He is a bouncing furrikin demigod and resembles an obscenely overstuffed otter, whatever sleek musculature once shared with his mustelid kin long engulfed by the formless rotundity of his prodigious girth. A thick fur the colour of roast kafe clothes him tautly, blending to a creamy vanilla fluff atop his blubberous bosom and around a snaggly-toothed muzzle ensconced in a veritable forest of greying whiskers. Perched beneath bushy eyebrows of equal whiskeriness, eyes of amber colour and almond shape regard his surroundings with unblinking attention, their sharpness a contrast their surrounding wobbling softnesses.
He is an ordinary human changeling and glances about with implacable curiosity and mirth - standing near seven feet in height, he sports a broad build as well-toned as it is well-nourished. Patches of bright emerald scale freckle his dark olive skin, tiny arboreal trails accentuating musculature and blubber alike. Thick salt-and-pepper hair tangles down to his shoulders, framing a pair of amber eyes perched atop a face more bulbous muzzle than snout and cheek, the unkempt beginnings of a beard bordering a truly mischievous grin overfilled with pointy fangs.
Your descriptions are some of my favourite ones ever, as it happens
A soothing chill permeates the area, bringing with it a rime of sparkling frost cast by a healing shrine of Jadice nearby.
A conical ice crystal erupts from the ground, shimmering with inner light. Butts of frost billow off of the surface, leaving a glittering rime of sparkling ice that settles on the surrounds.
Perfectly conical and smooth, this ice crystal erupts from the ground amidst a butt of off-thrown, icy fog. Frost settles across the surface like minute diamonds, glimmering in the light of a soft, cobalt light that burns with a steady radiance from the heart of the shrine. Smaller satellite crystals ring the base of the central spire, their surfaces reflecting back the illumination at the heart of the formation.
Jadice, the Frost Queen says to you, "Constant vigilance."
A soothing chill permeates the area, bringing with it a rime of sparkling frost cast by a healing shrine of Jadice nearby.
A conical ice crystal erupts from the ground, shimmering with inner light. Butts of frost billow off of the surface, leaving a glittering rime of sparkling ice that settles on the surrounds.
Perfectly conical and smooth, this ice crystal erupts from the ground amidst a butt of off-thrown, icy fog. Frost settles across the surface like minute diamonds, glimmering in the light of a soft, cobalt light that burns with a steady radiance from the heart of the shrine. Smaller satellite crystals ring the base of the central spire, their surfaces reflecting back the illumination at the heart of the formation.
Everiine said: The reason population is low isn't because there are too many orgs. It's because so many facets of the game are outright broken and protected by those who benefit from it being that way. An overabundance of gimmicks (including game-breaking ones), artifacts that destroy any concept of balance, blatant pay-to-win features, and an obsession with convenience that makes few things actually worthwhile all contribute to the game's sad decline.
Shikari's new cloak, the beastskin cloak of the Primari.
Its ragged hem falling to the knees, this flowing cloak boasts plush black fur rippling with Void dust - a testament to the nature of the beast from whence it came. It falls across the body at an angle, covering the shoulders and right arm to the elbow, but leaving the left arm exposed entirely. Strips of black leather, their ends adorned with curiously shaped fangs unlike any possessed by mortal animals, secure the pelt at the left shoulder. The cloak's underside is simple cured hide dyed black, though the leather's surface is pockmarked and reptilian.
The divine voice
of Avechna, the Avenger reverberates powerfully, "Congratulations,
Morkarion, you are the Bringer of Death indeed."
You see Estarra the Eternal shout, "Morkarion is no more! Mourn the mortal! But welcome True Ascendant Karlach, of the Realm of Death!
He is a fiendish undead master viscanti and stands at just under 6 feet tall. His form is thin, but not to the point of malnourishment like some, and he has a bit of muscle tone. His visible viscanti traits include fingers that end in sharp claws and a small pair of horns that juts out from his forehead. His hair is straight and neck-length, and colored a deep black just like his horns and claws. No detail can be distinguished of his face, as it is presently completely covered by the crimson mask he wears, save his horns. His skin is a pale, mottled grey, with a slightly darker tinge where his veins come near the surface. Unlike some viscanti, who possess wings and tail naturally, his are a gift from the dark lords he serves. The wings are notably more demonic and less bat-like in form, with each bone of the wing ending in a sharp, pointed horn-like structure, and the wings themselves being large and strong, unlike the weak, useless wings of some lesser viscanti. His tail also is of markedly different appearance than those grown naturally by his kin; it is lined along the entire length with small spiny scales and ends in a sharp, serrated spike with channels that slowly ooze a likely toxic secretion.
