Espionage (blackjack and sluts on request).
By Roman | September 28, 2013
[ As ÐÑтра asked about recipes an alchemist and scribe. Merchants and thieves are welcome.
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As the Light fades Away….
By kevin327 | September 26, 2013
Then came the banquet, and this man Michael, who could not keep his grubby little mage fingers from his lovely wife. Yes Merrick knew that with Scarlet's beauty and disposition that men tend to gawk and follow and even comment. This one goes to far. As if he thought Merrick would be blind and not see him playing with my wife's hair as he did. Merrick felt that here at the banquet, at the Kings estate, with so many present it was not the time or place to deal with this disrespectful being. He would confront him when first he had the chance.
Merrick was not happy with this man but he received word that a potion he was having recreated was ready for him and this brought back some happiness to him. He was going to be able to undo what Samuel has done to her perhaps. This was going to allow his beautiful wife who thinks there is no such thing as love the ability to possibly understand it and even feel it. He was happy for but a short time. The potion once given to his wife seemed to have not the effect of the one he was given to begin with, in fact it seemed to have no effect at all. The next thing Merrick knows, Scarlet is spending time with this Man from the banquet and not focusing on this as she usually does. Something was not right and Merrick didn't like it.
Oh the dark thoughts that where filling his mind. The things he wanted to do to this man with no respect for another's wife, for all those who felt he was not suited for Scarlet. It is not my problem they cannot see that I am the only one who truly Loves Scarlet. I may not know what some others know or all there is to know about her, but I know more than many, and enough to know that she is my the one for me, the only one for me. Merrick also knows he wants to learn everything about her, every detail, for he loves this women to no end. He needs to make all these people understand and respect this.
Yes, they all need to learn. They all need to pay. Everyone does, even those he has not met yet! yes everyone needs to pay. Everyone will be the same, it will never end. I might as well just make everyone learn this.
These thoughts have been visiting Merrick's mind for several days now, but they are getting louder and more frequent. They will pass he thinks. They are just because of stress and everything that is going on. He passes them off and pays little attention to them.
It Finally hit Merrick one eve after Scarlet actually told him she loved this ...this Mage. Even after telling Merrick this, he could see confusion in her expression. How could this come to be? Wait, the potion, yes the potion. It had not worked for him. The old man told him he hired this man to get a sample of Scarlet's hair at the banquet! That man! It was this Michael, and the potion didn't work for Merrick. Merrick realized he had been had. The potion did work! Not for him, but for this mage! Those dark thought of dealing with these people re entered his mind and this time he was not so quick to brush them aside as nothing. He went to Scarlet and spoke with her and using a bit of information he had learned, he ordered her to fix this my making the proper potion and ending the effects of the one he himself had given her which actually worked for another. Merrick was not a very happy man at the moment. More mad at himself for being duped as he was, but there was plenty of anger for this other man and for well , for everyone else......everyone.
Scarlet started the potion and informed him it would take a week to make. A week to long he thought. He was no honestly sure he could wait that long. The following evening after an argument between Scarlet and this Michael, Merrick had seen her literally attack the man and grab his throat. This, he had to admit, did bring a smile to his face and he was again proud of his wife. They returned home and after showing her the new bathroom in the Keep, told her if she could just make the effects of the potion given to her go away that would be enough. She told him she could make that right away and be ready that eve. Merrick told her to do so for he felt in his heart he needed no damn potion to make her feel for him as she did for this other man with the use of one. She will see and feel what true love is, even if it takes some time. Scarlet made the potion and consumed it and within moments he was hearing things said to him as she had before he gave her the false potion. He was happy again. Happy for a little bit again. for they returned home and retired to the bedroom with a bottle of wine which was not tainted with anything. Scarlet at first was a bit reluctant to drink any but once Merrick assured her it was not tainted, she threw back a few glasses rather quickly and wanted more. I went and got her something a bit stronger and after one glass I asked her a question about Samuel. She rose and with a few choice words about men and what they want with her she vanished in thin air. This did not sit well with Merrick. All Merrick could think about was how people would pay for all this disrespect. Yes they all will pay. They need to learn respect. They all do and even Scarlet it seems. He remembered her words from way back when they first met and were seeing each other. " I am not like others Merrick, if you don't want me to go you best use chains!" she told him. Merrick sat for what seemed like hours starring at he flames of the fire in the bedroom. Then, almost without thinking at all he left and went and purchased some materials and went to work in the bedroom.
