Torment PvP/RP - Adult - Faction War - No KoS

Conan Exiles PC Discussion PC Servers & Clans
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The Exiled Lands are not kind to the weak. In Torment, power is seized through war, diplomacy, faith, ambition, and betrayal. This is a story-driven Conan Exiles RP/PvP server where faction conflict matters, territory has value, and every victory or defeat leaves a mark on the world.

Torment is a No KoS server built for players who want more than random fights and empty RP. Here, wars are earned, rulers can rise or fall, provinces can be claimed and governed, and your character can shape the political future of the server.

This is an adult-themed 18+ server and is not suitable for anyone under 18. ERP is allowed.

Choose your path among five major factions:

:crossed_swords: The Hyborian Kingdoms – Civilized western powers built on noble rule, military strength, law, and trade. Ideal for knights, nobles, soldiers, merchants, and those who value order and expansion.

:axe: The Northern Tribes – Harsh frontier clans who respect strength, survival, raiding, and personal honor above all else. Ideal for barbarians, hunters, raiders, and warriors of the wild north.

:snake: The Southern Dominion – A dark alliance of slavers, priests, warlords, and brutal desert powers driven by conquest, fear, and ancient religion. Ideal for zealots, slavers, cultists, and ruthless conquerors.

:bow_and_arrow: The Eastern Empire – Wealthy eastern powers shaped by imperial politics, mounted warfare, trade, discipline, and mysticism. Ideal for nobles, horse archers, caravan masters, mystics, and imperial agents.

:skull: The Free Cities & Outcasts – A lawless world of pirates, mercenaries, thieves, smugglers, exiles, and opportunists who live by coin, cunning, and survival. Ideal for rogues, outlaws, sellswords, and anyone who answers to profit first.

What awaits you in Torment:
• Faction warfare and territorial conquest
• Player-chosen Warlords who shape their faction’s direction
• Faction laws set by each Warlord
• Provinces that can be purchased and administered in the Warlord’s name
• Lore-based races with flexible faction choices
• Religion, diplomacy, feuds, bounties, rebellion, and intrigue
• Structured PvP with real RP cause
• Adult themes, mature roleplay, and dark character-driven situations
• No random KOS
• Clan-focused conflict, politics, and progression
• XP Rate x3
• Instant boost to level 60 after Discord character creation

Serve a king. Defy a tyrant. Build your clan into a provincial power. Hunt enemies for coin. Spread the will of your god. Become a warlord, a mercenary, a priest, a raider, a noble, or an outlaw.

In Torment, borders matter. Reputation matters. Power matters.
And no one survives the Exiled Lands without choosing a side.

Join Torment PvP/RP and carve your name into the history of the Exiled Lands.

Discord: Torment PvP/RP 18+ (UE5)
Rules: https://tormentrp-2.obsidianportal.com/
Direct Connect: 23.94.156.5:27515

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Mael-Morda of the Black Bough

I am Mael-Morda, born beneath black boughs and old sky, where the forest remembers every footstep and the earth keeps the blood of fools and warriors alike. I was not born among walls, nor under the shadow of towers, nor with priests whispering soft lies into my ear. I was born among the painted people, where a child learns the scent of rain, the bend of a trail, and the sound of a stranger in the brush before he ever learns to call himself a man.

My father was Morca, a war-chief of hard hand and harder temper. My mother was Ena of the Red Mark, who listened to the wild places and heard what other folk fear. From him I learned to strike. From her I learned to wait. One teaches a man ■■■■■■■■■■■. The other teaches him when.

I was not the loudest among my people, nor the strongest in boast or drunken pride. I watched more than I spoke. I listened when old hunters spoke of border wars, of settlers pushing too far, of roads cut through sacred groves, of shrines raised where no stone should stand. I learned young that the civilized man always calls theft by a better name. He says law. He says order. He says progress. But a road through your homeland is still an invasion, even if the men building it smile while they work.

In time, the west came deeper into our lands. Men with iron, fire, axes, and prayers to soft gods. They raised posts and walls and claimed the forest did not belong to those who could not write its borders on parchment. We answered as we always had. Scouts vanished. Supplies were taken. Blood was spilled in the dark. The forest bit back.

But the wall-builders do not forget a wound to their pride.

They came at night with more men than before, and with fire enough to turn memory into smoke. My people were broken in that assault. My father died in the defense. My mother was lost in the flames, or taken by the dark, or claimed by the wilds. I never found her body. Sometimes I think that is mercy. Other times I think it is a wound that never closes.

I did not die with the others. Some would call that cowardice. Let them. A dead man keeps no vengeance and learns no lessons. I fled, and in fleeing I lived long enough to understand the world beyond my own ashes.

I walked the cold lands of the north and saw Cimmerians brood like storm clouds and Nordheimers laugh in the teeth of winter. I crossed roads watched by western patrols and saw how kings dress fear in iron and call it law. I smelled the incense and blood of the south, where priests bless chains and call cruelty divine. I watched the eastern riders and merchants, who smile as they measure a man’s worth and decide whether to buy him, use him, or bury him.

I learned that all peoples lie to themselves.

The kingdoms say they bring order. The tribes say they seek freedom. The south says strength gives the right to rule. The east says ambition is wisdom. The outcasts say survival excuses all sins. Different words. Same hunger.

That is why I do not kneel easily.

I have served when it suited me. Hunted for men I did not trust. Shared fire with those I once called enemy. Guided fools through forests they would have died in without me. Stood beside warriors worth respecting and against others who wore titles too large for their shoulders. I am no oath-drunk zealot. I know the world is not so simple as tribe and outsider, beast and prey.

But I remember.

I remember what burns. I remember what chains sound like. I remember the smell of men who think the land is theirs because they built upon it. And I remember that every ruler, no matter how mighty, sleeps behind walls because somewhere in his bones he knows he can be reached.

That is what I have become.

Not a king. Not a priest. Not a tame hound for any banner.

I am a watcher on the edge of the firelight. A hunter of weakness. A son of the painted woods. I walk the lands of warlords, slavers, raiders, merchants, and outcasts, and I listen for the crack in their voices when they speak of power. I respect strength when it is earned. I despise chains wherever I find them. I trust little, forget nothing, and bow only when it profits me more than standing.

Let kings keep their thrones. Let jarls boast to their clans. Let priests choke on incense and khans count their riders.

I have seen enough of this world to know one truth that binds them all.

No banner flies forever.

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Still looking for more players, give us a try!

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