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sheep

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  1. Legend of the Emblem: The Descent (OOC)

    Let round 2 of  posting begin.
  2. LotE: The Descent

    ♦ Excerpts ♦ “Seventeen years ago I left home, seeking adventure, just like any other young man my age. It was slow, boring, in the beginning, but I kept at it, for I knew a life of mediocrity would do my heart no justice. I forced myself upon the path, kept at it and I’m glad I did. Eventually, it happened.I have stolen kisses from fairies, and danced with demons. I have dined with kings in the most grandiose castles, sailed across the harshest seas, and slayed beasts with more eyes than my entire village. I have lived. But never have I seen a sight such as this. As I stand upon the precipice, in the middle of nowhere, I see a little village, patched together with absurdities. But there is more to it, a lot more, it hides within its little fist, possibly everything the world hungers for: Love, Knowledge, Camaraderie. These are things men seek their entire lives and die without, yet these people have it, and they don’t even try. I am certain, this marks the end of my journey. What the boy set out for, he has found. I will spend the rest of my days here, eating meals with orphans, sharing tales with men from far-away lands and bickering with the nuts in the Great Library. The Valley is truly heaven on earth, how I hope it never changes.” - The Memoir of Draven Noir, Traveler. (From the archives of The Great Library) ••• Was it merely smoke that cascaded the sky? Or did it hide ghosts of the dead in its ashen embrace? The wind carried with it a heavy burden, as tendrils of smoke clamored the sun for one last whiff of hope, and the gods for a glimpse of justice. Slowly, they drifted away, the impossibility of their attempts made apparent. Until, more of the dead followed, hoping for the same, hope trumped impossibilities, didn’t it? The Valley was dressed similarly today, in blacks and grays, in a sordid eclipse. ♦ The Invisible Door ♦ The Invisible Door; the entrance to the Valley as it was so called, named to signify the hospitality of the people. A door that was missing rending the land open, always, for everyone. So, many came, so many. Amidst, against, the crowd that tumbled in, he stood with a monkey by his side. A missing eye, a pair of lips quivering in disgust, a broken hand restrained to a cast, and a mind that had abruptly began to stutter. “We’re drowning in shit.” The boy whispered, his voice apathetic. The monkey agreed, in silence. The masses moved like a river, uncaring for what pebbles may lie in their path, with a single intent; survival. Some struck his broken hand, and some stepped on his foot with a vow to break it, unaware of the pain they caused. Each time he was pushed away, he’d slowly walk back to the spot he had picked, and stand still until he was pushed away again. The boy’s intentions matched theirs, his stance differed, it was contrary, both in ideology and position. While they resorted to the residue of their prior to existence to help them survive, he would attain the means necessary. Despite, his vow to the Exarch, the boy had little interest in becoming a link in a chain too frail to accomplish anything. The broken hand bound in the cast held a sharp secret; A blade inching out, visible only on close inspection. The boy’s repetitive movement of assuming the same spot, was more artful than it seemed. He moved with a sly gait, bumping in, and pulling back, at all the right times, slicing pouches and wallets at all the right times. Anything of value, anything he could spot, would fall into the hands of the monkey, who tread through the legs of the crowd with great ease. He would be ignored at large, for he was too little, and the crowd too consumed in hysteria to notice. The rewards, though, were pitiful. Most had little other than dust in the purses they carried; trinkets, keepsakes, heirlooms, all useless. He’d discard them all to be crushed under the footsteps of the men who revered them. Few had coins, but not enough. Did they hope to survive like this? Idiots. Little did the boy know, that with the flow of this river, his own hope would begin to erode. Doubt and contemplation began to seep in the gaps betwixt the routine of picking pockets. Before he knew the thin moments of thought became longer than the rest, even though they weren’t. He had remembered the place differently. Had it truly been The Valley, a man would’ve scooped the boy into his arms by now, and fed him three meals more than he needed. Where was the frolic and effervescence? Why were his hands still empty? Where was his gold? Where were the Dragons? Time would slow down to present a moment of reflection, motes of dust would hang in the air, purposeless, and the footfall would cease, their intent to survive dissolved. A boy and a land once glorious, belligerent in their existence, failing to fall in line with the rest of the world. A boy and a land now broken, their fates tied together, suffocation, then death. Guilty? Isore. “We’re drowning in shit.” He repeated. “Let’s get out of here.” ••• But surely, there