New season will be kicking off soon, fresh map, new factions and quests, active admin team and weekly RP events. Come check us out soon!
The new season has officially launched and with it comes several new mods, new land claim and warfare rules, several new races and much more. Get in while it’s still early, come claim your land, build your kingdom and leave your mark!
The heavy stone slab scrapes loudly as it is pushed back, the dim light flooding the creature’s senses. Dust and decay are pervasive in the air, but the faithful stand quietly, peering into the blackness.
“Is it too early? Have we awoken her too soon?”
The elder sorcerer glares at the youth, his eyes warning him to speak nothing further.
For hours they stand, waiting for a sign from inside the ancient stone crypt. Finally, slowly, skeletal fingers grasp at the side of the sarcophagus. A withered corpse slowly pulls themselves up. The sorcerers grab the young captives and open their veins before pushing them within reach of the creature. It grabs the closest sacrifice and feeds, draining all of the blood from her before tossing her aside and grabbing the next. With each feeding the color returns to the creature, the hair becomes luxurious and thick, and the eyes begin to glow.
Once sated, the creature steps fully from the crypt, naked from the waist up, her pale skin glowing, her dark red hair flowing down past her hips, her eyes sharp as her gaze travels across those gathered.
“I see my faithful have remained. Let us celebrate!”
Something has awoken in the Exiled Lands and is spreading. Some will join, some will fight, most will hide, but none will escaped unscathed. Come see what’s happening on Maelstrom.
The creature growls, a low, primal sound that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
“Why have you come here!” demands the creature. “I want to become better, greater than I am. I want to enhance my senses and prowl as a predator does. I want to hunt and feel the ground beneath my feet.” The creature narrows its eyes, seeming to peer into her soul. It says nothing for many minutes before responding. “You must prove your worth. Prove you are deserving of this gift and do not return to me until you have done so. If I see you again before you have achieved what I set before you now, I will tear your limbs from your body and the last thing you will see is me devouring your organs.” The woman bows and backs away from the creature until she is fully removed from its sight before turning on her heels and running. She must either complete this task or hide for the remainder of her days.
Maelstrom is days away from unlocking advanced levels and character archetypes. Don’t miss out.
Level 300 advancement has been unlocked and archetypes are now available. Come enjoy the boosted exp and harvesting and pick your poison. Vampire, werewolf, shifter, cursed and blessed soul are all available, as well as additional researchable spells and a couple of new dungeons.
The girl wakes, her head pounding as her eyes adjust to the dark. She can feel the wet, sticky fluid that has partially dried on her cheek.
“Where am I? How did I get here?”
The man standing in front of her narrows his eyes, watching her closely for a long time before responding.
“You don’t know?”
She shakes her head as she tries to stand up, only to be pulled back down by the iron chains on her wrists.
“What is this? Why have you taken me?”
The man steps closer, pulling out a leather tome before kneeling down next to her. He begins to chant in a language she doesn’t understand. Suddenly her stomach lurches and she begins to vomit, black bile spewing from her mouth. She can’t speak and the pain feels like it will tear her apart. She tries to scream, voices in her head shrieking at her as she clutches her head. Her last sight is that of the man, standing over her, continuing to chant, then blackness.
Maelstrom’s archetypes are open, but they aren’t all unicorns and rainbows.
The attractive tiefling sits uncomfortably in her chair, aware of the eyes on her as she waits for her client. The ale is good, although she wants to try some of the speciality drinks next time. The Sleeping Giant Tavern and Inn is a relatively new establishment, but they have been very open to all that have crossed the threshold. She watches two women near the fireplace, their fingers intertwined, heads together whispering and smiling. The entertainer on the stage is engaging and makes regular eye contact with those watching her, and the barkeeps are equally attentive to the customers, seeming to know what they want before they even ask. She sighs and takes another small sip of her drink, watching the door. The tall figure ducks to get through the entrance, his eyes scanning the tavern before settling on Baeza. He smiles and nods to her, quickly making his way to the table. Baeza hopes this one will be able to help.
Jace runs along the shores of the river, trying to follow the tracks left by those who assaulted his village. He can’t possibly fight the entire group of slavers on his own, but he knows he also can’t stand by and do nothing. His father’s body remains where it fell, atop a pile of other bodies outside of the small huts. They fought valiantly and to their last breath, but the skill, numbers and ferocity of the slavers was just too much for the village to overcome. They went through and took every female under the age of 25 and killed the rest. Jace had been out gathering plants near the riverbank when he heard the commotion. He drew his weapon, ready to charge when he saw his father, still alive, although barely. His father shook his head and motioned him to wait. Jace stood helplessly and watched the events unfold, unable to save his family or his friends. That was two hours ago. Now he tracks and follows, hoping his skills will be enough to lead him to the camp. Once he knows where the women were taken, he can come up with a plan of rescue. The Wistful Jackals, the local adventurer’s guild, often offered their services to those with coin to pay. The Order, the arcane guild, may also have a hand to offer if his price is right. He knows he will have options, but only if he can locate the main slaver camp. He pushes through the night, refusing to give in to his exhaustion and grief. He will rescue those who were taken, one way or another.
