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  • Last Seen: 13 days ago
  • Old Guild Username: Kho
  • Joined: 12 yrs ago
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    1. Kho 12 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
Current "Soon you will have forgotten all things. And soon all things will have forgotten you."
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courtesy of @Muttonhawk

Most Recent Posts

Torinus: *returning* uh, couldn't find Rurik. Or the king.
Laxion: What? Are you a muppet? They couldn't have just disappea-
Torinus: They went to Paris
Laxion: Oh
Torinus: Said we shouldn't do anything stupid until they come back
Laxion:
Kho, you got Logos's stats wrong. AGAIN.


TT0TT

But, but, he had 28 Might from last turn, and gains 12 Might per turn, what did I do wrong x((

Ah yes, Level 4. Edited
A new Turn every two months :| pretty sure we were at Turn 12 going on to Turn 13/14 towards the end of Mk.I
I should really try to get new turns out more frequently ^^'

edit: ah, turn 9 we were at
Turn 7


Rtron's Bonus Might to y'all, be grateful and all that: For Another Turn

God Name - God Level - God Might - God Freepoints

Astarte - L4 - 34 MP - 6 FP

Belruarc [NPC] - L2 - 21 MP - 7 FP

Illunabar - L5 - 13 MP - 2 FP

Julkolfyr [NPC] - L2 - 32 MP - 5 FP

Jvan - L4 - 14 MP - 3 FP

Kyre - L3 - 34.25 MP - 6 FP

Logos - L4 - 40 MP - 4 FP

Niciel - L4 - 9 MP - 2 FP

Mammon [NPC] - L4 - 33 MP - 3 FP

Reathos [NPC] - L4 - 28 MP - 2 FP

Slough - L4 - 27 MP - 3 FP

Teknall - L4 - 25.5 MP - 1 FP

Toun - L4 - 32 MP - 1 FP

Ull'Yang - L4 - 42 MP - 5 FP

Vakarlon [NPC] - L3 - 36 MP - 7 FP

Vestec - L4 - 8 MP - 3 FP

Vowzra - L3 - 11 MP - 6 FP

Vulamera [NPC] - L3 - 27 MP - 7 FP

Zephyrion - L3 - 39 MP - 5 FP

-------

Demigod Name - Demigod Level - Demigod Might - Demigod Worshippers (1 Might for every 1000)

Belvast - L3 - 12 MP - 0 W

Lifprasil - L1 - 10 MP - 0 W

The Bard [NPC] - L3 - 8 MP - 0 W

Amartía - L2 - 5 + 1 MP - 1,193 W

Keriss - L1 - 8 MP - 0 W

Lazarus - L1 - 8 MP - 0 W

Kinesis - L1 - 8 MP - 0 W

Conata - L1 - 8 MP - 0 W

This OOC silence must mean that you're all plotting and scheming behind me back




Thanatos, Part II


Moon: 334
Orif sat upon the rock as the people of the tribe danced around him and brought him their gifts and tribute. His eyes remained cold as he surveyed each of the tribals who came before him. Some were placing fur or shiny rocks or well-made spears before him. Some even gave of their children as tribute, that they may go to the great encampment where the fabled Prophet-Patriarch dwelled, and that they may be initiated as frinjis there and be made life-mates for his progeny.

Before the coming of Great-Orif, as they had dubbed him, they had been astray, and they now knew that they had been so. Only those blessed by the Moon-Mother herself could march into the encampment, as Orif had done on that fateful day nearly eight moons ago, declaring the land and its people as belonging to the Moon-Mother and he whom she had blessed with prophethood. They had at first resisted, but those who took up arms were put down without mercy. And then they had refused to pledge obedience to the Patriarch, and the curses of the Moon-Mother had descended on them for weeks, and the raids of Great-Orif prevented them from so much as setting foot out of the encampment. And little by little they had ventured out and pledged obedience. And though they had done so out of desperation in those early days, the blooming of the Moon-Mother's blessing and the shrivelling of her curse had further strengthened their faith. And those who visited the great encampment and saw the Prophet-Patriarch had returned with great tales of his mercy and justice, how his face shone bright with the holy light of the Moon-Mother herself (how some had snuck a look at him in his tent when he was sleeping once, and how his face had been as a moon in the darkness within!)