was hope in the Valley, yes? In the knight hoping to keep her loyalty to her employer, In the woman hoping to rescue kids gone astray, In the mercenary who gave the child a path to power in a world that crumbled so easily, In the lone survivor Zenith, In the wordsmith that disregarded danger for the sake of their art, In the men that had vowed to protect the king of a fallen kingdom, And In the king himself, who refused to give up regardless of all he’d lost. There was hope. ♦ The Market ♦ The temperatures of the Market were relatively relaxed as the truth ever so slowly, teasingly even, began to solidify. Intentions changed,festering a different kind of chaos altogether. The boy and the monkey endeavored to transverse among the stagnating crowd, feet tied in doubt. There was no place in particular they wished to reach, letting at times, the stumbling, mumbling, trembling, crowd guide them. Ants scrambled in trepidation underneath the diaspora, mimicking their panic tenfold, only to be crushed, one here and another there, none stopped, for dooms like this were merely habit . They stumbled through the world everyday, an indifferent shoe away from death, and yet, they continued, with no regards for the gods and their injustice. Judas hadn’t realized when aimless wandering gave way to following one of the little critters, the one that perpetuated even as his brethren failed, even when he was ground under a boot. “This one makes the idiots around us seem shoddy.” Judas snickered, as his lips pulled into a devilish grin“It’s become panic itself.” He whispered, cried almost, his words sprinkled with a hint of madness. Awe consumed his body, as a shiver trickled down his spine, and the hair on his arms found themselves standing. In an instant, the world changed yet again. “Gold.” The boy to his own surprise found himself amidst the Bazaar, staring at Jeweler and……. a familiar face? Knight Lady? In perfect synchronicity with his realization, the universe gave way to more entropy. The familiar face skipped his mind as quick as it’s owner.“Today, we shall name you, Sir Stealsalot.” He announced, thrusting his leg towards the monkey, who grumbled in return. “That’s our way out.” Judas gestured. There was no more need of conversation, no need for planning, not today. Panic. Judas pushed through the crowd, approaching the stall with unbridled ferocity. His fingers wiggled, excited, nervous. This was the deciding moment, if he could not pull of something as simple as this, he was truly doomed. “I'll pay you for your trouble” “Oh, yes you will.” For a moment, he was gone, swallowed by the river of people. His hand rose to place an imaginary mask upon his face, changing faces, a ritual essential to his act. The thief became a helpless survivor; the monkey became the wind, nowhere to be seen. The boy would then reappear in the lady’s field of vision. Their eyes would fall upon the other, Judas would ignore the jewelry laid out up-front entirely, holding the woman’s eyes. His face would offer questions but no answer, it would demand attention without explanation.“Here” he stated sternly, his eyes still holding hers, as he emptied a pouch full of coins right next to the jewellery. “Give me whatever that buys, carrying money at hand is not safe. I need to go.”, he worded, slowly, voice raspy and damaged. Were any questions asked of him about the money, he’d accredit it to his dead parents, with an air of honesty and uncertainty.The ring of coins would turn into a pleasant melody as the lady began to count, each note louder than the previous. The boy would shuffle his legs, tap his feet, feigning a desire to pee. The little mountain of coins he had created at her stall would turn into a mere statistic in her mind. Panic. The ill wind came once again, and with it came the monkey, materializing from the void. Perhaps, she would notice him hanging mid-air, reaching for her, ready to rapture her face, perhaps she would only notice the pain, the blood and her missing wares. It was debatable.Enclosed between moments of anticipation and agony was a moment of ecstasy, for the world would cease, and the smoke would vanish, and the sun would shine as bright as it ever had threatening to burn the world. The boy would smile akin to the devil, his eye would bulge with lust. Rubies, Sapphires, Emeralds, Diamonds, Gold, Silver. Yellows and greens and blues and reds. They boy’s arm would crash like a wave against her precious collection. A few fortunate stones would rise higher than the rest, denying apprehension until they didn’t, they rose to be kissed by the sun, to shine with blinding magnificence. The jingling and clattering of stone and metal would burst into a honey-glazed song of angels. Ecstasy. Zenith reached, so came the fall. The smoke would return and the sun would die again, the music would cease giving way to the pain. The thief would disappear into the flock, with all things precious, holding them as many places as he could: mouth, hands, and cloth. The monkey would disappear over the walls, leaving the woman reeling. They’d rendezvous, and then they’d sail into the sunset, unfortunately the Valley would die without them.
  3. I turn 43!!!