The man stands gazing out of the window at the top of his tall, stone tower. The darkening sky matches his mood. His blue eyes search to the horizon for any movement, any sign of life, but finds nothing. He curses under his breath, he was sure this time the ritual would work. He turns on his heels and strides back to his desk, pulling the parchment out to look more closely at his calculations. He has felt the shaking, he knows there are others attempting to open a bridge to another location, but he can’t quite pinpoint where that is happening. Perhaps the person attempting is not focusing on one area and is, instead, attempting different locations. It would explain his inability to attach his own ritual to the one being performed. He sits down and stretches his neck from side to side, the bones cracking as he does. He pulls out his quill and begins his calculations anew, this time trying to account for an unknown origin point. He knows he will be successful at some point.
SEASON OF THE DRAGONS HAS LAUNCHED!
The flashing of claws, teeth and magic continues without interruption, the great creatures unaware of the change in their surroundings, blinded by their rage and single-minded focus. Kairseg lashes out at the gold scales in front of him, his claws raking across Auricalthus’ left flank as Lorizuu breathes a cone of cold, blasting across the front line of the chromatics. Onoseklis screeches loudly, turning her head to avoid the attack and dives toward the ground, landing heavily on one of the wooden and stone structures beneath her, losing her footing and tumbling headlong into another building. The walls of the structure crumble, dust and debris kicking up into the air, momentarily obscuring her immediate view. She stands, looking around her at the strange area , but is hit again with a blast of fire before turning her full attention back to the fight. She launches into the air and returns to the fray.
Aiden Kell sounds the alarm and the Wistful Jackals organize the rushed evacuation, everyone taking only what they have on them and fleeing. For weeks the dragons fight without end, unconcerned or unaware of the inhabitants around them. The tear in the sky that spit them out closes after only a few moments, long enough to spew out at least a dozen dragons in the midst of their battle. New Haven stands directly beneath the portal. The buildings in ruins following the first day of fighting, the inhabitants scattering in terror and confusion at the alien sight before them. Never before has anyone in the Exiled Lands seen a dragon with flight, let alone a group of them engaged in all out combat with one another. The dragons destroy all in their path, settlements gone with a breath. Scorched land and corpses litter the horizon. A few intrepid survivors watch from sheltered locations, trying when they could to pull the injured out of harm’s way.
More than a month passes before the fighting subsides, dragon corpses scattered from the desert up to the north and across to the green jungles. New Haven is gone, and a new refugee area is established along the river. The nearby Darfari camp provides unintentional cover for the Exiles, keeping most of the wildlife at bay while the initial construction begins. The Wistful Jackals easily hold off the raids and incursions until eventually an uneasy peace was established, New Haven, now Crescent Cove, would remain unmolested provided they leave the Darfari camp alone. The boundaries are to be respected, but any who unknowingly venture beyond Crescent Cove do so at their own peril. The newly formed group quickly establishes communication with other groups of survivors, setting up outposts in the far north for those who were unable to make it south, and in the jungle to the east. The survivors remain hidden, taking refuge where they can while the dragons spend their rage. Their numbers drop and one by one they retreat to unknown areas to lick their wounds and recover. What they want, why they are here, and what this means for the inhabitants of the Exiled Lands is unknown at this time.
Onoskelis looks toward Xirium, her frustration clear on her face.
“As expected, the metallics have warned others away from seeking me out for their cure, despite me being the only way they can address it. I believe, for the health of all of us, I need to provide a way for the Exiles to approach me in a way that does not threaten them. If this madness continues to spread, not only will it increase the hold of those causing it, it also threatens our ability to find a way home.”
Xirium looks over at Onoseklis, popping a grape into his mouth and rolling his eyes,
“These creatures do not deserve your attention, but I understand the need to address it.”
Onoskelis walks to her apothecary and rummages through her supplies.
“We need to gather a few things in preparation. Once I have those items, I will arrange for a group excursion into the minds of those who have become infected. It won’t be pretty, we will face the fears and nightmares of those who are present, and those creatures must be defeated, but once we do that, it should provide some relief for their troubled minds.”
She writes a few items down on a parchment and hands it to Xirium,
“Send our servants out to get these things right away. Most can be found near the water, some will require a journey a bit farther. We also need to get the word out to those who are now too afraid to contact us.”
