Rowena Nightshade is a stunningly beautiful elfen woman. Her raven locks are as dark as pitch and her skin is as pale as bone. Her lips are bright red and glisten, parting to reveal perfect white teeth. Her almond eyes are dark violet, glittering coldly and cruelly, penetrating into all those before her. Clinging to her curvaceous form is a dark black dress that moves of its own accord around her body, made not of cloth but of animated shadows.
Crumkane, Lord of Epicurean Delights says, "WAS IT INDEED ON FIRE, ERITHEYL."
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With a deep reverb, Contemptible Sutekh says, "CEASE YOUR INFERNAL ENERGY, ERITHEYL."
And it's the one I wanted, I was reading the taint wars and she went all Galadriel with the ring.
Soon all will be under the Presence. And I shall be a Queen in this new order. All shall bow and serve me--for am I not as beautiful as I am terrible? Am I not as powerful as I am glorious? Am I not Rowena Darkshade, Mistress of All She Surveys! I will spread a twisted forest that will choke the Basin of Life. It will be called the Glomdoring Forest -- the Forest without Mercy!
He is a radiant immortal and He rubs His needlelike fingers togther as He gazes sternly from behind
His icy, pale eyes. Hanging in the air like a veil of fine mist, His presence is nothing more than a
chill upon the skin. Transparent flesh is pulled taut over His frail, bony frame, while alabaster
strands of hair billow behind Him, whipping frantically through the air as if caught in a constant
gale. Chin tilted to the sky, He stands with an arrogance not afforded to Him by His form. A ghastly
aura hangs about Him, manifesting in a cool fog that gathers at His feet, the miasma roiling like an
impending storm. He is wearing billowing robes of a chilled mist and a torturous noose of thorn and
vine.
Everiine said: The reason population is low isn't because there are too many orgs. It's because so many facets of the game are outright broken and protected by those who benefit from it being that way. An overabundance of gimmicks (including game-breaking ones), artifacts that destroy any concept of balance, blatant pay-to-win features, and an obsession with convenience that makes few things actually worthwhile all contribute to the game's sad decline.
a midnight great shield depicting a caliginous dance
Easily matching the height of even the tallest viscanti, this towering armament is made of heavy, dusk-coloured metals masterfully forged together into a large, asymmetrical shape that is curved on the top with spikes extending at various points along the edge. Curved in a shallow dip, leather straps covered with silk serve to loop around the arm of the wielder, an unadorned handle of eventide steel placed as a hand hold just off the edge of the piece. The front of this shield accounts for the heavy metal, however, as it is carved in a small watch of shadowy birds, eight in total. Each spike has been meticulously sculpted into the tip of a wing, the larger bearing the mighty pinions of nighthawks while the smaller hold the more delicate feathers of nightingales. Captured in quite an artistic pose, they soar and dance about each other, held in place in their orbit around the viscanti maiden in the centre of the shield. She is set into the shield itself and carved from the purest lapis lazuli, her finery clinging tight to her body in the
tempest that surrounds her, though her face remains hooded. Arms held out with palms up to embrace those who would come within range, the startlingly lifelike woman glows with a gentle effulgence.
A fuzzy peach squonkabonk stands here amidst a pool of putrid tears, fleshy growths protruding out from the many flesh folds along her back.
A mass of fuzzy peach skin, the squonkabonk is a horrible malformation of the smaller squonk, making the tiny, hideous fae quite attractive in comparison. Warts cover every bit of the poor creature's form, from her bulbous, stumpy tail, to the swollen maw upon her face. Beneath the protruding flap of flesh upon her brow, the fae's innocent powder blue eyes glimmer, providing the only beauty afforded to her otherwise grotesque figure. A constant stream of putrid tears falls steadily down the beast's cheeks, pooling in a puddle about her that fills the air with the scent of all things foul. Protruding out from amidst the puckers along her back are fleshy growths which shift about as she waddles around on her four stumpy legs.
Eh, not really in love with it. Let's keep it on its current diet and try zimoru.
A freckled white squonkabonk stands here amidst a pool of snotty tears, bloodied barbs protruding out from the many flesh folds along her back.
A mass of freckled white skin, the squonkabonk is a horrible malformation of the smaller squonk, making the tiny, hideous fae quite attractive in comparison. Warts cover every bit of the poor creature's form, from her bulbous, stumpy tail, to the swollen maw upon her face. Beneath the protruding flap of flesh upon her brow, the fae's innocent powder blue eyes glimmer, providing the only beauty afforded to her otherwise grotesque figure. A constant stream of snotty tears falls steadily down the beast's cheeks, pooling in a puddle about her that fills the air with the scent of all things foul. Protruding out from amidst the puckers along her back are bloodied barbs which shift about as she waddles around on her four stumpy legs.
