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The monochrome, waning moon illuminated the bleached walls of the Balfort. Nadina Haaven sat erect in the estate’s study, a wax-stamped parchment held loosely within one hand, and a blunted quill grasped within the other. Under the faint glow of the stars blanketed against an indigo sky, the room--once lively and green during the day--seemed muted. She glanced sideways to the open window and spotted her husband snoring in the adjacent room, just a mere ink splash away from the desk at which she sat. He would find out in the morning of course, but he didn’t have to know right now.
The Yanar gradually unfolded her moss-bitten leg...
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Inventory Split Incoming
MassiveCraft will be implementing an inventory split across game modes to improve fairness, balance, and player experience. Each game mode (Roleplay and Survival) will have its own dedicated inventory going forward. To help players prepare, we’ve opened a special storage system to safeguard important items during the transition. For full details, read the announcement here: Game Mode Inventory Split blog post.
Your current inventories, backpacks, and ender chest are in the shared Medieval inventory. When the new Roleplay inventory is created and assigned to the roleplay world(s) you will lose access to your currently stored items.
Important Dates
- April 1: Trunk storage opens.
- May 25: Final day to submit items for storage.
- June 1: Inventories are officially split.
Please make sure to submit any items you wish to preserve in the trunk storage or one of the roleplay worlds before the deadline. After the split, inventories will no longer carry over between game modes.
Player Stories
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Was inspired and decided to write some vague backstory piece. I feel my writing has come a long way. Hope whoever takes the time enjoys the read.
Blistering muggy air filled the evening atmosphere as water dribbled from damp shingles overhead, landing in puddles within the broken cobbles. Clouds cleared to reveal the orange bursts that the falling sun left upon the world. Birds scattered to the rooftops as beggars, vendors, and all sorts of other folk traversed the city’s streets. A rapid shadow passed below, high pitched shrieks and angry shouts being heard as the figure burst through the crowds stumbling and struggling to keep its footing. Boxes and crates which littered a back alley to the side went crashing as the figure cut...
The Howlester Night
A bitter night outside the Howlester Castle, threatening to snow curiously enough as autumn began to rear its head. However, the inside of the castle was toasty, an illuminating light of a fireplace flickered against the shadows of the poorly lit room, relying on the flame alone. Mordred sat in the lounge hall of the castle, listening to a piece of music from the gramophone while he looked down upon his little cousin (once removed), the infant gurgled and laughed in his arms and he looked down at him and being cast back to his youth, his years as an infant and playing in the fields and marshes of Gallovia. The baby gurgled and babbled out incoherent noises strung out like sentences and Mordred chuckled, nodding his...
fffA cacophony of slurred words and muffled utters emerged from down the dim hallway, voices bouncing off of stone walls and catching the ears of no one, as such was vacant as vacant can be. Emptiness was the decoration here, and warm bodies, servants, and people were evicted by a owner with diametrically different tastes in decorating. Rather than a grandiose hallway like the ones of the Loiree river palaces, this one was small, cramped, and lonely. Save for some voices, one would imagine the place was abandoned, what with its upturned tables and strewn about trinkets. A lone reverend made his way down this long, narrow, choking tunnel of a hallway, his robes seeming to never catch on any of the mess upon the floor, but rather flowing...
The Howlester entourage sent by Rodderick Howlester and his close allies finally arrived in Jorrhildr the day after their meeting with the Urls. Magnus was excited to be back but hid his composure, while Othmar seemed more positive outwardly. Magnus and Othmar had talked over the night and agreed that the cage was unfit, as Othmar had resigned himself to the idea that Magnus’s demands had won out. He was released from the cage, and the entire group including the two Url, Genevieve and Rodderick Howlester, Jared Kade, and a number of Howlester Guards trekked into the frozen expanse to follow the trail of the Maw Throngs.
Before long, Othmar and Magnus started calling out to the wind, beastly howls which were returned from afar. Othmar...
