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RashE (IrashiHeart)

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About RashE (IrashiHeart)

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    Gentlefolk
  • Birthday 07/15/1996

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  1. -Greaves- Greaves is one of Nicku’s characters acting as a member of the Kingsglaive. He started out as a combination of Alphonse from Fullmetal Alchemist and Nicku’s berserker character in the popular MMO “Black Desert Online” and has since become his own unique character with some added Baymax and Reinhardt. Whether they would admit it or not, all men fear death. And none so legitimately as kings. Either paid in gold or motivated by politics, there could be a dagger hidden in every dark corner for the man who controls a kingdom. Throughout history, hundreds of thousands of man-hours would be spent guarding the doors and tent flaps of monarchs or political leaders. The position was important but impossibly boring and costly, and King Icarus couldn’t stop thinking about a crazy theory he had. He would build a metal man. An indestructible, hardheaded defender that would need not for sleep or sustenance. Completely immune to distraction or bribery. Icarus, being both incapable and unwilling to turn to necromancy, knew that the catalyst that animates the theoretical suit of armor must be utterly artificial. He was more smith than a mage, but he was the best smith in Kingstone, and surrounded by the best mages. Icarus was all too familiar with crystal binding, and with Agista and her understanding of spirits, and Alana with her familiarity of the mind, if anyone could do it, it would be those three working together. With the war against Solis ended, Icarus finally had the time to act on this idea, and began to write and inevitably discard blueprints in the hundreds from his workshop. It had to be bluesteel. It would be costly but as far as Ike could tell it would be immortal, and pay for itself. Bluesteel was the most durable, the most malleable, and could withstand the heat of Ike’s Curse, even strong enough to hold up against the castle’s collapse should such a disaster occur. In the beginning, the construct was to be solid, making it denser, heavier, and shorter. Eventually, that idea was thrown away as Ike couldn’t ignore the prospect of actually stepping into the body of his bodyguard. He could hide in it, it could guide him through danger, and with practice, he could probably even fight in it. A warrior with two suits of bluesteel plate armor on. But for him to be able to wear it, especially while still in his own armor, his creation would have to be massive. At least seven feet tall, and over 300 pounds. And so the building began. Alone in his workshop far above the city’s streets, Ike had built up his forge to a roar. Not knowing where else to start, he decided to build from the ground up. Sizing the bluesteel greave around his own foot while wearing boots, Icarus figured his guardian should probably have a name. It would be somewhat like a butler, the first man at the door, always ready to serve but get in a fight if the situation would demand. Ike had almost decided to call him Jeeves but couldn’t help but laugh at such an effeminate, posh name for such a colossal creature. Meticulously engraving both of the bluesteel shoes with an intricate eagle design, he sat them together side by side. “Jeeves’ Greaves.” he would have chucked again then but he surprised himself by how he liked it. “Greaves’ Greaves. Greaves.” Greaves’ greaves became Greaves’ greaves and cuisse, and then Greaves’ greeves, cuisse, and gauntlets, and after days of work he had finally gotten to the chestplate. It always bothered Ike as to why such an important organ as the brain was kept in what might as well be called a limb. It was an easy decision for Ike to eventually store the crystal catalyst that filled Greaves with life on the inside of his chestplate, debatably the most reinforced piece of him. Despite him not telling anyone, Agista had deduced that Icarus was finally beginning work on the ‘Metal Man Project’ and worked together with Alana to present their king with the soul gem on his birthday. They warned him, however, that the soul was a completely blank slate. It’s first few days could imbue in it both purpose and temperament. It would be like an infant that would soak up everything it was told, and his metal giant would search and explore the world with curiosity. At the time he took the advice very seriously, but in their revelry, Ike had gotten far too drunk, and the next morning he had almost completely forgotten it. Ike had laid the armor on the ground and was working on his back, with his head and arms inside the construct’s metal chest. He had measured and remeasured the location of Greaves’ heart at least 12 times, but couldn’t help but measure and mark the place again. Finally satisfied, he began drawing out the formula and a slot for the crystal to be carved. Carving bluesteel was much harder work than tampering steel, and any mistake would cost him thousands of crowns in bluesteel. Satisfyingly, the flawless ruby fit perfectly in its slot, and it was sealed into place by a bluesteel frame welded onto the cusp. Almost instantly the surrounding bevels, lines, curves, and sigils began to hum with life, and Ike could feel the armor which was a moment ago silent and still, begin to twitch and rouse clumsy, as if from a great slumber. “Oh, shit.” he cursed and quickly pushing his head and chest out of the bluesteel man’s neck. Now that they were free of each other, the headless construct pulled itself up and tried to look around. Ike, quickly wondering how to teach armor how to speak and not destroy everything, opened his mouth but was interrupted. “What. What is this?” it certainly didn’t sound like an infant. With every word it spoke, Ike could see its chest glowing radiantly with warm orange light. Its voice was deep, rasping, and it sounded as if out of breath. “This, well, buddy, this is life. You’re alive! You’re alive and your name is Greaves.” Ike carefully walked around to face it and knelt, laying a hand on Greaves’ cold, metal shoulder. “My name is Icarus. Forde. Icarus Forde. I built you.” he rolled his eyes and finished, “Well, we built you.” Greaves was silent for a long time before light poured out of his neck again, “Greaves. I am Greaves, you are Icarus. You built me.” there was a pause again and then, “It is dark.” Icarus had just filled his