    Happy birthday Ben, have a good year ahead.
  4. Legend of the Emblem: The Descent (OOC)

    Let the games begin. Cluster 1: @Mag, @Wade, @Chouette, @Narcissa Cluster 2: @EpicRome23 ,@Bolt Mulaag , @Fragile Cluster 3: @sheep, @Al Sa-her, @SweetCyanide
  5. Welcome! This is will act as the OOC for The Most Lit Roleplay on Valucre: Legend of The Emblem. Feel free to post memes, interact and/or discuss the thread. Now moving on to more important stuff, since we have a huge number of people, we will be experimenting with a different style of posting. We will be posting in clusters. So, Imagine we have 10 people who’re rping, starting from X1 to X10. We’ll divide these 10 roleplayers into three groups of 3-4, as so: Cluster 1 X1 X2 X3 X4 Cluster 2 X5 X6 X7 Cluster 3 X8 X9 X10 Each cluster will act as a separate thread in terms of posting order, i.e. each cluster follows the standard Valucre posting order. X1 posts on Day 1 We wait three days for X2 post If they don’t post within the 3 day limit, we move onto X3, so on and so forth. What's different here is, all suborders post on their own pace, and don't depend on the other orders. X1 posts - then it's X2's turn to post - then it's X3's turn to post, then X4, then back to X1. X5, X6, and X7 have nothing to do with the post order before - instead, X6 posts once X5 does; X7 posts when X6 finishes; and X5 posts after X7. It is IMPORTANT TO NOTE, however, that this has the potential to make interactions between characters wonky. Therefore, we strongly encourage you to post out of order as well, if necessary to make sure that things flow smoothly! Now, I don’t know how well this will work out, but considering the nature of the thread and our desire to keep it running tight and smooth, this is what we’re choosing to go with. Here are the Clusters we’ve decided on, based on posting speeds: Cluster 1: @Mag, @Wade, @Chouette, @Narcissa Cluster 2: @EpicRome23 ,@Bolt Mulaag , @Fragile Cluster 3: @sheep, @Al Sa-her, @SweetCyanide Mag will be throwing up a thread by Thursday or Friday. We'll also be contacting each of you individually to plot etc. For any questions, feel free to contact me, Rome or Mag. A few notes to end with: We'll be playing on Lunatic, as in if this were a Video Game, we'd be playing on the hardest difficulty. So please keep that in mind when engaging enemies etc. Enemies will be powerful most of the time, and require a good amount of effort/creativity to defeat. Be FRESH! Be Creative, feel free to introduce NPCs, throw in new ideas wherever you feel like without throwing off the thread. To make the thread more engaging we're introducing a theme, each thread will have it's own, for this one we're going to go with Confrontation and Trust. The group will need to confront their true intentions for doing this, and trust each other to save Nar Oeste, and this thread is the point where the decision takes place. Have shitloads of fun. Here's the Lore Dump once again:
  6. Chapter 1: Convergence.

    Spades, Hearts, Clubs and Diamonds, following one after another, as they tore aware from one deck and crashed against the next. They danced mid-air, twirling and flowing, teasing and pleasing the ones eager to grab a taste of victory. They were flipped and spread across, dealt equally to each man and woman, though the kings and queens, even as they lay face down were still unfair in their intentions. Silvia’s eyes held something of glow as she did fate’s work, the indifference was indeed powerful. She smiled and blinked as she set the remaining cards face down amidst the players. “I’ll start” she called, caring little for what cards she had dealt herself. After all the first few rounds were merely warm-up. She took a deep sip of her mead, testing its effectiveness. It was light indeed. Betwixt the contemplation and the moves of the game, a few coins were slipped to the barkeep, an investment for a brighter future. The mead flowed, and the players found themselves with more to drink than they could possibly handle. Silvia smiled at the slight slips the liquor brought about, a few tricks here and there and most if not all rounds started falling in her favor. Soon enough, she had made thrice the amount she had invested. But there was another, a new denizen who had ever so easily invited himself to join the game. There was only a slight problem, the man remained sober. There it was again, the dance of cards, flowing, flying, fluttering through the air, dancing in patterns that would puzzle most men. Silvia smashed the cards against the new entrant, issuing a challenge, her nose twitching with excitement. @Trexasle
  7. So incessant is the mind in its pursuit to feel, that in the absence of stimuli, it creates its own. His words were met with no response, but surely he heard something? Laughter? Mockery? He would not retort. Yora eyed his companions wearily, a seed of doubt sown far too easily. Were they more than shadows? His hand slowly swayed backwards, stopping at the hilt of his sword. Credulus assumed the role of the vanguard, he’d be the first one to climb and concurrently the first one to scream. A ruse? After all, the creature was more bones than anything else, a creature fit to be a son of Yh’mi. There was another proclamation soon, by the one who had willingly or unwillingly lead the group so far. Perhaps, danger was truly afoot. Yora gazed around, as the men and women started moving, taking to the rope one after another. His own footsteps were reluctant, motivated only by the fear to be left alone at the bottom.While the rope was tensile, his height put him at a disadvantage, making the climb rather clumsy. His movement rife with fear, Yora finally joined them. His blade was constricted between his fists, ready to…. A large flash of light beamed straight at the creature, leaving a mere silhouette for Yora to see. Whatever it was, it was big, and while the others perhaps hoped to perish it, for the first time in this jungle of misery he saw potential. “Don’t hu.huurt!” He managed to stutter out as loudly as he could. And while his intentions were good, the words were likely to lead to more confusion.
  8. Legend of the Emblem: The Descent

