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Messages - gilshem ironstone
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An elven champion, sends word out from Dalanthar that he plans to assault the fortress of the warlord Frindahl."Too long this orcish menance has been allowed to fester in the sanctuary of their mountains. I will exrtact a price from them for their warlike ways, and together we can spread peace to the great lands of Dregar."//Tonight at 9pm EDT
« on: May 30, 2015, 09:04:29 am »
I would like to submit Thhakuk for a CDQ to become an Unholy Champion of Pyrtechon. Original Character SubmissionCharacter Development PageSince escaping the decimation of the srocerer's army, Thhakuk has been a loner trying to do the Raging One's work. Because of this he has learned the importance of deception and subterfuge to survival. More than this, he has learned that subterfuge and deception can enhance and accentuate the completeness of destruction. He hopes to ensnare people such that he can gain their confidence, and trust so that he may destroy that at the end as well, leaving his sacrifices a broken husk of a person whose ashes will be consumed at the very end. This is the greatest gift he can give to the people of Layonara: a complete and utter voyage to the non-being of oblivion. He has approached this fearlessly as he knows now that the worst that can happen to him is pass in to the maw of Pyrtechon.As his resources and influence grow, he plans to ensnare entire villages in bizarre and inspired symphonies of chaos and destruction. To this end, he is studying how to make traps, and plans to design elaborate systems of traps so that once he has alerted a village to his presence, likely through acts of violence and vandalism, the attempts of the villagers will result only become the instrument of their downfall.Finally, he hopes to resurrect the Sorcerer's army in his own image so that he can stand against the nations of Mistone and beyond. His traps will become ingenius instruments of warfare that none have ever seen before.Champion Statements:1. I have read and understood the information on Pyrtrchon and how to play a champion of his faith. 2. Thhakuk does not believe that one comes to the afterlife through Pyrtechon instead through Pyrtechon one is given a far greater gift: liberation from existence in any sense. Through the maw of the Destroyer is nothing; there is no pain, no fear, no anguish, no happiness, no love, no thought, no substance. It is the highest form of freedom that he can imagine possessing. So Thhakuk sees himself as one who liberated people and brings them a precious gift. With every acre he turns to ash, he elevated the world to a higher spiritual plane. The transition is painful and terrifying but ultimately purifying. 3. Thhakuk wields a great sword that has been used to send many beings to the maw of the creator but he uses other tools to do his work as well. Traps, alchemical preparations, poison, magic scrolls and wands are all in his arsenal. Thhakuk realizes that in order to bring about maximal destruction that creativity and adaptability are needed. That being said, he prefers the visceral experience of doing Pyrtechon's work with weapons. He has not yet adorned himself with basalt because he has not been indoctrinated in to the faith in that way.
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I fled the battle and came to the small community. Spread out. It would take some work to send it to the Destroyer’s furnace. It was night, there was no one about. There was an ancient stone surrounded by flowers the color of blood. I touched it and my soul came alight and then was calm once more. I came to a hall for craftsman and artisans. There were some strange devices about. They put ideas in my mind for machines of death to send the unsuspecting to the Raging One’s embrace. There are no books to read, no teachers for me, so I must learn myself. My tribe met some followers of Grand and so I know of some of the workings of metal. I have never done so myself. Someone in the hall stirred and I hid behind a cool furnace. She grumbled about pests below. Spiders and beetles. Poison to be found. I snuck down and waded through rats and beetles and spider. I was overcome. All fell to oblivion and I smiled. But then I was ripped from the Raging One’s embrace and found myself before the ancient stone. I am powerful now. I returned to the insects and smote them once more. I harvested some poison from spiders. I fell to a moving puddle. I awoke by the stone and smiled. I could taste the oblivion I am promised many times and return to do Pyrtechon’s working.I met an elf. Clad in black. Silent as a shadow. Shadow, I call him. He calls me ugly. Perhaps I will kill him. Perhaps he will kill me. For now we walk together. He tells me of a cave in a forest with riches. I tell him to take me there. We walk for many miles and days. Mostly we say nothing. Shadow and I sneak through a city. There is a temple there. Of Toran. I make the mark of the Destroyer on it. Small and quick. To remind me that they must burn. To let others like me know there are others like me.We come to a forest, there are more beetles. Some have glands to make fire. Some of acid. They will be used in my machines. There are spiders. I take their poison.We go in to the cave. There are lizard goblins. We kill them and I take some teeth. There is metal there. I will use it for my machines. The goblins have gold. I take it. I find a merchant who will talk. I give him gold for a blade and armor. The merchant runs.I go to the cave now. I take metal out. The goblins and lizards hate me. I spill their blood. I hew their heads. I try to make pure metal. I must learn. I find some tools. I make wire for my machines.I must find deliverance. I must spread the oblivion of the Destroyer soon. I can hear the Sorcerer in my ears urging me on. I will find a family to burn soon. The cry of Pyrtechon must echo through the lands.
