Change In World Lore
By Trance | March 21, 2013
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Quest; Fight or Surrender?
By Scarlet | March 20, 2013
Quest; Fight or Surrender?
[Serious Roleplayers are welcome to take part in this quest, and reply to these posts, since all influence from both sides will be taken into consideration for future consequences.]
There was a lot of unfinished business everywhere, so much that I felt as if I was sinking into chaos, which I dislike. These recent times had been decorated with failures on all fronts. Some mistakes were worst than others, and made me forget to reply as strong as I would have wanted to. -He- was the reason I almost forgot about everything else.
When I close my eyes, there isn't much to see anymore. I used to imagine the exponential growth of my Family and everything we could accomplish together, and myself ruling as a Queen. Why not? Am I not the living symbol of true love, for them all? I have seen and felt, and failed to one warlock's feelings. Who would dare to tell me no power lies within obsession and craving for another? If I got trapped in plans darker than myself, why wouldn't it be the same for them?
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I was standing in the treasure room, in front of Asmodeus, while he was comfortably seated on the middle throne. My crimson stare was locked upon him, detailing every of his features that I already knew too well. He was the face of defeat, reminding me of the disgusting trap I had fell for. (Deep down, I am sure he had well planed his return for a long time... and I wasn't quick enough to counter it.) I couldn't see anything else than pure arrogance in every of his manners either. His sadistic smile was taunting me, lighting back the fires of hatred, which is probably what he wanted.
I felt like a puppet, who would raise an arm whenever the Master would pull a string. It wasn't enough for him to come back, no, he had to bring back at me the seven curses I had managed to free myself of, a while ago. If I recall right, my own personal pride had kept me from sharing those problems with anyone. Nobody had to know the truth! How would I be able to fight, once ripped off my coat of lies? I would look even weaker than I already am. Furthermore, how shameful would it be to speak them up...
You shall show obedience to the Master.
You shall be loyal to the Master.
You shall learn to trust the Master.
You shall develop deep passion for the Master.
You shall express lust to the Master.
You shall hold love for the Master.
You shall forever prove your dedication to the Master.
And all of those rules were cast on his cursed phylactery he had locked around my neck. As beautiful as that necklace could be, it too was a cruel reminder of loneliness and failure. It would take time before those would have an effect on me, at least. It was acting like some kind of poison, slowly making its way into my blood and mind.
A part of me was tired of fighting. Tired of constantly raging and pushing back. The part that had, perhaps, the most realistic point of view;
- Why was I alone when that ritual happened?
- Why didn't Miluda answer my calls for help?
- Why wasn't Iraestra strong enough to counter Asmodeus?
- Why didn't my bracelet of binding take me where I truly wanted to be?
- Why did everyone acted as if nothing had happened?
- Why did everything around fell silent?
- Where had Fenrir been?
- Why did my letters to the Governor went unanswered?
All of these could be linked, after all. Could it be a massive plot against me? Could everyone I had thought close had backstabbed me in order to get rid of me? Perhaps they knew that under Asmodeus's guidance, I would be calmer. That, even, I would leave them alone? That my attention would be directed somewhere else, and that way, they would have more freedom for themselves? Even Narrowhaven would simply grow better of my absence on the crime scene. It wouldn't even be the first time that it happens to me. I recall an entire town offering me on a silver platter to an evil one, for that purpose only. Oh how many reasons they would have had, now... Whom would help a Monster, after all?
On the other side, where my pride stands, I would gladly have a revenge and break free... but I don't know how much there would have to gain, if there's anything for me.
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Chapters of Delia
By Delia | March 20, 2013
It happened again, last evening, while she was out running about looking for sheep, and nosing into the empty homes that dotted the island here and there. She was nineteen, therefore she still was allowed to be nosy - a quality she probably would continue to possess, even after she was ninety. The house had a ghost, and it was a pity because there were some books that looked very interesting on the book shelf. However, experience told her that it was best to hightail it when doors started opening and closing of their own accord. Perhaps she'd go back and try again, some time. She was certain that ghosts sometimes slept, and books were quite an attraction - especially dusty, old, ancient tomes. Okay, well, perhaps those weren't quite so ancient, but the house was abandoned, therefore they had to be at least old. At any rate they were books, and books to her were like cheese to a mouse. She would definitely try again.
Then there was this man, a big man, probably a knight, or some such, because he was very shiny in armour and he glowed, who had not been able to take the moongate. Moongates were something Delia had learned rather easily, so she was befuddled on how he couldn't figure it out. Perhaps it was all that metal he wore. He needed to get to Narrowhaven, and he needed a cartographer, and several things she simply couldn't give him, being that her arms were rather full of wool that itched her nose. So he took her on the ship, instead. It was probably a good thing that he did, considering she wouldn't ever have that much money to take herself, and it was quite a beautiful (though much longer than the moongate!) ride over the water. She didn't once get sea sick, and was quite proud of herself for that.
She couldn't help him find the governor, probably because, as she had told him, she was a seamstress and had no idea about governors or anything of that sort. She did suggest the buildings behind a huge wall to the north, and was pleased when this was verified by a man standing nearby who was listening in. That was after they had taken another man to find a sewer - he had said he wanted to strengthen his arms. She had no idea how you strengthened your arms in a sewer, and at that point didn't really wish to ask, since the smithy where the entrance to the sewer lay smelt like rotten feet and smoke, and she really wanted nothing more than to get to bed, at that point.
She hoped that Faramund found what he was looking for, and looked forwards to finding out exactly what he was doing. Being nineteen meant you could still put your pert little nose into things (even itching from wool), and not get into too much trouble for it, or be called a busy-body old woman.
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[SVN 547][3/12/2013] Lesser World Bosses Added!
