Porangi had stowed away on an Imperial Frigate for at least...3 days! Well, I say stowed away but actually he just swam near the ship, popping up for air very rarely and coiling himself around the rudder when he needed to rest.
You see, Porangi was not exactly pleased about the current emperors decisions, and every time he complained a bunch of angry men came at him with swords. So he decided wherever that boat was going was a better home then regalia, and it was therefore an obvious choice to just start following the ship when he heard it was preparing to depart.
He had been a bit peckish one morning out at sea, so he swam a short distance off to catch some fish. Unfortunately, when he completed his submerged hunt, he turned to find...
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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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Apologies for the brevity of this. We didn't want to do a wedding event and I wanted to get the point across this happened, rather than making a drawn out detail-fest like my usual writing.
The carriages rolled along the cobbled Hinterlandish road, from Chärlz House towards Castle Machellon, pulled along by the duel strength of Pure Black Calembergers at the helm. Rain had begun to dribble down from the dark overcast above, threatening to storm, yet vigilantly refrained from pouring down yet. They pulled into the courtyard of the ancient castle, a number of servants having had lain down tarps and holding out the same material overhead, to shield the to-be-wed pair of nobles from the drizzling rain and mud. Xavier stepped out of...
“Do well to recall this young one; you are descended from men who struck the face of a mountain, and settled in its wounds. The blood of great men flows through you, but have you the heart to match theirs?”
Cassius Krupp to his heir Crispin, 187
The Stoney Coast of Opper Calem
Preamble
Disregarding the hinterlands of civilization is a long held tradition by those who live safely away from the reach of war and treachery. It is not oft that the people of Opper Calem are given much regard beyond their impressive siegeworks and excellent metallurgy, despite championing a history of conquest and settlement unparalleled by most lands today.
Quite a number of oral traditions have been maintained, and in recording them, I pray that my...
Drip… Drip… Drip…
The Rashaq stared at the rusted over and leaky pipe for a few moments, before bending over, and shooting out an arm to scoop up a long and narrow stick. “Why did this thing have to clog right up before dinner, of all times. Yeesh.” Whined Rokh’Pokka, as he straightened his back, and stopped kneeling before the pipe, popping into a standing position and leering down into the metal basin that was used as a sink in the Pride Den. Rokh’Pokka raised the stick as he grumbled a few more times, before lining it up with the small hole at the bottom of the basin, and started to ram it down into the pipe, water sloshing up and splashing him in the face occasionally, smearing the red warpaint, and occasionally dripping...
(This story has a lot of symbolism, so you might need to read it more then once to fully understand its meaning.)
The boy's eyes slammed open, staring up at the night sky, most of which was hid by tree branches. He rolled over onto his side, before slowly rising to his feet. He looked all around him. Where was he? He was surrounded by trees, tall but skinny. How did he get there? Was anyone looking for him? The boy blinked a few times, not believing his eyes. It was raining lightly, slowly dampening his baggy red shirt. He stood there for a moment, before hearing the breaking of a twig behind him, probably from a footstep. He twirled around to see a Yanar looking back at him. She smiled warmly, reminding him very much of his mother...
The man contemplated whether to send his rant to Countess Black, he didn't rip it or burn it because this was what he needed.
'Last night, with no children around, I had got into a fight in defence of another almshouse employee. All this during a riot, now as I wondered upon the streets and found him..He was an obnoxious, ungrateful, embarrassment. While he was injured, which he claimed was avoidable, he shown no gratitude for me standing up for him. Not to mention I was also ripped apart by another man who gave me no credit at all. Claiming he was defending him, not me. And also said that I should have got a guard. If you were there during these circumstances you would know most guards were on the cobblestone, which everyone was...
Her hand twitched as her wrist locked, sliding the sharp letter opener down the top of the stained envelope as got ready to open up the Sanctum of the Black Fern. Her almost glowing green eyes narrowed as she looked off into the distance. The early morning sun had barely hit the foggy alleys of Regalia, and a wandering hound walked towards her almost completely covered legs and sat down. As the hound whined for scraps, she flipped the open sign for the sanctum before allowing the animal in.
