*so do you guys want to deal with a cult or holy crusade if the sea wolf raiders get destroyed?*

Quote from drizztlonedruid >>

*so do you guys want to deal with a cult or holy crusade if the sea wolf raiders get destroyed?*

 *my vote says crusade*

*Thanks, Himy! I'll do that. I already posted the stats for it, so I'll just post an intro.*

Deep in the tropical Southern Swamps, there used to be a great civilization. Its streets were paved in gold, and its houses were studded with diamonds. No one knows where it came from, let alone where it went, and no one has investigated—until The Rot set in.

The dead don't die in Amberot (AM-bear-oh). They eat, they sleep, they pray, they work, they love, but they don't die. The Monarch Mold brings their mummified corpses back, animating the old bones and preserved flesh in the name of the One Below All. There are no living souls here. Only undead, constructs, and the Lighthouse Castle, in which the Pontiff lives.

The crumbling, glorious architecture has been patched with mycelium brickwork and wooden walls. The city is hardly repopulated, and certainly not repaired, but for now it will function as a monastery. Pontiff Blackmoore, a lich-like being that has installed itself as a priest, speaks of love, peace, and hospitality as the populace prepares jars and jars of fermented food for the many.

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

*Thanks, Himy! I'll do that. I already posted the stats for it, so I'll just post an intro.*

Deep in the tropical Southern Swamps, there used to be a great civilization. Its streets were paved in gold, and its houses were studded with diamonds. No one knows where it came from, let alone where it went, and no one has investigated—until The Rot set in.

The dead don't die in Amberot (AM-bear-oh). They eat, they sleep, they pray, they work, they love, but they don't die. The Monarch Mold brings their mummified corpses back, animating the old bones and preserved flesh in the name of the One Below All. There are no living souls here. Only undead, constructs, and the Lighthouse Castle, in which the Pontiff lives.

The crumbling, glorious architecture has been patched with mycelium brickwork and wooden walls. The city is hardly repopulated, and certainly not repaired, but for now it will function as a monastery. Pontiff Blackmoore, a lich-like being that has installed itself as a priest, speaks of love, peace, and hospitality as the populace prepares jars and jars of fermented food for the many.

 *this is super cool! I may or may not send a giant ship your way sometime soon...*

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

*Thanks, Himy! I'll do that. I already posted the stats for it, so I'll just post an intro.*

Deep in the tropical Southern Swamps, there used to be a great civilization. Its streets were paved in gold, and its houses were studded with diamonds. No one knows where it came from, let alone where it went, and no one has investigated—until The Rot set in.

The dead don't die in Amberot (AM-bear-oh). They eat, they sleep, they pray, they work, they love, but they don't die. The Monarch Mold brings their mummified corpses back, animating the old bones and preserved flesh in the name of the One Below All. There are no living souls here. Only undead, constructs, and the Lighthouse Castle, in which the Pontiff lives.

The crumbling, glorious architecture has been patched with mycelium brickwork and wooden walls. The city is hardly repopulated, and certainly not repaired, but for now it will function as a monastery. Pontiff Blackmoore, a lich-like being that has installed itself as a priest, speaks of love, peace, and hospitality as the populace prepares jars and jars of fermented food for the many.

 *so is the race for your people undead?*

Quote from Capatin_Crunch >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

*Thanks, Himy! I'll do that. I already posted the stats for it, so I'll just post an intro.*

Deep in the tropical Southern Swamps, there used to be a great civilization. Its streets were paved in gold, and its houses were studded with diamonds. No one knows where it came from, let alone where it went, and no one has investigated—until The Rot set in.

The dead don't die in Amberot (AM-bear-oh). They eat, they sleep, they pray, they work, they love, but they don't die. The Monarch Mold brings their mummified corpses back, animating the old bones and preserved flesh in the name of the One Below All. There are no living souls here. Only undead, constructs, and the Lighthouse Castle, in which the Pontiff lives.

The crumbling, glorious architecture has been patched with mycelium brickwork and wooden walls. The city is hardly repopulated, and certainly not repaired, but for now it will function as a monastery. Pontiff Blackmoore, a lich-like being that has installed itself as a priest, speaks of love, peace, and hospitality as the populace prepares jars and jars of fermented food for the many.

