Descriptions: From Divines to Mortals, and Beasts, and Items, and Mobs, and Places!

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  • Nonono, that was the butt shrine. This is the math shrine. Two great tastes that taste great together.
    Jadice, the Frost Queen says to you, "Constant vigilance."
  • XenthosXenthos Shadow Lord
    Ileein said:
    Nonono, that was the butt shrine. This is the math shrine. Two great tastes that taste great together.
    For whatever reason, "butt" and "great taste" are not words that go together for me.
    image
  • TarkentonTarkenton Traitor Bear
    Obviously, you don't barbecue enough
    image
  • ShaddusShaddus , the Leper Messiah Outside your window.
    There's nothing better than a nice butt rub.
    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.
  • DaraiusDaraius Shevat The juror's taco spot
    Does anyone have descriptions of what it looks like when a beast plays with one of the dingbat toys?
    I used to make cakes.

    Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."
  • Siam said:
    Descriptions of the new Divine:

    Crumkane, Lord of Epicurean Delights

    He is a radiant immortal and is surrounded by a constantly shifting aroma, each saccharine scent 
    blending perfectly into the next. Amongst the fragranced air, the Lord Epicurean stands proudly, His 
    portly form poised with an unexpected elegance for His size. Atop His thick neck, His rotund face 
    displays a jovial expression, a beaming smile prominent upon His glowing visage. Behind His plump 
    cheeks, sparkling eyes of a golden honey colour gaze outward, while perfectly manicured eyebrows 
    rest upon His forehead. Short caramel coloured hair sits atop His round head, not a strand out of 
    place, slicked down by a sweetly scented gel that covers it. Taut skin covers His burly figure, 
    tanned the hue of freshly baked bread, a large portion of the sizeable canvas covered in vividly 
    inked tattoos that depict many of Crumkane's creations. Amongst the bright confections, images of 
    sugar sprites and spice pixies flit about, animated as they travel across HIs body between the 
    stationary pieces, inspecting the various culinary delights. He is wearing a regal suit of carmine-
    hued velvet, glossy black dress shoes of cobbled candy, a licorice-scented black velvet top hat, a 
    pouch of tufted ebon fondant, a glittering rock candy pocket watch and a pair of marshmallow-framed 
    spectacles.

    Jadice, the Ice Queen

    She is a radiant immortal and stark white, with a faint rime of frost covering Her hardened skin. 
    Gem-carved orbs the hue of a frozen sky spin within Her otherwise empty eye sockets; energy flickers 
    within the faceted stone, shifting rapidly through spiralling waveforms and equations. A stern 
    vigour infuses Her graceful movements and, though Her features are lovely, Her expression is cold, 
    and Her lips are a harsh indigo compressed into a thin line. A light dusting of snow covers the 
    cerulean, crystalline hair which cascades from atop Her head and twists into ornate fractal patterns.
     She is wearing a set of fractal-emblazoned bracers, a fur-trimmed cloak of indigo satin and a long 
    gown of silvery silk.

    Carakhan, Pearl of the Ocean

    She is a radiant immortal and possessed of an otherworldly sophistication and grace in Her posture 
    and movements. She contemplates the world about Her with stormy, sea-green eyes set above a rounded 
    nose and dark green lips. Kelp-brown hair has been gathered in elaborate braids about Her head while 
    the rest has been left to tumble till Her lower back in a thick, luxurious river of silken threads. 
    Her soft skin is a vibrant blue, a stark reminder of the deep, tumultuous sea, and glistens with the 
    mist that embraces her refined physique. She is wearing a flowing ivory gown, a crown of gold and 
    coral and an effulgent string of freshwater pearls.

    Lisaera, the Silver Goddess

    She is a radiant immortal and is tall, standing at almost seven feet, with a willowy figure. Long, 
    raven hair spills down Her back, contrasting starkly against Her pale skin, and the wise features of 
    Her face, from the knowing set of Her brow to the thin line of Her lips, are smooth and ageless. 
    Storm-coloured eyes, whether filled with a mother's love, widened with a maiden's curiosity, or 
    narrowed with a crone's wizened contempt, gaze evenly at Her surroundings. Possessing sweeping 
    cheekbones and sharply pointed ears, She could easily be mistaken for an elfen woman were it not for 
    the ancient thrum of power and ethereal wind that clings to Her like a cloak, rising and falling in 
    intensity. Her very essence and bearing make it clear that She is as changeable and dangerous as the 
    storm and as knowing as the earth. She is wearing a glimmering necklace of pale moonfire, silverspun 
    robes trimmed in black furs, a vine-wreathed crown of frozen moonlight and a long, dark cloak 
    embossed with shimmering starlight.