Dropping the letter opener onto her desk, as well as the open envelope still containing the letter, she made her way over to her breakfast. After dropping a few scraps out in the alleyway for the hound, she shut the doors and finally snatched up the...
Many things can tempt a person. Whether it be love, money, a mere gaze. That enticing whisper within your mind.
The young woman sat at her desk, various piles of parchment and letters stacked neatly into miniature towers before her. Her room which had once felt so large had begun to shrink in her thoughts. Pristine walls cleaned clear of cobwebs creeping closer together until a sense of isolation lurked in the hollow air surrounding the woman’s frame. Hollow until tainted; tauntingly pressing down upon her slim shoulders and forcing the energy out of parted lips in the form of a singular exhale. Impeccable posture lost in an exhausted slouch.
Whatever curious and youthful gaze had batted away concerned glances wholly dissipated. Lost...
He could not remember much, the blood loss was effecting his thoughts, he remembered a letter, a fast paced trip to Mountumbria, a forest, A sword pushed through his stomach, and his neck being slit. He knew the forest was full of bandits, but he did not know if that is what had happened, then, he could not remember anything of his life. The slit to the neck was deep, he could breath, for a few seconds, until blood leaked into his lungs. He was being dragged, then, as he started to black out, he felt a burning heat, as his body began to burn, he looked up, to see a man in armor quickly follow somebody, he could not tell who, from under the cover of the darkness, and leaves, out of sight of the others. Blackness, darkness, what-ever...
The letter and an attached diary would reach the headquarters of the Ironwolf Legion. From there a Legionnaire would ensure that the parcel would find it's way to those of House Norrvakt. The diary is old and leather bound. Cracks adorn it's sides, but the pages inside are still legible and in tact. The letter itself would be relatively new in terms of parchment and writing. It couldn't be more than a few weeks old at most, the more likely case is that it is a week. Should the diary be open it would contain fonts written in d'Ithanie. The letter itself written in Common so naturally it would be easily discernible by any who read it in it's transfer to the addressed owner. The letter reads as follows:
Captain Norrvakt,
Father, should...
“Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
"Blackmore, hold the bloody doors!" shouted the captain, the situation growing grim by the second.
"Captain, Alexandria is dead! Northgate is on his way out!" claimed the squad medic, having to shout over the consistent banging of the boarded windows and troopers attempting to secure the house. Screaming and shouting could be heard outside, the harrowing voice of their former comrades who they couldn't retrieve in the retreat. "The door won't hold any longer! Do we have a bloody exit?!" exclaimed Blackmore, his body pressed against the boarded doorway, quickly moving out of the way when another trooper...
She felt safe where she was. Nothing could hurt you when two of your best friends sat on either side of you.
Right?
Elizabeth sat on one sides of her, chatting away while Valbrand remained ever serious. There were others, too. Cecily, Vivienne, the two Norrvakts; Carthas and Brandt. The conversation was peaceful yet not in it's own right. Loud and safe.
There was a quiet woosh from above her, but she paid it no mind. There was a crack from in front of her, yet she seemed too intent on her conversation to realize it. There was a loud bang and suddenly everything was no longer peaceful and loud, but chaotic and stentorian.
A hand clasped over her mouth and nose, black smoke curling from the fireplace and burning her eyes, making her...
As she watched him walk away the girl felt dazed, anger boiling up and bursting in her chest. Her sudden rage was catapulted onwards by a barrage of thoughts: Who is Angelica? Why is he only talking about this girl? What makes her more special than talking to me? What did I do to deserve this? Why did he say Angelica doesn't believe in affairs when I asked him? -- Is it an affair?