A bit after he finished his project. Scarlet returned and came up to meet him in the bedroom. When asked where she had been he barely recalls even listening to what she told him. Another little lie he was sure it was, no matter. " lets go to bed my love and perhaps in the morning we will all feel a bit better. After he helped her out of her things as he usually does and got her comfortable in bed. Merrick reached down and picked up the chain which was on the floor a bit under the bed, and merely casually clasped the shackle about Scarlet's ankle and locked it. Even with Scarlet's total shocked expression and wide eyes, Merrick calmly told her how much he loved her and that if she wanted chains put on her than chains is what she will have. ''No one loves you more than I Scarlet, no man, no beast and no God can love you as I do. you will learn this."' Merrick said this because he does just that. He knows this is how he feels and there is no questioning it. Merrick told her he will give her anything she wants, chains included.
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[SVN 804][9/26/2013] Server Update
By TheGuy | September 26, 2013
- Bug: stealth bug that allowed stealing in heavy armor should be fixed now.
- Rising Colossus, control slots set to 2. Fixed the typo.
- BaseArmor artifacts can be disenchanted into artifact shards
- Added passive skill gain admin gump
- Smelt/break down archery weapons & woodworking weapons/armor
- Set scissors to return 1/4 resources on both player constructed & dropped items
- Added Small HP buff. The first in a series of small tests.
- Possible fix for the blank crafting recipes
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The Roar of the Sun (II): Maribeth
By Erzebetha | September 23, 2013
We lost Maribeth during her tenth winter.
Frozen lake, soft spot in the middle--she plunged through with no goodbyes.
The men fished for her with their gaffs, but when the soft purples touched the stone-gray
clouds, they knew Maribeth was no longer a member of the flesh and blood family. Little was
said that night around the fire. We slurped our leek soup with little relish; ate our hard bread with no happiness; we let the winter steal our hearts that day.
Spring would eventually come, and the girls of the village paid one last respect to lost Maribeth. We threw bouquets of daffodils into that damned pond, and offered up scant prayers to her eternal rest. Some of our number, the older girls, had already forgotten the little brown haired girl. She was lame since birth, club foot stumbled her walking. In her life she received pity, but in her death the oblivion of willful forgetfulness was gladly heaped upon her memory.
And when Maribeth appeared behind me tonight, her pale arms, stringy brown hair, and flour-sack dress dripping wet from her death, I had no words for her. What do you say to the long dead effigy of your girlhood?
Maybe it was yet the heady brew I had swallowed many days (I assume) past; maybe my mind was forever victim to the crone's distilled recipe of rare herbs, dried fungus? The sight of my childhood was far too gruesome to take in--I closed my eyes to her watery yellow pupils, the tattered lips torn and ripped by hungry fish.
"Isobella! Remember me?" said the little girl in my head. She was there just as I remembered, the day before she fell through the ice. Slump shouldered, favoring her right leg, patchwork doll under her arm, all smiles and sunshine.
"Yes, Maribeth," I thought to the dream, to the specter? "I cast King's Spear flowers upon your grave. I missed your humor during that long hard winter."
--There was silence now; Maribeth's smile widened in my head, chin shyly tugging downwards. "How do you like being dead, Isobel?"
The question was odd.
Ice shot down my spine.
"I'm not dead," I said, opening my eyes--forgetful of the cadaver before me.
"Yes, yes you are." Maribeth pressed. "The crone poisoned you. You were offered up for sacrifice the very night of your poisoning, though you were still in body. I was there. I was watching you. I have always watched over you."
Had I not been underground at this time in the hellish cellar of the Black Fox, I wouldn't have panicked, wouldn't have turned from the walking corpse--the humming laughter swelling in my head. I would have, I hope I would have, waved my dagger through the raw, thin air before me, hitting no obstacle--no rotten, wet flesh.
But maybe that's why I ran.
I knew my dagger would have spliced open wormy, white flesh.
Yes, I ran because some part of me, perhaps down deep in my heart, knew that Maribeth was fresh from the grave, the watery footprints I followed back topside--real. Aye, perhaps I knew when I ordered that tankard of wine in the Black Fox and drank until I could fear no more...or did I mean: feel?