mouth with the beer on his desk before spitting it out again and pushing off the desk. “I can fix that, I’ll make you a head. Eyes. What kind of head do you want, Greaves?” It was a stupid question, of course, Greaves had never seen any heads, nor had any concept of what a head even really was. “But first, you gotta tell me about yourself, you can’t see, can you feel?” Gently at first, Ike pushed Greaves' shoulder and tapped his arm. “Wiggle your fingers, rotate your feet, how do you feel?” If Greaves had a head, it would’ve turned to its now outstretched arm and stared at his fingers. It must’ve shocked him that he even HAD fingers, as he twitched suddenly. But sure enough, he could wiggle them, smoothly and individually. Good, he hadn’t gone too tight with the joints. With the discovery of his arms and legs, the bluesteel man was trying to push off the ground and onto his feet, “Wa-wa-wait up, hold up buddy. You still don’t have eyes, and I don’t want a blind man as big as you crashing through the workshop, let me get started on your helmet and I’ll take you to see the whole kingdom. Blue’ll be back from the forest then too. Oh, she’s gonna wanna meet you.” Over the next couple of hours, Icarus was able to turn blueprints and a couple of pounds of bluesteel into a physical helmet. Before he installed it, Ike gave the helmet to Greaves to inspect. After grabbing it, he cradled it on an open hand, almost afraid he would break it. “That’s pure bluesteel. Reinforced and polished. Put it on, c’mon, don’t you wanna see your handsome creator?” Greaves’ hands were shaking as he placed the head over the cavity on his chest and spread his arms out, balancing the helmet like a child would balance a ball on his head. “Lemme help you,” Ike said, pushing the helmet down and twisting it into the grooves that held it tight and level. Two small orbs of light appeared half an inch behind each eye socket in the helmet. An audible sigh escaped the armor’s chassis, now muffled and echoing throughout the chest piece and body. For a while it was silence, broken only by the rhythmic metallic breathing coming from Greaves. Ike smirked when Greaves’ vision landed on his face, “Hey buddy. How you like the workshop?” The metal giant didn’t even respond, just wondered at the countless drawers, stands, and displays that filled Ike’s foundry. The blazing furnace at the back of the room fascinated him especially, roaring with heat and activity. “So, how’s the helmet? Not too small? Too heavy?” “It’s perfect...“ Greaves responded, fingering the metal spikes at the top of his head. "Glad to hear," Icarus stepped to Greaves' side, and put an arm under his, “C’mon, let’s get you off the floor. Baby steps, onto the chair here.” It wasn’t a chair, but the marble counter that Ike uses for especially heavy projects. His legs almost buckled under the weight of Greaves, but together they managed to get him seated. From the higher point of view, Greaves re-scanned the workshop. Asking every once in awhile about the things he saw. Ike had turned away from him and went to gluing and cutting something on his desk. Ike explained, “I’m making you an ascot. An ascot is basically a scarf, but ascot sounds way better. Agista, a friend, said raven feathers would look really great on you when I showed her the diagram. What do you think?” Of course, this was a stupid question, since Greaves had never seen a raven, nor an ascot made of one’s feathers, but Greaves did seem to like what he saw on Ike’s desk. “Icarus?” Greaves said distantly. “Call me, Ike.” Icarus turned around to look at him, and Greaves’ head was tilted like a dog who had heard a noise in the distance. “What is it, Greaves?” “Why did you make me?” The question kind of stunned him. The truth was, Icarus didn’t expect Greaves to be so… human. So aware and pleasant. He built Greaves just to watch the door, but now Ike knew he wasn’t just an inanimate object, he could be just as smart and caring as any human, or at least very close. Icarus shrugged, not wanting to tell a lie but also incapable of ignoring the question. “I dunno, I guess. You protect me, and I’ll protect the rest of this kingdom.” Over the next few months, Greaves got very close to both Icarus and the shade Nicku Crestshade. Ike had taught Nicku almost everything she knew about human life and when Ike was too busy, Nicku taught Greaves. Icarus had warned Greaves how important and secret the ruby in his chest has to be to him, but in time Greaves allowed Nicku, too, to crawl inside him and see it. Being much smaller than Icarus, Nicku could curl up into a ball and lie inside Greaves’ chest, staring up at the crystal catalyst that served as his brain and heart. It pulsed with light with every syllable Greaves spoke. Together she and Ike trained Greaves with many different commands and modes, which slowly developed into their own segmented personalities in Greaves. In assault, guard, or companion mode Greaves spoke with a different voice and colored light, with each a different temperament, mannerisms, and values. Greaves was intimidating, but his nearly indestructible body paired with his natural potential for destruction also made him a logical candidate for the Kingsglaive. He was the first and last line of defense against the assassins of the night, defending both his king and his king's family. And may God have mercy on Ike’s enemies the day Greaves comes walking down those castle steps to war, because Greaves will not. Greaves' obvious defining feature is his metal body, and lack of internal organs. Being nearly 100% bluesteel plate armor, Greaves could withstand countless blows, tolerate extreme temperatures, and undergo incredible change, all without feeling pain or fear. As Greaves puts it: “I will endure one thousand deaths before I yield.” On the other side of the coin, Greaves’ size warrants great strength. With his bare fists alone he is very capable, but he has also been trained with dual axes, great-hammers, and most famously, a massive two-handed poleaxe. After Icarus invented Bluesteel Transmutation, Greaves was taught how to alter the very form of his body on a whim, which as you can imagine, has countless applications. Greaves could transmute his arms into massive spikes, or a giant dome shield. As long as he doesn’t break the sigil seal connecting him and his ruby heart, he can change his shape in any number of ways. However, this also has the added risk of possibly weakening Greaves as he thins himself out, or inadvertently exposing his Achilles’ heel.