Elizabeth's eyes trailed blearily around the Merchant Guild in shock as she stood there. Numb. Lizzy willed herself not to cry. She wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction. With a heavy step she felt pangs of hurt tear in her chest as a wave of emotions came up over the side of her once calm ship. Each step she processed more and more of what this meant but...
Carthas lay on the cobbled road. The wounds sustained causing extreme amounts of blood loss. The Ithanian coughs up a bit of blood, trying to laugh, but blacking out in a matter of moments and losing consciousness. Then all that remains is black. A void of blackness. In that blackness two voices, both identical, but both with different personalities. The voices speak to one another.
We were too weak. We could have taken them all, slaughtered the dogs in front of their master.
Non, we could not.
We were a monster, we /are/ a monster!
Non, that we are not.
We are the Warbeast Carthas of the Wolf's--
We are Nicolas of the House d'Eluise. Our sister is Madeleinne d'Eluise, our matriarch. We were never meant for any of this. We should...
'Dear Sister Joanne,
I have successfully immigrated through to Regalia. It is as colourful as described in the books we read together as youths. The people there are kind and welcoming..Well, most. I ran into the most peculiar man in the Golden Willow, their popular tavern. He wore the clothes of a prisoner, black and white stripes but had a guard type uniform. He spoke rudely to me and it ended in a verbal altercation of which I was nearly arrested by him and his ginger plebe on a comrade. His ignorance was teeth-grindingly irksome. I had never seen a rude man like that before in my life, I don't think. I called him 'Mon Ami' and he responded with a vicious provocation calling our native...
Immigrant
A man sat in a broken down apartment in Regalia, the soft sound of dirty water was heard as it hit the creaky, wet, wooden floorboards which was inappropriately called a 'living space'. The bed was practically broken. All the man had covering him while he slept was a ragged blanket which had some sort of wet substance. His desk was his favourite part of the apartment, not because he loved to write, but because the apartment was a dump. It was all he could afford after immigrating. he frantically scribbled in his small leather book, his round glasses reflected the small light of the burning candle. What was he writing about? Himself, perhaps? Or a letter to a loved one? All we know is that he wrote for hours, and hours..And...
[Just a short little tale]
Two men sat in front of a fire place, drinking fine wine and speaking merrily. One, a war veteran of many years, now happily living with his wife in children after Regalia ceased their lands. The other, the other was his brother, or the closest thing he’d ever have to one. The light did not allow for you to see their faces, but the elder brother’s piercing eyes shone gold in the light as he looked to his brother.
“I don’t think my work was done brother.” He said.
The younger sibling chuckled, taking a sip of his booze, “You never think your work is done, you’ve been fighting your entire life. Enjoy the rest of your years with your wife and children. That country doesn’t care about you.”
The eldest...
Alinea
The trunks that lined the courtyard of Miscadiz had doubled, from arrival to departure. Ribbons and banners still dangled from tree boughs and balconies that surrounded the inner courtyard. Servants were finding goblets that had tumbled underneath shrubbery and into fountains. The fiesta would be remembered for decades. The city danced, feasted, and celebrated the nights away. By day, prayers and speeches in honor of the new couple, and by night - dancing and festivities. Fireworks over the water, and a carnival-like atmosphere that lasted the week through.
But eventually, as all extraordinary things must end, so too did the fiesta. Gifts from the local nobility, wealthy businessmen, and even some of the...
"HOW DARE YOU!!"
Carthas roared out at seemingly no one as his Legion office was empty safe for him and a few scattered papers. Just moments prior he had been at the Tavern with his niece and brother. Safe to say the experience had less than satisfactory results for the Norrvakt.
"You dare defy me as such?! Nicolas d'Eluise, you are a fool and coward an now you will pay for your most grave error! You made us a fool in the presence of many and dare bring shame upon another House. Have you anything to say for your actions worm?!"
"Worm? My, my. It seems that you are beginning to sound like our sister. Seems the Warbeast has a temper, calm yourself dog."
"I did not summon you to speak Delacroix! You may remain silent or I will deal...
