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Ravenovf
 
PostPosted: Thu, Nov 07 2013, 4:24 AM 

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Joined: 17 Dec 2004
Location: Halifax, Nova Scotia (in Canada)

The drow wizard stepped from the portal on Caraigh and muttered grimly to himself "It seems that things are getting worse" he took note that the undead seemed to have grown ominously more prolific and there was mutterings of dark and terrible things walking the night. He would have to go over the notes in his lab with exacting measure. The crystal sword and the skull, actually everything would be subjected to extensive divination and scrutiny. Of course he would have to be wary of superstitious locals and Wiltun who he despised for another of reasons that were entirely valid to him. He had been told Wiltuns spymaster could be a threat. However the evils that were growing on the island stood at a higher priority than his paranoia and distrust of Wiltun. The wizard would finish what he started with or without them. He sighed and sheathed himself in invisibility and defensive wards it was going to be a long walk and he had no intention of the eyes in the darkness falling upon him.

The damned island was winning and Tazlin did not like to loose.


 
      
Ravenovf
 
PostPosted: Thu, Nov 07 2013, 5:06 AM 

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Joined: 17 Dec 2004
Location: Halifax, Nova Scotia (in Canada)

Tazlins Journal
As I sit here in the shadow of a ruined home in the township once named Aigheshed I can not help but marvel at the results of the druids work here. At least during the day light hours. The island that was once ripe with undead and predatory monsters has taken on a more subdued natural tone. I have noted black bears of healthy size, rabbits and frogs thrive. I have not encountered a great number of undead yet however the worrying tales I have been told lead me to suspect the druids healing has caused a terrible sort of duality upon the island, perhaps it struggles against the cursed working of lord Blackmoor? Everlasts hand, the demon lord of undeath and a long list of other dark deeds that have been done upon its soul. I fear I must walk the island once the sun has set and evaluate what terrors walk it.

I have no illusions that there is any wisdom in attacking the endless hordes, trying to change the superstitious locals or work with Wiltun. This island has been stained by darkness, wicked deeds and undeath, perhaps the battle I have chosen is one that can not be one, yet I relish the challenge, I long for the foe that forces me to delve into my personal abyss and draw upon that dark well that rests in my tainted drow soul. I also owe the dead and a mad men a chance to find some respite and rest in this world. I am a wizard and it is my duty and my job to set right what has been throw askew in the world. Perhaps on some level I seek repentance for the sins of my ancestors that stain me. I am by no means a good person but I am the one willing to walk the dark path so that others will not be forced to.

If I am the anti-hero the antithesis to that shining knight the world so be-loves that is my fate and one I accept. Let them call me mad or what ever insult they fancy. I do not do what I do for their recognition or their love.-Tazlin Kenlyl


It seems I have been spared a nightime jaunt on the isle, a faun overheard me speaking and offered to trade me knowledge for a bottle of wine. I always feel like I'm being blackmailed or used when I deal with fey.

It seems I was correct when I suspected night and day created a terrible duality on the island. Hungry and terrible dead things walk the night there. I should soon see the old seer but I fear I must be extra wary least Wiltun know of my work and stand in my way. I have said it many times I do not trust anyone who is loyal to Wiltun.

The faun also spoke of a undead knight of sorts, I suspect it maybe a death knight maybe even Blackmoor himself, though that would make no sense with his impaled corpse still resting where it lay. Though I am not going to rule out that Blackmoors ghost or spirit yes does languish somewhere on the isle. Come the morrow I must redouble my studies. Perhaps I can bribe this simple minded faun for more knowledge. -Tazlin Kenlyl


 
      
Lutra
 
PostPosted: Sun, Nov 10 2013, 15:24 PM 



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Joined: 12 Feb 2008

A young Tyrran paladin appears in Ceyren's Mill in blue, gold and silver uniform colors. He is frequents the area between Ceyren's Mill and the Asylum, engaging undeads on the lands surrounding the small village, often accompanied by a celestial hound archon. He would also offer cure to those who have become infected by undeads somehow. If anyone would ask his name, he would introduce himself as Hector Sylgerand.

_________________
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Glendil Fettian, the black bard Image


 
      
Ravenovf
 
PostPosted: Sun, Nov 10 2013, 20:55 PM 

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Joined: 17 Dec 2004
Location: Halifax, Nova Scotia (in Canada)

Tazlin's Journal
Damn my curiosity, I went to the Isle after sun had fallen. The night had brought a thick mist up from the sea, or perhaps some less mundane place. It is so thick even my dark-sight has become limited. Strange motes flutter through the Dormen wood, glowing insects or perhaps lost souls fleeing earthy chains?. I can not say I am certain anymore of what is natural and what is not on this isle.

The bones of the long dead men stand armed anew in wood, on road and in the wood. They are armed with blade, bow and little armor remains. In my minds I see them as northmen raiders. I can not say for certain why but my mind reshapes them adds skin and faces to them and when it does I can struck to think they were warriors once, raiders, conquerors come hidden in the mist eager for wet blades, plunder and slave brides. Is it raider kings who sleep in the barrows? Raider kings whose sleepless armies come with the darkness and fog of night? I will have to learn more if I can.