 *this is super cool! I may or may not send a giant ship your way sometime soon...*

 *Awesome! Thank you! I kind of phoned this in, admittedly since I couldn't think of anything good for it.*

Quote from drizztlonedruid >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

*Thanks, Himy! I'll do that. I already posted the stats for it, so I'll just post an intro.*

Deep in the tropical Southern Swamps, there used to be a great civilization. Its streets were paved in gold, and its houses were studded with diamonds. No one knows where it came from, let alone where it went, and no one has investigated—until The Rot set in.

The dead don't die in Amberot (AM-bear-oh). They eat, they sleep, they pray, they work, they love, but they don't die. The Monarch Mold brings their mummified corpses back, animating the old bones and preserved flesh in the name of the One Below All. There are no living souls here. Only undead, constructs, and the Lighthouse Castle, in which the Pontiff lives.

The crumbling, glorious architecture has been patched with mycelium brickwork and wooden walls. The city is hardly repopulated, and certainly not repaired, but for now it will function as a monastery. Pontiff Blackmoore, a lich-like being that has installed itself as a priest, speaks of love, peace, and hospitality as the populace prepares jars and jars of fermented food for the many.

 *so is the race for your people undead?*

 *Yup! Well, more of fungi, but that isn't a creature type, and I don't think Plant would do them justice.*

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from drizztlonedruid >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

*Thanks, Himy! I'll do that. I already posted the stats for it, so I'll just post an intro.*

Deep in the tropical Southern Swamps, there used to be a great civilization. Its streets were paved in gold, and its houses were studded with diamonds. No one knows where it came from, let alone where it went, and no one has investigated—until The Rot set in.

The dead don't die in Amberot (AM-bear-oh). They eat, they sleep, they pray, they work, they love, but they don't die. The Monarch Mold brings their mummified corpses back, animating the old bones and preserved flesh in the name of the One Below All. There are no living souls here. Only undead, constructs, and the Lighthouse Castle, in which the Pontiff lives.

The crumbling, glorious architecture has been patched with mycelium brickwork and wooden walls. The city is hardly repopulated, and certainly not repaired, but for now it will function as a monastery. Pontiff Blackmoore, a lich-like being that has installed itself as a priest, speaks of love, peace, and hospitality as the populace prepares jars and jars of fermented food for the many.

 *so is the race for your people undead?*

 *Yup! Well, more of fungi, but that isn't a creature type, and I don't think Plant would do them justice.*

 *I shall add that to the species list also we need a name for this world*

*excuse me I would like to rage*

Pontiff Blackmoore is playing in the dirt outside his monastery, getting his bedazzled robes dirty. Some newly reanimated undead, still with the minds of children, are playing with him.

Thorne is getting drunk with his fellow Vikings in the great hall of frostfjord after a successful raid on a coastal city a grand feast is happening to celebrate the successful raid

Uralll is leading a hunting party out on the ice, hunting for Katkhan. one of the giants carries a carved log, and starts banging the ice with it

the ships are still looking for settlements to trade with

*Imagine if someone actually just has so much military might he conquers the entire thread lol*

Quote from drizztlonedruid >>

Thorne is getting drunk with his fellow Vikings in the great hall of frostfjord after a successful raid on a coastal city a grand feast is happening to celebrate the successful raid

 A strange cart approaches, pulled by a pair of skeletal legs. It keeps walking until it hits something, at which point it stops for a bit, then sort of deflates as if sighing. The cart is loaded with beer, wine, mead, and other alcoholic beverages.

A note attached reads "It is easier to brew when we are not rebuilding our town. Please take these refreshments as tribute. We are pleased to share our harvests with you, friends. - Pontiff Blackmoore"

Quote from Capatin_Crunch >>

Uralll is leading a hunting party out on the ice, hunting for Katkhan. one of the giants carries a carved log, and starts banging the ice with it

the ships are still looking for settlements to trade with

 As they reach the coasts of the Southern Swamps, A lighthouse shines and the trees begin to bend out of the way for them, their trunks cracking as though an invisible force were pulling them. Undead droves watch from the edges of the waterline, pausing their work to observe the newcomers.