The crate arrived at the Norrvakt estate in the countryside of the Crown Isle. Four men hoisted it off the cart and into the dining hall, laying it down gently as to not offend the owner of the expensive piece. They were paid for their service and the cart made it's way back down the broken up cobble road.A house servant, one of the mercenaries from the Ironwolf Legion, broke into the crate, not removing the top fully, and stepped back as the Warbeast stepped over the wooden coffin. Carthas Norrvakt, bent his knees as he drew a hand over the case. He thought on it for a moment.
This gift by his father. This was his life. This is what his life has become and all his life will be. He will not live in palaces or castles. He will not own...
Prelude
The character that is dubbed by the name Ardola is not this actual individual's name, and has been chosen from the village within Anglia to which these characters stories had taken place, respectively.
Ardola
Thumb in mouth, there leant your arm upon your companions shoulder. Statuesque of the finest craftsmanship the Imperial Spirit could give, each appropriated form detailed with the fury of romanticized excitement. Truly perfection, simple as was made certain. There you stood, where to which your friend appeared of stone, you were made to be marble, evident in contrast.
I was drawn back, taken away by this moment of passion, fire brought high into a calm gloom. I was confused by my emotions, shocked by my weakness to...
Night Pursuit
Desperate for the need of others. Yilvana was running along the empty streets of Regalia, being pursued by a cloaked figure, that camouflaged well with the nullified nightlife. They ran, the woman too exhausted for screaming, she saved every breath for respiratory purposes.
The young woman made a halt as she noticed a dead end. Gulping as she spun around to investigate. There he was, eyes that were a noticeable rusty vermilion colour. His appearance just as dull as his eyes, the bloodthirsty demon stepped closer to its prey. Aiming to pounce on the girl. She side-stepped, and decided to make another run for security.
Nevertheless, it was but a scavenger hunt as the heresy pursued the innocent woman. He was...
Prisms
Opening the day was two souls at conflict, amongst the shadow that guarded them under the weeping, twisted tree. Backs against each other's, arms crossed and expression stern. It was Yilvana and Hunter at odds.
As soon as Serenity spotted both of her children, she sighed, realising where the two of them were. She approached with a delicate pastry, and the two reluctantly took it, sharing the delicious treat between themselves. Escaping into the shadows was beautiful beams of descending light, dancing elegantly in perfect harmony, overlapping and crossing. These were dazzling to both the young minds.
Watching them from a distance, their mother rest on the grass with a sense of security. Not keeping a single eye off them...
It is a simple and given fact that almost all men and their spawn hate the cold. That since the dawn of their primal existence they have shunned and detested the dark and cold night. But, Gabriel Rüdiger was not most men. He cared not for the cold, but he did not despise it. If anything, Gabriel was used to ice in his veins ever since he was a boy. He leaned back into the cushioned leather seat at his worn desk, running a hand over the chipped sea-green paint. He shrugged off the cold, as was his way. He learned to be strong, stoic, and stern, and to shun adversity when it came.
But here, in the pale hours late at night when he was finally alone, did the frost gathered about his soul part before the flickering candle. There behind...
Withering Flowers
It was a very rainy day, unlike all the others. Water was pounding harshly against the water as thunder crashed violently against the water. Tension and despair was bundled all into one room, eating everyone up as the sense of vermilion coated eyes that were dripping crystal clear tears. The only question was, why were they like this?
All of them together in the clinic, the same feeling and aura emitting from each and every one. Nothing but sadness and pain existed in them on that very day, it's as if the happiness was vacuumed out and deposited elsewhere; awaiting to be returned to the unwavering hearts of all the Chaleur members.
Blanche rested on the bed, her face clustered in droplets of tears...