I suppose I should not dwell on this but the distraction of it helps calm my nerves. I need it after what I seen in the mist. I was hidden from mundane sight when I spotted them, the red baleful eyes set in the sockets of a long dead champion. The one I call the Champion of the Grave. In utter silence he made his way through the mist, upon the road. In his hands were an axe and a long blade. My mind once more conjures to me not a knight as some have called it but a raider, an invader. What ever he was his sight chilled my blood to the marrow and even hidden by magic I had no desire to remain near this Champion of the Grave.

As I sit here and write I wonder if our actions did this? When we robbed the lords dark chambers when I took the Blackskull from this place did I unleash such horrors? Did my hand push a new damnation upon this island besieged by horrors?

I must not allow such thoughts to poison my mind, I must remain clear and calm. Be the dead here long forgotten raiders or the waking legions of Thanatos I swore I could close the door blackmoor opened and give some measure of respite to the dead, the mad and crippled. What little softness is in my icy heart is saved for madmen and cripples...

I must soon leave I fear staying still while the fog swallows the isle, I fear my spells waning and the champion of the Grave finding me. Soon perhaps I shall speak to the old seer, I know in my heart I have the keys I simply need to understand how to turn the door shut.


 
      
Burningoutbright
 
PostPosted: Tue, Dec 17 2013, 20:20 PM 

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Joined: 17 Mar 2007
Location: Where the She-Devils roam

The winter months are not kind on Caraigh. Every step in the marshes and grasses is seeded with frost, and the fog is dank and icy, and the ocean unforgiving. As fish move into warmer currents and the frost destroys the last of their harvest, the villagers of Ceyren's Mill rely on their food storage they've prepared and stored in their cellars throughout the year.

Hunting continues in the immediate forests outside the Mill, though more often than not the hunters come back empty handed or with minimal prize: crow, toads, a small boar, two rabbits held up by their haunches or ears; however it is only a supplement to the adequate stores they already have prepared as a community.

But the darker nights are dreadful indeed.

Superstition, paranoia, and anxiety begin to set in as parents, men, women, and children sit around their hearths and listen to the tales of their grandparents and elders. Stories of witches and night hags and ancient wars fought by men who cannot rest, wailing mothers from beyond the grave searching for their lost children and stealing the souls of naughty children out of grief. The crowning stories of every night around the fire are the horrors of Blackmoor and his hounds; stories of the hounds have trickled down from the ranks of the militia men and the Iron Guard of Wiltun about the beasts having escaped the Risen Keep and are now hunting for blood and flesh in the woods right outside their home.

The response over the next few days is animal sacrifice. The most robust of sheep too old to be bred are slaughtered, and their blood painted above door ways and on the bark of trees at the roads into the village. Salt is boiled from the ocean and crosses the threshold of every doorway in the Mill, and baked into flat, yeast-less bread and fed to the ritual animals the day before their slaughter.

The paranoia and superstition culminated recently in the horrific death of a young girl on the cusp of puberty named Rosie, who was burned at the stake on the outskirts of the farmland, facing the ocean. A few kind words are said for her, who cannot be returned to the earth, beyond the sobs of a grieving mother who could not stand to have her daughter cremated after already being burned alive. Members of the town who knew Rosie watch as a Wiltun naval ship takes the charred remains of the girl to be buried in a Wiltunian cemetery, far away from the Taint.

But the rumors persist around the town in low whispers, just hours after the corpse has been sent to the Fortress, of the girl being involved with black magics and a pact with demons for health and quietly growing power that comes with embracing the taint.

"How else could she have survived the plague of disease, when so many others didn't?" croon old women around the hearths to their youngers, who absorb the suspicion and fear, "So boisterous and full of good health and fertility, so early in her years, while others withered like a grape on the vine?"

The howls at night stop the hearts of the villagers absorbed in the tales of what evils have risen beyond the thresholds of their home, deeper into the heart of Caraigh.

Awroooooo....

_________________
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"The world takes and takes, even things that aren't offered. Finally, it gave us something back; I wish he was here to share it with me."


 
      
Nakomis Wolfen
 
PostPosted: Wed, Dec 18 2013, 0:09 AM 

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Joined: 21 Dec 2005

Darby can be seen around the Mill once more. Sometimes speaking quietly with others and leading the occasional foray out into the wilds, sometimes even at night. While in the town though she keeps a sharp eye out for people out after curfew, a slight frown almost always on her lips.

She makes an effort to see to it that any Wardens or visitors keep down the magic usage or keep it out of sight of the villagers or outside of the town. She's still as friendly as ever to both the guards and the townsfolk, especially so to any kids. She usually has some cookies to pass out, and nibble on herself.

Every time she hears the howls, her hands drift towards her swords as she scans the forest, her eyes narrowing slightly. While tense, she seems determined to stand watch come what may.

Between watching the town, she keeps an eye on the forest to the south of the Mill, with a mumbled promise.

"Soon."

_________________
Chiania Windleaf-nervous druid/shifter who's happily in love and married to her Seabird, with three "cubs".
Darby Mirth-troubled half-elf with an interest in the sea.
Kaci- short...moody... faithful of Lord Firemane.


 
      
DolphinRacer
 
PostPosted: Wed, Dec 18 2013, 0:16 AM 

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Joined: 01 May 2009
Location: GMT-8 Bangor, Washington

Taelar can be seen patrolling around the edge of the village and out down the riverside or towards the Asylum most nights.

_________________
Sir Taelar Ardelyn of Wiltun
Winner of the Razor Tongued Award 2015!


Kira "Penny" Sigers
Better than Boulderdash!