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A rumor goes about in adventuring circles that a gray elf named Kalberen Starseeker is looking for intrepid souls to accompany him on the dangerous journey to Highpass Fort and perhaps in to the mountains beyond. There will be a gathering in Dalanthar, and then the journey will set out on foot from there. It is thought to be a dangerous journey with savage tribes of men, giants and perhaps even drakes to be concerned about.//Friday, February 7, 2pm ET/7pm GMT
A letter arrives for Brualot out of Katherian:Master Brualot,[/i]This letter is to inform you that in response to your notice in Center, an expedition set out for the Swamp of Sorrows. Having some familiarity with the troll population there, we located a den of theirs. Amongst the usual hovel and shiny trinkets was a garish, but extraordinary pairs of boots. Our thoughts are that they may belong to your Toranite, and fear the worst. Please advise. [/i]Intrepidly Yours,[/i]Rasa Kirta[/i]Ryn[/i]Kalberen Starseeker[/i]
A notice goes out for adventurers to form an expedition that will explore the northeast part of Alindor. One Kalberen Starseeker is searching for a rare plant, and requires hardy adventurers to meet in Lansport for what could be a dangerous journey.//tonight at 8pm ET. Meet in Lansport, get ready for danger.
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...a rumor is passed of an elven adventurer asking far and wide about the druids watching over the Sinister Forest. It is said that he entered in to the Forest alone and then not seen for a few weeks before emerging once more, looking worse for wear.
Adventurers seeking reknown, an expedition is being organized to map the entirety of the Dragon Isles. It will be perilous and should only be undertaken with full-knowledge. Please meet Kalberen Starseeker on the docks of Fort Vehl in two days time. Come supplied.//Want to do the entirety of the Dragon Isles, including caves. Would like a party from level 9-12. Thinking of starting at 10:30pm EST/7:30pm PST on December 4th. Hope you can make it!
...by a rather dour elf, ashen, clad in black, of the transient, yet regular patrons of the Arms if they have heard of the Cat Witch of the Backbone Mountains. To any interested in his queries, he succinctly tells them, "Beware. Not all aid is helpful."
At 3:05am, EST on December 13th, 2011, my wife gave birth to a beautiful 7lbs 5oz (3314g) baby boy. We are over the moon, healthy and tired. I hope to see you all soon.
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« on: September 09, 2011, 11:34:42 am »
[indent]And so it happened, I emerged from my cocooning within the walls of the human fortress. I was carried to the brink of existence's precipice, looked over the edge, and saw only light. They had no answer for the highborn blood in my veins. I flows thicker and hotter than before, its strength becoming an irresistible wave to wash away all that stands before me.
My new strength is not only from the trial of the body. Illumination becomes me. I see the fear that lesser races have of us. They give me strength. They give me power. They see a future when I am their master and it moves them. I thought, in the beginning, that they deserved my wrath. For touching my hallowed skin, for sullying my garb, for thinking they could break me. I pity them now, lost, fearful, lonely children they are.
I am a guide. I shall show them the truth. They will understand. There is no room for them amongst us, the highborn. They must be shown this, and then depart, as free men, secure in the knowledge that they serve a higher order.
My deep kin would have them all die beneath the yoke, but I feel they do not yet appreciate the responsibility we, the highborn, possess. If a child acts out, you do not dash it on the rocks, you instruct, you correct, you show the path of righteousness. My surface kin would stand apart, or mix among them, and this is also in error. We must enforce our stature, we must remind the lessers of their place, and let them come to the correct conclusion.
It is time, I have learned the path in the arms of my enemy, and it must now be walked.[/indent]
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The first night after the mission in Center, young Cormac is the first watch around the campfire. He could have been second and third with the nerves he had. A ghoul's bite is more easily healed in body than soul you see and the clatter of bones was loud in his ear.