    Crumkane: I like him in my mind, but that description makes him sound like a corpulent scary-man!

    Jadice: Seems she really likes indigo, huh?  Curioussss.

    Carakhan: I will admit I am genuinely curious about Her.  The design concept seems so simple, but there must be more going on there.



                                                                                           "A man's not dead while his name is still spoken."  - Terry Pratchett 1948-2015

  • KarlachKarlach God of Kittens.
    Wasn't that Fake Carakhan's description?

    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!


    image
  • That's definitely what Drokhan looked like. Doesn't Real Carakhan have a mermaid tail, or is that only sometimes?
  • Kalnid said:
    That's definitely what Drokhan looked like. Doesn't Real Carakhan have a mermaid tail, or is that only sometimes?
    It's all the time. It's the form she prefers now. Real Carakhan looks like this: 

    She is a radiant immortal and washed in the colours of the sea. The shades of Her skin ebb from 
    matte turtle shell to glistening seafoam, drifting in gradual waves over Her arms and face. Her 
    appraising eyes are the white-capped blue of stormy waters, sharp features in an otherwise gently 
    rounded face. Tight curls of kelp-brown hair, tamed briefly into a loose bun, ripple down Her back 
    until they reach the transition from flesh to aquamarine scales. Doubling Her height, Carakhan's 
    tail tapers gradually before flowing into a slightly paler, striated fin, triangular but rounded at 
    the corners. She is wearing a marine dagger, a mariner's fishhook pendant, a glittering diamond 
    watch, an abalone cuirass and an ivory cape trimmed with gold.
  • DaraiusDaraius Shevat The juror's taco spot
    Yay, one god that's not a boring human.
    I used to make cakes.

    Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."
  • Oh also! Real Carakhan is Lady Carakhan, Sculptor of Waves
  • edited June 2014
    The repetitive use of sea-themed nouns is a little much, otherwise I like Her outfit(except maybe the watch, which seems out of place).

                                                                                           "A man's not dead while his name is still spoken."  - Terry Pratchett 1948-2015

  • MaligornMaligorn Windborne
    I think a mortal gave it to her, haha.

    image
  • Kagato presented it to her as a gift from the Celestines...that the rest of the Celestines knew nothing about heh
  • ShaddusShaddus , the Leper Messiah Outside your window.
    Does anyone from Seren have a description for Dasia?
    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.
  • PortiusPortius Likes big books, cannot lie
    If anyone recorded whatever messages show up when you launch/are hit by Project Paradox, I'd like to see them!
    Any sufficiently advanced pun is indistinguishable from comedy.
  • Ah, crud, it ran off my buffer. It's something about a stream of butterflies drifting north from Gaudiguch and enveloping Hallifax in a storm of probability energy, and the Primary Generator generates a temporal shield to protect it.
    Jadice, the Frost Queen says to you, "Constant vigilance."

  • Portius said:
    If anyone recorded whatever messages show up when you launch/are hit by Project Paradox, I'd like to see them!

    The volcanic environs of Gaudiguch flare to life, the city shuddering in the distance as the citizenry enters an uproar of celebration.

    Great plumes of rainbow smoke rise up from the Eternal Flame of Gaudiguch, wafting northeasterly over Mount Zoaka.

    As the cloud of prismatic smoke drifts over the Inner Sea it becomes clear that it is not smoke but a cloud of butterflies, slowly winging their way towards the city of Hallifax.

    Twisting off into different directions, 8 streams of chaos butterflies descend upon the crystalline city, the crystal spires flickering as as a storm of space-time disturbances begin to manifest across the city, disrupting the flow of energy.

    A low thrum echoes through the skies as the Generators of Hallifax roar into action, crackling under the heavy flow of energy as a field of temporal flux begins to expand outwards from the centre of the city.

    ----
    The number of streams of butterflies was equal to the number of spheres that are down I believe.
  • EritheylEritheyl ** Trigger Warning **
    There's one message missing at the end, where the temporal energy recedes back into the city and the butterflies begin paradoxically disappearing.
    Crumkane, Lord of Epicurean Delights says, "WAS IT INDEED ON FIRE, ERITHEYL."