Indeed, they had been in a great darkness and strife before the rising of the Patriarch's moon above them. Where had they been before they had bathed in his light and known the pleasure of that most mighty and matchless Moon-Mother, that most beloved Elysium. Indeed, his coming had been a mercy upon them, and her mercy in sending him was incomprehensible.

'Tell him who is all of all of me: Who is for me if he is not for me?' an oddly dressed woman suddenly screamed, 'I saw my Lord with the eye of my heart, and I asked him, "Who are you?" and he said, "I am you!"' she dropped a pile of sticks before Orif and began shaking her head from side to side and smacking the top of her head with both hands, 'have mercy on me! When - oh when! - will these my eyes, with absence anguished, see before them what the heart has for long seen?' Orif cocked his head and considered the woman for a few seconds.
'M-my great Chief, she is mad, p-please do not mind her,' Orif looked to the man who had spoken with a grave silence.

'I swear! I swear I have never gone to sip of the pond, except that I have seen a reflection of You in its waters!' she was now shouting at the skies. Orif looked up, and even though it was yet day, he could see the moon clearly in the sky. A thoughtfulness entered his eyes and he did not hear whatever else the man was now gibbering.

'Bring me these sticks that she has brought,' he suddenly commanded. There were a few moments of wary silence, as though those who had heard were unsure if they had heard right. When it became clear that none of the tribals were going to carry out the command, one of the Orifids rushed to do as his Warrior-Chief had ordered. Orif took one of the thin twigs, about as thick as an adult's pinkie and the length of a handspan. It had a rather odd smell, though it was not a bad odd. The other twigs were all of the same kind, with the same smell. Their lengths were more or less equal and their thicknesses also. It was quite clear that the woman had not merely collected these twigs randomly, there was some kind of purpose to them, though Orif could not guess what. He looked at the woman, who was now staring intently at him.

'What are these, woman?' he asked. She laughed and walked towards him waving her hand about in the air as though he had asked a question wherein were the answers to many a great mystery.
'They are twigs!' she announced once she was next to him upon the rock, 'tooth-twigs! From the Tooth-Tree. And its leaves are good too! I have tried them in illness and in health. And its flowers! Its flowers! You must try them, and its berries too! This thing, this thing has in it cures for all things!' she paused for a while and looked to the side as though listening to something, 'ah, yes. Except death.'

Orif raised the twig to his face and examined it again. Sure enough, it smelled like it had much blessing and good to it, but in the end it was nothing more than a twig. How did one get benefit from it? Did you just...eat it?

'How do you get its benefits? Do you just hold it? Do you eat it?'
'Eat it?' the woman scoffed, 'of course not! You just rub it on your teeth. That's why it is a tooth-twig!' Orif brought the end of the twig up to his teeth and rubbed it with it.

'No! Not like that!' she grabbed the twig and put it into her mouth, scraping the bark off the top before chewing on it. After a while, she showed it to him again and to his amazement its head now had bristles. He took it from her and began chewing on the bristles as she had done.

'What are you doing you silly boy. Stop chewing on it! Rub, rub your teeth with it!' she grabbed it from him once more and and began scraping it gently, up and down, against her teeth. With the example given, she gave it back to him.

'Ah, I see. And why against the teeth in particular? Do its blessings go in through the teeth?' he asked as he did as she had shown. The woman looked rather confused for a few seconds, she looked to the side before looking back at him.

'Well, no. That's just how you make your teeth whiter. That's how you clean your teeth,' at her words he paused and removed the tooth-twig from his mouth. So this thing was simply...for cleaning teeth?

'But...what about all its blessings that you were talking about?' he asked. She laughed and nodded in understanding.

'Oh, feisty one you are! Time, little one! Time is all that stands between you and the secrets of the Tooth-Tree,' and with that she scrambled off the rock and ran off. Orif stared after her for a while, and once she had disappeared, he looked down at the head of his tooth-twig. A small smile spread across his face and he put it back into his mouth and scraped at his teeth with it.