Mmm. Would be nice if I lived in Mag I think. Let's try again.
A supple lavender squonkabonk stands here amidst a pool of bloody tears, pus-filled pustules protruding out from the many flesh folds along her back.
A mass of supple lavender skin, the squonkabonk is a horrible malformation of the smaller squonk, making the tiny, hideous fae quite attractive in comparison. Warts cover every bit of the poor creature's form, from her bulbous, stumpy tail, to the swollen maw upon her face. Beneath the protruding flap of flesh upon her brow, the fae's kaleidoscopic eyes glimmer, providing the only beauty afforded to her otherwise grotesque figure. A constant stream of bloody tears falls steadily down the beast's cheeks, pooling in a puddle about her that fills the air with the scent of all things foul. Protruding out from amidst the puckers along her back are pus-filled pustules which shift about as she waddles around on her four stumpy legs.
And there's our winner. Believe that all these spawned from a meat/fish/eggs chemset pill.
PS: Plz, plz, plz Estarra. Infini-zimoru. Just to save me having to waddle down to the artifact shop.
Everiine said: The reason population is low isn't because there are too many orgs. It's because so many facets of the game are outright broken and protected by those who benefit from it being that way. An overabundance of gimmicks (including game-breaking ones), artifacts that destroy any concept of balance, blatant pay-to-win features, and an obsession with convenience that makes few things actually worthwhile all contribute to the game's sad decline.
He is a sinuous illithoid and stands at an imposing six feet two inches, with a wiry athletic frame. Dark blue-green skin stretches over his taut muscles, in some spots mottled almost to black. His skull is devoid of any hair or crest, the only notable features being a pair of pale yellow lidless eyes with slitted black pupils, and a hideous maw punctuated on each corner by barbed mandibles. When he opens it there can be seen four large serrated fangs, at rest they fold back and retreat into fleshy sheaths, but when he yawns they extend fully, their needle points jutting menacingly outward. His sternal mouth is less gruesome, though lined with dozens of smaller fang-like projections. From within it, the head of a black eyeless serpentine creature sometimes emerges: a horror that is little more than chitin, muscle, and a gnashing set of jaws.
He is a sinuous illithoid and stands at an imposing six feet two inches, with a wiry athletic frame. Dark blue-green skin stretches over his taut muscles, in some spots mottled almost to black. His skull is devoid of any hair or crest, the only notable features being a pair of pale yellow lidless eyes with slitted black pupils, and a hideous maw punctuated on each corner by barbed mandibles. When he opens it there can be seen four large serrated fangs, at rest they fold back and retreat into fleshy sheaths, but when he yawns they extend fully, their needle points jutting menacingly outward. His sternal mouth is less gruesome, though lined with dozens of smaller fang-like projections. From within it, the head of a black eyeless serpentine creature sometimes emerges: a horror that is little more than chitin, muscle, and a gnashing set of jaws.
I think illithoid tend to be short and lack mandibles, but I like predithoid!
A horde of beings swarms about Your bulk. They are diverse in shape but are, without exception, horrific to look upon. Claws and teeth without number flash across Your vision, and nebulous masses of compound eyes and writhing tentacles and spindly antennae all twist around You. With the merest thought, You open wide Your maw and lazily swallow one.
Then they're a fairly tall illithoid, imo. The usually-probably-accepted standard for height is roughly 6" per point of size stat, but of course that's subject to points beyond the mean and the fact that size considers weight as well.
Nothing wrong with your stance, still. I like my illithoid like I like my coffee: tall, dark and primed to destroy me first on a psychic level.
A far away voice whispers, the sound barely reaching your ears, yet the words remain perfectly clear, "Then so be it."
So in average illithoids would be five feet? You and your imperial measurements.
A horde of beings swarms about Your bulk. They are diverse in shape but are, without exception, horrific to look upon. Claws and teeth without number flash across Your vision, and nebulous masses of compound eyes and writhing tentacles and spindly antennae all twist around You. With the merest thought, You open wide Your maw and lazily swallow one.
My newest design went through so fast I didn't even have time to put it in my signature!