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The pattering of bare feet, smacking against the broken and old slabs of weathered stone. The grass between their toes and only the sounds of the forest to be heard, the streams, the wind, the birds and the creaking of those few trees. The laughter of children is a merry thing, it can warm the hearts of all who hear it and none are merrier than the Cielothar. They chased after a horse-drawn carriage with soft giggles and a skip in either of their steps.
For the world about them was safe, the woods, their home. They lived off the land...
Each piece of armor had been placed into a pile at the foot of her bed. Her fingers began to slowly unravel the braid that held back her dyed black curls. A tired hum escaped her as she dropped the various ribbons onto the floor, her sapphire eyes slowly shifting to the made up bed.
It had been empty for many weeks now. Empty of herself and… She shook her head, not daring to think of it. A huff of a breath escaped her as she padded forward, now nearly bare of any true clothing save for her underthings as she drew back the blankets and settled beneath the sheets. Slowly, easing her exhausted body back into the familiar bed, her eyes closed and the dreams began, as they often did.
Her boots crunched over the dead earth as she held her...
Oh look at how she listens
She says nothing of what she thinks
She just goes stumbling through her memories..
And she thinks... How did I come to this
I dreamed myself thousand times around the world
But I can't get out of this place
There's an emptiness inside her
And she'd do anything to fill it in
and it breaks her heart
- Grey Street, Dave Matthews Band
She had woken up restless. The second morning that she opened her eyes, consciousness slipping over her like a slow, rolling fog. Once she was awake, the unease settled in. The seemingly infinite unease that drove her to distraction. Her daily morning rides, aching as her body was, through the countryside did little to appease this fretfulness that drew her into...
The non-ginger Claith is quite the oddity: amongst the men of the Black Emerald Isle such hair colors are seen as “markings of the blood”, placed within the life of a family by some wandering elf-pixie for a mysterious, hitherto unknown purpose. Black is the sign of the pallbearer, quick in glory and just as quick in death, leaving an inkblot among their fellow villagers to write from for generations onward. Brown is the sign of the hermit, so drawn to the Earth that their lives are intimately drawn to it, forgotten by the minds of men but enshrined among their holy saviors.
Blonde is somewhat different. It’s a sign of closeness and attunement with the long-gone Nelfin, a curse of ambition and “prideful blood” that drags a Claith’s...
There goes a story of a Songaskian woman...
who could control an entire army of the Undead...
It is said that this woman wiped out an entire town...
Just from her home...
She lived in a small town, just outside Regalia.
The town was getting plagued by murder, performed by, what she believed was, a racist crime gang.
This woman had a son. He was twelve years old.
One day, he was found dead. Murdered.
The woman asked the authorities for help, but they did little to nothing.
She would soon realize that this wasn't a crime gang.
After burying her son underneath the sun in a quiet place, the woman decided to end this for once and for all.
That night, her and five Songaskians began their revenge.
Two of them were men, playing on a djembe...
I’ve been yearning to write and I love the color and energy of setting and story above all else. I present to you a slice of life from the Hadar city of Barazzt, rendered in creative prose! This is torn from the mind’s eye, and is in no way a reflection of how this city may be portrayed in official lore. Please feel very free to message me if you’ve got an idea you think is a worthy write - if you think it is, you’re probably right!
The City of Colored Glass
The city of Barazzt sits on the pitched side of a jungle volcano. Every so often, the volcano belches its protest and its sour sulfur hangs in the air as dark, angry clouds. There are hidden paths in these jungles for those that know where to look. The roads all lead to...
Steinhorst Castle
Ertaubleierwald Province, Canton of Vaud, Opper Calem.
Cascading waves veiled the stampede of hooves resounding across the trodden path. Shadows swept through the heavy morning fog, nothing could fill the aching emptiness left in their hearts. With the golden sun disappearing beneath the mountains, a looming silence arrived.
The gateman hammered ice off the windlass. Shrieking its protests, the portcullis rose as the riders entered. Piths of melancholy engulfed those that watched from the sidelines, the defining quintessence was that labels were abjured. Wonder means worry. The rules demand a show of indifference.
