Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
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they would need access to either life or spirit mana.
Ffh Nes Ii
- Thread starter Immaculate
- Start date
orangelex44
Partisan
What you guys really need are experts in Death. To bad the Sidar aren't around to solve your problems...
I never really understood why the answer to undead was always life mana, it seems to me that the best resort would actually be give them an extra share of death mana. Perhaps I'm biased.
I never really understood why the answer to undead was always life mana, it seems to me that the best resort would actually be give them an extra share of death mana. Perhaps I'm biased.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
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life and spirit mana are associated with curing a disease. life is also associated with 'countering' undeath.
death mana might be interesting in the same way that spirit might be- to give them thought and rationalization so they could be parleyed with. but then death mana could also be used to reinforce them and make them stronger.
I.
death mana might be interesting in the same way that spirit might be- to give them thought and rationalization so they could be parleyed with. but then death mana could also be used to reinforce them and make them stronger.
I.
orangelex44
Partisan
Or it could kill them. Turn them from *un*dead to - gasp! - dead dead. Thanks, Death!
EDIT: Or so I claim.
EDIT: Or so I claim.
Tyrs
King
OOC:The way I see it, in cliche fantasy, life would return the undead to the natural dead state, spirit would give them their souls/memories back (zombie nation with aspirations and leaders now, that would be SO awesome), and Death would control them to be YOUR zombie horde.
IC: *Sheaim and Eekin diplomatic servants muttering*
"We spent all these hard years to reach this land, and its full of zombies. Should have stayed at home"
IC: *Sheaim and Eekin diplomatic servants muttering*
"We spent all these hard years to reach this land, and its full of zombies. Should have stayed at home"
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Or what you need is a bunch of assassins with cool looking dark robes and awesome knives
orangelex44
Partisan
That's the cliche, yes. I'd prefer to make the claim that it should be the opposite - Life should be the one that keeps people from their true rest, and Death is the one that puts the baddies into the grave. I know that's not a commonly accepted theory, and is quite unlikely to change, but if you think about it for a while you'll see it makes sense. In a purely "orange" way.
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Yes, I think that was the original purpose of Death sphere as Life's true purpose was just that. AND THEN some good god with his fancy beard moved into the Life sphere and is using it to take away lives from bunch of zombies just trying to make their living in a harsh world where nobody likes them and Death sphere, the god doesn't simply care, so it suddenly turns into a free-for-all where wizards clamor for power and twist around death magic to make it "undeath" magic
kenkrajen
Prince
to clear this up, some D&D terms will make this make more sense:
Death = Necromancy (Arcane Undead Control) = Channeling Negative Energy (Divine Undead Control [negative energy is what animates undead])
Life = Healing (for living people)= Channeling Positive Energy (still heals people)
Death = Necromancy (Arcane Undead Control) = Channeling Negative Energy (Divine Undead Control [negative energy is what animates undead])
Life = Healing (for living people)= Channeling Positive Energy (still heals people)
orangelex44
Partisan
Oh I know, I just like having a different viewpoint.
kenkrajen
Prince
should have realized
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
To The Lizardmen
To the south there is a threat to us all. We chastise ourselves for invading upon your property and realized the consequences. The Infected can cause both men and animals to get their undeath disease: if you help us, either as scouts and skirmishers with your famed-blowdarters or weaponary to be brought by out captains: we are willing to pay handsomly in money and land.
To the Elves
We offer much food, for our gold is extremely precious. (Think over 40 food, ask later)
To the south there is a threat to us all. We chastise ourselves for invading upon your property and realized the consequences. The Infected can cause both men and animals to get their undeath disease: if you help us, either as scouts and skirmishers with your famed-blowdarters or weaponary to be brought by out captains: we are willing to pay handsomly in money and land.
To the Elves
We offer much food, for our gold is extremely precious. (Think over 40 food, ask later)
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
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@Charles: You only find small isolated groups of the lizardmen and without the leadership they once had, they seem to have regressed considerably. you can't expect any assistance from them.
i.
i.
orangelex44
Partisan
Draft them scaly boys! No leadership means no one to question you when you march in, round them up, and force them into the front lines. At the very least, they'll slow the zombies down while you land fire arrows on the enemy's head.
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
And then when the lizardmen turns into a zombie, then you find out, TOO LATE, that lizardmen-turned-zombies can run.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
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Abdul ran through the Hallows as fast as his legs would carry him. He was running cross-country, fleeing the ‘Als slave hunters who chased him. Three days ago, Abdul killed his master with a kitchen knife and made his bid for freedom. The slave hunters were relentless. The blood of an ‘Als noble had been spilled, and they would do everything in there power to make sure that blood is repaid. For once it was good th ing that Abdul had no family, because if he had they surely would have been butchered by now. That was the ‘Als way. Every slave toed the line, knowing that if they ran their family would be slaughtered. Their deaths probably would have been slow. Because of this no slave dared to escape unless it was organized by the Sisters of Sirona, or those few ‘Als noblemen who managed to hold on to their humanity. The torchlight of the slavers could barely be seen in the distance, mere pinpricks of fire in the night. They were gaining on him.