  2. -Alana Baylee- Alana Baylee is a Non-Playable Character acting as a member of the Kingsglaive. She was originally inspired by Zelda from Breath of the Wild. I was encapsulated by that specific Zelda and Link’s relationship before Link had lost his memories, and Alana has since been expanded over the years into her own original and interesting character. She is one of the three more traditionally magical members of the Kingsglaive, the other two being Fredrick and Agista. Calpheon, unlike both Venneterria and Everneth, is known for being a magical place due to the plethora of enchanting spirits and crystals found there, as well as the mystical ecosystem that inhabits it. But even the mages of Calpheon were interested in the premature birth of the small child named Alana. Her conception and following parturition were enveloped by natural disasters and terrible tragedies. Her mother died while in labor and, struck with animosity and malice, her father abandoned her in tight swaddlings on a sun-bleached shoreline. As she cried, the infant Alana’s wails shook the earth, terrible bolts of lightning cracked across the sky and thunder crashed against the ocean. Such were the waves of power sent through the network of magic that one Wayfield Rustero, Archmage of Calpheon, couldn’t help but notice. Before she had the opportunity to be eaten by scavengers or get washed out into the sea, Wayfield and a collection of students from Calpheon's University of Magic had found her and brought her into the safety of society. Even as a young girl she was deeply passionate about her caretakers’ teachings. As expected, she showed incredible potential as a mage and even the mental sensitivity definitive of a psychonaut. To save her from the tragedy of her mother’s death and her father’s abandonment, Wayfield never felt the courage to tell Alana about them, though if his intuition was correct she would find out on her own eventually anyway. One night, Alana was awoken from her personal quarters adjacent to Wayfield's by the sudden fervent activity outside her door. A cold shiver crept down her spine as she listened intently to the mages whispering in hushed tones between themselves. Something was disrupting the Winds of Magic and even Alana sense tell they were right. Quickly dressing and gathering her stack of tomes and grimoires, she rushed out into the lecture hall where she could feel a great deal of energy congregating. She was right, it was Wayfield hunched over a magic circle muttering an incantation. The hall was dark and empty beside the two of them and before Alana could even utter a question the ritual was complete. “CLIPEUM!” was all she could utter, it was a reflex, a reaction to the sudden explosion that had originated at Archmages Wayfield's feet. In response to her voice, a grid of hexagonal crystals like shards of shimmering glass had formed a protective dome around her in front of her outstretched hand. She had protected herself but could not hope to stop the explosion now. Its power and radius had begun to annihilate the entire university and with the blast, she could feel Wayfield’s aura almost completely disappear, replaced with something dark and malicious. Her shield absorbed much of the shockwave but the kinetic energy that remained knocked Alana off her feet and into the stone wall behind her, she could feel her skull crack a split second before blacking out. Whatever had taken over Wayfield’s body must’ve thought the explosion had killed her, because when she awoke she was surrounded by rubble, and when the buzzing in her head finally faded she could make out a crowd shouting aggressively. As she came to, Alana understood what they were shouting about. They were aggressively accusing Wayfield of the intentional destruction of the University. They were in an illogical rage, claiming it was a deliberate terrorist attack, forgetting of course, that it was Wayfield himself that built up that university from nothing. She tried to talk some sense into them but was immediately disregarded as a child, an inexperienced teacher’s pet. Irritated, she insisted on Wayfield’s innocence, and before she was able to explain further, they had roughly shoved her away from them, blocking her out with various banishing spells. Suddenly she realized she was alone. Chaos had overtaken the ruins of the university and with it, anarchy was in effect. She knew she had no place here now that Wayfield was gone and she was marked as a delusional traitor. She scooped up her books again and rushed to follow her master’s trail. Wayfield, or whatever was in control him, was meticulous in covering up his tracks. Only through her budding skills as a psychonaut was Alana able to follow Wayfield. It was much farther than she had expected in such a short time, taking her far from Calpheon and beyond even the kingdom of Serendia. When the lush green plains made way into the red desert of Mediah, Alana could feel not the presence of an evil entity, but the old aura she knew as Wayfield’s. It was fading. When she found him, he was bloodied and dehydrated, on the cusp of death, but with Alana’s help, the two of them made it to a nearby village to seek aid and shelter. Fate would have it that the village, which was named Tarif, was actually home to several sorceresses who were happy to not only heal the poor old mage but also to give them shelter. Alana was happy to finally have a place to stay again but when Wayfield awoke the next morning he turned down their second offer, claiming that he would be followed and for them to stay in Tarif was to put it in danger. The sorceresses claimed they could protect themselves but Wayfield insisted. The two of them were to head west, back from where they came, and hide in the dense coniferous forest of Behr. Alana was happy to see her old master safe and sound again, but Wayfield, who now took up the name 'Wamazz', knew she wasn’t happy in her new home. Without the resources of the university, and attempting to remain incognito, he could not teach her in the capacity that he could in the past. As she grew older, so did her power and ambitions, and when Wayfields niece appeared at their door with a desire to come home to Vennterria, Wamazz knew this was the time that he and Alana would part forever. Initially, Alana was hesitant, she wanted to stay with him, he was all the family she ever knew, and to jump into a portal with a woman she never met? How could Wamazz ask that of her? She could see in his eyes it pained him even worse, but in the end, they both knew this was the only choice. Alana was only fourteen and had her entire life ahead of her, she couldn’t stay hidden away in a cave for the rest of her life. Wamazz was too old to leap in a portal to another world and claimed he needed to stay in Behr for his own reasons. So in the end, Alana followed Wayfield’s niece into a portal that would bring them to Vennterria, only when they appeared on the other side Alana could tell something had gone wrong. Agista claimed she had never seen the city that stood at the horizon before, and Alana could sense a relic of tremendous power in those stone towers. It was in that sprawling city that Alana met Noir. And the rest is History. Alana uses her grimoires as well as half of a solar pendant forged by Icarus to power her magic spells. As well as being a battle-mage, Alana has trained her mind and soul to become a capable psychonaut. She was taught a great number of spells in Calpheon’s University of Magic, and by painstakingly studying the books inherited from Wamazz, she has since learned many more in her years serving as a member of the First Kingsglaive Kingstone. Famous examples of her spells: Spectral Swordfall: Massive phantasmal blades fall from the sky and pin her target(s) in place. The intensity of the spell has ranged from single targets to entire platoons of men. Clipeum: A grid of transparent hexagonal crystals that appear together in a dome shield either around her or her allies. Each of the crystals are their own entity, and one shattering doesn’t doom the entire shield, allowing her to block entire volleys of projectiles at once. Alzur’s Thunder: A bright, apparently heavy ball of light materializes in Alana’s palm, which she can cast as a blinding beam of lighting. As well as being a powerful kinetic blast, it also pierces the target and their armor and inflicts a generally lethal amount of electricity. Harmonic Convergence: Cast upon an ally or a platoon of men, their mind(s) is focused on the task at hand, expelling any fear or distraction. Generally used to rally routing soldiers or to put Noir into a battle trance. Alana’s Gateway: A portal to Kingstone Castle materializes, which grows exponentially more expensive per person. Alana has only ever been able to teleport six people at one time before. Regrowth: A simple healing spell, used to stitch up wounds or restore broken bones. As a Psychonaut: A psychonaut is someone who is capable of expanding the capacity of their consciousness through practice and natural talent. To this day it is a topic of heated debate whether such powers come from the mind or the soul, but it is clear most people are just simply incapable of the feats displayed either willingly or unwillingly by powerful psychonauts. Their abilities include but are not limited to: Lucid Dreaming, Spirit-Invoking, Divination, Far-Sight, Telekinesis, and even Invisibility, Levitation, and Mind-Control at the extremes. Psychonauts, especially those who possess actual power, as opposed to narcotic junkies and raving lunatics, are incredibly hard to find. Alana learned this fact very well in her time trying to find an actual teacher to help her on this path. She had to make and enchant her own Tarot Cards, design her own servitor, and delve into the dark abyss parallel to our own human consciousness by herself. And alone she would’ve had her mind devoured by the cosmic horrors that await those brave or skilled enough to leave their natural human crudeness and explore what lies beyond the veil. As they had saved each other a hundred, hundred times on the battlefield, they too had saved each other a hundred, hundred times from the dangers of Alana’s abilities. Noir had countless times saved Alana from the grips of sleep paralysis, or had brought her back to consciousness when something had gone wrong. Just as they shared the burden of the Kingsglaive Curse through the Solar Pendant, Noir saved Alana from the symptoms of psychonautics, and with her gifts, she was able to foresee and avoid countless situations where Noir would be mortally injured or seized by an enemy.