The gateman shouted, but there was no rush...For the Lord, himself strode out to meet those who...
Jonathan settled down in his throne, closing his eyes. "Come, my minions..." He murmured, as he felt his senses deprived from him for a brief moment... And then his eyes opened again. He looked down at himself, his hands being constructed only of bone. He no longer sat upon his throne, rather lying on the cold floor. He checked his equipment, all of it at the ready... As he stood tall. He donned his cloak, speaking to himself within his mind. "Master Erebos... Is here." He gives a grin, something skeletons are particularly proficient at, and strode off. His bones gave a soft rattling sound as he slipped out into the night, his blades slowly drawing from their sheathes. "Master Erebos... Is everywhere."
The gentle sound of rushing water and the feel of the chill in the air caused Shae to give a light shiver as she stood there. Despite the cold she could not deny the wonderful view she had from where she stood. As quickly as thoughts of the cold crossed her mind, a blanket was draped over her shoulders. She gave a pleasant sigh and pulled the cloth around her tightly.
"Enjoying the view?" A familiar voice spoke as he settled beside her. She gave a nod.
"If I were here more often i'd likely come here to think. The cold always did do good to help me contemplate." She said, leaning gently against him.
"And what is it you're thinking of now?" He responded and she leaned up once more to face him, her smile less affectionate and more...
Deep in the night, a woman with black clothing set foot in Regalia.
Her skin was mocha brown.
She appeared in her mid-20s.
You could hear the ticking sounds of her heels as she stepped further.
Having her Shadow Mask and Feeding Pheromones activated, she'd stay safe.
She looked around, noticing a few citizens here and there.
She couldn't help but laugh; now that she's back, she would surely cause some trouble.
"Juane is back in town," she whispered.
|❀|
Two Ailor children bustled through the Regalian street, the leader being a tidy, Claith girl who strode rather than frolicked- unlike her follower that was a black-haired boy that trotted along like a giddy horse. The two turned off from Main Street to the left, having been coming from the tavern, and chattered with laughter as they carried along.
“Are you sure you know where you're going, Wini?” The boy panted a bit as he rocketed forward a few steps to catch up with her unheeded stride. Despite her lack of energy when it came to jogging, she could certainly march a mile.
“Of course I know where I'm going, Lucien. It's right here.” The ginger girl unclasped her hands to gesture towards their right where large building sat...
A rare sight, chaos in the Grove. The Assembly was a cacophony of shouts and accusations made from both sides of the aisle.
“Inexcusable!”
“We shall not stand for this affront to our traditions!”
“This- this is heresy! Of the highest degree!”
“Hang him, hang the traitor bastard!”
“Bloodthirsty barbarians! Don’t you understand, this is exactly what they want! Disorder!”
“And what would have us do, let him go?!”
“We cannot have mercy! Not now, not with him!”
“The more time we spend debating his fate, the less time we have for more pressing matters!”
“This is the most pressing matter, you dolt!”
“The enemy at our gates, and you want to-”
“-Settle the matter closest to home! Yes, I do, you mangy, overgrown weed!”
“How dare you...
Deep in the small Rosendahl library, well hidden from view, was a musty book. It was ancient by appearance and had a fading black hue to it with a round, purple stone in the center. A large crimson red diamond shape was around it that spanned from the top of the book to the bottom. Inside contained the story of a legend known only to the Rosendahl textbooks.
Chapter 1
He Has Returned
The wooden blade flew past the side of Joshua’s head, nicking his ear. A small spurt of blood jutted its way through the minor cut. His attention flickered to the other guard who had attempted to strike at him. He brought his sword up to parry another blow. The warrior slashed at Joshua’s waist. He barely managed to flick the attack away...
I remember our wailing. Our shouts ringing out into the chilled night air, our bitter tears streaking freely down our veiled faces. Some of us wept silently, still shocked by what had happened. Most of us cried aloud, sharing our pain together as a community. And still yet, a select few howled in anguish, shrieking out to whichever of our Gods still listened. We marched through the winding forest with no rhyme nor reason. There was no light. The stars had forsaken us, and the moon was nowhere to be found. We found many to trip, fall, stumble, but they rose time and time again, pushing our procession of grief onward.
