[12:54] ÃŜĤ ЌÃĮĹĮÃǗЌ (alaisdair): He appears like a holocaust upon the woods of hope. Drowning all pleasure with the wet dreams of crimson, of raped loved ones, of murdered allies. Born from ashes of diversity, He prowls upon lands barbaric from his own, like leprosy plaguing all those who go near Him. His violence comes forth like the morbid oddity of the Blue Flame. Like a bint feeding upon a newborn bosk, feeding upon the weak. Prowling the wet night you call shadows, a harvester reaping the field you call life, condemning out the souls that weed upon the crop. In His eyes you are all weeds to the plantation, therefore, victim to the scythe that will pluck you from this world and send you to rot upon the compost heap of the Cities of Dust.
The warning of His forthcoming was clear, the smell of burnt flesh permeating the air likens to that of a cheap slut’s perfume. If to this you pay no heed, then perhaps the blood curdling screams that echo round like a sadistic orchestra will catch your attention. The depth of souls that laid waste within the bottom of the Thassa gave forth life to a new breed of Slavers… Havoc now the collar that chokes the life of Gor into submission. Be well, while whatever entity you worship ordains it. For Ash Kailiauk may soon be upon you like the the night cloaks the world in the fingering of shadows, garbing the foliage in some obsidian material like such of mother nature donning her clothing for evening usage. War Drums molest the primal growls of His predator nature feasting mercilessly upon the weak, like some sadistic way to weed out those not worthy, not fit to live in this world we call Gor.
Located in the Arctic Sea a hidden unknown cove has appeared, turned into what is known today as Moonridge Mountain Cove. Ran by a well-known large family of Pirates, famed House of Kailiauk. We are opening our doors to the public.
Here is your Taxi (Starting to Recruit soft opening soon)