A strange place, with strange friends; such a strange life! Could his father have known the stories that would already be written? That revelation we will save for later, for now we are only concerned with the number of people at this campfire. You and I see five: bold Mari, kind Rae, wise Bart, and the mighty Lady Daniella and young Cormac. Five, no more, no less, right? Perhaps to you and me, but young Cormac, for the very first time is considering a sixth person. How? Who? What for young Cormac? Wait! He looks to be ready to tell us. Let's listen and see:
Um.. Well.. Thank you Toran for being there.. When Lady Daniella and Rae asked for your help. I don't think I would be here if it weren't for them. Um... That's it..
Is it young Cormac? You don't seem sure. Feeling queer? Not sure if your sixth friend is real or not? Oh well, no answers tonight. Sleep if you can, or at least, look at the stars.
Word spreads across the desert that an elven traveller, dressed like a city-dweller yet not out of sorts, was seen hearding towards the Twin Lion Ruins. To any that spoke with him on the road, he said that he was looking for treasures of beauty in a part of the desert lost to the memory of humans.
//Want to get a group together next Tuesday, 9pm EDT for adventuring and treasure hunting.
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The night is a still one. The lapping of water on to the nearby docks is punctuated by the gentle sounding of the bells on the buoys. Candles burned low in the wire cage on the stage inside the Silver Buckle and a lone figure sat on the bench, sipping the last of his hosts proferred ale. He sat as a statue, barely breathing, taking in every minute change in the sonic atmosphere that every building created. The unique mix of air flow, boards settling and distant movement of inhabitants.
It was if the building were a life unto itself, possessed of breath, warmth and definitely memory. Gel'larian closed his eyes and sent himself back to a time long before, when the war against Bloodstone still raged, and he was barely an adult, still waiting to discover his passion for archery or bowyery, his sojourn to the Breath of the Muse a laughable idea, his love for Zarianna being held by another.
He opened his eyes and tried to remember where the bar had been when the Freelancer's had been the inhabitants. Looking at the walls in place, that now define the sanctum of Elohanna's ward, he recalled meeting a beautiful barmaid that spun a tale of fantastic proportion: women bound as riders, travelling the threads, love and woe, excitement. That story nourished him as he trekked across Alindor, then Rilara. It gave him courage as he spied those Raksasha, reminded him that heroes must live another day as well.
A laugh escaped as he recalled waking up at the Bindstone from that encounter, and the memory of actually enjoying the brush with death. It had pushed him to write a silly song that he had only peformed once.
How did it go?
More mutters as he spins around to the face the keyboard. A few keys are pressed in a haphazard fashion. Chords are tested for their ability to jog a feeling or impression. Eventually he alight upon a familiar beginning, and a satisfied grin dances to the surface.
The dance of his fingers refines itself, until an old structure comes in to relief. The elf hums a little as he becomes more and more familiar, the memory seeming to come not from his mind, but his muscles. On reflex his hum becomes words.
Now here's a story, 'bout a little bitty elf,
Aw shucks I think thats me.
Been travelling 'round this old world,
Happy as can be.
Happy that is until I went,
and found myself some strife.
One of Bloodstone's evil demons,
Done tried to take my life.
The lyrics escape him again, and he hums a little more. Demons, demons, demons: A Balor wreathed in flames rising from a hilltop in the Goblin Wastes, tearing him apart. No fond memories there.
He shakes it off and finds his tune had become more haunting and drew some of the light from the candles. He smiled and made a silly turn in the musics progression and the candles flare up a little. He refuses the call of the woeful past, and instead folds his hands in his lap listening to the silence once more. Ebbing vibrations from the piano. A rat in a dark corner of the pantry. A rustle from the newest guest of Elohanna's ward.
Indeed, no time for introspection anymore. If he had learned anything from the human bard who now called himself master of this inn, it was to savor the present. And so it goes, and so it should be. Once more he places his hands on the keys, and letting the cooling sensation of the ivory excite his fingertips, he begins to play.
Heedless of the volume he trots out a majestic tune, his eyes closing as the sound swells. Reid promised him a duet. Time to remind him.
These poems were beautifully written by Rollinscat for an Ilsarean event that went in to the [lore]Broken Halls[/lore]. Thanks to him for providing the flavor for this trek.