We had lost one of our own.
She laid there with her eyes closed, her face to the sky and her hands crossed soft above...
Ambiance
The cart raddled and the horses knickered as the group made their way through the wilderness. The leader of the group sat slightly slouched in their seat, a thin cloak of grey fabric covering her from head to boot. Their gloved hand rose as she tugged upon her horse’s reins, signaling for the group to halt as they drew to a clearing with a shape that was visible just within the middle of it.
Slowly and with clear pain written upon her features beneath the cloak, the rider lowered herself to the muddy ground, retrieving a cane from where it was lying horizontally on top of the saddle bag. Slipping the hood back, the identity of the rider was revealed: Sera, who glanced over her shoulder towards the other riders and the...
The Skies Fell Then
The Hadarian Archipelago was, by adventuring standards, truly an untouched paradise of the world.
It was storm season. Spotty little monsoons swirled in eddies down the coast, bringing with them sheets of rain - they were there one hour, gone the next, leaving muddied jungles in their wake. For some, the constant rain may prove oppressive. For the land of Hadar, it was revitalizing; a splash of cold water on the face in a sleepy morning. The jungles were never more colorful, the coasts never more alive, than after warm monsoon rains.
White ocean gulls cried. Sweet salt bit at the tongue; a soft welcome to white sandy shores.
“Little friend of all the world” they called him - even in his adult years - in the...
After Recent Conquers off the shore of Hadar, Clan Uruk has decided to expand its kingdom to the down below of the Oceans.
"I, Yazgash Uruk, have decided to share some of my power as Warchief To a Maiar to further my conquers in Hadar. In order to do this I have decided that enlisting a Maiar Warchief would be the best move to further this."
"First order of this is to raid ships of Hadar, Jorrhildr, and Daendroc, once sunk they will bring back their loot to us at our forts. We are to not raid ships from any other states. The Maiar warchief is to over see all of this, if any goes wrong Punishments will be initiated"
"A fort underwater is to be instated, this is to train the younger Maiars and act as a war base
instated. I will entrust...
Sometimes, it's better to break the enemy down from the inside rather than just pointlessly attacking from the outside.
Juane watched with annoyance at the fight that occurred on the bridge that separated the slums from the City.
It was pointless. It took too long. There was, obviously, no well-thought strategy behind this. The vampires were not that much of a threat. Silently Juane observed everyone. It seemed like everyone from the City was there. Guards, mages, nobles, everyone. For an hour, Juane watched with irritation on how the vampires were driven back into the slums.
For a moment, she considered using one of her abilities. Maybe she could cause chaos by using Terror Panic.
Luckily, she did not use it. There was a reason why...
(music for your enjoyment)
♫
Scuttling movement of metal and scales clunking and rattling against themselves. Splashing through murky waters towards their enemy. Horrendous screeches of monstrous amalgamations of fur and claws echo from above. The sewers were unsettled by the pounding of shields against monstrous sanguine beasts. The Old Town was ahead of us, moonlight shining our inevitable breach. The sound of the vampiric assembly grew in strength with each careful step. It did not matter… they’re all here. This is our chance. The scaled being steeled himself and led the emergence out of the tunnel and around the bend. He called forth in a guttural roar, “Charge!”.
Black smoke choked the air which for better or for worse...
"I-I yield." - A battered and broken Lyal'amna at the gates
The battle at had been raging, and the orders of the Lord Commander were clear, go and guard the Sewer Entrance. And so her and Leufred ran there, to keep whatever other creatures that might try and slip through at bay...before Leufred turned tale and ran, with Lyal angrily calling him a "Coward!" as he did so, looking down into the gloom, net ready, as well as her sword, should she need to draw it. Thats when the sounds of battle cried out, and the smell of blood begun to run thick through the air. The Allar had invaded using the same path she now guarded, with Zas, a good friend of Lyal's, with them. She knew she couldn't leave them to die, as Leufred had left her too do if...
