

Date Wed Feb 6 10:48:25 2019

To Elathan Tamaska Shadow Verminasia Eclipse All Imm RP Cayenna Scorn Necrucifer

Subject Lost City - Vanguard



Rasavadi walked to the docks. Elathan and Tamaska were there talking and
lightly supervising the onboarding of the supplies. Their troops needed no
cajoling to do things right, but the average deckhand often needed the swift
application of "motivation" to keep from half assing things. "Brother,
Sister." Rasavadi greeted the two. Two who were closest to his heart, even
if they didn't know it.


"Looks like we have a bit before we can set sail, I will go fix that." He
said while jingling a backpack sized money pouch. "We've enough troops and
supplies to move forward, send ravens to the others. They're either on this
boat or can wrangle their own."

Casting a minor cantrip to isolate the distance his voice would carry he
whispered, "We seek the source for the Codex of Ultimate Wisdom."


Yelling in Minotaur, "Captain, double the pay if we sail in an hour, half if
we sail in two. Your choice.
"

"Judging by the swearing, we're sailing in an hour. I will be in our
stateroom, bring the other Knight's if they make it."




Writer: Mercerion

Date Thu Feb 7 01:32:58 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Thu Feb 7 21:28:20 2019




Writer: Scribpog

Date Thu Feb 7 21:28:50 2019




Writer: Jadelyn

Date Thu Feb 7 22:08:33 2019




Writer: Diuxa
Date Sat Feb 9 02:54:06 2019

To Chaos All - Malachive Scorn Imm - RP

Subject Subtle Messages



The metal was coarse, heavy, cold and dark.

She had scratched at it until her nails broke and bled, until her fingertips
cracked and bled. So deep-seeded was her need to be free of the shackles
that her hands had often been bound at her back, wrist-to-wrist so that she
couldn't pick at the metal and continue to injure herself.

She was not a slave. It did not matter what markings or branding were
etched into her flesh, she knew it with a primal assurance and whenever the
whip kissed her back it would flare anew. She had learned to love that
pain, to use it. Solidarity with the fire of her fury had been born within
it.

The clandestine cult of Chaos that had spread like a subtle disease through
the isle of Tropica had been in need of her. That was why, when she sat up
with a start feeling the age old panic of shackles wrapping like cold snakes
around her limbs, she was not ensconced within the Warp. A writhing agony
followed as the Scars of Malachive flared, as if to remind her of what she
had become and that the shackles were no more.

She had not traded one slave master for another. She was beholden to none
but Malachive and growling low, the sound trickling from her clenched jaws
with a promise of violence, she shrugged off the blankets and moved off to
the spear resting against the wall beside the bed. Her braids clacked
softly, a deceptively airy and hollow sound while she lifted the weapon. It
had been her second symbol of freedom, her first choice when the chains had
been struck from her by Malachive's army.

She missed it but as she brushed her fingers lightly over the feathers and
runes that adorned the worn surface, her gaze roamed to the crozius that sat
with pride of position on the wall. She could feel the aura of the warp-
forged iron. It didn't simply resonate within the staff, it drew her,
called to her.

She had to breathe past the agonizing pain that gripped her back, feeling
the tendrils of Malachive's gift dig ever deeper, writhing alive beneath her
flesh. Her gritted teeth bared and she let the fury consume her, funnelled
the pain into the fire and fed on Malachive's words:

'This will hurt. The pain will always burn and you will remember your
blessing.'




Writer: Uruvion

Date Sun Feb 10 13:27:38 2019

To Shalonesti Chaos Gabriela Scribpog All Zandreya Malachive Xenophon Rhien ( Imm Rp Religion )

Subject Making War - More Than Fire



It was a rare sight for one to see Uruvion angry, and his anger was
usually seen by only a select few. The past weeks it had been brewing, but
he had done his best to tell others he was alright and tried to keep his
center.

Scribpog sent one message after another and they were well received, and it
seemed another was sent. The eldritch came home to find a red dragon's
scale at his bindstone. It wasn't a shedding, no, this scale was ripped
from the body of the wyrm as flesh was still attached. The elf picked up
the scale and knew damn well what was being said. Scribpog was preparing
and Uruvion had a gut feeling that the Warbeast of Chaos had a contigent
that was preparing as well. The scale of a red Firstborne would protect the
bugbear of Chaos and his men and women from the Mother's fire, but Zandreya
was much more than that.

Willow trees that were alive held three members of Chaos, each one was dead
and an example of what else an eldritch was capable of. One corpse was
burned by the intense jolt of lightning, half of it's body charred with
black jagged streaks. The second was melted by the blast of acid, it was
more a mass of a melted being than anything. The third held the red
dragon's scale, the whole body stiff and blue, steam rolling off the body as
both the corpse and scale were frozen together. Etched into the scale to be
clearly seen was the symbol of Zandreya.

Uruvion walked away from his very clear message left for Scribpog at his
door and took a deep breath and didn't look back. His gryffon was ready to
take him back to the Vallens. There would be some things to discuss.




Writer: Asyrlin
Date Tue Feb 12 20:14:36 2019

To All Shadow

Subject Novice Work



She {ocalculates
.

Three essence of pain. Six gold coins weight in activated charcoal.
Seventeen silver coins weight in quartz dust. Four harpy feathers. A
single orange mushroom.

The novice hunches over her work space, every breath baited and held as to
not disturb the ingredients. She is careful. One speck and one drop at a
time the ingredients are placed into the vessel. An overwhelming,
efforvescent smell of wild magic overtakes the room as the components begin
to interact.

She {oinnovates
.

The lack of sleep and food contribute to the epiphany that strikes her in
that moment. Her own life blood. The final touch to allow her concoction
to bind to a human host.

She is {owithout hesitation
. A single stroke of a knife and her palm is
a-gashed, the blood seeping forth. The mixture begins to bubble.

"Flesh to scale, Hair to horn. Through the blood I spill, allow him to be
reborn. "

A few soured gulps later and the creation slides down her throat. Pain,
heat, and adrenaline wash over her. The transformation begins. Smoke
erupts from the ether, enveolping her form. The power of her mixture is
realized as her body takes shape.

She {orejoices
.

A single, pathetic frog bounds from the cloud. If it possesed the ability
to speak, this one might let loose a long string of obscenities.

She {orefines
.




Writer: Milleuda

Date Fri Feb 15 17:27:50 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sat Feb 16 03:08:26 2019

To All Chaos imm rp Malachive

Subject Returning home



Scribog sheathed his weapons at his sides and set the last heart down at
the roots of the tree. 200 as of that moment. He had worked hard and was
prepared for war with the elves but the horns called out and it was time to
return to Darkonin. It was time to leave the marbled halls of the Warp.

Scribpog set his plans aside, leaving them to Rezekir to continue on. The
elves deserved to die, but not now, not by his hand. Scribpog packed his
ruck and picked up his beanbag chair and made his way to the docks. A small
group of beings were gathered as ships waded along the extended platforms.
As Scribpog approached, eyes grew wide and the group began to chatter and
whisper, their words growing louder as he came near. The people moved away,
their faces showed the fear as the warpling began to walk up the plank to
the ship headed toward Icewall.

The time on the ship snuck by, nearly unnoticed until the winds became cold
and crisp and Icewall approached. Scribpog left the ship and moved to the
mountains on the east coast. Staring at the heavy gates of the kingdom, the
doors opened and the large demon king grinned, welcoming home the Warpling.




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sat Feb 16 03:14:31 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sat Feb 16 03:15:44 2019




Writer: Scribpog
Date Sat Feb 16 03:15:55 2019



 


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