 
      
Mobile_Svensk
 
PostPosted: Tue, Jan 07 2014, 5:58 AM 

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Joined: 21 Jul 2005
Location: Awarded most Confused Git of 2014!

Something occurred tonight outside Blackmoor keep...

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Burningoutbright
 
PostPosted: Tue, Jan 07 2014, 18:35 PM 

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Joined: 17 Mar 2007
Location: Where the She-Devils roam

Caraigh continues on as it always had in the chilly cold months. The sea storm that had been looming on the horizon has finally moved inland, and has created its own challenges for the people of Ceyren's Mill. The salt lines placed by the residents at the gates to allegedly prevent undead from crossing are washed away and unable to be replaced, and the watchmen from Wiltun and the local residents put extra hours in keeping the town safe. Illness has swept through the young ones and the elderly of the town, as it does yearly, when the cold front settles in and work throughout the town staggers to a slow halt.

The loss of the professor herbalist to an apparent murder followed by a burning attempt and discarding of the body in the Dormenwood doesn't affect the Mill overly much, as they utilize the Feverfew left over from the previous year to quell the fevers and aches of the infirm. The news of the burning of the herbalist, instead, is the more dire consequence, feeding into the rumors of witches and witches hunts rolling around the island--and now, a plague of drow, an enemy unknown to the beleaguered island until now. The stories patter in about the drow, as dark and unfiltered of skin and soul as the witching hour's night and certain single women's brewed coffee.

The stories of the silver creature that burst forth from the Singing Sun Tavern also filter their way into the story and gossip circuit via two townspeople who witnessed it and promptly ran for their lives. Another modicum of hysteria added into the mix of worry and fear already prominent.

On a brighter note, the weather does not slow down the men and women still at work in the Mill, as Adeline at the Traders slowly but surely receives and distributes well-made leather boots and and warm, durable cloaks free of charge to the people of the Mill, courtesy of a generous House Avadon.

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"The world takes and takes, even things that aren't offered. Finally, it gave us something back; I wish he was here to share it with me."


 
      
DolphinRacer
 
PostPosted: Tue, Jan 07 2014, 20:38 PM 

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Joined: 01 May 2009
Location: GMT-8 Bangor, Washington

Wiltun's Sir Taelar Ardelyn can be seen inspecting the area around the southern and easternmost gates, and using a small table in the shelter of a tree, drawing up rough plans for a simple wooden overhang to pass over the gates and create a sort of tunnel. If any visitors ask what he is about, he tells them it is Wiltun's affair and not their concern. If locals ask, he tells them he is working on a solution to prevent the salt lines from being washed away so easily from the gates.

_________________
Sir Taelar Ardelyn of Wiltun
Winner of the Razor Tongued Award 2015!


Kira "Penny" Sigers
Better than Boulderdash!


 
      
P Three
 
PostPosted: Sun, Jan 12 2014, 21:21 PM 

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Joined: 18 Dec 2008

Ania's in Caraigh, and she seems to be...stirring a pot of herbs over a fire, boiling...something. She occasionally mumbles to herself, and at her feet is a large sack of what looks to be sugar, or perhaps salt.

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Bobo_Underhill wrote:
Ley lines, y'all. Just let me go wrangle up my cowboy boots and lasso us up some magic.

Yee-haw!


Aly'dra Zau'ana: Priestessish Of Eilistraee
Danika Nefzen: Druid of the Earthmother
Delia Am'Anodel: Paladin of Torm


 
      
Ravenovf
 
PostPosted: Sat, Jan 18 2014, 19:57 PM 

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Joined: 17 Dec 2004
Location: Halifax, Nova Scotia (in Canada)

Not long after his return the wizard had inquired into matters on the island from a reliable source. What he been told did not please him. Ignorance, fear of magic, burning innocent people to death under the false assumption of practicing magic. While Wiltun and so called heroes turned a blind eye to such vile deeds. Few things sickened and revolted the mage more then ignorance or the mistreatment of they who practiced his beloved art. In fact one thing alone made Tazlin more irate, bullies. Wiltun was a state of bullies, thugs and remorseless curs in his mind and their willingness to left no hand to stop what occurred at the mill was proof of this.

He had no intention of helping Wiltun even informing them of his work, he hated them, hated their methods, hated their ignorance and especially hated the treatment he had once received at their hands in the name of their so called justice system. His memory was long and his spite was an ever burning venom. They wanted his finds, wanted the black skull and the crystal sword, that he considered his wards and his rewards. No they would get nothing from him and feast upon envy and bile when he sealed the gate and the energy of Thantos leaking into the isle. He would do it to show the world the staggering power of his intellect, for the poor souls at Aigheshed and for the broken survivors at the Asylum. Never for Wiltun or its bully lord, never for a town who hated the magic he loved and murdered childern out of ignorant fear.

"Ive thrown my lot in with the faun and her ilk, let the rest wallow in ignorance and stupidity" he mused to himself.
"I will prove I am the greatest arch-magi this island has ever known by my own hand and mine alone and be damned to the consequences" he added with a dark self sure smile and started to put pen to journal.