Sleeping tonight?
Tall order.
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Shadows of the Wind (Ongoing)
By Shadow Man | September 23, 2013
A thin sheet of condensation fashioned on the unforgiving redwood floor beneath them, offering an orchestra of glimmering reflections from the light provided by the lone candelabra in the corner of the room, which had nearly burnt itself out. Droplets of wax seeped over the copper base plate, blotching into small puddles offering a white contrast to the smoothness of the redwood beneath it. The cold in the air dried the globs of wax almost immediately.
The Shadow Man inhaled deeply, not for labor, but to enjoy the cinnamon scented flavor from the Red Feather, the perfume offering a welcomed escape from the stale disparity of sweat and cold. The smell itself actually warmed him, which amplified the temperature of her skin cradled in his arms, a dubious thing that gray skin can be so perfectly warm and soft. He watched her breathe, a cone of fog budding from her air as it plumed past the smooth gloss of her scarlet lipstick. Her hair was a mass of tangle and body, and despite the moisture from her perspiration throughout the night, retained its softness to his gentle touch. He spun a loose strand around his middle finger, allowing it to entwine over his other digits as he fiddled with it.
That rebellious strand he had spent the earlier hours at the banquet obsessing over, admittedly to agitate the Other Guy. Now, though, he felt intoxicated by it, mesmerized by the sharpness of its color to his eyes. The candle’s small flame danced a moment as a rush of cool air came up the steps, she gripped him tighter. He grinded his teeth as her hand squeezed the flesh of his back, pressuring the inflammation of torn skin, the flesh under her fingernails taunting back to its former home.
His own hair tickled his neck, having been grippingly yanked from the leather tie that held his pony-tail in place. His scalp ached, the bond of his raven black hair and flesh being tested by the fervor of her cravings throughout the many, many episodes. The cravings of her passion only akin to the thirst of his own, lavishly feeding each other’s salacity with animalistic ardor; Cupid would have blushed.
They tested one another, sharing half-truths about secrets each had been challenging for years. She had no short of confidence, either, making notes of small victories while still being intrigued by the aptitude in which the Shadow Man had deciphered her many masks as shrewd disguises from the reality beneath them. He looked down at her, suspicious to how vulnerable he might have made himself. She stupefied him, and the fact that he could admit it gave him some iota of courage.
One thing that unsettled The Shadow Man, was the one full truth the Red Feather had mentioned. He had seen, for the first time, legitimate fear within her. It was like a crack in the dead silence of night, echoing within her voice when she said The Fool’s name. This one… The Shadow Man mused, will suffer a defeat in his pride first. The Fool’s biggest strength also being his biggest weakness, deception, the ability to tell a lie as truth, but not the ability to interpret one. He had crossed the line, and for the first time in a long time, The Shadow Man felt the twinge of pure anger within him. He deserved a pain above the others, even the Slavekeeper, even the Other Guy.
He touched her lips, feeling the heat of her breath reverberate through his fingers, prompting his hair to stand atop tiny goose bumps on his arm. A genuine smile, watching her sleep, knowing full well that he would not find rest tonight, he wondered if she had ever slept so soundly or if she does all the time. At least for this night, she would be free her Slavemaster and masks, to live only as herself. To act without the fear of consequence, to act without the fear of losing anyone or anything, free to act however she pleased, and as he noted to her: That’s all he wanted for her. The only proper way to live life is to live free, and that means free from illusions and falsity as well.
Unlike the other ‘gentlemen’, using the term as loosely as possible, in her life, The Shadow Man made no reservation to obsessively keep her body or her mind to only him. If she would so choose to implore her nature, The Shadow Man expected such. If she chose to lie to The Shadow Man, or trick him, he welcomed her to do so. His wish only being she allows herself to be herself, free of masks, free of fear, free of power, free of illusions, free of consequence. Do, whatever it is, you wish to do, in any manner you wish to do it, Red Feather. As he told her, he would undoubtedly do the same.
She protested against being free from the Slavemaster, as if that would impulse The Shadow Man to cease in his attempts to free her from him. As mentioned, he would act as he would act, in a cold, calculating manner, in order to not only free the Red Feather, but also to free the Slavemaster.