---
---
Azra sat criss-cross and alone in the abandoned abode within Regalia, back flush against the bricks she sobbed and screamed alone against when she’d been tied with rope and left to suffer. When the bite on her wrist was just new rather than a healing scar now despite the occurrence only being about a week ago. Perhaps more, she couldn’t really remember. The days passing recently seemed to run together with the recent theme of pain from either curing or cursing. The Qadir scratched her bitten nails against the vampiric scars on her wrist, only frowning since her tears had run dry. It’d been too long since she’d had a glass of water for her to keep crying on the events of that night as well as memories of the...
Mood Music
“Come back again and I’ll give you a true blessing.” The sanguine’s words mocked her as she lay tucked into the cot in a corner of the Apothecary, the sounds of the healing and those who were having the curse itself removed from their body were soft against the words and the events that played over and over in her head.
“Get… Away from her…” Tatiana’s words whispered past her exhausted mind as she rolled over onto her back, closing her eyes tightly. Tears pricked at the corners of her shut eyes as she slowly gave into sleep.
Her eyes opened slowly as she felt herself being dragged along by her biceps. Gone was the burning pain in her chest, but in its place was the ache of bruises and healing muscles...
The fourth tall tale within the Black Book of Terrifying Tales
This is a shorter one, like the tale before, and in this case is in a notice format.
The tale of Aemolius the Mad is a sad one. The high end Krupp was a smart man once, intelligent and scheming, yet that came with ego, with so many of his devious schemes and attempts to take over leading to success before he had been poisoned during a meeting. After this, the poor man became paranoid. Had someone learned of his secrets? His plans? Either way he took double precaution with his work, continuing to work towards his goal of total domination.
Months went by and nothing happened. Not a single attack upon him, or his work before the poor man began his major expansions into...
The third instalment in the Black Book of Terrifying Tales
As a bit of backstory to this segment, this is the diary of Yivon Montiair, a Altalar treasure hunter who journeyed to Regalia to seek his fortune in the old sewers.
Day 1:
The exploration team began the dig down with gas-masks and full body suits. Not only this, but sledgehammers as well to get smashing through the many different rocks, piping, and more which collapsed in after the place fell apart. It is strange that so much of the sewers gas buildup has now left its confines allowing us in, with all that is left is some black sludge. But, from the looks of it, there is nothing of any real notice or worry down here. We were going to get rich off of this when we get down...
“I pray for my family, and I pray for our success..”
Stood clad in her families house guard armor, the ginger d’Vaud woman kept a keen eye trained upon each new member of the prayer-goers.
She had agreed to guard the House Black event besides her friend, Abelhard. She had no intent on taking part..
A devout unionist from childhood, the d’Vaud was simply more than happy to keep her prayers to herself. They were for the spirits ears only.
Though, her mind wandered as she noted the arrival of more and more people, more and more unionists of every race were more than willing to take part. To write their thanks, their prayers and their thoughts upon the paper which would soon float downstream.
A distraction from her thoughts came when...
The second story in the Book of Terrifying Tales
There was once a poor cretin named Lerou the Lame
An Ithanian Maraya he was, going by this name
He was a broken, cold and sad little man
And truth be told the other townspeople around him weren't a fan
people gathered, mocked, and beat him
especially one nasty Ailor called Tim
He threw rocks, stones, dung and more
Anything he could find really, to cause pain galore
It was one fateful night on an especially cool eve
Tim decided to finish Lerou off, with his best friend called Steve
The duo walked, prowled and waited
For a bloody kill, doomed to be fated
The duo spotted him calling him over
And the kind Maraya listened, as they mentioned his love Dover
As he drew close the...
The first story in the Black Book of Terrifying Tales
There was an old man called Mortimer, a hermit who distrusted all those who he saw walking through his woodland. He lived in the old, cold woods of Regalia, and lived so far away from the city, the glow and lights from within were only slightly visible from the distance which he watched from. He lived alone for years and years, sitting in his old rocking chair, and reminiscing about the reasons for him being there, in the cold loneliness of the woods.