A dull thumping slowly came into focus from the inky blackness. The muffled sound of footsteps on the floor above and the distant sweet voice of Elizabeth Black making it’s way through the floorboards of the Almshouse. Eventually, this soft patter of noise faded with the gentle sound of a door shutting in the click of the door knob. With much more effort than should be needed, Maxwell Kalbronski slowly opened his heavy eyes to distantly stare across the room, which was confusingly sideways to him. It took him a few moments to realize that he was completely slumped forward onto a table, his head turned sideways to stare at a wall. Placing both hands on the table he’d push himself upward, only to flop back and sink into his chair. His...
When the seagull’s screams could no longer be heard, she relaxed.
The woman had been standing along the fore of the ship, watching the sloop cut through the grey, choppy waters that reflected the overcast sky above. The saltwater spray misted her hair, hanging like dew in the black, wind-whipped locks. Must be far enough away from land now, she thought with relief. Leaving the Crown City behind and sailing south to Naserna was a welcome event.
The palacio of Miscadiz, the Wodenstaff ancestral home, perched on the top of a high hill overlooking the city of Naserna. The gently sloping hills of woodland that made up the areas surrounding the city gave way to open fields that terminated in the bustling shipyards that dotted the...
He was cold in his bed, shivering the slightest as he watched the snowflakes stick to his window just across his small room. His hands were folded across his chest and a small, pale hand reached across from her narrow bed to grab onto his fingers. The boy, nearly nine, looked to his baby sister, her little fingers trying to wrap around his but her fingertips simply brushed against the back of his hand, her arm too small to reach him. The boy clambered from his cold bed and crawled into his sister’s, wrapping his arm around her small form to try and warm her.
“Kea.” Her voice was as small and tired as he felt, the gentle snow making his drowsy again. He turned to look at her, a small hum of question raising from him as he couldn't...
Despite the momentum carried upon the initial siege of Shaaq-Turnaal, the Ostmark theatre has settled into a period of waiting. Soldiers intermingle amongst themselves, theorizing upon the next moves which the Lieutenant-General Typhonus has planned or if his Imperial Holiness will take matters into his own hands. Within a day following the siege the remaining forces of the Ironwolf Legion land at Farah'deen and within moments upon arrival, develop a presence at the main camp with the rest of the Ostmark.
These are many of the same men whom he had trained with initially in Nordskag. Many of them veterans of skirmishes all too familiar to warfare. Bred for it. Bled in it and morphed to be efficient no matter the obstacle. Still, some...
The warm, evening breeze of the Farah'deen desert entered his tent unannounced and uninvited, but not unwelcomed. It was a pleasant sensation as opposed to the cold anxiety that filled his head. He let the quill fall from his hand as he leaned back in the chair at his desk, folding his arms and staring into the space on the floor in front of him in contemplation.
He knew that things were bad back at home, but what he had initially perceived as a contained power struggle between two corrupt and greedy men, had now widened to engulf them all, reaching even far across the oceans to the east, to the tent in which he now sat.
"All that I wanted to do was fight this bloody Songaskian war," he muttered in annoyance to a cluster of broken...
Savage. Brute. Simple. Uncivilized. Illiterate..
Five words echoed through the Skagger’s mind. Over and over. Pacing back and forth through his mind, like clockwork. A constant barrage of the brands society has bestowed him with.
Savage.
The now thirty-two year old man spent his life in a tribe within the forests of Drixagh, only leaving to attend the School of Skagger. A Balltarc with the reputation of a Northerner, savage.
Brute.
A battle hardened Skagger Berhednar with the scars to prove it. Only ever unleashing his potential on the battlefield, yet the scars he carry show a different picture to most.
Simple. Uncivilized.
The now thirty-two year old man spent his life in a tribe within the forests of Drixagh, only leaving to...
There he was, alone once again.
The middle aged man leaned forward in his chair, cradling his head in his arms. The conversation he had just had did not bode well for him, and now once again he recalled he previous stance.
Loyalty. Duty.
What was loyalty, and what was duty? Could one contradict the other, or do both always run in tandem? Such were the questions that plagued the man's mind these days.
