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A ton of these seem to have appeared in the last couple of months from state sponsored organizations and I feel like a quarter of the server has them at this point.

"Less is more" would probably be more ideal in this case.

I have been so frequently afflicted by the sting of failure and disappointment that its absence feels a unique circumstance. It is a strange thing, to look upon the landscape of Ephia's Well and Bel-Ishun and not feel a sense of roiling dejection at the state of the board. But today, I find myself apprehensively hopeful for the future.

Kardesler, a success in spite of the irrational snubbing of Il Modo's predictable desires. High Kulkund, a welcome surprise to the grim festivities of a war council. We are, little by little, gathering momentum abroad in spite of handfuls of missteps. And at home? A candidate has been secured at the eleventh hour. Marcellus' reign seems as if it may finally be on a downturn. Balstan, while not the perfect candidate, has kept to his promises in an admirable fashion. And, mayhap most importantly, the Cinquefoil Rose stands with more unity than I have perceived in the past.

Rosseau is no small part of this. It is amusing to witness the shift in her priorities during my absence. She would never admit it, but her newfound perspective is a result of the precise matter I pressed upon her all those months ago during my election. Once ambition takes the reigns of motivation - once the coffers are flush and the priority of dinars over dignity seems a naive concern of a green Recluta - the truth comes into shining focus. I am finding that I look upon her company with increasing fondness. The sureness of her influence; the clarity of her purpose; the vicious candor of her pragmatism. It will be good to have the respect and consideration of the next-in-line Condottiero.

There is still work to be done with the Balladeers. Molding. And I struggle to trust Selsi even now - even in spite of a surfeit of evidence that I ought find her trustworthy. But there is a nagging remembrance at the back of my mind that I cannot shake.

To her credit, it is not entirely a malady of her own make. I simply do not trust anyone.


In sooth, I do not even trust myself. She stands ever at the periphery, mocking my path. Telling me what I could be. Asserting what I am not. I spent too long entertaining fancy as I held the Acolyte's sword, contemplating what it might feel like to don that obsidian tabard and dark steel chain. But it would make an ill fit now.

Why must my gaze be ever lured towards could-haves and shall-never-bes?

Plain Text

I have been so frequently afflicted by the sting of failure and disappointment that its absence feels a unique circumstance. It is a strange thing, to look upon the landscape of Ephia's Well and Bel-Ishun and not feel a sense of roiling dejection at the state of the board. But today, I find myself apprehensively hopeful for the future.

Kardesler, a success in spite of the irrational snubbing of Il Modo's predictable desires. High Kulkund, a welcome surprise to the grim festivities of a war council. We are, little by little, gathering momentum abroad in spite of handfuls of missteps. And at home? A candidate has been secured at the eleventh hour. Marcellus' reign seems as if it may finally be on a downturn. Balstan, while not the perfect candidate, has kept to his promises in an admirable fashion. And, mayhap most importantly, the Cinquefoil Rose stands with more unity than I have perceived in the past.

Rosseau is no small part of this. It is amusing to witness the shift in her priorities during my absence. She would never admit it, but her newfound perspective is a result of the precise matter I pressed upon her all those months ago during my election. Once ambition takes the reigns of motivation - once the coffers are flush and the priority of dinars over dignity seems a naive concern of a green Recluta - the truth comes into shining focus. I am finding that I look upon her company with increasing fondness. The sureness of her influence; the clarity of her purpose; the vicious candor of her pragmatism. It will be good to have the respect and consideration of the next-in-line Condottiero.

There is still work to be done with the Balladeers. Molding. And I struggle to trust Selsi even now - even in spite of a surfeit of evidence that I ought find her trustworthy. But there is a nagging remembrance at the back of my mind that I cannot shake.

To her credit, it is not entirely a malady of her own make. I simply do not trust anyone.


In sooth, I do not even trust myself. She stands ever at the periphery, mocking my path. Telling me what I could be. Asserting what I am not. I spent too long entertaining fancy as I held the Acolyte's sword, contemplating what it might feel like to don that obsidian tabard and dark steel chain. But it would make an ill fit now.

Why must my gaze be ever lured towards could-haves and shall-never-bes?

[close]

Out of town for the next few days.

Syter's Slys

actually, this is the only legitimate commentary i will accept. you win. thanks for playing.

spend less on rat cheese

i am italian and this is offensive

This is definitely a skill issue.

If you had more climb skill it wouldn't be an issue.

Ez...

how do i do? efuss doesn't wor k  anymore
[img=https://i.imgur.com/3x1vamr.png]

The game is educating you on the dangers of irresponsible climbing.

Please be safe.

oh i didn't realize efu was a public service announcement to get fucked

This is great.

thank you for alleviating my suffering with this comment.

You should throw the DM loot, obviously. Everything else is essential. Cheese, specially.

is there a way to make my weapon have the thrown property? idk seems like an exploit

In the off chance you're not joking, bedrolls aren't required anymore and you probably don't need 420 potions unless you want to blaze it hard.

thank you for the valid and pertinent information, i'm so tired of people trolling me. :(

bless

you can drop the rations and beg

but if my bard can't rest before questies i get yelled at

I get this, but... The Tower of Q'tolip looks so good with player furniture right now.

This seems to be an ongoing issue. Furniture that is put down doesn't last a reset for some reason.

At this point, I am near certain Rebecca knew what was going to happen at Assembly. She was too keenly pleased by my approach for aid; too eager to lend it without condition.  She smiled too broadly because she knew how far a small measure of reason would go with me. She anticipated that I could not expose myself and ask for aid from the Sisterhood, then fail to defend them when the hammer of Kha'esh loomed overhead. And so I was drawn again back into her too-loving grasp. It seems inevitable every time I attempt to turn away from that stare.