Abdul ran faster, ducking to avoid a low hanging branch. Barely clearing a jagged rock in his path he landed off balance, twisting his ankle. Abdul let out a yelp, unable to completely stifle the pain. The voices of the slavers immediately carried through the eerily silent forest, “Over there! I heard something over there!” Then “That filthy maggot, he’ll wish he’d never been born!” Though Abdul’s mind was too preoccupied with the pain to pay them any attention. This was worse than any sprain he’d had before. He must have torn something. There was no way he could outrun them anymore, but he had to try.
Climbing up the tree trunk, Abdul gingerly stood on his good foot. ‘Right, then left. Right, then left,’ he repeated this mantra in his0Ahead, hoping it would give him the strength to go on. Abdul made it five paces before slipping on a loose rock. He crashed to the ground in a heap. Pure agony shot up his left leg from his ankle. It hurt even worse now than before. He’d never make it. Abdul looked up at the moon. It was full. The rays of light shined on him through the tree branches as if to point a finger at him and say, ‘Look, I found him!’ He could see the torches coming closer now. There was no hope.
Suddenly, Abdul heard a rustling in the bushes nearby. A jolt of fear shot through him as a low, outstretched hand protruded from the bush. A whisper, “Quick, hide here.” Abdul crawled on all fours towards the hand. Closing the five feet not as rapidly as he wanted to, Abdul whispered back, “Who are you?”
The bush said, “No time for questions,” and the hand grabbed him. It pulled him through the bush and down into a subterranean, pitch black cavern. His ankle slammed against the wall. The hand covered Abdul’s mouth before his cry escaped him.
Heavy footsteps could be heard above. They slowed from a run to a brisk walk. A youthful voice said, “I don’t see him.” Even though the0Athick bush blocked most of it, a tiny sliver of torchlight made its way into the fugitives’ cavern. In the shadowy light, Abdul could make out a tall figure standing in front of him. This figure wore the robes of ‘Als nobility. Interupting Abdul’s shock was an older, gruffer voice from above, “Keep going. We’ll catch up to him soon. Keep your spears ready!” The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard once again, this time growing ever fainter.
The figure went to his knee to be level with Abdul, who could still not make out his features. The figure spoke slowly, calmly. His voice conveyed a certainty of knowing. It was a belief which radiated from him and seemed to say he was the master of all things. The center of life. He had the authority of a god about him, yet the compassionate empathy of a lowly priest, a healer. Speaking the language of the Halluchuirp with a thick ‘Als accent he said, “Greetings, my friend. I am Ras’ul Ibn Musa of House Crylasi. The Lady of Wisdom has guided me to you.”
Abdul, astonished at what he was hearing, could only stammer out, “M-me?”
“Yes. You. Tell me about yourself and I shall tend to your ankle.” Ras’ul ripped off a strip of cl oth from the bottom of his robes and began to bandage Abdul’s ankle, which had swollen to the size of a small grapefruit.
Taking heart at the thought of a god taking an interest in him, yet still hesitant to confess his crime he said, “My name is Abdul Nabi. I was a slave. Now I am not.”
Even though he could not see in the darkness of the cavern, it sounded like a smile had crept onto Ras’ul’s face as he said, “That is a rather simple story. You must be exceedingly fortunate to have such a simple life.”
“There is more to the story. If you must know, I am hunted by men who thirst for nothing but my blood. I killed my master, three days ago. They hunt me because I am a murderer.”
“And why did you kill your master? Was he an especially cruel man?”
“He was…” Abdul tried not to relive the awful memories of the past week. “He had me chained, and had my woman. Then killed her. All to spite me for stopping him from whipping a child.”
“Your cause was just. Revenge is natural. It heals the soul. There, I am finished. Your injury will take much time to heal.” Ras’ul climbed out of the cavern. He reached back down, “Take my hand.” Abdul did, and the robed man pulled him up out of the darkness. In the light of the full moon, Abdul could see his savior’s face. He was awestruck by what he saw. This was the face of a man touched by fate. Never had Abdul seen anyone who radiated such raw power, yet emanating with that power was an aura which filled Abdul with an inner peace. It was almost unnatural. Ras’ul, breaking the silence, spoke again, “Ordinarily I would tell you to stay off of your foot, but you have much walking to do before getting to Freetown.”
Resolutely Abdul said, “It is a burden I will endure. You are a very strange man, Ras’ul.” As he bent down to grab a walking stick off the forest floor he went on, “You heal like one of the blessed Sisters, but have the regal bearing of a nobleman of the ‘Als. More, even. Where do you come from?” Grabbing a particularly knotted stick, Abdul noticed that the cloth his bandage was ripped from came from his own breeches. A thought occurred to him, “And don’t you mean ‘we’?” But whe n Abdul looked up, the mysterious man was gone.
