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One thing that Hazlan needs is more Low level and OOC support For Hazlan. Made a few of these comments elsewhere but putting them into one neat place. I would love to see the following few things Added

1. Support for Outcasts in the form of Rest areas that allow them to teleport to the OOC area as well as easy and safe to reach healing NPCs that can also do Raise dead (The halan in the cave near the Gnome villlage used to do this but is very out of the way on an OOC level and Next to noone knows that she used to exist Even within the Hazlan peeps that have played a long time; Not sure if she is still accessible.

2. Support for Native Gnomes/Helf/And other Demi races inside both Nordenvall and Ramulai.

3. Delivery jobs within Hazlan to allow a source of income for new players to the Domain that allows them some form of Gold income without doing Dungeons

4 Low level dungeons. One or two dungeons aimed at PCs of level 2-10 Currently there are none in the domain, And perhaps once this domain was primarily a Dungeon domain this is no longer the case with two fully supported Factions currently along with Long term RP involving the politics of the domain.

5 Rentals Both long and short term to allow for more Rashemi/Mulan RP involving things that are not directly related to the Academy or the Lawgivers. To give more options to Players that want to spend time in the domain without having to go all the way to Port or Barovia that have entirely different flavour of RP involved with them.
The dehydration mechanic isnt the fire damage you take, thats just general weather (same as taking cold damage in Barovia in the winter).

It makes you take additional exhaustion points that you probably won't notice if you're walking around recovering -4 to counter it; you'd have to let it get really, really bad before you're collapsed from exhaustion from the additional dehydration ticks (exhaustion points required to collapse goes up to 80~100)

This in 99.9999% of situations even forgetting water is literally a none issue. Like I can't remember the last time I actually bought some on a PC going to Har'Akir/Markovia
Of course that the balance of the server is taken into consideration and blablabla but not allowing to create water at the expense of spell slots (and even a cantrip can stabilize someone) seems more annoyance than really game design.

First, there are two items that give water: replenishing skins and everfilling canteens, and they both seem more common than a cleric or divine caster in general.

Right now the water mechanic is more annoying than the whole server balance politics. You have a ton of consumables that allow (expensively) parties to forgo some roles (usually casters) what is a good balance issue but plays against the policy of group play. Going by this logic, you could remove the "water breathing" spell, since there are items that give it and it is only a matter of preparation.

The introduction of conjure water would simply allow a cleric to hydrate the party instead of "wasting" the cure minor wounds before resting. This would simply make the group's life easier.

Lastly, the dehydration system right now is bland, at best. I don't recall the last time I had a pc suffering from it harshly.

Tl;dr: giving divine classes a cantrip (or even a first level spell) to create water does encourage group play and circumvent a bland hazard.
Biographies / Re: Iwamaru Ume
« Last post by hn3SoNaReS on Today at 02:26:33 PM »
Ume stares out across the fields, the sky turning red behind the clouds, a cold breeze makes her shiver. She sees the orchards and the farms, and plucks her shamisen, a slow somber melody forms, and she sings a tale of sorrow, a tale her grandmother told her.

A peasant farmer sows the rice, the seeds are planted,
he tends the paddy field, and gives his woman a child,
The rice crop fails, their fates are sealed.

He steals so they can eat, the man becomes a criminal,
a judge decides the farmers fate, the man must die,
the woman weeps, she can not work the fields.

The farmer waits for dawn, his fate is sealed,
the samurai sharpens his sword, he is to end a life,
the farmer's flesh is cut as the woman births the child, their life blood flows.
The dehydration mechanic isnt the fire damage you take, thats just general weather (same as taking cold damage in Barovia in the winter).

It makes you take additional exhaustion points that you probably won't notice if you're walking around recovering -4 to counter it; you'd have to let it get really, really bad before you're collapsed from exhaustion from the additional dehydration ticks (exhaustion points required to collapse goes up to 80~100)
It's really more on the principle than weight considerations. It could have gone one way or the other without having much impact on the game.

We could also make it so that the spell fails in Markovia and Har'Akir., that'd respect the intent of the setup. But is that worth the effort?

I'm not sure I understand the argument, so maybe I'm misunderstanding something and that's why. We are talking about Har'Akir, and the water/dehydration mechanic that causes mild fire damage as you walk through the domain unless you're hydrated. Right?

...Because if that's the case, there are already spells in the pool which trivialize that feature by offering elemental protection. Much in the same way that conjuring water would work, it isn't infinitely protected (one would, for instance, need to conjure more water eventually) and unlike conjure water, it is standard faire in any buff pool, cheaply available as a scroll, brewable as a potion and available in mass format spells for the whole party. By the time one arrives in Har'Akir, the feature of buying water is essentially trivial to all but mundane characters who do not possess UMD, which are essentially Barbarians and Fighters-- Both of whom require to take elemental resistance feats at some point in their builds to unlock core features, which the most common damage type to look out for in PvP and PvE is: Fire.