Nearly translucent, the lapis lazuli gemwork of this vial has veins of gold running through the surface that appear molten when liquid is present within. A medley of nocturnal flowers are present in the gilded lines, eventide jasmine and night-blooming water lilies next to evening primrose and the delicate blooms of moon flowers and night gladiolus. The dark blue of the lapis surrounding these golden illustrations is riddled with flecks of lighter gold, silver, and starry inclusions, indigo swirls throughout painting it in colours similar to the dusky sky. The belly of the vial is shaped like a plump hourglass, the top sphere narrowing towards the lip, where a cork of black wood keeps its
interior secure. A soft chain of silver links, flecked with beads of lavender glass and gems of labradorite, sways from two rings attached to either side of the mouth, allowing the vial to be hung from the wearer's belt or satchel.
"chalice168878" a gilded chalice of champions (filled with blood)
p chalice
Brightly polished gold and elaborate gems render this chalice more ornament than functional liquid bearer. Engraved around the outer surface is a fine replica of the Magnagoran skyline, lofty towers and the graceful arch of the Necropolis encrusted with rubies and onyx. Most notable of course is the Megalith of Doom, rising ominously to pierce the fog shrouded sky. Two curled handles have been attached to each side, allowing the chalice to be firmly gripped and showed off with great pride. The base of the chalice curves down to the stem, which has been sculpted as though threaded with tooth-edged cogs, three in a row at different points in revolution. The stem broadens to a steady base, around which are inscribed in bold text the words, "Magnagora Bloodfaire Champion, 413CoE".
For some reason, it really reminds me of Sweeney Todd. I like ittt.
The apple is cold, crisp, and sour as the juices fill your mouth. As you consume the fruit, you glimpse, for a moment, a massive, shadowy figure, Her snow-white hair framing a perfect, icy-eyed visage. Beneath you, a vast, perfect web of silken strands lies - and, for a moment, you realize that you too are part of it, weaver and strand both - and home.
That's because you want to drink out of it and murmur, "God that's good."
Everiine said: The reason population is low isn't because there are too many orgs. It's because so many facets of the game are outright broken and protected by those who benefit from it being that way. An overabundance of gimmicks (including game-breaking ones), artifacts that destroy any concept of balance, blatant pay-to-win features, and an obsession with convenience that makes few things actually worthwhile all contribute to the game's sad decline.
I had stuff prepared for the Festival of Thorns 2 but I don't think Glom had enough people when I attemped it(again). That chalice looks amazing.
Viravain, Lady of the Thorns shouts, "And You would seize Me? Fool! I am the Glomdoring! I am the Wyrd, and beneath the cloak of Night, the shadows of the Silent stir!"
Comments
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Soon all will be under the
Presence. And I shall be a Queen in this new order. All shall bow
and serve me--for am I not as beautiful as I am terrible? Am I not as
powerful as I am glorious? Am I not Rowena Darkshade, Mistress of All
She Surveys! I will spread a twisted forest that will choke the Basin
of Life. It will be called the Glomdoring Forest -- the Forest
without Mercy!
Estarra the Eternal says, "Give Shevat the floor please."
He is a radiant immortal and He rubs His needlelike fingers togther as He gazes sternly from behind
His icy, pale eyes. Hanging in the air like a veil of fine mist, His presence is nothing more than a
chill upon the skin. Transparent flesh is pulled taut over His frail, bony frame, while alabaster
strands of hair billow behind Him, whipping frantically through the air as if caught in a constant
gale. Chin tilted to the sky, He stands with an arrogance not afforded to Him by His form. A ghastly
aura hangs about Him, manifesting in a cool fog that gathers at His feet, the miasma roiling like an
impending storm. He is wearing billowing robes of a chilled mist and a torturous noose of thorn and
vine.
Ixion tells you, "// I don't think anyone else had a clue, amazing form."
NIKKA IS WANT.
He is a sinuous illithoid and stands at an imposing six feet two inches, with a wiry athletic frame. Dark blue-green skin stretches over his taut muscles, in some spots mottled almost to black. His skull is devoid of any hair or crest, the only notable features being a pair of pale yellow lidless eyes with slitted black pupils, and a hideous maw punctuated on each corner by barbed mandibles. When he opens it there can be seen four large serrated fangs, at rest they fold back and retreat into fleshy sheaths, but when he yawns they extend fully, their needle points jutting menacingly outward. His sternal mouth is less gruesome, though lined with dozens of smaller fang-like projections. From within it, the head of a black eyeless serpentine creature sometimes emerges: a horror that is little more than chitin, muscle, and a gnashing set of jaws.
Nothing wrong with your stance, still. I like my illithoid like I like my coffee: tall, dark and primed to destroy me first on a psychic level.
Ixion tells you, "// I don't think anyone else had a clue, amazing form."
Ixion tells you, "// I don't think anyone else had a clue, amazing form."