His fingers lingered on her chest, walking over the warm plateau above her breasts. It wasn’t obsession that gripped him, but something much more real…
First, he would test the Slavemasters obsession.
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The Valley
By Orlando | September 23, 2013
He was stuck, and looking for clues. This wasn't some place he could bring Delia, the area itself wasn't dangerous, it was too precious to him. His hands fell upon the floor as his back rode down the wall. His eyes beckoning for some sort of sign that Clerist was still around, that he could pass on his knowledge to another student in his stead. As he waited he found nothing, nobody came, nobody went. This house was a home abandoned. The spirit assumed the worst, prayed for the best, and would settle for anything in between. Though if he had tears they would have been pouring from his eyes and creating small pools around him. Instead his soul would fray and flake away more scars to add to an already tormented spirit.
During he had two more things to do before he could pass on, get revenge to those who escaped his judgement in life and to wait for Delia at till the end of her time. He didn't have to protect her, she didn't need him to protect her, it's not that kind of love. He simply wanted to rest by her, lay his head on her shoulder from time to time and enjoy her. These things wouldn't happen really. His life was over now all he could do was wait and wonder. What happened to them? Was his genius a folly? Perhaps so.
He had taken so many things for granted that in the end, there was nothing but time and waiting. Perhaps this is his punishment and his reward for many loyal and faithful years to the maker. Even still he didn't want to miss one more minute by her side. Even if he had to tear the veil apart just to lay his eyes upon her.
'I love you Delia', he thought to himself. Finally standing up. His fingers curled into a fist and he floated out the doorway and back into the world. It was time to make the pilgrimage and it started here, at the temple of chaos.
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Poem: Black Wind and Red Feather
By Shadow Man | September 22, 2013
The secrets held in the shadows of wind;
dancing silhouettes of blackened sins felt
from a red feather upon the spectre.
The black wind welcomes the feathers center.
Spreading its vanes, the feather beckons flight,
drifting to a climax in the nights heat.
Rising upon the strength of the winds gusts.
The entwine of lust blurring the senses,
black wind and red feather become crimson.
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[SVN 786][9/22/2013] Server Update, Mysticism, Enhance,Smelt
By TheGuy | September 22, 2013
- Added 3 new sets of leather artifacts
- Adjusted the Grobu
- Added new developer resources to the website
- Updated developer resources on the website
- House doors now required a key for both directions
- Weight reduction container no longer display drop message to get rid of spam
- Mysticism / Wizard Spell: Sleep, added sound & animation, added DoHarmful
- Mysticism / Wizard Spell: Mass Sleep, added sound & animation, added DoHarmful
- Added new artifacts to loot table
- Added new artifacts to imbuing crafting gump
- Mysticism / Wizard Spell: Purge Magic Spell, now drains an opponents manna. If they run out of manna you inflect a small amount of damage.
- Added barrels & closed lid barrels to the carpentry menu
- Added revealing action to doors, no more hiding when opening or closing doors.
- Added Enchanted bool to BaseCreature. Allows for summoned creatures to be enchanted by enchant spell, making the summoned not dispelable.
- Kelphiron Follower added. Base Skeletal Dragon; HP and STR doubled; Blockers to reach Dragon God Kelphiron.
- Enable Enchant Spell.
- AnimateDeadSpell now lets you control the undead creature you summon, since they are now dispelable.
- Removed Blank.txt (template file, unneeded.)
- Mystisam / Wizard Spell: Enchant, Added EnchantSpell, Makes summoned creature unable to be dispelled.
- Any BaseArmor, BaseWeapon, BaseClothing, & DragonBardingDeed will now smelt down into 1/4 th the metal.
- Blacksmith Enhance change: Chance To Enchant = Skill / 2 (if smithing and hammer then + hammer bonus)
On Failure: divide chance by 2. If you are in this new chance then break item (keeps this low for early levels, and raises the chance to break in higher levels.)
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Plan B.
By Shadow Man | September 20, 2013
He drummed his fingers together, resting his elbows on the callous surface of his stone chair. The scent of freshly sawed wood lingered in his nostrils as he softly rested his eyes shut, listening to the report. He had tried to remember when he first returned to this realm, content that this time he would be much more passive and support the Kingdom. Even being so bold as to expect he could teach the new King, in fact, to be a free man himself.
The information being presented did not settle well, soaking in the words.