It was many many years before, and he lived in the city with his wife and children. His children were a naughty sort, constantly getting into scrapes and fights over the littlest things. Bratty could be a word to describe them. In...
We ride tonight, ghost horses.
The slummers of Regalia woke to one loud morning as a considerate number of men began to flock into the streets, stranger faces, though donning visuals familiar to many if not at all. Men who wore long, dark coats that hung all the way down to their shins, the sides of their head shaven clean. The men seemed to be carrying numerous crates around the districts, guarded well enough to keep any thiever from laying their hands upon the boxes. The crates were being moved to one of the finer houses in the newer districts of the Old Town, which seemed to be formed into a residence of sorts, looking rather well maintained in comparison to the rest of the run-down households.
The slummers glanced about to...
Three hours had passed since Abe heard the news, of what they had done at the gate; the punching bag hadn’t seen so much action since his first night in the city. Nerves were not the source of Abe’s frustration this time. Three sharp alternating jabs cracked against the middle of the object, his fist slamming midway through the word 'heresy' that was stitched vertically into the bag by Abe’s Mother, decades ago now. The usually kind hearted man pummeled the bag with rage. Then they started.
Crackling into view came visions of a blurry battle, flashes of maps and war-room conferences, all mingled in a haze that obscured his view. He saw men; aberrant, non-Ailor and Ailor alike, fighting side by side, their images burnt into his mind...
It had been almost 2 years now, 2 years since the incident of Ernesta losing her hearing in her left ear. Immediately after that her whole life changed, and she always tried to keep a positive outlook on things, but sometimes the sadness revisits her mind and she wallows in it for some time.
Having a small obsession on trying to find a cure, it was the only thing that kept her sadness away. The smallest of hope, what if. The two words drumming in her mind, almost constantly. The only way to distract herself or appease it, to spar or to obsess over a cure.
A warm summer’s day Ernesta overheard mutter from an unknown source that a consumption and use of Rubyflower could bring back her hearing. Obviously not being educated in medicine...
A toddler’s whines broke the still silence in the elder Marth’s household, followed by a sigh from the very same Claith. He grunted, getting up from his sitting chair to shuffle over to his son with a weary smile as he looked down at his son. The boy had broken his wooden horse it seemed.
“Da-Da, the horse is broke! Look!”
The boy called out in the tongue of those from Eriu-Innis with a final whine.
“I see, my son. I see. Let me have it for a moment.”
Would be his father’s reply, in the very same language.
He gently took the wooden creature’s remains, shuffling off into another room to find the Gluant he kept for just such an occasion. He gathered them up, dabbed the gluant onto the broken pieces, and smiled. The smile on his...
Elleadagr of the Serpent and the Owl
An odd trio of women took to the tent just outside the clearing that the event’s participates wandered and chatter in. An elderly aristocrat, an Ithanian mademoiselle, and a North-born Velheimer had gathered, finishing touches being made on the latter of the three women. Anastasie du Polignac had her signature wine glass in one hand, taking a sip before lying it down with a laugh towards her close friend, Siselle Haagenvig. The towering woman was, for once, out of her usual attire of black and orange that most knew her by. Instead, she stood in a white woven dress that flowed to her ankles with a crown of roses and wildflowers that had been picked from the fields around the ceremony- or possibly...
Little Lemon Girl
Phaden sat calmly with his legs crossed, looking over the parchment laid neatly under his quill. He'd calmly place the quill back into the bottle of ink, reading over his poem one last time.
❝ Little Lemon Girl.
Oh how you caught my eye, with your strangest sour taste.
I'd have been afraid you'd make my heart sigh.
With your vibrant colors, and shining grin.
You've indeed got me wrapped around your finger
with the simple words "Best Friend".
Little Lemon Girl, how childish you are.
How you jest to make me smile and how you'd
walk many a miles just to see such a rare sight.
Little Lemon girl, you win. But on the condition you let
me have a bite. ❞
Phaden seemingly smiled over the page, before looking...