I truly wonder what things might have been like had I accepted Cosine's offer of independence. Would I be Legate? Even today, even still? Would everyone recognize that I can see the path forward? Would the People lay their trust in my hands? Would they allow me to ferry them unto better futures?

Methinks that is a wishful dream. That is not my path anymore. It is as Argent says; the legates are only afforded so many critical decisions before the burden of those decisions collapses on them from all sides.

But everyone gazes at me like a mad woman when I express a hint of doubt in the Sisters. A snake ever knows a snake - and I feel as if I step into a viper's den whensoever I nose my way into that Priory. Every attack upon the Sisterhood from without fails to shaky evidence and piles of testimony to the contrary. The Astronomers have ever seemed the unreasonable and jealous rival. The only steady ground the Janissary have to stand on is the accusations of drug-peddling - and even that is uneven terrain. Even this endeavor has served only to paint them in a more kindly light. Are they so bad? Certainly, they have not demonstrated any abject villainy. No ill intent. No malicious results.

But a snake knows a snake.

A snake knows a snake.

A snake knows a snake.

Selsi returning and the surfeit of new acolytes makes the situation even more difficult to navigate.

And the visions. The visions! Would that they did not feel so real, so tangible. I know I can give them form. But how?

How?

Plain Text

At this point, I am near certain Rebecca knew what was going to happen at Assembly. She was too keenly pleased by my approach for aid; too eager to lend it without condition.  She smiled too broadly because she knew how far a small measure of reason would go with me. She anticipated that I could not expose myself and ask for aid from the Sisterhood, then fail to defend them when the hammer of Kha'esh loomed overhead. And so I was drawn again back into her too-loving grasp. It seems inevitable every time I attempt to turn away from that stare.

I truly wonder what things might have been like had I accepted Cosine's offer of independence. Would I be Legate? Even today, even still? Would everyone recognize that I can see the path forward? Would the People lay their trust in my hands? Would they allow me to ferry them unto better futures?

Methinks that is a wishful dream. That is not my path anymore. It is as Argent says; the legates are only afforded so many critical decisions before the burden of those decisions collapses on them from all sides.

But everyone gazes at me like a mad woman when I express a hint of doubt in the Sisters. A snake ever knows a snake - and I feel as if I step into a viper's den whensoever I nose my way into that Priory. Every attack upon the Sisterhood from without fails to shaky evidence and piles of testimony to the contrary. The Astronomers have ever seemed the unreasonable and jealous rival. The only steady ground the Janissary have to stand on is the accusations of drug-peddling - and even that is uneven terrain. Even this endeavor has served only to paint them in a more kindly light. Are they so bad? Certainly, they have not demonstrated any abject villainy. No ill intent. No malicious results.

But a snake knows a snake.

A snake knows a snake.

A snake knows a snake.

Selsi returning and the surfeit of new acolytes makes the situation even more difficult to navigate.

And the visions. The visions! Would that they did not feel so real, so tangible. I know I can give them form. But how?

How?

[close]

Digging through this journal is difficult, cracked and wrinkled as it is with future promises and past mistakes. It is, by any reasonable measure, an attestation of my thorough failures during my time in Ephia's Well. I am left to wonder what I have achieved save surviving the brutal passage of time in the Great Ash Desert.

Constantine yet eludes me. In spite of my best efforts, I have been unsuccessful in gaining ground in my hunt for him. Simultaneously navigating the Sibilant masses and the hordes of Iakmes proved more difficulty work than originally anticipated, even lonesome as I was. I hoped the feast would provide some closure on this matter. I knew seeing Constantine there would be a dissatisfying climax - knowing I could not stake my vengeance against him - but I hoped it would provide closure nonetheless. Alas, the snake was nowhere to be found. And the hunt continues.

Things change so marginally hereabouts. Doom rests on the horizon. The legates are incapable of leadership. Baz'eel looms as a large shadow. The desert looks to us for guidance and succor but refuses our bids for unity. The earth quakes beneath us. And ever more, the gaze of the Disc hones in on its epicentre - Ephia's Well; its histories, its People, its future.

Our jeweled citadel rests at the eye of a storm that encapsulates the entire world. And I know not how to proffer even a shred of salvation before that storm collapses inward and destroys us all.

The Dakhwar awaits. Oh, it ever awaits.

But does it await me?

Mayhap it was delusional to ever think it did.

Plain Text

Digging through this journal is difficult, cracked and wrinkled as it is with future promises and past mistakes. It is, by any reasonable measure, an attestation of my thorough failures during my time in Ephia's Well. I am left to wonder what I have achieved save surviving the brutal passage of time in the Great Ash Desert.

Constantine yet eludes me. In spite of my best efforts, I have been unsuccessful in gaining ground in my hunt for him. Simultaneously navigating the Sibilant masses and the hordes of Iakmes proved more difficulty work than originally anticipated, even lonesome as I was. I hoped the feast would provide some closure on this matter. I knew seeing Constantine there would be a dissatisfying climax - knowing I could not stake my vengeance against him - but I hoped it would provide closure nonetheless. Alas, the snake was nowhere to be found. And the hunt continues.

Things change so marginally hereabouts. Doom rests on the horizon. The legates are incapable of leadership. Baz'eel looms as a large shadow. The desert looks to us for guidance and succor but refuses our bids for unity. The earth quakes beneath us. And ever more, the gaze of the Disc hones in on its epicentre - Ephia's Well; its histories, its People, its future.

Our jeweled citadel rests at the eye of a storm that encapsulates the entire world. And I know not how to proffer even a shred of salvation before that storm collapses inward and destroys us all.

The Dakhwar awaits. Oh, it ever awaits.

But does it await me?

Mayhap it was delusional to ever think it did.

[close]