"I, as you ordered, delivered your message to the Red Mask. Then, requested audience, as you ordered, with the King of Narrowhaven." Vaughn paused a moment, his elvish accent perpetuating a certain anxious volume The Shadow Man had not heard in some time.
Vaughn was one of his primary agents. His precise combination of speed, power, and cunning left nothing to be desired. He had always, absolutely always, carried out his orders with as much perfection as could be expected. The Shadow Man adjusted himself in his seat, feeling the sponge of cotton shift to his weight, being his only defense against the hard stone surface below. He gestured passively, a simple wave of his hand before entwining them again, for Vaughn to continue.
"They were speaking in, what they described as, a storage room. Although I urged that it was not necessary, the King invited me to a private meeting, just across from where we were." Vaughn uttered, his arms folded over his chest now, more sure of himself, somehow.
The Shadow Man interjected, "So, you walked into an ambush?"
Vaughn attempted to explain, but no words could be found. He snickered in discontent, but the hand raised flatly by The Shadow Man indicated that the question was rhetorical. Continuing, "You walked into an ambush, and you were outwitted by that imbecile Engale, and not only that, you allowed yourself to be bullied in the situation, thus running back to me with your tail between your legs?" The Shadow Man's voice was low, cold, and deceptive.
Vaughn shifted, sliding his own hand behind his back, thumbing his dagger. He shifted his wait on the redwood floor, clearing his throat nervously. "Would you rather me just kill them both...? Would you rather us lose all influen-" A certain arrogance present in his voice, but abruptly interjected by the Shadow Man himself.
"Don't insult me, asshole." The Shadow Man's voice boomed within the room, bouncing off the wall. Proteus even looked up from his work, where he was copying, word for word, diagram for diagram, equation for equation, the ancient alchemy book retrieved the day before. The Shadow Man reached with his consciousness, gripping Vaughn with an invisible pressure. "And this... feels familiar?" The Shadow Man uttered, looking at his victim.
Vaughn was still, still feeling the hilt of his dagger with the fatty portion of his thumb behind him. It had been some time since his face felt the coldness of the air, but now the white hood of his robe fell from his head. The thin jade lines of his eyes looked around the room. He wasn't looking for escape, but the upper hand, in case his employer were to be so bold.
The Shadow Man spoke again, this time a certain misplaced arousal of curiosity in his voice, "Please. I'm not holding you, Vaughn. Just like Engale did not hold you. As always, you've made the clear and concise move." He released his consciousness, dropping Vaughn to the floor, who happened to land with a typical grace.
"So, they bullied you, you allowed it, and then escaped unharmed with not even the slightest of a pursuit?" The Shadow Man uttered an audible chuckle, an iota of amusement within the noisy cackle.
The news being reported was completely expected. Vaughn's primary purpose was to test the King's resolve against the folly of his "advisors" or "friends". A proper King must be free from the illusion of Objectivity. He must be conscious of the nature of his citizens in order to ensure balance.
The King of Narrowhaven was surrounded by fools, and although it happened much sooner than expected, the King's house of cards had crumbled to the ground.
"Fenrir is a cunning warrior, a deserving leader." The Shadow Man paused, clearly talking to himself. "I just don't understand his obsession with trying to please these morons whom, if they might had their own ignorant way, would tear apart reason, love, morality, and virtue." His voice was cold, agitated. The vowels of his words pronounced with a certain disdain that echoed throughout the room. "They act in accordance to their own wishes, and NOT to support his sovereignty, and he acts to support their friendship, and NOT according to his own wishes or moral guideline. He allows them to push him around, and brush him beneath the rug just as Adair did."
The Shadow Man took a deep breath, exhaling a deep sigh while shaking his hooded head. The cloth folded as his head turned, indicating that he was now looking about the room.
"He had the AUDACITY to walk a diplomat into an ambush, whether known or unbeknownst to himself the King, and then threatened the diplomat who sought only to defend himself from unwelcomed company and the King himself, who might I add is always ARMED? The insult being he demanded that the VICTIM of such an atrocity disarm himself, and the ultimate insult being it was MY DIPLOMAT!?" The Shadow Man's voice reverberated against the marble wall, echoing four times over. His fist clenched, static electricity popping around his knuckles and flames leaking out from beneath the fingers over the palm.