  3. Where did this rumor start about me always being in character lol? I feel like I'm never in character. I say Hail and Bluesteel but that is still coming from RashE. The only one I think even pretends to be in character while on the server is Agista. Porter sometimes calls me Icarus but that's it.
  4. I'm one of the more active roleplayers, and although I have a huge kingdom and a complex character, I really just play Minecraft normally. The only really hardcore in-character stuff usually only happens in written form on the forums in posts like this: For me, the roleplay is just an excuse to tell interesting stories and fight big battles in all the builds I make. I wouldn't say 50/50 usually at peak times there are around 10 people playing, with 3-4 being people with actual characters in the rp universe. Always looking forward to more, especially someone interested in making a faction to participate in the battles.
  5. -Agista Rustero- Agista Rustero is a Non-Playable Character acting as a member of the Kingsglaive. She started as my main character in the popular MMO “Black Desert Online” and I’ve since fallen in love with the character, fleshing her out and making her a very influential character in the Legend of Kingstone. Vennterria, though beautiful and rich with life, was populated by very mundane people. However, ask anyone in Brytannia and they would tell you that the Rustero family was different, they seemed like eager conduits of the winds of magic and through their blood ran abilities and potential never seen before by the humans of Vennterria. Agusta, Berserker Empress of Brytannia, was one of the most famous examples of this trend. She wore the Crown of Aelton, one of the five mythical Vennterrian artifacts, like no one before her, and like no one before her she used its power to unite all of the petty kingdoms of Brytannia into one empire. With the kingdoms united, that empire contained the power to face the likes of Zebulus or Kalador toe-to-toe, and that power was greedily coveted. In order to reinforce her rule, and to ensure the empire would endure her death, Agusta had an heir. A daughter, she was named Agista, after her mother. She was the spitting image of the Empress, with her same emerald green eyes and her same pretty face. All except her hair, which was significantly darker. Agista’s birth had gathered the attention of the dark spirits of Zenneth. You see, the lesser demons of Zenneth had long hungered for the power of the Rustero bloodline. The spirits were trapped in a whole different world, Calpheon, where their power was being extorted and used for benevolent purpose. Without a tangible form, they would never free themselves from their prison. They aimed to abduct a human’s soul, instill in them just enough power to free the Zenneth from their confinement, and use the host to slaughter their captors. The mortal had to be alien to Calpheon, and magically sensitive enough to become a sorcerer. Decades ago, they had possessed Agusta’s uncle Wayfield, who had since freed himself of their evil control and disappeared. Enraged, they even attempted to control Agusta herself, but she proved too strong-willed for their influence. With the birth of an infant Rusteronian they saw their chance once again and schemed for Agista’s abduction. It took eight years to accumulate enough power to both transport and possess the girl, and during that time she was adored by everyone. Innocent and beautiful, Agista was famous for her kindness and everlasting joy. Healthy and loved, she would make for the perfect empress, should Agusta ever unfortunately perish. And then the horrible day finally arrived. Agista would look back at it as the worst night of her life. Sneaking out of the palace after dark, the child wondered the wilds outside of Aelton and it was there the ritual began. Only the crickets could hear her desperate pleas for help as countless tendrils of purple-black energy swirled around her and cemented her feet in the earth. The ritual was desperate and crude, and the pain was worse than anything she experienced since. It was searing, stamping out any conscious thought and the tendrils groping at her sliced deep cuts in her arms and abdomen. The pain was the worst under the ends of each of her eyes, and two black triangles that pointed to the ground were branded there. Eventually, her body gave into the torment and she fainted. It was a miracle she was alive. The first sensation she felt was an incredible dryness. Dryness and heat. Red sand had caked all over her, covering her face and hair, absorbing any moisture like a sponge and clinging to her skin. Coughing up disgusting clots of red sand and dried blood she quickly rolled onto all fours, vomiting black tuffs of god-knows-what before her arms collapsed under her and she fell onto it. Before blacking out again she started to cry. Breathless, tearless sobs until she blacked out again a moment later. She had a terrible nightmare. Freakish, armored wolf-men that stood on two legs and wielded iron blades attacked her. Faster than anything she had ever seen before they pounced at her from all sides, but then right before their sharp fangs and long claws ripped her to shreds, purple-black tendrils extruded from her arms as she tried to shield her face and the thing was ripped in half vertically, spraying blood and gore onto her face. Turning around, another tendril cut three of them brutally with one slice. A ghostly voice filled her thoughts, “You won’t die. You won’t die until I want you to die. Until then you’re mine.” Screaming at the voice in her head, and horrified by the bloody scene in front of her, she woke up to see it wasn’t a dream at all. She was twenty steps from where she appeared in the sand, and her footsteps were surrounded by the shredded corpses of wolfmen. “Who- who are you? What’d you do to them?” she pleaded out loud. She was shaking with fear and weakly stumbling away from the bodies. “Hehehe” the spirit’s cackle reverberated in her head, almost childlike, “My name is Zenural, and like I said, nothing can kill you but me. I could teach you, but you half to… stop… struggling!” Her legs begin to stiffen and she could feel her bones start to bend, causing her to collapse and scream. “Get outta my head,” she commanded trying to sound like her mother. “A feisty one, at such a young age,” said Zenural mockingly. “You’re stuck with me, little rat, and even if I have to break every bone in your body and crawl, we’re going to a nice little place down south of here and we’re gonna make me big and strong.” For months Agista tried to defy the spirit controlling her, but Zenural had an iron