Well, the best description of me that most people will get. I look a lot different without my robes and mask on.
The drone, the whistle, the thundrous sound; It seared their eyes, it shook the ground. One hundred thousand voices lift, While ashes like dirty snowfall drift.
The clouds of purple glowing gas, The tiny sun is rising fast. Your star... Is on the rise.
Ooh, as long as we're posting designs we're proud of, here's two of my best:
Appearance: a regal suit of Luciphagean garb Dropped: Noble even when discarded, an august suit of clothes lies in a pile of white, black and gold. Examined: The finest silk available has been formed lovingly into this ensemble. A doublet of midnight ebony covers the torso, with gold-rimmed onyx buttons accenting the gold line that travels down the wearer's chest just to the left of their centre. A cord of silk, dyed to match the auric accent of the buttons, wraps about the waist, its tasselled ends dangling to the wearer's knee, also not quite centred upon the body. Beneath the belt, and also of silk, a luxurious and wide pair of pants billow outward, their ebon colour a match for the rest of the outfit. They are tied tight about the ankle, their bottoms taut about the ankle and secured with gold buttons. All of these are beneath a grand and thick mantle, formed of heavy leather and worn like a heavy, august coat over the entire ensemble. An impressive white mane of some baleful creature's fur warms the neck and accents the cuffs, providing the eyes a bit of a break from the black-and-gold motif of the rest of the piece. The mantle is obviously meant to be worn open; no securing mechanisms of any kind are visible. It, too, is midnight black in colour, and its inside is lined with gold silk.
Appearance: horrifying robes of the Devourer Dropped: Resembling nothing so much as a pile of random flesh, a set of robes lies festering here. Examined: Mottled green and sickly yellow scraps of cloth have been sewn together in haphazard and unpredictable ways, appearing almost as if dregs of diseased flesh simply decided to congregate of their own accord. The robes are baggy, draping off the wearer's flesh in uneven tatters. Some are short and supple, whipping about persistently with each movement of their owner, and others are long and ragged, dragging on the ground and accumulating all manner of fluids to display quite clearly where the wearer has been, and what offal they may have trudged through. While the outward appearance is one of ragged refuse, beneath the many layers of cloth, silk and worse is a complete silk robe, ensuring no draught or untoward glance deters or distracts the wearer from the pursuit of their ambitions. Perhaps the most impressive thing about this robe is the silhouette it gives to its wearer: that of a misshapen, obscene mass of tentacles and fleshy protrusions, ever shifting and writhing horribly.
The Necromentate's mind opens to you, and a grotesque, demonic figure appears in your mind's eye, screaming in torment: "THE DEMON LORDS CAN NEVER TRULY BE KILLED - GREAT IS THEIR POWER."
You shock a platinum-coloured geomycus with tales of terror bestowed on villages who don't follow Magnagora. A platinum-coloured geomycus slaps her knee and declares that, by the gods, Ptoma Hive should follow the Grand Empire of Magnagora after all! Shouts rise up from Ptoma Hive, as its denizens loudly pledge themselves to the Grand Empire of Magnagora.
I liked this bracelet which Ayisdra and I worked on:
Appearance:
a preserved spider bracelet
Dropped:
Eight glassy eyes glare from a spider bracelet that lies forgotten, looking too alive to be dead.
Examined:
Crafted from a dead spider, this bracelet is a trophy as much as it is a
piece of jewellery. The spider itself has been preserved in a round
shape and fashioned so the underside is flat, perched upon a lustrous
gold base. Eight leering eyes gaze outward into different directions,
indifferent to the arachnid's repose. Attention to detail is evident in
this jewelry's inception as its scythe-like chelicerae, multitudinous
setae, glossy exoskeleton, and distended thorax alike betray no hint of
its unlife. Despite being preserved, its segmented legs are quite
limber, fitting perfectly around and against the wrist, no matter the
girth.
Viravain, Lady of the Thorns shouts, "And You would seize Me? Fool! I am the Glomdoring! I am the Wyrd, and beneath the cloak of Night, the shadows of the Silent stir!"