The violence within the one hand dissolved, fizzling away, the shoulders of The Shadow Man dropping as a consequence.
"Proteus."
Proteus sat far away, now raising his old bones from the pine wood stool he occupied. His gray eyes turned in his head before his neck twisted to meet the Shadow Man. "Sir?"
"Plan A has failed. Move to Plan B. The Viral cure is afflicted upon subject zero, correct?" The yellow eyes stared out from beneath the shadow of his hood, almost piercing through the soul of the old man.
"Yes," Proteus replied, "everything is as it should be. We've done this before, are we ready to take such a drastic step?" Proteus's voice shook in hesitation, frowning.
"You're my Proteus. Show them why."
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The Roar of the Sun
By Erzebetha | September 20, 2013
There's something about the marshy flatlands of the world that changes the people that choose to live there. The sky is always framed in whipped white flattops, rain ever present, evening always emerging from the stray corners of the flat black tarns and hedge tangles that hold court on the flat, eternal horizon. Stay long enough and you begin to think there is no other place, that the world has suddenly been carved up into labyrinth alleys of mires and thickets that erupt without reason from the lonesome wet soil.
Marry the strangeness of such wastes to a need to add years to your life by the whims of unnatural means, and you will always wake up inside a straw floored hut, pig dung mired on your boots.
"It will paint roses on your cheeks, my love," the crone said flatly, "if it doesn't kill you first." Her long silver locks were an illusion. Yes, they were beautiful liked pressed satin, but it was ruined by her lopsided face. The left was wrinkled to be sure, but the right was frozen, the corner of that lip wilted, drooling like a weeping fungus. Was that my destiny too? How could such a figure claim to be an authority on potions of eternal youth? Maybe this was one big grim jest set up by the mages I hounded, mages I bribed for the whereabouts of this gnarled woman.
"Drink it while its fresh, milady. Wait too long and your quest, your gold will be for naught. These herbs do not grow everyday. Especially the rare toadstools. Once a decade. Fate placed you here at exactly the right time. But do you have the nerve to trust fate?"
To be honest, I wanted to turn away from her withered, skeletal hand, vanish beyond the folds of her deerskin door flap, and trust my family's legacy to age me slowly. But the crone had reason in her words. Strong reason. I had, indeed, wasted quite a bit of coin on the reagents, stuff she didn't want to sell at the outset. But I had persuaded her with the weight of my purse, had I not? And now that action was staring back at me in the shape of an alchemical tea, shivering in the hands of my host.
I had dreamt of mountains of gold in a keep built of black stone. Dreamt of boxes of shining emeralds so bright that the wooden containers that imprisoned them would melt for their power; but such dreams take long expanses of time, and as we all know, time crawls when such plots are hatched.
My hand acted on its own accord.
I took the tea from the crone, wafted it under my nose, and with an ironic grin, upended the contents into my throat. No burn. But the concoction was foul, so foul that I heaved and wretched. But I would not vomit. To vomit was to loose the quest, to foul up my destiny in a flue of steaming offal. I held my breath so that I would not have to breath the nauseous odors of the tea.
Like waking from a stream of vivid dreams, and then closing your eyes only to open them again an hour later, I gave in to the power of the tea. The crone was stroking my hair, singing words to me, words of the marsh, words no mortal has ever uttered; I was puking into a black tarn, hacking and coughing while pine trees loomed over me, their woody fingers reaching for me; I flew high in the midnight clouds, dancing on moonbeams, chasing little people from star to star; and back again, the straw of the crone's hut the most comfortable bedding I have ever slept on.
And then death, the grim specter, embraced me in his clammy robes, his frozen fingers locking around my neck like a lover about to die the little death.
I do not remember much from this point forward. I have impressions of cold stone, dark caverns, loud voices joined in a bellowing song that rebounded from wet walls, from the glittering laughter of a thousand candles. Who I was--Isobella--had died so long ago. Death's fold had removed me from the slow creep of days, the even slower marches of night.
But then, I became again. Weak knees buckling under the weight of mortal form, I was pushed
forward into a press of warm faces gathered around a tavern keeper in the naked stones of a small village inn.
I have no answers but for this journal, a journal that even now, seems the stranger story of a foreign voice, a voice alien yet familiar--this voice I call me....
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