I find myself yet again here in the outskirts of Aigheshed hidden from sight by my magics and sheltered in the ruins of an old cottage. the haunting night mist of this island never ceases to intrigue me, each eve it seems to roll in bringing with it undying horrors. Near the township proper demonic things linger, pale fiends entities spawned from the pits of Thantos no doubt. This leads me to suspect as I have all along that the planer leak is strongest here in the town where Blackmoor enacted his foul rite and became the gateway for boundless evil. Or at least I suspect. Soon I plan to speak to the black skull directly and learn what I need to know to finally close the gate and undo what hath been done. The dead and mad will have their respite from this evil. Though in part I suspect that removing one evil will only grant room for another to take its place. I suspect strongly when such happens it will be the doing of the ignorant fools at the mill. They will give rise to revenents and restless ghosts if they continue their injustices.

I do not entirely trust my new allies, even if the Fuan is seelie I have never found fey to be creatures one should give trust to. For now they wish the planer taint removed as much as I and so long as we share a goal I find them less abhorrent than Wiltun. I fear that they long for the skull, sword and my notes in part because Wiltun wants to hide some dark truth, cover up some involvement they have in this islands past. I can not shake that they want to cover Caraigh up and let the world forget about it. The more truths the deeper I go I wonder what dark things I will find. I wonder what sins stain the Mill and their new overlords hands?

Enough of this. I have work to do and preparations to make I will need my mental prowess sharp and mind focused for when I engage the Dark Skull of Blackmoors pit in mental battle. I only pray that I am the victor in our struggle, the alternative does not sit well in my mind...


 
      
DolphinRacer
 
PostPosted: Mon, Jan 20 2014, 6:49 AM 

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Joined: 01 May 2009
Location: GMT-8 Bangor, Washington

Taelar patrols through Ceyren's Mill, both east and west, at night, keeping an eye out both for stray undead or concentrated attacks on the gates, but also for stray livestock, and more importantly stray people. Any children he finds out are promptly escorted home. Any adults found out and about are stopped and questioned. During the day, he goes around and assists with various chores and the like, and helps with cleaning up the undead corpses that were killed during the night.

_________________
Sir Taelar Ardelyn of Wiltun
Winner of the Razor Tongued Award 2015!


Kira "Penny" Sigers
Better than Boulderdash!


 
      
Estara
 
PostPosted: Mon, Jan 20 2014, 21:52 PM 



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Joined: 23 Feb 2007

A blonde-haired warrior woman that has frequented The Mill more often lately shoves something around in her bags and shuffles out of the Singing Sun Tavern. S'more like home than anywhere else has been. Creepy.


 
      
SkyfallingHaven
 
PostPosted: Tue, Jan 21 2014, 6:05 AM 

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Joined: 11 Dec 2012

A panting paladin can be seen walking back into the mill. Part of his armor looks haggard but he seems to have a smile on his face. When spoken to he quietly nods and he seems to remain so more commonly now. He makes sure to destroy the undead knights bones and looks at the essence of a witch he put into a flask. He ponders to himself before taking a bit of both elsewhere though keeping it concealed from the locals.

As he walks past the mill he smiles and quietly takes out a fresh Salmon he had recently caught and passes it to Bugsy the local cat. After all of this he is seen just helping out people that will accept him with there farming and crops and being a really good listener if they are wishing to talk.

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Izariel Skyfall - Paladin of Helm / The White Wolf

Aruilther - The Bard


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VKB
 
PostPosted: Wed, Jan 22 2014, 12:05 PM 

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Joined: 29 Apr 2011
Location: Erewhon

In the aftermath of the daring raid on Blackmoor Keep, Triel'ithra can be seen continuing her patrols on the island of Caraigh. While not always present, she does seem to put in an effort to patrol and report to the guards in Ceyren's Mill on any unusual findings.

Any undead she destroys, she takes the time to burn, casting their ashes to the four winds, with a prayer to Eilistraee for their redemption on her lips, and another to Kelemvor for their eternal rest. And every day, usually at dawn, she delivers two hundred more pounds of spider silk to the Mill.

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Mihaela-Luminița Sămășescu, Paladin of Torm


 
      
Nakomis Wolfen
 
PostPosted: Sun, Jan 26 2014, 9:00 AM 

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Joined: 21 Dec 2005

After another long night of tromping around and fighting in the rain a rather troubled and not so happy looking Darby returns to the Mill with a group of others. Almost as soon as she steps out of the portal she's seen snapping at and prodding a lass with a certain symbol of waves on her. After some more very heated words from the Lady, her Knight convinces the lass to leave peacefully. Darby following her to see her on her way off, clearly not satisfied with the result but calming somewhat after she's gone.

However, once morning comes and with it more bad news she's once more put on edge. After a commotion from the direction of Blackmoor's Keep and Darby's finding out what caused it she's once more one very pissed off looking half elf.

After a mostly quiet conversation with a wingless kobold and a man in a red hood and scarf, during which she tried to punch said man in the face, Thane Cory stepped over. Shortly after this he declared the man exiled from the island and Darby and Cory followed them to the departing ship.

Not long after she made for Wiltun herself, clearly it had been a long and troubling night for the Lady. However, she didn't look like she intended to sleep anytime soon.

_________________
Chiania Windleaf-nervous druid/shifter who's happily in love and married to her Seabird, with three "cubs".
Darby Mirth-troubled half-elf with an interest in the sea.
Kaci- short...moody... faithful of Lord Firemane.


