Hellis Member
Cᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟɪsᴛɪᴄ Yᴇᴛ Cʟᴀssʏ
STATUS: Hey y'all. I am about to start working on a webcomic and try to draw for a living now. 7 yrs ago
ciderStatus
Recent Statuses
7 yrs ago
Current
Hey y'all. I am about to start working on a webcomic and try to draw for a living now.
6
likes
9 yrs ago
Oh no. The World Ending library has started to smell of lemon again. Nobody likes dying to the smell of citrus
2
likes
Bio
"Always tenderize the meat first."
Most Recent Posts
It has been seen and approved.
I don't see how being extroverted or introverted would make your chances smaller/bigger. Most of the people I know who managed to turn long distance/internet relationships into working physical once have been people of either one personality type. Its about patience, and as Taaj has stated; plans to transition into physical relationships. Even if it takes forever. It comes down to communication, patience and trust as well as planning.
Just count my first post as a big flashback then :D
The King of Yellow will stride trough our forests, he will poison our air with a pollen not from this world and he will take from us all that we hold dear. And give to us sickness of such likeness we may never be cured. All but his few, his angels. His angels Whom he will devour personally. And the sea will boil with the Hydras young and our shores will become their breeding ground, men and women alike their mates. And all this shall start with a tear in the veil that keeps them out, a clawed hand of long dead membrane and white bone. He who opens the way will be Jagg'Azish, The First who Died.
The Heretic Codex, Prophecies 3:7. Author unknown.
His bones are bare of flesh but he will take ours to dress in. He laughs as we slaughter one another over things like gold and land, for he needs neither, only our dead. His acolytes will raise the bodies of those we love, twist them so that no humanity is left and have them dance in a macabre waltz for his pleasure. He will defile everything we know and rewrite the rules of our very reality to fit that of the old gods. And the New God shall sit in heaven and do nothing, for he is but a lie. And they are many, and they are strong while they are also the truth.
The Heretic Codex, Prophecies 3:11. Author unknown.
New Orleans.
1811
May 12th
The streets seemed oddly desolate, a port like New Orleans is always crawling with people. Sailors, whores and other people o unsavory to mention and there was always ships in the harbor. It was much like the calm before the storm, and what a storm it was going to be. The green waves crashed against the pier, splitting into foam but soon ebbed away again. Even the sea seemed to be calm, waves were unusually calm and easy. Then on the horizon, just barely withing sight land, a massive ship flying a tattered old Spanish flag could be seen. The Man-o-War was battered and broken, the hull seemed to be held together by some unseen force and not a single crew member could be seen on deck. Yet it steered towards the harbor like it had a full crew. The few that was there ran to get hold of a townsguard, to warn them of the apparent invader. The ship came halfway before the first cannonball landed infront of it, a warning shot from the local garrison. But the ship, creaking with what sounded like stalwart defiance, crashed across the still waves and into the harbor, despite cannon fire splitting its hull. And once there it finally began to sank, slowly as if something was rejecting its presence deep below. No crew, nothing about the ship made sense. The ship had the harbor in a uproar, the wreckage was delaying ships from leaving, many sailors were spooked saying it was a omen. The mayor mainly worried about the fact they had sunk a Spanish ship, sending a courier to find out just what was going on.
Out in the swamps, somewhere deep among the Mangroove trees a bonechilling scream was heard. A woman, scarcely older then 18 was dragged by the hair by a man who looked more skeletal then alive. But his grip was that of a cold iron vice, in his other hand he clutched a sickle. The girl was thrown ontop of a makeshift altar and before the woman could even let out a single plea for mercy, her head was seperated from her body. The man smiled.
“And in the mist, his eyes will see us all. And in the mist, he shall send the first of his servants; The Flayer. N'ghalu Jagg'Azish! N'ghalu Jagg'Azish!” His voice was hoarse by the end of his chanting, but now it was as if the swamp around him was chanting back and out of the waters swarmed half rotten remains of what was once human and animal alike. Like a flock of rabid dogs they tore the girls body apart. The man stood perfectly still. Just observing.
Without knowing it, New Orleans was about to be invaded. But not by the Spanish or English but by something far more sinister.
----
The Heretic Codex, Prophecies 3:7. Author unknown.