    His editing SkillZ are directly proportional to the amount of math he has done that day.
  9. I'm getting a tablet

    Yes plox.
  10. LotE: Journey to the Valley

    -x- With scribbles of ink on paper, the world changes. To the words of fate, to the song of Melpomene, the actors must dance on the stage that is life. I. Inertia Loss persisted. In the face of men’s dreams, loss persisted. In the face of life, loss persisted. In the face of friendship and hope, it was loss that persisted. A few tattered souls stood conflicted, as the world behind them burned. The pyre an incoherent jumble of things they valued and a series of blunders. The way ahead was clear, all that could have been salvaged had been, yet there was reluctance in their gait, and a slowness in their hurry. They moved finally, shaping themselves like a diamond, propelled forward by a purpose that seemed brittle against the burden of the ashes left behind, and while some did not wish share it, they surely felt it weighing down upon them. II. Journey For the greatest of men, it was the journey that had shaped them, it had taught them lessons no teacher could teach and rewards of the destination often paled in comparison to that of the Journey. The constant stinging of reality sharpened their resolves. They moved with intent hoping to redeem what they had lost or perhaps to replace it with something better. The persistence of loss slowly degrading. With hopeful eyes and hands clenched tightly they carried on eager to obtain the fruits of their Journey. III. Dream Of all the blessings men had, the mind was perhaps the weakest. It deluded itself with impossibilities, and wished for light, even in darkness. It told itself tales when the body was asleep and it told itself tales when the body was awake never truly accepting what was. Arduous was the journey they had chosen, the path demanded more and more, it’s hunger seemingly never-ending. The roads they traveled remained the same, it was their bodies that grew weary, devoid of all that it needed. The wounds of the heart, and the wound of the flesh, were far too fresh, and the dreams they had fashioned clung far too tightly. And so in wake of the impending doom, the mind chose to betray what lay ahead, casting itself into a reality of its own making. IV. Death With Death came new life, but there was little in the desert that was alive. Reality invaded the dreams of stranger, better worlds. What was meant to be a journey of redemption had swiftly turned into an ordeal of the greatest order. The desert was swift to snatch away their ability to perceive it. Senses were dulled and the only ache that seemed to matter anymore was the one in their stomachs. The desert’s indifference was horrifying. Greater men, and beasts greater still had been swallowed whole here. Their strength had been inconsequential in the face of time, and their achievements had drowned deep down beneath the dunes. Doubt was abundant, the promises of the gods they worshipped, and the promises they had made to themselves rang empty. When the mind failed them, it was something more visceral that kept them on path. A single gaze into the eyes of any one of the countless skulls littered around spelled out their fate. . Fear had never been so generous. V. Color Persist. Persist. Persist. Was there an end to this? For as far as the eyes could see, all they saw was the same shade of sand. Nothing beyond and nothing before. The Valley had never surfaced on the horizon, and the week long foray had bore no fruit. Perhaps, this was fate’s design, a journey to nowhere meant to end in starvation and misery, the legacy of Isore one with the dirt beneath their feet. It was not the first time the thought would cross their mind, neither the last. Regardless, Persist. Persist. Persist. The course of action was no longer theirs to choose. Persist. Persist. Persist. It was only when they fell did they see color. A color detached from the monotony of sand and sky. They saw black; the color of death. -x- -Welcome to the Valley- art by crs1009 . The Valley is best defined as a collage of colors, flavors and scents from a thousand different lands. But it had humble beginnings, serving merely as a camp for travelling caravans, but with time it has grown into a bustling town, full of color and kindness. The denizens still stick to the roots, and understand that it is only through mutual service and kindness can they survive the harshness of the desert and the world itself. While the world thirsts for knowledge, love and happiness, The Valley is brimming with it, welcoming one and all with open arms. The streets are rife with children, as they run along laughing and frolicking, playing with strange trinkets that the town has and continue to accumulate from the variety of travelers. It is not only the children that take advantage of the diversity. The adults of the Valley too enjoy it in numerous ways. While some sell off the baubles and goods they find, others chose to monetize them in more creative ways. A strange yet wonderful cuisine has emerged in the Valley owing to the fusion of recipes, found in these books from far off places. Many of these snacks can be found in the streets. The large amounts of knowledge in the form of books and grimoires have led to the creation of a building known as the great library where all the information is stored. Not only has this great inflow of knowledge transformed all areas of life in the Valley it has also imbued it with Magical talent, which has only risen over the years, and while most people do not bother themselves with the intricacies of magic, the few who do are collectively known as The Academy. These so called 'Wizards' which have never grown over a dozen in number practice their arts in peace, in the Great Library itself. Madon and his comrades were found unconscious, possibly due to starvation and thirst nearby, by a passing traveler who brought them to the Valley with his Caravan. They have now been tended to and rest peacefully in one of the local healer's tents. Soon enough, they'll be ready to continue their adventure. -x-
  11. OOC: Grey Gateway