Arguing that you don't want to introduce Conjure Water as a feature there because it might trivialize the content in that area as an alternative to buying water in towns doesn't make sense because it's already trivialized to the extreme via magic and auto-include class features, scroll and potion availability.

Now, I actually have no idea how Markovia's dehydration system works, I've never experienced it yet. If someone could explain that to me, that'd be great.
The Gaping Wound is OPEN!

Come for the drinks, stay for the conversation!

Caliban and other exceptional individuals are welcome today, provided they are
in good standing with the garda and as long as they travel through the city only
at dusk or dawn, remaining covered from the citizens of Vallaki.

Biographies / Toman Radova
« Last post by Destinysdesire on Today at 07:52:36 AM »
Toman was born to one of the small farming houses of the Village of Barovia, his father an outlander had a strong desire for power that he alone could not achieve. Believing the key to power was control of the Legion, he began plotting his own course of power. Young Toman was about five when he was kicked in the back of the head by a bull, managing to survive but taking severe skull damage and some brain injury which impairs his speech and his ability to understand some logic, though he is often smarter then he appears.

Tobias deemed his son a waste to make anything of value such as Garda, that might have given him power, so began a darker plot, his would make his own twisted monster, create his own Legion. He moved the boy into a hidden space under the floor and told most people that asked that the boy had died of the head injury. His vile temper and anger keeping Ivana very quiet as he began going out at night, killing as needed and bringing back the remains of the dead, feeding them to the boy.

His cruelty and coldness continued until the boy was a young adult. Raising him on the flesh of humans, and keeping him segregated from people. His mother a kind soul and quiet follower of Ezra, tried to teach him small bits of Ezra when she could, which was not very often. Of course, evil never goes unnoticed.

One night the father raced back, ducking into the house as several dark beasts of what they only knew as the "Legion" raced in, ripping his mother apart, then chasing after the father as he, being the coward he was, fled, leaving them both to die. The sun rose to the deathly quiet as the young man peeked up from the crawl space, seeing his mother ripped apart, blood everywhere as he looked around, the front door open, and no sign of his father.
Knowing he could no longer remain there, as monsters were not truly welcome in the Village, he left for Vallaki, seeking vengeance on his father, hating him, and ever so hungry...
Biographies / Re: ~ Falskverden ~
« Last post by Iconoclast on Today at 07:17:01 AM »

The Etymology of Courage

The arrival of spring in Nordhazlan took the gudkaede by surprise, as he stepped out from the Monastery of the Iron Path. A Whitelady, freshly bloomed, reflected the moon’s light, grabbing his eye at once in the darkness of morning. The river’s water ran swift and gray from snow melt at higher elevations to the south west. It was yet a couple hours from sunrise, as he untied the boat and began carefully rowing to the other bank. Other than the smell of chimney smoke in the air, he could smell the pollen from the flowering Black Hawthorns across the region.

After tying the boat off, he looked upon a moonlit sleepy village.  It had truly begun to feel like a home, after years serving as a missionary abroad. The air was cold and crisp. This was his favorite time of day. Quiet, dark, the air clean, the ever present sound of running water.

He came to stand along the river bank near the long, stone bridge, statues of the Iron Lord silhouetted along its sturdy shoulders.  A faint glow slowly formed upon the horizon.  As the sun gradually returned, obedient to the Black Lord’s design, to illuminate the work and hearts of man, so that all may be truly seen and judged, the light began to shift through the distant clouds, hues of red, orange, and yellow.

It afforded some measure of reassurance in a world too often fraught by chaos, Myterri. The sun was both beautiful and obedient, as it cast its beams of light through Nordenvall Village. It never failed in its duty, no matter the length of day or night, and even when the clouds boiled and raged, the sun always returned.

And then there she was, walking across the bridge from the fields of Vraylok Kryillian. She came to stand before the obelisk of the Laws of Hazlan, a shaft of morning light upon it, dew glistening upon its etched face.  In the aura of the golden hour Seriyah’s beauty stole his breath away.

He came to quietly stand next to her, looking upon the sunlit script, the edicts of King Hazlik.

“Was your night restful, or spent on watch?” she asked him.

Bare shouldered, he could see she was cold, goosebumps upon smooth, unblemished skin, intricate blue flowering tattoos always in bloom. He removed and held out his wool cloak and she happily accepted, draping herself inside it with a rosy smile. It enveloped her, and he knew he’d always remember this moment.

“Too restless for sleep, but I do take some comfort in the quiet, early hours before sunrise.”

“Ossur, the poem…it has brought me great comfort to read it.  With me being so sequestered lately, having it with me makes me feel that we are together.”