Comments
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NARF!
Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."
has enough frosty booty to spare
The divine voice of Avechna, the Avenger reverberates powerfully, "Congratulations, Morkarion, you are the Bringer of Death indeed."
You see Estarra the Eternal shout, "Morkarion is no more! Mourn the mortal! But welcome True Ascendant Karlach, of the Realm of Death!
He is a fiendish undead master viscanti and stands at just under 6 feet tall. His form is thin, but not to the point of malnourishment like some, and he has a bit of muscle tone. His visible viscanti traits include fingers that end in sharp claws and a small pair of horns that juts out from his forehead. His hair is straight and neck-length, and colored a deep black just like his horns and claws. No detail can be distinguished of his face, as it is presently completely covered by the crimson mask he wears, save his horns. His skin is a pale, mottled grey, with a slightly darker tinge where his veins come near the surface. Unlike some viscanti, who possess wings and tail naturally, his are a gift from the dark lords he serves. The wings are notably more demonic and less bat-like in form, with each bone of the wing ending in a sharp, pointed horn-like structure, and the wings themselves being large and strong, unlike the weak, useless wings of some lesser viscanti. His tail also is of markedly different appearance than those grown naturally by his kin; it is lined along the entire length with small spiny scales and ends in a sharp, serrated spike with channels that slowly ooze a likely toxic secretion.
Well, the best description of me that most people will get. I look a lot different without my robes and mask on.
It seared their eyes, it shook the ground.
One hundred thousand voices lift,
While ashes like dirty snowfall drift.
The clouds of purple glowing gas,
The tiny sun is rising fast.
Your star...
Is on the rise.
Appearance:
a regal suit of Luciphagean garb
Dropped:
Noble even when discarded, an august suit of clothes lies in a pile of white, black and gold.
Examined:
The finest silk available has been formed lovingly into this ensemble. A
doublet of midnight ebony covers the torso, with gold-rimmed onyx
buttons accenting the gold line that travels down the wearer's chest
just to the left of their centre. A cord of silk, dyed to match the
auric accent of the buttons, wraps about the waist, its tasselled ends
dangling to the wearer's knee, also not quite centred upon the body.
Beneath the belt, and also of silk, a luxurious and wide pair of pants
billow outward, their ebon colour a match for the rest of the outfit.
They are tied tight about the ankle, their bottoms taut about the ankle
and secured with gold buttons. All of these are beneath a grand and
thick mantle, formed of heavy leather and worn like a heavy, august coat
over the entire ensemble. An impressive white mane of some baleful
creature's fur warms the neck and accents the cuffs, providing the eyes
a bit of a break from the black-and-gold motif of the rest of the piece.
The mantle is obviously meant to be worn open; no securing mechanisms of
any kind are visible. It, too, is midnight black in colour, and its
inside is lined with gold silk.
Appearance:
horrifying robes of the Devourer
Dropped:
Resembling nothing so much as a pile of random flesh, a set of robes lies festering here.
Examined:
Mottled green and sickly yellow scraps of cloth have been sewn together
in haphazard and unpredictable ways, appearing almost as if dregs of
diseased flesh simply decided to congregate of their own accord. The
robes are baggy, draping off the wearer's flesh in uneven tatters. Some
are short and supple, whipping about persistently with each movement of
their owner, and others are long and ragged, dragging on the ground and
accumulating all manner of fluids to display quite clearly where the
wearer has been, and what offal they may have trudged through. While the
outward appearance is one of ragged refuse, beneath the many layers of
cloth, silk and worse is a complete silk robe, ensuring no draught or
untoward glance deters or distracts the wearer from the pursuit of their
ambitions. Perhaps the most impressive thing about this robe is the
silhouette it gives to its wearer: that of a misshapen, obscene mass of
tentacles and fleshy protrusions, ever shifting and writhing horribly.
"THE DEMON LORDS CAN NEVER TRULY BE KILLED - GREAT IS THEIR POWER."
You shock a platinum-coloured geomycus with tales of terror bestowed on villages who don't follow Magnagora.
A platinum-coloured geomycus slaps her knee and declares that, by the gods, Ptoma Hive should follow the Grand Empire of Magnagora after all!
Shouts rise up from Ptoma Hive, as its denizens loudly pledge themselves to the Grand Empire of Magnagora.
Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."
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Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."