 
      
Kudark
 
PostPosted: Sun, Jan 26 2014, 18:47 PM 

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Joined: 14 Dec 2009
Location: The Dark Side of the Moon

Crow heads to the Mill for added defense, if needed, and is soon recruited for a trip to the Aighshead Well. It is a trip he will come to regret, as he has to explain to Noelle on their walk home to Scath Crann, about what it means to be 'marked'.

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Estara
 
PostPosted: Mon, Jan 27 2014, 6:58 AM 



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Joined: 23 Feb 2007

Samantha can be seen spending some time around Caraigh, traveling with Darby and going into the Singing Sun Tavern with her... however, once she comes out of the tavern she seems intent on leaving and only visits back to help with the rebuilding of the wall as she was doing before.


 
      
SkyfallingHaven
 
PostPosted: Tue, Jan 28 2014, 5:08 AM 

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Joined: 11 Dec 2012

For several days now there has not been any sign of Izariel. When asked where he may be no one seems to have a answer. The quiet paladin has seemed to have vanished all together with no hint as to where he has gone.

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Izariel Skyfall - Paladin of Helm / The White Wolf

Aruilther - The Bard


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Aiseth
 
PostPosted: Tue, Jan 28 2014, 5:45 AM 

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Joined: 21 Dec 2011

The tower that belongs to Aiden the Blue which had seemingly been absent for some time has taken on a new steward. A dark robed individual who spends her time organizing notes and materials in Aiden's lab, seeming to work out of there and rest during nightfall, when not in the tower, she appears to travel through the dark land actively searching for someone or something. However, she does not go near Ceyren's Mill for whatever the reason may be. On occasion, she may be seen leaving the island to perhaps use the markets in Fort Wiltun.

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MuseReader: Aiseth Nosdivan- Master EnchantressImage


 
      
Estara
 
PostPosted: Thu, Feb 06 2014, 8:07 AM 



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Joined: 23 Feb 2007

The blonde woman did indeed return aside from rebuilding the wall, accompanied by the Sunbard and a faint scent of lilac! However, it seems she may have made some enemies among the Wiltun guards around the coastal road of Caraigh and not enjoyed much of her time there..... again.

My tits are just fine!

Some may also hear the Lady Darby complaining about dropping people on dead people.


 
      
Burningoutbright
 
PostPosted: Fri, Feb 07 2014, 10:15 AM 

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Joined: 17 Mar 2007
Location: Where the She-Devils roam

"Sometimes great-grandmother's stories turned a different shade of dark. She used to say that on stormy nights myths come alive and in the dark, wild imaginations are closer to truth than we would like to think. As children, it frightened us that our worst fears were real--it made us behave when she settled us around the hearth to remind us that what lurks in our minds also lurks outside the walls of the Mill and off the roads. When we got older, we thought she may have meant the Bugh; all the boys waited for their turn to lay the monster low and make daggers from the ivory of the tusk and tooth. I remember laughing in the daytime about how gullible we were as children, but after the sun sets the old fears she instilled in me around her hearth creep back in and I realize the joke has been on me all along. Every time I laugh and pretend I'm not afraid, the darkness laughs back at me and reminds me of the child that is still afraid, and always will be.

"For a long time I was afraid to have children, that they would end up stillborn after a fey stole them from me in my womb, or a hag would trade her child for mine and I would be devoured upon the unnatural birth. It made me celibate for years beyond my blossoming, until great-grandmother passed away and I could put those horror stories to rest for a while, and pretend that was all they were. I have a child now of my own, and a husband, and have come a long way since then, but on stormy nights like this, I remember the nights huddled around the hearth with the other children, when myths came alive and I recalled one of the most haunting stories she ever told me.

"It was the story of Centennial the Serpent, the Champion of Blackmoor, the forger of the Arms of Black and the Bloodfire, the executioner, and the keeper of the Mares. I don't know why it occurs to me now, after so many years of being absent from me, after so long that Nana I had made the decision to cremate her instead of burying her beside her husband like she wanted, after I thought the story might have started to unravel from it being seldom spoken of.

"I shudder to think it, but I am confident...

"Tonight the myth has come alive."

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"The world takes and takes, even things that aren't offered. Finally, it gave us something back; I wish he was here to share it with me."


 
      
Nakomis Wolfen
 
PostPosted: Fri, Feb 07 2014, 20:09 PM 

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Joined: 21 Dec 2005

The half elven Lady continues her vigils at the Mill and Caraigh, rarely leaving now except for trips back to the Fortress or sometimes to Amia, usually towards the late morning/early afternoon. However, she always returns well before night. Instead of staying in the Mill though she often ventures beyond, patrolling the island and checking on the South Dock, Asylum and any place in between where she knows there's people.

Often she goes out with others, but sometimes she sneaks out on her own sticking to the shadows as she searches for.... something. Either way, wherever she is she's not without her bow in her hand or her hands on her swords, clearly she's a bit edgy though she does her best to not show it so much around the people of the Mill, not wanting to worry them more.

Sometimes she even turns her watchful gaze to the waters, even at night it seems she has little to no trouble seeing and is determined to do whatever she can to keep the people of Caraigh safe. She also seems to be convinced it's only a matter of time, before it's put to the test.

_________________
Chiania Windleaf-nervous druid/shifter who's happily in love and married to her Seabird, with three "cubs".
Darby Mirth-troubled half-elf with an interest in the sea.
Kaci- short...moody... faithful of Lord Firemane.