His bones are bare of flesh but he will take ours to dress in. He laughs as we slaughter one another over things like gold and land, for he needs neither, only our dead. His acolytes will raise the bodies of those we love, twist them so that no humanity is left and have them dance in a macabre waltz for his pleasure. He will defile everything we know and rewrite the rules of our very reality to fit that of the old gods. And the New God shall sit in heaven and do nothing, for he is but a lie. And they are many, and they are strong while they are also the truth.
The Heretic Codex, Prophecies 3:11. Author unknown.
New Orleans.
1811
May 12th
The streets seemed oddly desolate, a port like New Orleans is always crawling with people. Sailors, whores and other people o unsavory to mention and there was always ships in the harbor. It was much like the calm before the storm, and what a storm it was going to be. The green waves crashed against the pier, splitting into foam but soon ebbed away again. Even the sea seemed to be calm, waves were unusually calm and easy. Then on the horizon, just barely withing sight land, a massive ship flying a tattered old Spanish flag could be seen. The Man-o-War was battered and broken, the hull seemed to be held together by some unseen force and not a single crew member could be seen on deck. Yet it steered towards the harbor like it had a full crew. The few that was there ran to get hold of a townsguard, to warn them of the apparent invader. The ship came halfway before the first cannonball landed infront of it, a warning shot from the local garrison. But the ship, creaking with what sounded like stalwart defiance, crashed across the still waves and into the harbor, despite cannon fire splitting its hull. And once there it finally began to sank, slowly as if something was rejecting its presence deep below. No crew, nothing about the ship made sense. The ship had the harbor in a uproar, the wreckage was delaying ships from leaving, many sailors were spooked saying it was a omen. The mayor mainly worried about the fact they had sunk a Spanish ship, sending a courier to find out just what was going on.
Out in the swamps, somewhere deep among the Mangroove trees a bonechilling scream was heard. A woman, scarcely older then 18 was dragged by the hair by a man who looked more skeletal then alive. But his grip was that of a cold iron vice, in his other hand he clutched a sickle. The girl was thrown ontop of a makeshift altar and before the woman could even let out a single plea for mercy, her head was seperated from her body. The man smiled.
“And in the mist, his eyes will see us all. And in the mist, he shall send the first of his servants; The Flayer. N'ghalu Jagg'Azish! N'ghalu Jagg'Azish!” His voice was hoarse by the end of his chanting, but now it was as if the swamp around him was chanting back and out of the waters swarmed half rotten remains of what was once human and animal alike. Like a flock of rabid dogs they tore the girls body apart. The man stood perfectly still. Just observing.
Without knowing it, New Orleans was about to be invaded. But not by the Spanish or English but by something far more sinister.
----
I tried to make my post as grand and godlike in language as possible.
“The prince of change will fan the flame,
The oppressed will rise in his name.
Their banner black, their eyes red,
as they scream of the kings head.
no other god will be able to reach him in this hour of might,
he will avenge ever single slight.”
The passing of the God King was like a tidal wave, sweeping across the lands and tearing cults and priesthoods up by the roots like a young birch in the face of the rage of the sea. When the tidal wave finally reach the ruins of a old kingdom, far outside the boundaries of civilization it seemed to unroot the shadows clean off the walls. They moved and writhed as they pooled at the feet of a being who shifted and changed continuously as if he lacked stability to stay within this world. Lefredias stirred and awakened with a smile on his lips, the death of a King was the birth of another. But all kings feared the rebellion of those close. The most hated of all his enemies, had fallen and it was only fitting Lefredias had been idling in the ruins of his greatest triumph when the news had reached his ears.
This had once been a great kingdom, one bent on ruling the world. The King had been one of the great despots of his age, he had mercilessly laid low to his enemies and subjugated his people trough violence and terror. But like any king that caught the eye of Lefredias, he had been brought low. The god had taken a mortal guise and convinced a young guard captain about his kings evil ways, and he appeared In the dreams of a young farmer, told him to take up arms. In a few months time, the god had set the hearts aflame within every young man and woman outside the city gates, a black flame that could only be extinguished with the blood of their betters. And they had marched at the city, superior in number, and the guard captain had opened the gates for them. And the city had burned and everyone rich and oppressive had been dragged out of their homes, had their heads removed from their bodies and bodies burned. A massacre that extinguished every single bloodline of noble birth within the city. But the city had no rulers, and the rebellion that became a massacre turned into chaos and in the end there was no big city any more. And more then a hundred years later, the ruins were still cursed with living shadows and a air of maleficence. A fitting seat for Lefredias to be sure.