Xirium sighs, standing reluctantly and taking the parchment before turning on his heels and striding out of the room.
The outer gods have taken notice and are trying to pry their way into the Exiled Lands. Will you be able to stop their spread or will you succumb to the insanity they spread? Come find out on Maelstrom.
The group gathers together, standing just beyond the range of the creatures pouring through the rift. They will have to fight their way to the rift, travel through, and then establish themselves once they arrive. It will be no easy task and the risk for insanity was high. There is also no guarantee of the bracelets working if a death occurs in close proximity to the rift.
“This is it. We need to cross through here. I don’t know what waits on the other side, but we have no choice. This is the last chance any of you will have to turn back. We rush the creatures and push through the rift. Keep close and take up defensive positions once we are through. Remember, no gear will survive the trip, so the moment you are on the other side, look around for something, anything that can be used as a weapon. On my count….”
Auricalthus begins the count and together they charge ahead, determined to learn what they can from the rifts and storms on the Isle.
Roughly 100 years ago the Exiled Lands underwent an assault unlike anything they have faced in the past. Nightmare creatures, somehow awoken from their timeless slumber beyond the pale, turned their gaze to Hyboria. The tiniest of tear in the fabric of reality was all they needed to focus their full force and energy on gaining access to the world they had all but forgotten. Nobody truly knows what shook them. A perfect storm of events having taken place that could have been any one or the sum total of all of them. Was it the mad sorcerer tinkering with things he did not fully understand, the Elder gods activity within the lands, the sudden appearance of great dragons pulled through from another world without warning, or a corrupted soul seeking to unleash hell within the lands? The why no longer mattered, all that remained now was survival.
The last of the great dragons has since departed, either missing or dead. Aiden Kell, the magistrate who tirelessly led the Exiles for generations, passed the mantle of leadership to Tamsin, the great granddaughter of Keket, the former ruler of Ardyon. The dark sorceress herself sacrificed her own life to stop Dagon from turning all of the Exiled Lands into a watery grave just a few centuries prior. Countless brave Exiles fell defending the lands from the first full push by the Great Old Ones to gain entry. The names of those who have been lost over the last 100 years are immortalized by the Keepers of the Fallen inside the Defiance Stronghold. Every day since the Great Unraveling, the Keepers recite the names of those who lost their lives defending Crescent Cove and the inhabitants of the Exiled Lands. Ras, Deucalion, Naida, Mavana, Arek, Lucretia, Deagon, Bearrison, Nimeyr, Victor, Tika, Thrian, Naihema, Chuda Ruri, Rhea, Svana, Kitsune Aisha, Krowh, Yen, Narumi, Celeste, Erenor, Riit, Sekhet, Jace, Shazahdi. The list seems endless, some returned thanks to the power of the bracelet, some may yet return, some may be gone forever. The fate of those who do not return is unknown. Do the Great Old Ones consume the soul of those who die to them? Have they finally found peace, or will they remain tormented for eternity? Those who did not die during the first 50 years did their best to rebuild. The Golden Oak Order assumed control of the decimated Wistful Jackals, Onoskelis’ grandson has taken up the helm of Justicar, protector of the stronghold, and great progress has been made in detecting and curing the insanity, but the fight is never ending, and with each success there seems to be twice as many failures. Food shortage, espionage, infighting, the constant struggle to hold onto the tiny thread that separates them from becoming the very beasts they fight threaten to destroy all that has been built. The city maintains an underground tunnel system that allows Exiles to travel throughout the lands without the direct threat of being overtaken by the insane nightmare creatures still inhabiting the lands, but even the tunnels are not foolproof. Defiance must branch out, they must retake the lands if they hope to survive. After 100 years of the constant assaults by the unholy creatures with no outside help from Hyboria, there is no illusion, the only hope the Exiles has comes from those inside of the green walls.
Tamsin looks over the journals, her fingers trailing the ink on the pages, her eyes drawn to the detailed illustrations made by Onoskelis. The Green Dragon of the Emerald Court had detailed everything, leaving a clear guide on where those who remained behind might find a way to defeat the gods. She reads through the centuries old documents folded neatly and placed in the proper place in the journal. This threat, the one they believed they were facing for the first time, was not new to the Exiled Lands at all. This was not the first time the gods tried to break through, but they had stopped them back then, which means it must be possible to do so again. She carefully closes the journal and picks up the stack of tomes and books. She opens her own journal and updates her entry for the day, then takes the information to the Order meeting hall. Perhaps they have a chance after all.
cant wait to join
Verity grew up with in a fairly normal family, her brothers and her often venturing out into the fields of their home in Pallos and into the neighboring capital of Messantia. From an early age Verity was drawn to the busy city streets and loved the pull of commerce and business. She often found herself sitting in taverns and watching all of the different transactions as they took place, practicing the techniques she saw the most successful people use until she was soon haggling and dealing with the best of them. It didn’t take her long to move her way up into the ranks of the wealthy. She slowly worked her way up the ladder until she found herself advising the people who worked on behalf of King Milo himself. Her brothers opted to take to the sea, but Verity felt most comfortable with gold in her hand and a deal on the table.