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from Capatin_Crunch >>

Uralll is leading a hunting party out on the ice, hunting for Katkhan. one of the giants carries a carved log, and starts banging the ice with it

the ships are still looking for settlements to trade with

 As they reach the coasts of the Southern Swamps, A lighthouse shines and the trees begin to bend out of the way for them, their trunks cracking as though an invisible force were pulling them. Undead droves watch from the edges of the waterline, pausing their work to observe the newcomers.

 the giants speak to eachother in their language. they are unaccustomed to the heat, and have doffed their furs and capes. one of the giants speaks haltingly. "𝚮ɘŀŀΘﺇ ᘺɘ⸌Ṿɘ ϾΘ𝚖ɘ ⱦΘ ⱦ𝚪ᥑᵭɘ"

Quote from Capatin_Crunch >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from Capatin_Crunch >>

Uralll is leading a hunting party out on the ice, hunting for Katkhan. one of the giants carries a carved log, and starts banging the ice with it

the ships are still looking for settlements to trade with

 As they reach the coasts of the Southern Swamps, A lighthouse shines and the trees begin to bend out of the way for them, their trunks cracking as though an invisible force were pulling them. Undead droves watch from the edges of the waterline, pausing their work to observe the newcomers.

 the giants speak to eachother in their language. they are unaccustomed to the heat, and have doffed their furs and capes. one of the giants speaks haltingly. "𝚮ɘŀŀΘﺇ ᘺɘ⸌Ṿɘ ϾΘ𝚖ɘ ⱦΘ ⱦ𝚪ᥑᵭɘ"

 One of the undead, covered in strange black fungus like the rest of them, runs forward and throws something, its foot plunging into the water and tripping it. The object flutters to the deck. A flower.

Other ghouls begin to throw flowers as well, and a skeletal creature floats toward them, dressed in well-stuffed white robes with gold and jewels all over them. The lich opens its arms to them, not leaving the shore. "Welcome, esteemed merchants," comes its rasping, rattling voice, a hiss made from fibrous vocal cords rubbing together in a moist cavern within its chest, air being painfully moved through a body no longer meant to contain it. "We are honored to make your acquaintance. Please, come to us at the lighthouse. Eat, drink, and be merry..."  It seems to fade away into smoke as the pale flowers rain down like a storm.

Quote from drizztlonedruid >>

*Imagine if someone actually just has so much military might he conquers the entire thread lol*

 *FORESHADOWING*

Quote from Capatin_Crunch >>

 *Uralll is gon' be a VERY tanky cleric. imma make some stats for him now*

 *do you want help? Forge cleric is great for tankiness.*

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from Capatin_Crunch >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from Capatin_Crunch >>

Uralll is leading a hunting party out on the ice, hunting for Katkhan. one of the giants carries a carved log, and starts banging the ice with it

the ships are still looking for settlements to trade with

 As they reach the coasts of the Southern Swamps, A lighthouse shines and the trees begin to bend out of the way for them, their trunks cracking as though an invisible force were pulling them. Undead droves watch from the edges of the waterline, pausing their work to observe the newcomers.

 the giants speak to eachother in their language. they are unaccustomed to the heat, and have doffed their furs and capes. one of the giants speaks haltingly. "𝚮ɘŀŀΘﺇ ᘺɘ⸌Ṿɘ ϾΘ𝚖ɘ ⱦΘ ⱦ𝚪ᥑᵭɘ"

 One of the undead, covered in strange black fungus like the rest of them, runs forward and throws something, its foot plunging into the water and tripping it. The object flutters to the deck. A flower.

Other ghouls begin to throw flowers as well, and a skeletal creature floats toward them, dressed in well-stuffed white robes with gold and jewels all over them. The lich opens its arms to them, not leaving the shore. "Welcome, esteemed merchants," comes its rasping, rattling voice, a hiss made from fibrous vocal cords rubbing together in a moist cavern within its chest, air being painfully moved through a body no longer meant to contain it. "We are honored to make your acquaintance. Please, come to us at the lighthouse. Eat, drink, and be merry..."  It seems to fade away into smoke as the pale flowers rain down like a storm.

*me tryna figure out how the giants would show respect*

the interpreter speaks again "𝑾ɘ ⱦΘΘ٫ ᥑ𝚪ɘ ႬΘ∏Θ𝚪ɘᵭ ⱦΘ 𝚖ᥑ𐌊ɘ ႾΘᕫ𝚪 ᥑǫᕫᥑï∏ⱦᥑ∏Ͼɘ ᥑ∏ᵭ ᘺΘᕫŀᵭ ŀΘṾɘ ⱦΘ ᥑϾϾɘᑶⱦ ႾΘᕫ𝚪 ï∏ṾïⱦᥑⱦïΘ∏" the giants return the gesture, opening their arms.

two of the giants stay on the ship, as the other eight, including the interpreter disembark, careful to avoid the crowd of ghouls