grip on the girl. The black spirit explained they were in a desert called Mediah, and there they would travel, from deep dark cave shrine to deep dark cave shrine. If Agista was luckily the spirit killed mice for her to eat, if not she could go days without food, being sustained only by the spirits terrifying presence. Each shrine they visited, the spirit began to strengthen, and soon it could even appear to her. It was a grotesque blob of pitch black flesh with wicked bones protruding from every angle. Each shrine he got bigger, more humanoid and intelligent. Those months she had been forced to do terrible things, slaughter people or even worse, lure them into a trap that used their lifeforce as a terrible offering to the shrines. Hesitantly, the spirit would teach her its ways, feeding her with portions of its power, teaching her how to carve bones and old obsidian fragments to craft talismans and amulets with them. Taught her how to use his terrible magic to fight and summon dark entities, even how to teleport short distances, which the spirit called ‘blinking’. --- “Yes little rat, today is your big day. Today you’re going to raid Tarif. The cesspool is filled with conniving sorceresses. Hoarding artifacts and edifices beyond their understanding. Wretched whores wheel my brethren around like cattle, using them to fuel their spells. They have everything we need and I’m going to take it all and free my brothers. And YOU’RE going to KILL them all.” she could feel its lust for blood in its voice. The feeling sent shivers down her spine as Zenural behind her, wrapping horribly spiked fingers around each of her shoulders. The village of Tarif was beautiful, a quaint oasis in the middle of the horrible Median desert. The people looked peaceful and happy, not like the bandits and wolfmen she was forced to kill in the past. She swallowed hard as the spirit forced her forward. As soon as they passed the threshold, the villagers knew they were there. Zenural wasn’t lying, it was home to sorceresses. They appeared, floating over houses like birds and sending spiraling waves of magic wind at them. Agista tensed and shielded her face as a half dome of dark energy shielded herself from the blast. Zenural gurgled something harshly in a language Agista didn’t recognize as sharp shards of black crystal formed orbiting her before being launched out like arrows at the throats of the defenders. They glanced off the women’s wards seamlessly and then they sent waves of kinetic force up through the ground below and at her. Agista didn’t even think as she blinked past the incoming wave and leaped at the closest target. Massive purple-black claws had appeared from each of her fingertips as the possessed child realized what Zenural planned to do. She felt the bones of her arm break as she defied the influence of the black spirit. The eyes of its target were frozen in fear but Agista stopped short of her, trying her best to clench into a ball and endure Zenural’s orders. “WAIT! TRAP HER!” yelled a woman’s voice behind her. The target was still frozen in fear, but two other sorceresses answered the call and the three of them formed a triangle around Agista’s body. It must’ve been some kind of hex because for the first time in a long time she couldn’t feel Zenural’s presence. The pain in her arm, as well as the sedating properties of the sorceress’ magic, forced her into unconsciousness. When she awoke she was in a round room, the walls were covered in scrolls sealed to every part of the wall, along with hanging totems and dream catchers. She was bound in a thick rope but noticed her broken arm was braced and bandaged. It wasn’t long before the woman Agista’s hesitance had saved appeared. She introduced herself as Sareh and asked several questions. They started out easy. What was her name, how old was she. But as they continued talking the questions became more and more difficult. Why did she attack Tarif, where did she learn the art of Cartian, who made her amulet? Agista was a prisoner but trusted the beautiful sorceress. And without the watchful eye of Zenural, she spoke honestly. When Sareh learned that Agista was being possessed, her voice became softer, and questions got nicer, less accusatory. They used their knowledge to suppress Agista’s parasite, and after feeding and caring for her as their child, they eventually decided to teach her the ways of sorcery, to better defend herself from not only the dangers within her own soul but also the violent factions outside Tarif. For ten years Agista learned from the talented women of Tarif and soon it became her home, Aelton and her life as a princess seemed like a whole other life ago, a fantasy. Agista, with the help of her magical bloodline, and the reluctant power of Zenural, quickly surpassed most of the adults and had become incredibly skilled in sorcery. On her eighteenth birthday, the people of Tarif decided to allow her to meet Cartian, the spirit of the greatest sorcerer that ever lived, in order for him to finally test Agista and name her a Master Sorceress. When Cartian saw her he claimed she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in the centuries of training sorceresses, and after twenty difficult trials he concluded she was indeed a Master Sorceress. As thanks for defying Zendural and thus saving the village of Tarif, and in recognition of her incredible potential, he gifted her with her prized belonging, the weapon that hadn’t left his side for millennia. The Scythe of Cartian. Gifted with the Scythe of Cartian, and the accumulated knowledge of the town, Tarif’s Sorceresses had only one thing left to teach her. They begged her to stay with them, where it was safe. But Agista insisted that she was given this power for a reason and that she must return home after ridding herself of this evil spirit completely. And so they finally gave in and revealed their last secret. There had only been one before her that had survived the influence of the black spirits of Zenneth. His name was Wamazz, and he lived in the boreal forests of Behr, a small logging town on the other side of the world, far to the West. The next two years of her life were spent adventuring westward, stopping at each town and castle and picking up work and warm beds. She met a quiet half-giant who was headed west to the center of Calpheon, to the capital city of the same name. The two of them became famous mercenaries, and fighting alongside each other, they became fiercely loyal partners. When they finally made it to the city of Calpheon, Agista admitted to him that she was possessed by a dark spirit, and was headed to see a strange old man to help her be