Abdul ran faster, ducking to avoid a low hanging branch. Barely clearing a jagged rock in his path he landed off balance, twisting his ankle. Abdul let out a yelp, unable to completely stifle the pain. The voices of the slavers immediately carried through the eerily silent forest, “Over there! I heard something over there!” Then “That filthy maggot, he’ll wish he’d never been born!” Though Abdul’s mind was too preoccupied with the pain to pay them any attention. This was worse than any sprain he’d had before. He must have torn something. There was no way he could outrun them anymore, but he had to try.
Climbing up the tree trunk, Abdul gingerly stood on his good foot. ‘Right, then left. Right, then left,’ he repeated this mantra in his0Ahead, hoping it would give him the strength to go on. Abdul made it five paces before slipping on a loose rock. He crashed to the ground in a heap. Pure agony shot up his left leg from his ankle. It hurt even worse now than before. He’d never make it. Abdul looked up at the moon. It was full. The rays of light shined on him through the tree branches as if to point a finger at him and say, ‘Look, I found him!’ He could see the torches coming closer now. There was no hope.
Suddenly, Abdul heard a rustling in the bushes nearby. A jolt of fear shot through him as a low, outstretched hand protruded from the bush. A whisper, “Quick, hide here.” Abdul crawled on all fours towards the hand. Closing the five feet not as rapidly as he wanted to, Abdul whispered back, “Who are you?”
The bush said, “No time for questions,” and the hand grabbed him. It pulled him through the bush and down into a subterranean, pitch black cavern. His ankle slammed against the wall. The hand covered Abdul’s mouth before his cry escaped him.
Heavy footsteps could be heard above. They slowed from a run to a brisk walk. A youthful voice said, “I don’t see him.” Even though the0Athick bush blocked most of it, a tiny sliver of torchlight made its way into the fugitives’ cavern. In the shadowy light, Abdul could make out a tall figure standing in front of him. This figure wore the robes of ‘Als nobility. Interupting Abdul’s shock was an older, gruffer voice from above, “Keep going. We’ll catch up to him soon. Keep your spears ready!” The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard once again, this time growing ever fainter.
The figure went to his knee to be level with Abdul, who could still not make out his features. The figure spoke slowly, calmly. His voice conveyed a certainty of knowing. It was a belief which radiated from him and seemed to say he was the master of all things. The center of life. He had the authority of a god about him, yet the compassionate empathy of a lowly priest, a healer. Speaking the language of the Halluchuirp with a thick ‘Als accent he said, “Greetings, my friend. I am Ras’ul Ibn Musa of House Crylasi. The Lady of Wisdom has guided me to you.”
Abdul, astonished at what he was hearing, could only stammer out, “M-me?”
“Yes. You. Tell me about yourself and I shall tend to your ankle.” Ras’ul ripped off a strip of cl oth from the bottom of his robes and began to bandage Abdul’s ankle, which had swollen to the size of a small grapefruit.
Taking heart at the thought of a god taking an interest in him, yet still hesitant to confess his crime he said, “My name is Abdul Nabi. I was a slave. Now I am not.”
Even though he could not see in the darkness of the cavern, it sounded like a smile had crept onto Ras’ul’s face as he said, “That is a rather simple story. You must be exceedingly fortunate to have such a simple life.”
“There is more to the story. If you must know, I am hunted by men who thirst for nothing but my blood. I killed my master, three days ago. They hunt me because I am a murderer.”
“And why did you kill your master? Was he an especially cruel man?”
“He was…” Abdul tried not to relive the awful memories of the past week. “He had me chained, and had my woman. Then killed her. All to spite me for stopping him from whipping a child.”
“Your cause was just. Revenge is natural. It heals the soul. There, I am finished. Your injury will take much time to heal.” Ras’ul climbed out of the cavern. He reached back down, “Take my hand.” Abdul did, and the robed man pulled him up out of the darkness. In the light of the full moon, Abdul could see his savior’s face. He was awestruck by what he saw. This was the face of a man touched by fate. Never had Abdul seen anyone who radiated such raw power, yet emanating with that power was an aura which filled Abdul with an inner peace. It was almost unnatural. Ras’ul, breaking the silence, spoke again, “Ordinarily I would tell you to stay off of your foot, but you have much walking to do before getting to Freetown.”
Resolutely Abdul said, “It is a burden I will endure. You are a very strange man, Ras’ul.” As he bent down to grab a walking stick off the forest floor he went on, “You heal like one of the blessed Sisters, but have the regal bearing of a nobleman of the ‘Als. More, even. Where do you come from?” Grabbing a particularly knotted stick, Abdul noticed that the cloth his bandage was ripped from came from his own breeches. A thought occurred to him, “And don’t you mean ‘we’?” But whe n Abdul looked up, the mysterious man was gone.
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Immac, the most important E-mail in my whole life has been sent
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
and responded to...
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Don't say that, I was hoping that they would think that it was more important, like my final order for my complete utter victory
Northen Wolf
Young Hunter
@Charles Li
From: Silver Grass Elves
To: Grigori
Sorry, but we cannot work for food.
_______
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