 
      
Kudark
 
PostPosted: Sat, Feb 08 2014, 18:34 PM 

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Joined: 14 Dec 2009
Location: The Dark Side of the Moon

After another eventful patrol with Darby, Crow and Noelle sit and recoup, near the large tree in Ceyren's Mill. He tries to comfort the druidess, in the wake of a nightmare that seems endless, and their walk home is quiet. The ranger rubs the ring finger on his left hand, as it seems to itch, and speaks a bit quieter for a day or two, nursing a sore throat.

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SkyfallingHaven
 
PostPosted: Sun, Feb 09 2014, 9:42 AM 

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Joined: 11 Dec 2012

Izariel can be seen around Caraigh a bit more lately once more. It is clear though that the young man is still ever quiet. When he shows up quietly he seems to have a normal routine. He drops a rather large fish freshly caught for Bugsy beside the crazy can then he continues to check the walls and the defenses of the town. He takes samples of water and soil as he goes and eyes the toads strangely for some reason.

From time to time he is seen holding a large cloth blanket over his shoulder that bares many weapons within it. It seems he is delivering these weapons in bulk. They rest easily upon his shoulder as he brings them by the load. It is no surprise how much he carries given his sheer size. Though he still remains ever politely to people and bows respectfully and helps them where he can.

During parts of the day he can be seen helping out the farmers and working the fields doing small things to help around. One may wonder if he does this just because he can or if there is some gain to it. But he never seems to stop. If one was to follow him and his movements they would notice a pattern though of him coming and going from Endir's Point.

At Endir's the forge can be seen being lit as he worked the metal constantly. It seems the young man is always making something with his hands. Quietly he works away doing this and other things without much notice from others. Clearly he seems in his element and determined to help regardless of anything else.

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Izariel Skyfall - Paladin of Helm / The White Wolf

Aruilther - The Bard


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Nakomis Wolfen
 
PostPosted: Sun, Feb 09 2014, 10:10 AM 

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Joined: 21 Dec 2005

A cold fear in the pit of her stomach as she heard the news....

The half elven Lady made her way towards a house on the east side of the Mill, along with some others. Not too long after they burst out in a mad dash out of town, lead by Sam of the Mill and shortly after a Darby who was still shuffling around rings and cloaks and hoods, trying to change them while running.

Then not too long after that they returned to the same house, Darby looked rather tired and also upset, though that was nothing new these days it seemed. Spending the night there with the father and his boy, most of it spent with Darby trying to untangle the sleeping child's hair gently but persistently and carefully watching the darkness outside and the boy himself.

With the dawning of a new day the tired half elven Lady would make for the Fort a rather grim and determined look on her face.

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Chiania Windleaf-nervous druid/shifter who's happily in love and married to her Seabird, with three "cubs".
Darby Mirth-troubled half-elf with an interest in the sea.
Kaci- short...moody... faithful of Lord Firemane.


 
      
Burningoutbright
 
PostPosted: Sun, Feb 09 2014, 19:49 PM 

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Joined: 17 Mar 2007
Location: Where the She-Devils roam

Image John Henry Fuseli - The Nightmare

"I was asked to tell you more about what I know about the mares. They have not been a struggle for our generation--it's been decades since the last encounter. The creature itself is not a demon, but is irrevocably evil and malign. We do not believe them to be demon or undead, but to be simply an unclean spirit utilized by the demons, hags or witches to torment and harass the sleeping. They're inactive during the day, and hide near or under the bed-site of the victim until they return to sleep the next night, then the 'ride' begins again.

"The mares are small, and invisible to the unaltered eye. The mares are always female, and some scholars suggest they are created by coveys of hags or covens of witches out of the spirits of small animals and beasts of burden. The dens of mares can often be discovered by looking to the trees--gnarled and twisted branches are examples of the midnight mare-ride, when no sleeping victims can be found for them to plague. The term for it when applied to a human victim is 'marelocks,' which are the knots resulting from the mare using their hair as reigns during its ride upon their chest, to cause ill dreams and nightmares.

"Other symptoms are an intense fever, and jaundice, and eventually not waking up at all. Some scholars compare their nocturnal tamperings as being similar to the succubus and incubus, though there is no evidence of sexual motivations.

"My personal belief is that the mares are evil spirits in the employ of night hags, given the unifying belief that the victim is 'ridden' by the assailant until dawn and suffer horrid nightmares as a result."


~So sayeth, the exorcist on Coast Road.

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"The world takes and takes, even things that aren't offered. Finally, it gave us something back; I wish he was here to share it with me."


 
      
Nakomis Wolfen
 
PostPosted: Mon, Feb 10 2014, 8:47 AM 

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Joined: 21 Dec 2005

After visiting a house with Thane Cory and a lass with a shepherd's crock, Darby can be seen leaving with her hand dripping a bit of blood and looking annoyed. She soon ports away along with the other two only to return a short time later. A patrol into the wilds is made with some others and she returns looking like something chewed her up fairly good. However, she doesn't rest long and is soon moving around again.

This time the Lady Darby and some others, notably her husband and the Thane, can be seen going door to door from early afternoon until into the evening after the sun has set. She seems to know exactly where she's going and whatever mission they're on she seems determined. Often once they're in the house some amount of ruckus is heard, but nothing seems too out of place when they leave.

Over the course of the day a few houses are visited and perhaps a few more children sleep more peacefully. By the end of the day the Lady doesn't seem satisfied and sets off to patrol the darkness surrounding the town with the others.