rid of it. Expecting him to curse her or run away, he dropped his obligations to the man ruling there and followed Agista into the forests of Behr. When together they found the place, it seemed like a normal logging town, not some ancient wizard’s conglomerate like Agista was expecting. When asked about an old geezer named Wamazz, the people shushed and shunned them. It was only when the two of them gave up and got a drink at the local tavern did fate finally have them meet. Agista could sense an incredible magic presence, and in this dump of a town, it had to be him. Turning around expectantly, the old man turned away from her, a hooded cloak covering his face. He muttered, “The usual,” to the bartender to which the bartender responded by kicking a crate of overflowing supplies out from under the bar and towards the old man. “Hey, are you Wa-” Agista began cautiously. She was interrupted as the floor seemed to shift under her, purple runes fading at her feet. She tried to yell and accuse him, but her mouth couldn’t form any words. The man was furious, finally showing his face as he turned on a heel with his crate, “Don’t you ever, call me th-” he stopped suddenly and shook his head, “Ever call me that” he looked at her again. “Red hair, darker, but those eyes are unmistakable... and that aura…” he shook his head and took his crate outside with him. “Follow me” he commanded as the door swung closed behind him. Wamazz, or as he revealed he was actually named, Wayfield, couldn’t stop smiling when they finally made it to his shack, hidden in a cave behind a magical illusion. “Agusta had a daughter! You’re right here and I can’t believe it, the spitting image. Your eyes, as soon as I saw them I knew!” The half-giant was always slow and untrusting, “Wait, so that makes you his…” “Great uncle” Wayfield confirmed. He suddenly looked remorseful, “I’d hoped I’d never see another Rustero again. But you’re here so that means… that means you’re like me.” He waved a hand over his face, and two black triangle brands appeared, much longer and weathered than Agista’s. “How’d you get rid of it? Since you haven’t tried attacking me yet.” he chuckled. “Well, that’s the thing,” she stammered. “WHAT!?” the old man lept backwards out of his seat, and a wall of fire erupted between Wayfield and the two adventurers. “YOU STILL HAVE IT?! You brought it in here, what are you, on its side? Here to possess me too, get revenge for Ozzan?” he accused wildly. Agista guessed the black spirits of Zenneth were the only thing that could scare him that badly. “So the sorceresses were right, you did escape them... No, I came here because I was told you were the only one who survived them I hoped you would help me get rid of Zemural for good.” Agista explained with a wave, and purple smoke gently extinguished the wall of flames. “That *****ing ghost ruined my life. Decimated my university in Calpheon. Taught me everything I knew, pretended to be my friend but it was plotting against me since the beginning!” “Wait,” said the half-giant yelled, “the destruction of Calpheon’s Colleges of Magic?! That was YOU!?” with the accusation, he pulled two twin battle axes from the straps on his back and pointed them at the old wizard. “You fool, I just said that was Ozzan, a dark spirit, like Agista’s. He sent me visions of Agista’s possession, pretended to warn me about his brothers’ evil intentions! He offered to help me but he didn’t want to save Agista, he wanted a piece of the *****ing pie. In my time of vulnerability he used me to destroy the colleges, and before the dust settled, free the rest of Zenneth. I broke every bone in my back defying the traitor's influence, would’ve died if it wasn’t for the spells Ozzan had taught me....” his voice trailed off, he ended with a hint of sorrow. “Ozzan said we were partners, but I was forced to banish him with one of his own spells. I thought I had missed my chance to save you, thought you were dead, my child. Either dead or some fiction, some fantasy Ozzan had constructed. I’ve been lying here licking my wounds ever since. I couldn’t even whisper an incantation before the lovely ladies of Tarif found me and nursed me back to relative health.” “So that’s how they knew where to find you. So tell me! Teach me the spell to banish Zenural.” Agista asked, excited to finally be free of the evil leech. “You ask me a second time, and I’ll teach you without hesitation. But not all my spells belong to Ozzan. The dark spirit was entirely tamed by the time they named me headmaster of that university, and I had created a way to not only guarantee my own safety but to wrestle complete control of his powers for myself. He only ever escaped because I lowered the seal when he offered to help. If you promise me you’ll never trust your ‘Zenural’ enough to lower the seal yourself, I’ll teach you how to reduce him to an ant while still using his powers to fuel that scythe of yours.” To banish the spirit was to banish a massive portion of her own powers, and Agista, in the end, decided to follow her great uncle's advice, and the three of them created a giant ring created to summon Zenural into the material world. With the power of a half-giant, a seasoned archmage, and a master sorceress, Zenural was defeated and his form returned to the childlike blob Agista had met back when she was a child. The spirit was now terrified of her, timid and sheepish, while constantly feeding her with its dark magic. Wayfield had decided a long time ago he wouldn’t return to his life in Vennterria, but after hearing Agista’s wishes to return, helped her fabricate a spell that was designed to bring her back to “to others of her blood.” It was bittersweet news, as he had to say goodbye to both her great uncle and her beloved friend the half-giant. “And wait!” Wamazz jumped, almost as if he was forgetting something, “my assistant is also here, Alana. She is far too talented to rot in the woods with an old fart like myself. Please, she always talks about waiting for her adventurer to begin, and here you come, the bleeding image of an adventure. She’ll be back from gathering supplies soon enough, I trust you with her.” Once the portal was constructed, Agista and blonde mage stepped onto the slab of the portal. She waved, smiling and feeling more genuinely happy than long as she could remember. “That’s odd,” she said to Alana after they appeared on the other side of the portal. Giant golden eagles flew over satin banners on the tall towers. “That’s definitely mom’s sigil, but that ain’t Aelton…” she was stood on the hill overlooking a sprawling walled city and a great stone castle. Leaving Alana behind, she blinked