He had been through many changes as of late. The crowning of a new Emperor. The promotion to a rank he never even dreamed he could achieve. And the changes in government that seemed to come and go o a daily basis. So many changes in so little time. Changes for the better, or for the worse? He did not know.
But he couldn't sit by and...
"Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law; and this mandate, down to the depths of time, he obeyed." - Jack London
The sound of wood smashing from all corners filled the ship's cabin, the inside lined with luxurious jewelry and priceless artifacts all recovered from a treasure hunt well recovered. Roars and screams came from outside, the sounds the dead made. Inside sat the two, the businessman and the thief as they sat out their final moments; barrels of gunpowder at the ready with the capability of leveling the surrounding area. Their future was slowly fading by the moment, their old work forgotten and their final moments to be recounted for.
"So, this is it? Surrounded on all sides with our pants down... Would have hoped...
It was okay. It was okay, because she knew nothing bad would happen. She did her best in the war, despite being removed after her fight with Brandt. Knowing Brandt would eventually forgive her was her greatest happiness.
Eirain sat upon her mother’s old chair. Removing her letter opener from her drawer as she sliced open letter after letter. Going through invitations, bills, propositions and writing responses. She finally came across a letter from her elder sister. Peeling it open slowly this time, and carefully reading over the note. She was rusty in her Northerne so it took a few moments to decipher.
“Dear sister,
I regret to inform you that since the war is over me and my friends have been rather bored. I got into quite the...
＊Rejections Guilt＊
It was a beautiful, moonlit night and Melodina was looking through her things, and upon searching she found a letter that was neatly addressed to her with a curled style of writing. As soon as she saw the piece of paper, the woman glared intently at it; what was she doing?
Was she happy or sad? Frustrated or delighted? Their wasn't an answer because the female didn't know herself, but she hesitantly opened the sealed envelope to pull out another well-presented piece of paper.
The letter was clustered with rows and rows of words, the way it was written made the piece of literature look like a sonnet. Although it wasn't, and the Chaleur knew exactly what this was, she tensed up slightly, as her eyes darted across...
Fingers drum ceaselessly against a faded oak table. He was waiting, waiting for the moment of revelation. As the shrouded man continues to drum on the table ash begins to spill onto the floor.
The ash was everywhere. The ash was everyone. The ash was everything.
The protectors of Regalia would be brought back in due time, yes, in due time. But for now he kept them close to him, close to his heart.
"Yes my friends... nothing can hurt you here. None of the Marked, or... or... him." the figure assured the piles off ash, running his gloved fingers through them.
The man's black robes had been eaten away by both pesky moths and feral undeads. They resembled the wings of a dead raven spread forth once again after weeks of death. His iron...
＊The Unexpected＊
Yet another beautiful day in the Regalian park, Melodina was on a local park bench, reading to herself as her niece and nephew were doing silly games among one another. The Auntie not paying much attention to the young lively couple noticed a very dirty, and ragged man walking around and asking the passerbys for a regal or two. Getting note of this, the woman called the two over, and said quite sternly to them to walk away if the man came near them. Both of them hesitantly nodded to one another and scurried off to play once again.
But then, a tragic accident occurred whilst the two were doing silly acts near the pond. They fell in with a splash and upon hearing such an alarming sound, Melodina jumped up and...
Celebration spread deep throughout the overgrown jungle of tents, which made the Regalian War Camp of Shaaq-Turnaal. Soldiers walked in lines of three, arms around each other's shoulders in brotherly cheers. Night had spread throughout the encampment, and an orange glow illuminated the flowing purple cloth of Regalian tents, where soldiers sat in rest, after a long battle.
Within one particular Cavalry tent, a young Ravenstad sat in a docile stupor, downing his latest glass of red that he'd tucked into his travel bag. "Spirit.." The Ravenstad would mutter, clasping down to his side, as he plucked up a golden coronet. A circle of dragons spun the small crown, holding together a rope of gold. All around it, jewels found themselves...