Whatever she's up to, the half elf seems to be searching for something her hands never far from her blades or bow.

_________________
Chiania Windleaf-nervous druid/shifter who's happily in love and married to her Seabird, with three "cubs".
Darby Mirth-troubled half-elf with an interest in the sea.
Kaci- short...moody... faithful of Lord Firemane.


 
      
Kudark
 
PostPosted: Mon, Feb 10 2014, 16:09 PM 

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Joined: 14 Dec 2009
Location: The Dark Side of the Moon

Starting inside the walls of Ceyren's Mill, a ranger of Oakmist Vale searches the trees, and can be seen whispering to them (PnP 2nd lvl Ranger spell, Speak with Plants). He looks for the unusual twisted and gnarled branches, that the Exorcist spoke of, and tries to find out from the trees where these are. Crow would have the spell True Seeing activated from his bracers, or a small opal on a fine silver chain.

Once his circuit inside the Mill walls was completed, Crow begins to search the woods surrounding the Mill, slowly and carefully, working outward from the walls. He continues to use the True Seeing, and speaks with the trees, to learn as much as he can from them, to locate the mare dens.

If, by these methods, he finds any dens, he mercilessly destroys the dens and creatures he locates. He carries a good stock of Holy Water to douse them with, as well. Crow also does his best to repair any damage he does to the trees, while trying to eliminate the mares and their dens.

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Kudark
 
PostPosted: Sat, Feb 15 2014, 9:11 AM 

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Joined: 14 Dec 2009
Location: The Dark Side of the Moon

Thane of Caraigh, Lord Cory Shadowflame, wishes his men to learn techniques in archery, and some select men, the handling of hounds, and hawks. In his wisdom, he goes to his local druid's grove, Scath Crann, and recruits the help of the ranger captain, who agrees to the task. The first thing Crow does, is go to Uralia's shop, at the Singing Sun Tavern, and order three archery targets. One of them, he takes home, to Scath Crann, for Noelle, and himself, to practice with.

Lord Cory discusses with Crow, some of the details, at Ceyren's Mill, and Crow has the idea to upgrade from hounds, to dire wolves, something he is well familiar with, as one of the formidable creatures had chosen him to be his companion. Lord Cory was rightfully concerned, that the villagers of the Mill, would be fearful of such a fearsome beast, in the midst of their peaceful town. Crow, knowing well what a dire wolf is capable of, understands the concerns and fears, of both Lord Cory, and the villagers.

So Crow has the idea to slowly introduce his companion, Trinaur, to the villagers. He begins by bringing up the wolf in idle chat, with villagers, getting a feel for how they think. He subtly throws in, that the hins of Bendir Dale, on Amia Island, have grown to accept the dire wolf. After a few days of talking to people, Crow decides to set up, with permission from Lord Cory, a day when he can introduce Trinaur, to the villagers of Ceyren's Mill. They can come outside the gates, during the daytime of course, and see in real life, the wondrous, and loyal, dire wolf.

Speaking with Lord Cory
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Ordering archery targets
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DolphinRacer
 
PostPosted: Sat, Aug 23 2014, 0:22 AM 

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Joined: 01 May 2009
Location: GMT-8 Bangor, Washington

Wiltun's blue-haired knight can be seen hard at work during the day clearing land in the western portion of Ceyren's Mill, cutting down trees, pruning the trunks of branches, then dragging the trunks into a neat pile. He works hard, but is always approachable by the local folk and will stop to chat with them should they choose. During the night, he patrols along the edge of the treeline in the west, keeping an eye out.

_________________
Sir Taelar Ardelyn of Wiltun
Winner of the Razor Tongued Award 2015!


Kira "Penny" Sigers
Better than Boulderdash!


 
      
RaveN
 
PostPosted: Wed, Oct 22 2014, 17:05 PM 

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Joined: 08 Jun 2010

Written inside Audrey Zinata's own journal, a mixture of tales and findings adorn the pages in the same violet ink script. This information would otherwise be unavailable, unless someone was in possession of it. To everyone not so fortunate, the only thing they could ascertain is that Audrey spent an enormous amount of time doing research in places most wouldn't dare.

"Darkness. Despair. Unease. Looming doom and uncertainty; the cause of madness that brought about the curse. Is it enough to seek answers? What makes me so certain I will have a break through, where others before me have come up short? The feeling that all the answers I seek are so close within my grasp gives a satisfactory, yet, chilling grip. The journey into the mind of madness is a road better traveled with patience and an understanding for the path carved by the subject. As addicting as information is, as negative energy is to the undead, I must offer restraint, and time to think critically about this; not any one piece.. but all of the pieces. And all of the pieces together.

Starting where it began, the puzzle pieces appear to me scrambled, but to the minds eye of the wicked, and the cruel being, it all fits together without any gaps. The hunting lodge of the late Blackmoor. What is it's significance, I wonder? The inside is otherwise mundane, but something weird has caught my attention. The candles in there seem to dictate my ability to see the unseen passageway, no matter how good my vision is. The wraiths.. they are not numbered. They are simply a part of eternity. A curse to appear whenever they are damned to haunt the living with seemingly no rest even when warded off. At the end of the dark road, a a strange dungeon lingers. Many books, that seem to be written by one author, with the same style.