off of the hill and, shedding her material form, Agista shadow-leaped off the ground below and onto the walls. Appearing again in between the crenels, she noticed an abandoned gold coin lying on the ground. “That’s weird, it’s still so shiny, can’t be more than a year old... ‘For Kingstone’, huh? Well, if not Aelton then it must be a new vassal, it’s been what, seventeen years? Which makes it…” turning around the coin she froze as she saw the date. “1377!? That means it’s only been like… five years!” There’s no way, this has to be an old coin.” Zenural must’ve felt how bad a feeling she had, but dared not saying anything now that he was so weak. Desperately Agista blinked from tower to tower, leaping between crenelations. She was less careful than she thought, and quickly horns were being blown in alarm, and by the time Agista finally darted off the walls and onto the roofs between the wall and the castle, multiple archers had begun firing at her. Blinking out of their arcs of fire, she appeared in front of a line of plate-wearing spearmen blocking the castle gate. A second later and they would’ve impaled her, but instead she teleported past them too and flew into the throne room. The king was unmistakable, while everyone else had flattened themselves against the throne room walls, he had a beautiful longsword unsheathed and was making his way cautiously towards her. His crown was a thin band of gold with evenly spaced spades of gold. Looking down from his crown and at his face, Agista realized who he was and forced the Scythe of Cartian’s point into the tile floor. An old friend of Agusta’s, one of her sworn Queensglaive, she loved him as a child! After seventeen years she couldn’t believe how young he still looked. She couldn’t control her happiness at meeting someone she could recognize. Running up to him, she embraced him out of a hug. “Icarus? Ike, is that really you? You look great for what, forty-five? Fifty?” She heard the sword clang against the stone floor. A hand on each shoulder he pushed her away. He looked like he couldn’t believe his eyes and he shook his head looking again into her’s. “Agista? There’s no way, you’re so big…” He was acting strangely, and she began to worry that her fears were true. “Well, yeah,” she started nervously, “It’s been seventeen years.” he took her in a surprisingly tight embrace. “Agista it’s 1377. You disappeared five years ago! God, we’ve missed you, you’re mother and I… Where have you been? What happened?” It had only been five years. There was no way, she counted every birthday, every year that it took her to get back home, but for them, it was just five years... ((Watch the attached video below to get a real feel for how fast and how lethal Agista Rustero can be.)) Agista has two forms of fighting, with her talisman-amulet combo, and with the Scythe of Cartian. Regardless of what form she is in, she is capable of teleporting short distances, also known as ‘blinking’ she can ‘blink’ from one place to the next, she usually keeps it to only about three meters at a time, as the farther she teleports the more dangerous it becomes, because of both how much stamina it costs her, as well as not knowing what she is teleporting into. She learned from a very young age to fight with her Amulet, a band of bracelets on her right arm, as well as her talisman, a draped relic, currently a golden eagle, on her back. In this form, she fights hand to hand, with giant claws imbuing her strikes as well as massive bursts of purple-black flames. In this form, she is also capable of sending projectile shards of obsidian at incredible speeds and sending cones of black energy out of the ground like tidal waves. In her scythe mode, she is incredibly lethal, swinging around the Scythe of Cartian like a quarterstaff and slicing everything in her path into ribbons. On top of her spinning moves, the scythe is also excellent at cleaving and slicing through enemies, and one of her strongest abilities uses the scythe to summon a great gravitational spear that consumes any living thing’s lifeforce inside of it. Learning that Agista has lived seventeen years while it’s only been five for everyone hit her hard, and the spell seemingly malfunctioning also has Agista wanting even more answers. For now, she has kept her arrival at Kingstone a secret from Agusta and serves as Kingsglaive under Icarus in order to get more answers out of him. Until then she is looking for a way to explain this all to her mother while exploring the continent of Everneth. She doesn’t want to be the Emperess after everything she has seen and done and only wants to continue her adventures while fighting for Icarus, who she truly believes has more need of her, and is a kinder ruler.
  6. It, like most things, is actually pretty easy once you break it down into parts and visualize how those parts interact. Few Youtube tutorials don't hurt
  7. @anonymousvoter I'm probably going to make a compromise resource pack with the changes I don't like excluded. Might come out alongside my roleplay texture pack and the lite version of that pack.
  8. Love the applications of the new villager work stations: -Barrels will be able to replace the note blocks so studio/aflrety won't be able to spam the noise. -Grindstones make great wheels, and while motorcycles aren't really my thing, they make nice wheelbarrows. -Buzzsaws are incredibly useful at lumber mills. -The backs of looms make great empty bookshelves. -Blast furnaces just have a fantastic texture. -The lecterns make for great desks while placed inside spruce trapdoors. The other random blocks are sick too: -Lanterns make a light source slightly less lazy than torches. -Church bells no longer have the be gigantic or just single gold blocks. -The berries make for some amazing grape plants for wineries. The next textures are about 50/50 some of my favorites are: -The new oak leaves. -The new stonebricks. -The new blaze rod item (handheld) texture. -Netherrack is much improved. -Love the new haybales, and the wheat makes a beautiful golden field now. -Skeleton textures much improved. -Polished diorite is much better Not a fan of: -Wood and plank textures, especially oak which can look withered and dead. -Don't like the melon texture much either. -Still dislike granite a lot, and they actually made andesite worse, looks like wool to me now. Beyond building stuff, however, I really like the new village raids, I've always wanted more PvE content and I gotta admit it's fun defending a city from the pillager raids, and what was once a really goddamn annoying, time-wasting grind (emerald farming) is now pretty rewarding with the Hero of the Village buff.