'Do not mind Sereka, Great-Orif. She is but a madwoman. Her wits have been gone many moons, and we have found no cure for her, though the Moon-Mother knows we have tried,' the man was once more gibbering away. Orif sucked his teeth in annoyance and stood up suddenly. Gripping the tooth-twig, he pointed it at the man and commanded him be silent.

'Be quiet, damn you! Your gibbering is like the incessant buzzing of a Buzz-Fly - irritating and useless! If you but had ears to listen and a mind that you may comprehend, you may have realised that you do nothing but uselessly buzz. And you may have realised, also, that Sereka is like a bursting cloud above a land that has not known rain. She gives of herself endlessly, water pure and pleasant and cool, and with it brings life to a land that has known naught but death. She rains upon you wisdom, but your earth is poor and cannot hold her waters, her wisdoms pass through you like the arrow passes through air, leaving no mark!' his voice had steadily risen as he spoke, and he waved the tooth-twig ever more violently as his voice rose, 'by the Moon-Mother! There is yet within you people something of the Darkness-Before. What can be said of your faith when the most faithful amongst you are branded mad? Begone from my sight! I do not wish to see you, and I shan't take your useless tribute to the Patriarch, for it would bring shame on you and me!' and with those final words, he picked up the few twigs that Sereka had brought with her and leapt off the rock. The few Orifids who had accompanied him turned and followed their leader as he made his way out of the small encampment.

***===***===***===***===***


You can hate him all you want, but that is quite the Camexit.
Laxion Hosarusson


So are the rumours true?


As Laxion left the throne room, deep in thought, he did not quite realise that Torinus was not following him as he should have been. The boy had stayed behind, a certain suspicion playing around in his eyes. The king had not been acting normally at all during that last exchange with the Bey. No on had seen it, but Torinus had been watching the king rather closely, and he had spotted the strange actions, that briefest moment when he fell - ever so slightly - back into his seat and appeared to lose consciousness for the shortest second. He was still stood there as the other advisers began to leave, and the seriousness in his eyes quickly faded as he bowed deeply to the king before turning and going after his father.
He caught up with him in the courtyard where they had left their wagons, and the stable-boys informed them that their luggage had already been taken up to their rooms.
'Steve should be up in the kitchen with Cla- uh, makin' sure the cook has everythin'. He'll be down in jiffy to show ye to yer quarters, m'lord adviser sir.'
'Laxion will do, no need for all these formalities,' Laxion chuckled slightly and told Torinus to run up to the kitchen and see that this Steve came down quickly. As the boy entered the kitchen, the sounds of giggling reached him.
'Steve! Not here, not now you dirty litt- ooh!'
'Oh lets 'ave sommadat.'
'Um, Steve?' Torinus' voice perked up as the boy peeked his head round the kitchen door, 'the Lord Adviser Laxion has requested you.'
'Oh! Yes, eh, b'right there, uh, just...just checkin' th- the raspberry pie, ain'at right Clara?' Torinus smiled awkwardly and nodded slowly as he backed away and shut the kitchen door behind him.

'He'll be right down,' Torinus informed Laxion when he got back down, 'he's just tasting the raspberry pie with Clara,' Laxion gave Torinus a funny look and Torinus shrugged bashfully, 'it's...it's some good raspberry pie?'
Rolling his eyes, Laxion turned away and allowed himself to inspect the architecture of the courtyard for a while. It was a rather large courtyard, square in shape and stone tiling. There was a large pathway which led from the courtyard to the castle gates, and several staircases which led up to the ramparts. The courtyard also led into the stable, which had within it a staircase leading to the back entrance of the kitchen, and several other entrances and stairways leading to different parts of the castle complex.