    -

    With a deep reverb, Contemptible Sutekh says, "CEASE YOUR INFERNAL ENERGY, ERITHEYL."
  • PortiusPortius Likes big books, cannot lie
    Thank you! That's pretty cool.
    Any sufficiently advanced pun is indistinguishable from comedy.
  • And when a Sphere is raised, the sound of shattering glass resounds over Gaudiguch, accompanied by the booing of the citizenry.

    so uncouth
    Jadice, the Frost Queen says to you, "Constant vigilance."
  • DaraiusDaraius Shevat The juror's taco spot
    What is supposed to be happening over Gaudiguch at that moment? What's the glass breaking?
    I used to make cakes.

    Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."
  • Eritheyl said:
    There's one message missing at the end, where the temporal energy recedes back into the city and the butterflies begin paradoxically disappearing.
    actually two now that I look at it:

    As the field of temporal energies expands across the city, many of the chaos butterflies explode into a prismatic mist while others disappear into folds in space-time, paradoxically disappearing entirely.

    The field of time flux recedes back into the heart of the city, the flow of energy through the city of Hallifax weakened yet holding strong.
  • edited June 2014

    You have the following guild skill choices available to you at this time:
    DRUIDRY or WYRDENWOOD

    *hmm, let's go with Wyrdenwood*

    You swell in pride as you choose to become a student of Wyrdenwood.
    A creeping sensation draws across your perception as a shroud, crawling and wiggling through your
    consciousness, eating away at all that you know. Something else - another - is there, edging your
    perception. Who are you? You ask. Who am I, echoes the response. Black and horrible, unnamed spirits
    twist about you, enveloping those lengths of purple-hued, twilit shadow that you distantly, dimly
    recognize as segments of your own star-shaped being, that which flesh is not but reflects. That
    shadowed shroud clinging to your consciousness draws tighter, choking out your thoughts, half-formed
    ideas of your own soul being grasped at, drowned. You gasp for air yet you cannot breathe. No, you
    have no breath - no breath, no body, nor have you a 'you'. I am not, you observe. We are - yes, that
    is it. We are of it. Interlinked. Connected. Your perception expands - a world filled with light and
    brightness and warmth, burning and scourging. Emptiness, hungering void, angry-red darkness smearing
    corrupted, dead lands. We are not, you seethe. We are alive, you protest. Your consciousness grabs
    at this shroud and, instead of fighting it, you cling to it. You draw it in, wrapping it about you,
    wrapping yourself about it, allowing its coldness to drain what warmth and life in you that remains.
    Yes, this is part of us. We are all a part of us - and you shift in the soil. Yes, form. We are, we
    awaken. We are an agent, freed from freedom. We are servants. Glorious servants. You inhale - and
    your lips part, sucking greedily at the air. All about you the world is purple and dark - beautiful,
    majestic. We are all about us, you admire - it is us, we are it. Its waters, turbid and as spoiled
    as the quagmire through which they flow, are our blood. Its trees - beautiful yet rotten, dead yet
    living - are our flesh. Its soil is our bone. The shadows are our breath. The chill memory of Mother
    Night is the shroud that enveloped us, freeing us. With a raucous cry, an oily black crow alights on
    your branches. It turns its angry, red eyes down, looking at you, and you return its gaze. Yes. We
    are change - great, powerful change. We are that which survived. We are the Glomdoring given flesh
    and form. We are that which overcomes. We defied death a second time - and we live where we ought
    not. We are the inheritors of the Realm of Nature. We are the rightful heirs of the Forests. We are
    the children of the Ravenwood. We are the putrified grove. We are the beauty of the new order. We
    are of the Wyrd - we are Wyrd given form! We are Wyrd given flesh! We are Wyrdenwood!


    *Holy load batman!*

  • EnyalidaEnyalida Nasty Woman, Sockpuppeteer to the Gods
    I tell people to stand back when I flex Wildewood, both because I'm rocketing from small woman to giant tree shape IC and HOLY, WALL OF TEXT.
  • PortiusPortius Likes big books, cannot lie
    Do you happen to have the Wildewood text handy?

    Portius is curious.
    Any sufficiently advanced pun is indistinguishable from comedy.
  • EnyalidaEnyalida Nasty Woman, Sockpuppeteer to the Gods
    Yes.
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