  9. -A Shade's Best Friend- A short story about one of Nicku Crestshade's oldest friends, the abandoned runt of a wolf pack. --- The Evernethian Shades had only appeared on the continent after a sacrificial ritual in Vennterria had gone wrong, and instead of the shades perishing, they ended up stranded in a forest outside what is now known as the city of Kingstone. The first animal that the Shades bumped into on their arrival was a small wolf, the runt of its litter. Without the rest of his pack it would die, she knew, so Nicku held out her hand and begun to sing. The pup's growl got quieter, faltered for a moment, and ended with a 'boof.' Tilting its head, the snarling faded and the hint of a wag was on its tail. As the shade finished the verse, and the canopies above them were filled with the melodies' echo, the runt burst into a sprint, knocking the shade over and licking her face, tail wagging so hard it shook its entire body. “Veiðimaður” she decided, it was a fine name from the Ancient Shade Language. Although she hadn’t met him yet, Icarus would come to nickname the dog ‘Vay.’ ---Nine years later, weeks after the construction of Greaves--- Ike’s workshop was one of his favorite places in the world. Enclosed high up in the castle, Icarus could forge away at new inventions or modifications for his already overflowing arsenal of weapons. It was a hobby he couldn’t shake, even after Brisingr was forged and the Kingsglaive were armed. Currently, he was working on a design that could exploit bluesteel’s diamond lattice to allow the metal to change forms in the blink of an eye. Such a feat was difficult, but not impossible. Even with a lifetime of practice, it would take time and no small miracle but the applications of this technology were almost limitless. The furnace was cold as Icarus drew diagrams to add to the overflowing trash bin of crumpled paper by his desk, so the room was almost silent. The stillness was interrupted by the sound of bare feet rushing down the hallway. He barely had time to raise an eyebrow as the door flew open and Nicku Crestshade appeared, her eyes full with tears, running towards him. "Ike! You have to help him, he's gonna- you have to save him!" she had buried her head into his chest and sobbed, meekly pounding on him with two closed fists. Her voice was muffled now, and for a moment it seemed like she just wanted to sit there and cry, as if it was hopeless, but must have decided to against it. She got up and pulled him hard by the shoulders out of the seat. "What happened?" he asked, but she was already making her way for the door. Grabbing her arm, she was forced to turn around. "Blue, what is it?" "It's veiðimaður! T-there was a Bullvore," she said, voice still thick with grief, still pulling at his arm. But now he was following her, deftly grabbing the sheathed Brisingr’s hilt as he swung into the hallway after her. "It woulda been so easy, I woulda been fine but Vay, he was just trying to help, to protect me, he didn't need to get involved but he," she cut off. Boris in his griffon form had met them on the Kingsglaive Courtyard and it wasn't a long flight from there to the forest. "There,” she said, pointing at a recent scar in the forest where several trees were split or uprooted. The first thing he saw as he scanned the scene was the heaping corpse of the Bullvore. Nicku's handiwork was always... crude, but this was excessive. It wouldn't have even been recognizable as a Bullvore without Nicku's explanation, and the shards of broken horn which were scattered near what could have called a skull. The chest cavity was almost flat, and Ike guessed it would've taken 20 or more swings. Behind it, the forest was in ruins, even with Nicku's inherent strength, she could've done this without it. "The curse?" he asked, much more accusatory then he meant it. The Shade was already hunched over the dog's body. Icarus heard her sobbing again, she had either ignored him or not heard him at all. “Look what it did...” she laid down to hug it, which made a wet and gory sound. Walking over to them, he saw it was bad. The dog’s hind legs and belly were crushed, he surmised it only would’ve taken one step of a Bullvore’s massive hooves. “You gotta fix him, build him new legs like Greaves, Icarus you gotta-” she stopped, and succumbed to the sadness. Wailing, the forest heard her weep. Ike had never heard her cry, and it sent him choking on a lump in his throat. He never wanted to hear her scream like that again. “Blue... Greaves was different, he didn’t have a soul… I made him one.” He explained slowly, though she very well knew. Ike dropped Brisingr into the grass and laid down next to her. Before he had an arm around the shade’s shoulders he paused, noticing the number of creatures that had gathered together to mourn the girl’s dog. The power of the shades, the thought hit him like a truck. Boris, he commanded telepathically, back to the workshop. As Ike jumped off the ground and sprinted into the griffon’s saddle, he could hear the shade make a gasp that was half surprise, half betrayal. She must’ve thought Ike was running away. --- The workshop doors smashed open a second time, and Ike had to indulge the Curse in order to get the forge roaring quick enough. No time to lose and even less time to think, he quickly grabbed the crate full of bluesteel ingots. It was about 500 crowns worth of the rare, nearly indestructible metal, but it was the first material he could think to use. No time to lose, less time to think. Given a few days, Icarus might’ve made a beautiful sculpturesque wolf, or maybe a giant bear, but time was working against him. He was working so fast, he hardly remembered deliberately doing anything. Two massive hemispheres, each almost as big as the shade herself, were constructed, two halves of a sphere. Hastily, he hammered out two eye sockets, each holding a flawless ruby. As the metal was white hot, Ike used hammer and chisel to shape out massive, dragonlike teeth. The Shade's wolf was always relentless, brave and loyal. The bleeding image of a Kingstonian. The bluesteel construct the King had made would serve those traits perfectly. Practically invincible, with teeth as sharp as razors, and a massive twenty-yard chain to reel him in. The Griffon had great difficulty flying them both back, and Ike was busy carving in the seal, identical to the one that animated Greaves. Such a seal could animate a corpse from an artificial soul... Now, a natural spirit? Well, there was only one way to find out. --- She wasn’t crying anymore, just lying on Vay’s broken body. No time to lose, less time to think. “Blue, get up. I can’t induce its soul inside it, but you can. But you have to do it now before he’s too far gone. Quick, Nicku stop crying.” he shook her awake. At first, she didn’t understand. Her eyes were still full of tears and rheum. But a moment later she realized what he’d meant, and Ike would never forget how she smiled. Ear to ear, her azure eyes sparked again. Ike wondered if the civilians would call this dark magic, as Nicku chanted in the language of the shades. The creatures were returning one by one, as Ike monitored the seal. The trees seemed to hum with life and every beast from squirrel to fairy tensed as they listened to her song. Some of these words Ike had never heard, but he could make out their meaning: “Forest, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine Heal what has been hurt Change the Fate's design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine… What once was mine.” The diamond lattice of the spherical beast construct began to glow brightly with light, and soon the hinges connecting him moved on their own. It was muffled and reverberated with an echo, but no one present could deny what they heard: “Bark, Bark.” For the last time that night, Nicku cried, this time with her arms wrapped around the metal beast, laughing in between coughs. “veiðimaður you’re… Hundur. I love you. I’ll never let you go again.” Her body was shuddering with emotion. “Never again.”
  10. [[The night will be filled with politics, intrigue, and betrayal. Will alliances be formed to contend with the economic giants of Valland or the treasure holds of the shades? Will this be a platform for foreign entities to gain a foothold in the kingdom? Either way, the night promises free food, plentiful drink and admission to the castle, only time will tell what comes of it.]]
  11. On top of the nether paths, as Kordon said, you also can just skip the nether entirely and elytra/firework rocket your way to bases that are relatively close. If those two options were gone, instead of a railway system I would really love to see everywhere being horse compatible. Clear, three-wide paths with stables at each base and an immersive journey through the natural and terraformed landscape in between bases would be sick nasty.
  12. The question is, am I really willing to get up at 10am on a Saturday to scream Shrek's voicelines... I wanna be Shrek and Donkey but then a good portion of the movie would be me just screaming at myself. ***** it, write me up as Shrek the *****ing ogre. Was it Kordon that actually played a character in a Shrek play? Wasn't it Farquaad?
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