By TheGuy | March 12, 2013
Throughout the world you will be able to run across lesser world bosses. They will spawn on the Lone Islands map, Kingdom of Britannia map, & the Colormen Empire map. Each of these lesser boss monsters will have unique name and will be fairly difficult to kill yet not as difficult as a normal boss monsters. They will have good loot and a change of dropping artifacts!!
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Goddamn dock.
By Roman | March 10, 2013
"... I finally learned from a rascal in the Den, where my cutlass. Looks like he got rid of weapon huckster and now every landlubber can buy it and hang it on her pink rug. I landed in this damn town, Narrow Haven. Yes, yes heaven for armored pigs. It seems, that they were crazy. On the streets and on the quays is a fight. Guards and townspeople cut other townspeople. Gay city. One word. I smashed the head off the most zealous, and went to find store. That was easy. Some deadbeat with a cheap weapon. And an empty purse. I got a couple dozen pieces. But one of those armored goats with halberd blew after me. I went to the store, like a jeweler. And this ram with an ax plunged after me. There I butchered him in the quiet cubbyhole.
A fight in the street did not stop. Almost every head lunged at me with a weapon. Yes, the same kind of woman with a bow hurry up. It seems that she did not care who to kill. Because she shot into the crowd. Well, maybe just women fools from birth to death. All the same, these freaks me overwhelmed. I lost the gear. But found tunnels. There quietly. Rats versus with the townspeople sample of humanity.
With chagrin, I got drunk in the trash. But the visitors were not many. So that affected just a couple tens of potbellied at the inn.
But damn it. I sneaked into the bank. This money mouse refused to give me my gold. If these goats do not give me my gold, I'll take their gold. Just and fair. What I take. I managed to collect some what equipment. Not yet announce these gilded loafers with crossbows. But able to get rid of them in the tunnels.
So what. I was paralyzed and thrown to this cell. Damn sorcerers. Now I understand why the city has gone mad... "
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weeping angels (UORP Style)
By Trance | March 9, 2013
There in the corner of your eye you think you see the door open, but when you turn your head it's gone.
Don't blink, you might miss what you thought you saw.
Standing tall you know they exists, but when you search, there is nothing.
Yet you still, in the back of your mind, know it wasn't just a dream.
It wasn't the wind.
Not the shadow.
This is something more.
Don't Blink, you might miss what you thought you saw.
In the day light, the sun hovers over the trees, you stand at the well in front the bank.
The wind sways the trees, the shadows come from atop the roof of the bank.
Don't Blink, you might miss what you thought you saw,
It's not the trees, this is something more, but when you look there is nothing to see.
How could it be that because you blink you write off what you know you thought you saw.
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Attention Citizens of NarrowHaven
By Orlando | March 8, 2013
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Of Spark and Iron
By Dantares | March 6, 2013
"Never thought for a minute it was to be this difficult" He spoke into his cup before drinking deeply of the clean water within, resolving to splash it over his face in some vain attempt to extinguish the flame of frustration.
He had spent many weeks now toiling in his small one room home endlessly heating, hammering, and quenching iron. Taking in a sharp breath he procured another piece of stock from his stores and plunged it into the forge, taking great care to ensure the coals wrapped around it evenly. Working the bellows in long even strokes the flames rose throwing a great light all around the home. Shadows came forth from their unseen dens and began to dance across every available surface, driven wild by the tempo of the flames.
His mind raced through all that he had poured his heart into, every page and torn parchment his hands were able to surrender to his hungry eyes. He brought forth through his thoughts the delicate but measured dance of metal and fire. It was not at all about efficiency or expedience, but all of unbreakable concentration and patience. He let not his curiosity sabotage his methodical efforts, steeling himself with song and rhythm.
Fetching the stock from the forge he placed it upon the anvil and began to coax the metal into shape. He delivered precise and measured blows in a steady pattern, seeking to draw the metal out. The white hot heart of the iron lightly splintered and sparked with each blow, dimming ever so slightly as it beat on against the hammer.
as it dimmed Dantares deposited back into the forge, once again waking up the iron with the bellows.
Plunging into the water barrel it hissed and a great puff of steam rose into the air. With gloved hands Dantares took the iron from the tongs and looked it over. Crude to be certain but it held with it a most wondrous news that he could not help but smile with pride.
"Its straight". Placing it gently upon his table he marveled at his achievement, the first of many or so he hoped.
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The Flame of Passion
By Orlando | March 5, 2013
The city was falling into chaos as the drugs left the street. His eyes still blood shot from the pain his fist still broken Adair was scared. Not many people knew Adair. Its true he is a public figure but one that is shrouded in odd mystery. Adair kept to himself mostly never leaving his office for more than a few errands or to help a friend in need. There was always too much work to be done and if any bastard knew what it took to run the city they wouldn't threaten what they do. Adair was not about to surrender after struggling to survive. He squeezed his broken hand into a fist once more and muttered a prayer for guidance and strength. Nothing. Not a single word would be heard from the heavens and then Adair finally had enough.
In a matter of gruesome seconds Adair had snapped the bones in his hand back into proper place. Next he covered his hand with a tight cloth, it wouldn't leave this position till he was sure it was mended. Then for the first time since the attack he stood from his chair and headed down the hallway and locked every door in the manor; including the two large doors to the jail. Nobody was getting in or out not even him. He focused his thoughts next on what his father had told him about being a man about being a warrior. Adair didn't have much respect for his father previously but all of the sudden he understood what his father had said. It's time now he thought that I become my fathers son. With that Adair found a corner in his house and entered a deep meditation. Soon I will prove my name to the people.
And so the Manor locked down and the guards retreated to the walls around the manor and the city slowly started getting louder.
Adair would pray that they could hold out until he was rested.
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A letter for the Governor
By Scarlet | March 4, 2013
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