When Steve finally descended, he led them through one such entrance and up a series of staircases, before going down a long hallway and leading them up a spiralling staircase into a large tower overlooking the courtyard. The tower had one large room and two smaller ones. The large room was only accessible through a small doorway from one of the smaller rooms. The smallest room, which Torinus took, had its own entrance, but also had a little door leading into the small room, which Laxion took for his own. The large room had within it many empty shelves and three desks, and Laxion immediately, without evening getting changed or inquiring about the baths, set about placing the many tomes and books he had brought with him on the shelves. Various phials and powders were placed on other shelves, and piles of paper and parchment were put neatly on one of the three desks. Ink pots and quills were likewise neatly placed, ready for usage at the shortest notice, and for some half hour the old man was distracted by a particularly fascinating tract in a tome he had read many years ago discussing the reasons behind Salon's decision to drink the hemlock, written by Merikles, one of Salon's most brilliant students. Many questioned the truthfulness of Merikles' account, and whether much of what he attributed to Salon was indeed Salon's own thought.

He was torn from the work by Torinus.
'Did you notice the king earlier?' he asked as he walked in, crunching on an apple.
'Hmm? The king? Yes, he dealt with that fiasco rather well,' Laxion did not raise his head as Torinus took a seat on one of the wooden chairs.
'I mean, didn't you notice anything odd about the way he was acting?' at this Laxion raised his head and gave the boy a quizzical look.
'Odd? What do you mean?'
'When he was speaking to the Bey, for the slightest moment there, he seemed to lose consciousness. Did you not see?' Laxion looked at the boy gravely before he continued, 'I mean, you've heard the rumours. If that's anything to go by then he might be seriously ill. Don't you think you should check? Maybe you can help him,' Laxion slowly closed the tome and placed it on one of the two empty desks.

'There is but one way to ascertain the truth,' he sat at the writing desk and picked up one of the pieces of paper he had placed there earlier and, lifting the quill from the ink pot, began scrawling quickly on it. It was a short letter, and once he had signed it with his name he blew on it and told Torinus to bring the candle, and the seal which the Little Basileus had handed him before his departure. Once the letter was sealed, he gave it to the boy and told him to go to Rurik and give it to him.

'Wait, Rurik? Are you sure?' the boy seemed uncomfortable with Laxion's choice.
'Why ever would I not be sure? He is best placed to know, is he not?'
'But what makes you think he would tell you even if he did not know?'
'Why would he not tell me the truth? Does he not want my medical experti- ah...' realisation dawned on the old scholar and he sighed. Politics.
Rurik would not give such critical information to one whose loyalties were potentially with someone else, he would most likely not want Laxion's expertise even if he needed it - what was there to guarantee that he would not use his closeness to the king for some malignant purpose? Had not the late king himself been done in by one of his most trusted advisers after all...
'Torinus, I am not here to play these political games, and you should not either! I understand what you were doing in there now, curse your idiotic attempts at political manoeuvering! You shan't continue with whatever feeble plot you have, and you most certainly shan't drag me into any of it. Cease, boy, and do as I have told you.'

Torinus raised his hands in an attempt to profess his innocence of all that Laxion accused him.
'Off with you, and none of these antics you hear?' the boy nodded meekly and quickly scurried from the room. Laxion watched his departing back with some severity, before sitting back in his seat and thinking on what the boy had said and done. He wanted nothing to do with any of this cursed politics.

He stood up and ran his hand across the spines of some of the books until he came across a slim volume. Nilu Fratacelli's On Kingship. It was a book cursed by the clergy in Dieuporteille, and the likes of Ser Bastien would probably set the Inquisition upon him if he found it here, but it was tolerated back home. Some scholars condemned it, others differed and praised it, others thought it an evil work, but a necessary work. Why was it so condemned? Why was Fratacelli's name amongst the most cursed, a synonym for all things perfidious and treacherous? It was because he spoke of politics in this work as it was. He did not embellish it, he did not glorify rulers as saints. He spoke of them as the base political animals they were, and he bared to the world their antics and wiles.

Laxion had no wish to enter this political maelstrom, but he would be a cursed fool if he did not tread carefully! He sat back down, and he opened the book.
@BBeast Not sure how much time has passed on Galbar since TOBIA was sent hurtling to Arcon, but no more than 10 or so years, probably less, have passed on Arcon since then. So in addition to any Might Logos might use, there is also the natural development which would occur without Might should Dawn choose to do a timeskip post in order to catch up with the Galbar timeline.
Eskandars have bows and spears and fur clothes. They're civilised, advanced beings. Just sayin'.
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