After working for several years in the lower ranks of the financial court for the King, she caught the eye of a wealthy dignitary visiting from Aquilonia. She was wooed away for a two year contract in Tarantia. Apprenticing under one of the most wealthy and influential merchants gave her the chance to hone her skills even more, and after studying the commercial aspect of the city, she moved on to learn how to maneuver in the proper social circles in a way that gave her easy access to the upper ranks of most of the nobles in Aquilonia. When her two year contract ended, she returned to King Milo with news of the Kingdoms’ concerns about the Exiled Lands and the rumors that inside the lands the prisoners had access to magic and knowledge that surpassed the scholars of the free world. She whispered in the right ear until she had her audience with King Milo himself and positioned herself for assignment within the lands, accompanying the Gundermen who had been hired by the kingdoms to gather information and secure the journals of the dragons who once lived in the Exiled Lands. She knew this opportunity was too lucrative to pass up, and once inside the lands she believed, as did her King, that the Exiles could be persuaded to come to an agreement with Argos to share the knowledge they had in exchange for regular shipments from beyond the green wall. She was further tasked to ensure that the regular shipments of goods from within the Exiled Lands was not interrupted by the Gundermen’s actions.
Maëlys squints, her blue eyes surveying the boneyard sprawling across the plateau beneath her mount. The massive skeleton dragon was still there, its rage unmistakable even from her place in the sky; a testament to the arrogance of the Gundermen soldiers. Their first mistake, she thought, leaning on her mount and nudging him forward towards the ruined plateau the prisoners had recently called home. The pale woman cranes her neck up and around, peering into the sky for any hint of the ghastly moon that had taken up residence in the night. It seemed that the sun, even in this cursed land, was still capable of hiding that disgusting mouth. A shudder courses through her as the memory of the first time she had seen the moon in the sky over the Exiled Lands returns to her unbidden, so much more vivid than her memories of it from outside of the green wall. She shakes her head to dispel the image from her mind, turning her head back and urging her mount forward again towards the neighboring plateau. A white stone wall spans each passage up to the plateau below her with soldiers stationed at every corner, watching and waiting for any threats to return. An officer barks a command beneath her, the sound carrying just far enough for her to make out an extra tinge of urgency in his voice as his soldiers begin to move. Something had roused the Gundermen, and as her mount carried her over the plateau she could see the cause of the officer’s distress. A huge, brown winged lizard lay dead in the valley - surrounded by Gundermen who had set about hacking it to pieces. The knight scowled at them, “Down, Orgueil. Let us see what they’ve done.
The knight dismounted with practiced ease and approached the gathered Gundermen, her brow knitting together in concern as she recognizes the creature for what it was: a wyvern. “Were you attacked?” She asked, speaking directly to a Gunderman soldier with a rose-colored plume._ “A scout, it seems. Ill-prepared. My archers made quick work of this beast from the ramparts, but the rider survived the fall.” He says, turning to face the knight. “These exiles are hardy people, but as you can see by the remains of their fortress, they were no match for us. You can tell your masters that their coin has been well spent.” Said the Gunderman, his voice doing nothing to hide his contempt for the woman. “Something we can do for you? We’re very busy, as you can see.” “No, nothing you can do for me. I came to investigate the commotion, but I see that you have it well in hand…” The woman narrows her eyes, looking down into the eyes of the Gunderman she towered over, blue orbs studying him. “Tell me, Captain, do you plan to eat the dragon?” “Yes.” He says simply, turning his back to the knight as he returns to the soldiers under his command.
The sky goes dark and the wind begins to pick up, the eerie whistling raising goosebumps on the back of her neck. She had come this far, fought her way through the Cimmerians, through the demonic spiders, through the undead. She lost her best mount and her trusty pet abandoned her early on in the journey. She was close, so close now. She pulls the warm vial out of her pouch and pours the dark liquid along the seal then steps back, waiting for the great stone to roll away. She climbs up through the entrance, then down along the winding and dank cavern until she sees the dark skinned male elf. He turns to watch her as she approaches, his smile more terrifying than any of the things she faced to get here.
“So you’ve come to learn the secret of unlife? Wonderful,” he says, his words dripping like poison from a blade, “Are you prepared to pay the cost for this knowledge?”
She nods, stepping up to the stone table and climbing atop, removing her top with shaking fingers. She closes her eyes and tries not to scream as the first slice is made.