One book inside speaks of a bloodbath in the very forest containing the restless souls. The trees are in fact cursed to undeath themselves. Victims of the bloodbath, their souls tethered to very nature surrounding the battlefield. Perhaps it would explain why killing the wandering apparitions has next to no effect. Does that mean a knife to a tree draws blood? Or perhaps it means it is hollow all the way through. A resting place for the damned, drawn to serve as sanctuary for eternity. The population seem none the wiser; their ideas of patrolling the area to cleanse the evil only gives the damned another death to endure in their afterlife. There appears to be many ways to let the souls finally rest, but to their own continued misfortune, ironically the greed of the living, traps them eternally into torture. I could free them, and give them eternal peace, but it almost makes my work easier when the noble people of the land are inadvertently acting in a way to further my own research by enduring the hardship of condemning the innocent for me.

The book of hatred, it's called; The flying book in a cage. Those who I asked say they hadn't been able to read it. The magic of such a disingenuous concept is twofold; Either a spirit is controlling it, and it's trapped as a book, or the book itself is animated. Given the nature of the condition of it's location, I'd lean my guess more towards necromantic origins, and trapped souls. Why would someone trap someone in a book, I wonder? What if the cursegiver himself needed a librarian to write the annals of his deeds? Perhaps it isn't that complicated. A simple control undead spell should give me more answers, and if I wasn't summarily haunted by countless phantoms, I wouldn't need to go back; I'd have the answer. But I do need to go back. And I need more answers, because the people of Caraigh don't trust me. They want me to stay apart from their land. I can only presume that they have furlowed their obligation and interest in determining the curse.

If it follows the path of madness, the third book has several interpretations, all of which have dark passages with a scary undertone. The city of the inevitable. The author writes of approaching a city that he could see beyond the horizon. A figure, which can only be assumed to be the same as in the other literature, described as similar to a servant of the Demon Prince, in some shrouded capacity of one who tickles curiosity and leads others to peril.. something strange has me questioning if the author actually ever experienced the phenomenon at all. The Blackmoor Keep supposedly disappeared, and reappeared, leaving two conclusions to consider. The inevitable city might actually be Cereyn Mill, meaning the population is already dead, but how much time is the only question they have not asked. Alternatively, there is another true city, perhaps filled with the Demon Prince's finer minions. Another curse that bleeds through the material plane when evil is angry enough. This certainly is based off the adjacent book, describing the Blackmoor Keep in similar hyperbole's and unclear haunting inclinations of grandeur.

The land bleeds with the curse, or so I'm told. Bodies piled in a mill and massacred to form walls of death. Torture, murder, prisoners, a pillage on the living, to sate seemingly what I'd presume to be the Demon Prince. For centuries, there has been a artifact in a crypt. A purple sword with the preserved corpse of a noble native impaling it. Is it a symbol of power, or merely a projection? The obvious question to ask is, is this the cursed Blackmoor himself? The ritual he performed with the sword of a demon to sacrifice himself and gain ascendancy? Wouldn't that be too explainable? Something tells me it is important, and I will continue to study it. The ideas of its implications continue to flood my head with ideas of what it could or could not be. Even now I circle the corpse and write with not many more answers than I had before beginning this passage. I will now attempt something others surely have not.."

_________________
a.k.a. Audrey Zinata


 
      
Kudark
 
PostPosted: Mon, Feb 16 2015, 18:07 PM 

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Joined: 14 Dec 2009
Location: The Dark Side of the Moon

Following a rather interesting meeting at the Old Shrine, Crow finds the opportunity to spend some cherished moments alone, with an old friend. The man, already in a state of mental disrepair, becomes quickly emotional, as he hugs tightly and whispers reassurances. After a time, the man steps back and wipes his eyes, stroking the the magnificent creature's neck feathers, and finally leaving it be. He slips into the Glade to check on the wolf pups, as the snow storm intensifies, and turns as a figure appears in the falling snow. After that all too short (again) conversation, the ranger prepares himself for another night patrol, and travels the winding cliff path to the Dormenwood.

With a swirling mixture of emotions raging inside of him, this simple man takes out some frustrations on the wandering undead of Caraigh. One unfortunate Skeletal Knight found itself bashed to bits, as Crow shoves the abomination's own sword into the pile of rubble. Another Witch hanging around Blackmoor Keep, thinks her piercing Wail will stop the man, but she finds out the hard way, what this ranger is about. A trail of bone piles and hacked up zombies, follows the man to Ceyren's Mill, as he trudges his way through the storm.

In the Mill, something is going on, but no one is talking, so Crow sits under the big tree and waits, only knowing that Darby will need him come sunup. The witching hour strikes, and the trees rustle. The snow makes it hard to see, but there is movement, and those out and about find out why. A force of mares descends upon the village again, to wreak their havoc. Waves of them scurry about underfoot, and many arrows hold their lifeless bodies to the ground, come the light of day.

Daylight comes back around on the tainted little island, and Crow finds himself in the warmth of the tavern, waiting around for bad dreams to subside. The nightmares finally pass, inside, and out, and as the thirty or so villagers are gathered, Crow puts himself in duty mode, watching the Cordorian guard for any sign of trouble, as instructed. Without incident, the infected villagers fall under Father Darian's care, and the late morning finds Crow alone, as the rest depart in pairs. Through the snow, the ranger heads back to the Mill's tavern for a hot meal, before going back outside, to start cleaning the sickening bloody mess. Sleep will come later.

_________________
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