He could not help but blush and feel foolish about the poem, but any self doubts were overruled by his confidence in sharing his heart with her.  He had been in the library within the monastery the night before, looking through a book of etymology.  He found it interesting that the root word in Vassi for courage, ‘cor’, directly translated to ‘heart’.  It would be cowardice not to have given her the poem.  And only now, that he felt true love, did he understand how ordinary language was ill equipped to convey anything as profound as the love he felt for her.  Only art, prayer, poetry, music could serve as any meaningful expression for the ineffable. In prayer each day, when the sun was at its zenith, he thanked the Black Lord for having created such a beautiful woman.

“While I have read poetry in my youth, I had never once been moved to write a poem–not until being moved by you.”

Her cheeks and soft smile began to glow in the morning dew, as she looked up into his eyes..

“Would now be a good time for our visit to the Reliquary?”

“That would make me happy, Ossur.”

He extended his arm, and as her light touch was felt upon his skin, he immediately felt tension release. He doubted any such charm spell from the wizards at the Red Academy could compete with Seriyah’s natural, effortless power over him.  And he was willing to fall under her spell.

He escorted her up the hill, along the quaint, cobbled path, past the Dancing Crane, past the estate of Bishop Taico, past the Iron Bank, and past a row of impaled, severed heads, their skin leathered hard, birds perched atop their skulls, singing with delight. A moral, good society required such measures–reminders as to the fate of infidels, heretics, and agents of chaos–Myterri.

He led her into a small door, off to the side of the large cathedral, at the crest of the hill. Through a long narrow passage, torch lit, he brought her to the reliquary.  He opened the door.  Several gudkaede were always on duty, guarding the holy relics, as pilgrims from the Monastery of the Iron Path made frequent visits, for their pilgrimage to pray before the holy spear of Blessed Fezima would be incomplete without also coming to lay eyes upon many other relics of the faith, including the armor and flail of the saint.  It was a source of great pride that such powerful artifacts had been accumulated, curated, and safe guarded for the public to experience at Nordenvall Fane.

“I have spent countless hours here, sometimes on duty myself, and so please, take the lead and I will be happy to follow.” 

She looped both of her slender arms around his arm, leading him to the first of many relics: the ancient armor of the Nameless King. He slid a ring onto his finger, a soft light began to warmly glow, helping to illuminate the intricate engraving upon the armor.

“This dates all the way back to the First Dynasty,” he whispered, in awe. He could see in her eyes, and the way she made a little ‘o’ with her lips, that the beauty and significance was not lost to her.  It was one of her most endearing qualities, that she felt deeply moved by life, history, and art. While he kept so much of himself hidden behind a stoic resolve, she was his opposite: overflowing with pure delight and emotion.

She led him to the next piece: the armor of Vosshik.

“Ahh, the armor of the great Rashemi hero, Vosshik.”

And so it was, that the two spent the next two hours walking and talking, discussing each piece, their lives becoming more and more entwined, connecting them to their proud heritage while also daring them to dream of a future together.

Seeing the towering, marble statue of the Lawgiver’s Reaping Angel across the room, her eyes flashed with excitement, leading him there at once.

With awe in her voice, “I love angels. You can see how much devotion and time the artist took, when sculpting this. You can see how much the craftsman cared.”

“And it still requires care, so that such works and relics as these by devoted artists can be preserved for generations to come.  The children of our children.”

“It fills my heart with warmth. I would love to return here with children in the future. It is my duty to ensure they know well and are proud of our heritage.”

Hearing her speak such words only further confirmed what was in his heart. “Seriyah, you will make a beautiful mother one day.  Both in passion and in wisdom.”

She beamed a smile and took his hand, “Only with you at my side.”

“And I with you. Church and family.  The beating heart of Hazlan.”

“Ossur, do you….” she signed, softly, “do you think your father will approve of me, even after the….”

It was his greatest fear now, that their future completely resided in the decision his father would make.

“My father is wounded by grief.  First my mother, Thola being missing, presumed dead, and now my brother.  But I believe he will come to not only approve but to adore you.”

He did not say this merely to offer reassurance–he knew his father would love and accept her as his daughter in law, if only they could spend some quality time together, without other distractions. Just the two of them.

“I suppose all we can do now is pray and be patient, though I worry, but at the same time, my excitement grows,” she replied.

“As my own, all the while, Myterri seeks to prey upon my fears.  Terrible dreams of you and I at a wedding, but it is not you I am being wed to. I know it is our duty to marry whomever our rishads say to, but it is only you who I love.”

“I would not wish to be with anyone else, Ossur.”
In the middle-south of Vallaki's slums, the door of the hospice is unlocked, and the sign flipped...

The Vallaki Municipal Hospice


Please come in.

// Month 4, Day 13
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