    Sorry I couldn't post guys, feel free to skip me. Will take care of shit in the next round
  12. Chapter 1: Convergence.

    Silvia Keth was far from home, yet, Last Chance seemed not quite unlike it. She tread the streets of La Ultima Fortuna, just as he would walk through the Western District, her sandals clicking away at the street, her gait rife with excitement. There was no particular direction she followed, no path, for in her mind, every street was meant to be a new adventure, every turn, no matter how dangerous, a blessing from the gods. The woman carried no burdens, nor in her mind, neither on her back. A single bag rested on her shoulders, carrying all that a woman could possibly need. Silvia gazed around, strangely amazed at the world that surrounded her. A place somehow so familiar, yet alien, carved by the actions of a million people she would never know, being carved still even as she walked through it. here was little that could distract her from her path on a good day, except a promise of liquor and good company, and it so seemed that at the very next turn, the gods would bless her with just that. A very loud “Mead!” accompanied the crashing of the Inn’s doors against the wall. Silvia blasted her way to the bar, showing no mercy for any man or woman in her path. It was only after a gulping down a size-able portion of her drink that she settled down, rather collapsed, onto an empty bar-stool. “So who wants to play cards?” She inquired, mischief lingering on her tongue.
  13. What's in your speakers, nukka?

    This video is visual gold.
  14. Delightful Misfortune.

    Ah I have wanted to do this for quite a while. I'd love to participate. Here is my character
  15. Setting in Stone

    The fragility of life was a laughable thing. Ideas of a great saint were tarnished within minutes, a dozen dutiful men were ripped apart by they crowd they chose to serve, all thanks to a string of words uttered in the right order, with the right pitch. The man responsible for the chaos would walk away with the most peace. His confident gait would soon morph into something much more subtle, yet quite like that of a commoner. It was wonderful what little change in mannerisms could do, a man could turn into another, a peasant into a king, a whore into a queen. Judas’ eyes followed the man, their deep blue brimming with a strange lust. He had evaded the path of the commoner and took to higher ground. The crowd might have parted for a budding revolutionary, but it would not for him. The excitement, the hysteria, still tickled the hair on Judas’ neck. The sight was too fresh to leave his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what the man intended with the strange showcase of power that was duly absent. Surely, only a fool would attempt such a thing without a plan, if the man did have one, there was opportunity on the horizon, if he did not, he himself was the opportunity. Lysander would soon find his inspection of the object being interrupted by a gleeful yet sinister greeting. Judas would stand holding his hand out, smile glued to his face, and belligerence to his eyes. The boy was neatly dressed in shirts, trousers and a hat, although, the extra-long sleeves could very well be a source of great pain. “I am Judas. Thief. Connoisseur of Malice.”
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