Author: Talise Al'thyn, 416
In the rough lands it is kill or be killed
Healing voice weak to necessity's blade
Mountains and plains as savage as man
Little heed to a tender heart paid
Carnesîr fights in a bloodless campaign
A foothold for a message of peace
There is no peace in the bowls of survival
Words fall unheeded until they cease
Life's light a candle in dark heavy winds
Shelter a laugh from the gutter of souls
The best that is hoped for is brutal and short
Slowly the heart slips away from the goal
Shattered, broken, hope's head on a stick
He drags one foot in front of the other
Children of Xi-Lo-Sung scattered together
Welcome him home like a brother
Broken circles heal to a loop
Depths recede to tide's gentle pull
The past sliding off worn tired shoulders
Amarylla, the healer's heart is full
From fire-licked pit rises smoldering eyes
Claws touch the soil and claim it for self
The healer prays, sweating, for days and for nights
Aeridin grants just one wish to the elf
A seed left to grow under blunt demon nose
Amarylla still clings to the splintered mount's side
A shelter of minds and of hearts and of hope
Hidden by prayer from the land's bloody tide
Of Taurnil the healer nothing remains
His legacy bound to the god-given haze
Look when you pass and Amarylla may smile
Winking on full moons or mid summer days
Author: Unknown. Year: Unknown.
Love's consequence isn't always rose
Or embrace, but harsh repose
Bitter blows, the heart a scar of stitches – I'm sorry, dear
What once believed a thousandfold
Builds a wall of thorns and cold
Passion's hold, a grip slacked with each sparse apology
The leering of expectation's face
To know your duties and your place
Disgrace backhanded as reward when freedom calls
And more her people suffer, kin
Sisters to the pain she's in
Worn thin, tending animals worth more to men
Come then queen, flee or resist
But frozen, wilting under fist
To exist, and nothing more – every face with eyes on you
Fear's corset cinched from years obeyed
She kneels to pray for heaven's aid
In trade, a promise made, binding only her
History a leaden gown, but now -
She straightens, nevermore to bow
Neither sow nor beast to bear the sins of men
For mothers, daughters and kingdom-state
More than self, more than mate,
A date, she tells the man whose fist holds their reins
Tables covered with nature's spread
She reclines, waiting on their bed
And said, in silken tones for him - "Try the wine..."
Powder ground from love-pink bloom
Wets the lips of wine's perfume
He consumes, better to enjoy the lofty heights of royalty
Spinning head strikes marble seat
The cup lays bleeding at his feet
Conceit! He cries to halos that time the slowing of his beat
Pressed head to chest, to hear his end
A kiss for what had never been
And then, the promise of a new dawn on cooling flesh
The Queen Acanthe sits on her throne
A statue's perfect face, alone
Tears sown, and grown in place a stronger crop – the Daughters of Windwyn
Author: Ari Anamithal eo Tyailmcla, 231
Love needs no curves to form a heart
Not silken skin or powdered face
But two minds of understanding
Longing to entwine, embrace
I would bear winter on my back for you
Twice as wrong, you and I
For pride I stand aside
Praying this war folds before the gods scoop you up
As a hand of cards, played
Still we meet - to talk, you say
Of politics and peace
It is not peace that brings me here
We carry each other's burdens, oxen of ill-timed release
And bend to meet each other's eyes
What will we do when the excuses break
Brittle thin branches in the storm
We can only go where the winds say to go
Or walk forever in one place...
Could I forget?
Peel you from me to don armor and shield
So we can pace our well-worn grooves
On opposites sides of this battlefield?
I would have better luck holding back the sky
It matters so much and so little
The shape of your ears, the length of your life
Our people at war and all I can think
When will I see you again
We are finally blown together
Reason tossed aside, a cloak on a summer day
The beginning of our end in this sweet madness
Over and over we sneak away
And pretend we're not falling down a well
They follow, flush with coin from my wife's hand
Each with a reason to see us dead
But I am her power and I am not one of you
It is not I who does not arrive in our spot
But I who finds you here, and there, so careless
Not even tears can survive my rage
They will bend but no more will break
The battle plays out on every stage
But here there will be peace
Our passion laid you under ground
A victim of woman scorned and the greedy eyes of family
Leaving me to kneel here, alone
Carving out your memory on stone that will not feel
The blood of elf and man
*the following appears to be a rubbing from carved stone*
Ceela silnala ilcc sal ahyilc
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