• 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.

That Holy Wrath

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 helm was bent and warped, a relic from a more simple time, a time not long ago when the pale ones came forth from their resting places.

They would come again, he knew it. He turns his head to the painting, the painting of her. It was faded from the ash that floated around in the damp stone room. It has stuck easily to the painting because of the wetness that constantly dripped down the walls. Her pale skin and brilliant blue eyes barely visible.

"Oh my Queen, my merciful creator... why? Why have you not come to me?" the figure pleaded, falling to his knees.

A quivering voice came from the corner of the room, small and weak. "Is why you talk to painting? Painting never say anything... is scare me..." the Klein said, it was a thin thing, the chain keeping it captive barely fitting on it's wrist anymore.

The figure spun around, convulsing with anger and frustration. His voice squeaked like an adolescent's as he yelled frantically at them. "Haaa... AH! D-did I give you room to speak wo-worm!? Your... you. you. you... pitiful! Ill feed you to worms, worm! You doubt her greatness! DOUBT IT!!!"

He grabs a sword from a hook on the wall, it was a twisted and malformed thing. Turned a dirt-red from years of rust. The figure steps towards the small Klein which was now cowering in the corner.

"You will feel her Holy Wrath. All will feel it. Soon."




Some people who might like this I dunno
@AtticCat @Streako @Buckwheat2003 @Zytus @MrSpideyPool @Siphonarii
 
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 helm was bent and warped, a relic from a more simple time, a time not long ago when the pale ones came forth from their resting places.

They would come again, he knew it. He turns his head to the painting, the painting of her. It was faded from the ash that floated around in the damp stone room. It has stuck easily to the painting because of the wetness that constantly dripped down the walls. Her pale skin and brilliant blue eyes barely visible.

"Oh my Queen, my merciful creator... why? Why have you not come to me?" the figure pleaded, falling to his knees.

A quivering voice came from the corner of the room, small and weak. "Is why you talk to painting? Painting never say anything... is scare me..." the Klein said, it was a thin thing, the chain keeping it captive barely fitting on it's wrist anymore.

The figure spun around, convulsing with anger and frustration. His voice squeaked like an adolescent's as he yelled frantically at them. "Haaa... AH! D-did I give you room to speak wo-worm!? Your... you. you. you... pitiful! Ill feed you to worms, worm! You doubt her greatness! DOUBT IT!!!"

He grabs a sword from a hook on the wall, it was a twisted and malformed thing. Turned a dirt-red from years of rust. The figure steps towards the small Klein which was now cowering in the corner.

"You will feel her Holy Wrath. All will feel it. Soon."




Some people who might like this I dunno
@AtticCat @Streako @Buckwheat2003 @Zytus @MrSpideyPool @Siphonarii
Good I don't like Klein
 
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 helm was bent and warped, a relic from a more simple time, a time not long ago when the pale ones came forth from their resting places.

They would come again, he knew it. He turns his head to the painting, the painting of her. It was faded from the ash that floated around in the damp stone room. It has stuck easily to the painting because of the wetness that constantly dripped down the walls. Her pale skin and brilliant blue eyes barely visible.

"Oh my Queen, my merciful creator... why? Why have you not come to me?" the figure pleaded, falling to his knees.

A quivering voice came from the corner of the room, small and weak. "Is why you talk to painting? Painting never say anything... is scare me..." the Klein said, it was a thin thing, the chain keeping it captive barely fitting on it's wrist anymore.

The figure spun around, convulsing with anger and frustration. His voice squeaked like an adolescent's as he yelled frantically at them. "Haaa... AH! D-did I give you room to speak wo-worm!? Your... you. you. you... pitiful! Ill feed you to worms, worm! You doubt her greatness! DOUBT IT!!!"

He grabs a sword from a hook on the wall, it was a twisted and malformed thing. Turned a dirt-red from years of rust. The figure steps towards the small Klein which was now cowering in the corner.

"You will feel her Holy Wrath. All will feel it. Soon."




Some people who might like this I dunno
@AtticCat @Streako @Buckwheat2003 @Zytus @MrSpideyPool @Siphonarii
Thats some real klein hate right there