Valor & Zeal Gaming

The Kan Codifier steps from the shadows, holding a large sack of points.

"Brother, I have heard the Warsinger's request. I would like to contribute 75 OPs to her cause."

I am moved by your request Warsinger....
I shall start a new topic for you...
Rally your allies...

The doors to the chamber open, as a cold win blows through the hall. A man clad in heavy fur steps in, snow falling from his clothing as he walked down the long corridor. He shivered. The journey had not been an easy one. For seven days the man had climbed mountains and crossed rivers to arrive at this sanctuary of his leader. Not even his magic could pierce the power of this place. At the end of the hall sat the Deathand, high upon his Obsidian throne. The Kan Codifier bowed, as his furs morphed themselves into his customary garb.

"Brother, I come seeking an audience. Will you hear my request?"

"Speak..."

The Kan Codifier takes out a scroll, aged and torn.

"I have come from the Archives, Brother, and I came across this text from ages past. It seems once there was a man known as the Laughing God, who amused himself by playing games with mortals and demons, pitting them against one another. Though the text is not clear as to the fate of those in the challenges, the idea intrigued me. I would like to attempt to run a contest like this, and am willing to put down 50 OP as a prize to the winner."

Brother Bush takes out a pouch filled with points and lays them at the foot of the altar. He waits for the Deathand's response.

"Interesting..."
The Deathand leans forward in thought.
"Tell you what. You start a topic in the construct and if people show any interest I will double the reward."
He leaned back.
"If not...then don't worry about it..."

The Deathand counts them again, just to be sure.
686 OP.
"What to do with all this..."

Those active could receive 35 points a piece if he felt so nice to round up.
Or he could simply toss them away.
Or maybe put them in a secret fund somewhere on the site.
He shrugged and let the OP roll over his hands...

"HERR LOKI! The HIGH RECLAIMER!"
The Deathand stands upon his throne and lets his judgment be heard.
"By the will of the Warsinger I curse you with this burden until a certain date comes to pass. On pain of MUCH WORSE THINGS I command you to carry this burden until that day....or until some soul lifts that burden from you...or you cleverly come up with a way to weasel out of it."

The Deathand sits upon his throne, shadows cast once more.
"I have spoken."

I'm starting to think that I'm the only one to visit these halls anymore.

Jericho sighed as he entered the great hall and started towards the throne. The scene was exactly as he remembered down to the same lightly seen footsteps in the dust covered floor, exactly as it had been the last time he visited as well. It made him think that all others had either abandoned or forgotten of the Haven.

Stopping just short of the throne, he spoke up.

"As a simple man I have a simple request."

"Go on..."
The Deathand Spoke.

"Earth and water"

Jericho smiled slightly before continuing.

"But seriously, I require some lumber, nails and some black paint."

"Ever heard of True Value? They have all your building needs!"

((Smart-ass, haha))

"Very well."

Jericho silently leaves to return sometime later, but rather than entering the great hall he sets to work directly outside the doors.

Piling the left over materials from his construct off to the side, Jericho sits down, propping his feet up on the counter and leaning back in the chair. With one foot he kicked the wooden sign to read 'The Blasphemer is in'.

"Ohoo I see..well let's see where this goes..."