Lefredias felt the death of the King ignite something deep within him. His eyes lit up like the black fires that gripped the heart of his revolutionaries. As the God of Shadows rose from the shadows that so often embraced him he let out a scream that tore trough the country side like a howling wind. His sects, many and secretive all felt their god stir and call them to action. All across the country, they poised themselves to take from those who were falling into debauchery. Men with long and crooked knives slipped into the rooms of drunken politicians and slit their throats, charistmatic young leadars called the confused to them on the streets. Lefredias knew not how his father died, but he had prepared for this day. His shadow began to spread from where he sat on a throne made out of broken banners and the bones of fallen kings and queens. Like a wall of darkness it cast itself over the heart and soul of the desperate and uncertain, of whom there was a no sea. He called to them, offered them a way out. He asked for them to throw away their petty gods, to fight for themselves and their families instead.
Indeed, he knew not who killed his father, but they had given him the dominion over people. For he was uncertainty and he was shadows. And now there was a shadow of doubt in every heart, and uncertainty was the only certain thing. This was Lefredias time.
The oppressed will rise in his name.
Their banner black, their eyes red,
as they scream of the kings head.
no other god will be able to reach him in this hour of might,
he will avenge ever single slight.”
The passing of the God King was like a tidal wave, sweeping across the lands and tearing cults and priesthoods up by the roots like a young birch in the face of the rage of the sea. When the tidal wave finally reach the ruins of a old kingdom, far outside the boundaries of civilization it seemed to unroot the shadows clean off the walls. They moved and writhed as they pooled at the feet of a being who shifted and changed continuously as if he lacked stability to stay within this world. Lefredias stirred and awakened with a smile on his lips, the death of a King was the birth of another. But all kings feared the rebellion of those close. The most hated of all his enemies, had fallen and it was only fitting Lefredias had been idling in the ruins of his greatest triumph when the news had reached his ears.
This had once been a great kingdom, one bent on ruling the world. The King had been one of the great despots of his age, he had mercilessly laid low to his enemies and subjugated his people trough violence and terror. But like any king that caught the eye of Lefredias, he had been brought low. The god had taken a mortal guise and convinced a young guard captain about his kings evil ways, and he appeared In the dreams of a young farmer, told him to take up arms. In a few months time, the god had set the hearts aflame within every young man and woman outside the city gates, a black flame that could only be extinguished with the blood of their betters. And they had marched at the city, superior in number, and the guard captain had opened the gates for them. And the city had burned and everyone rich and oppressive had been dragged out of their homes, had their heads removed from their bodies and bodies burned. A massacre that extinguished every single bloodline of noble birth within the city. But the city had no rulers, and the rebellion that became a massacre turned into chaos and in the end there was no big city any more. And more then a hundred years later, the ruins were still cursed with living shadows and a air of maleficence. A fitting seat for Lefredias to be sure.
Lefredias felt the death of the King ignite something deep within him. His eyes lit up like the black fires that gripped the heart of his revolutionaries. As the God of Shadows rose from the shadows that so often embraced him he let out a scream that tore trough the country side like a howling wind. His sects, many and secretive all felt their god stir and call them to action. All across the country, they poised themselves to take from those who were falling into debauchery. Men with long and crooked knives slipped into the rooms of drunken politicians and slit their throats, charistmatic young leadars called the confused to them on the streets. Lefredias knew not how his father died, but he had prepared for this day. His shadow began to spread from where he sat on a throne made out of broken banners and the bones of fallen kings and queens. Like a wall of darkness it cast itself over the heart and soul of the desperate and uncertain, of whom there was a no sea. He called to them, offered them a way out. He asked for them to throw away their petty gods, to fight for themselves and their families instead.
Indeed, he knew not who killed his father, but they had given him the dominion over people. For he was uncertainty and he was shadows. And now there was a shadow of doubt in every heart, and uncertainty was the only certain thing. This was Lefredias time.
Sounds like your typical pixie stuff to me. Never trust a pixie, the little buggars are all about the mischief!
ahahaha. That twist Fantasy.
WELL DONE!
WELL DONE!
Since I am fairly sure I will have the last character sheet I am waiting for soon. I will post the IC start tommorow. Don't worry if you are not done with your character sheets, we are not gonna be starting off heavy.
oh, that vibe I got :D. I really like the character. He adds a lot of flavor, I am afraid that even if Henry buried him in paperwork for whatever slight trhat comes his way. Our grandiose Pharaoh is likely to have a army of accountants. I mean, he WAS a ruler once upon a time after all.
© 2007-2026