Duelyst Lore Corner. Kick Back, Relax, and Get Ready To READ!


Gargantuan Growth

“It’s a simple spell, really,” The magmar was fumbling with his gauntlets. They fell to the rug with an unceremonious thud. “Gargantuan growth. Have you heard of it, scioness?”

Her hands clasped together, synapses whirring as she looked away. She felt his scales on her, and her core burned hotter for it.

One grunt and her chestplate fell to the floor.

“I keep forgetting. You’ve never seen Magaeri,” he continued, pulling her close.

More whirrs. More heat. "V-Vaath, senpai?”

“Consider this a taste, then,” he said. The room blushed verdant as the heat approached climax. She dropped to her knees. “Just a taste…”




Eating giant veggies on an exotic low dining table requires that you relax and change into indoor wear before eating


Saw it coming.



( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ) :cherries::eggplant:


Holy shit.




Here’s how I imagined this actually going before realizing it for what it was:

Gargantan Growth

“It’s a simple spell, really.” The Magmar general grunted while fumbling with the straps of his gauntlets.

Finally loosing them, they dropped to the ground with a heavy thud echoing throughout the room. The Vetruvian general who had remained silent for so long spoke up.

“I never imagined someone famed for brutality in war would encounter so much difficultly in such a simple task.”

“I care not for armor let alone one of a ceremonial nature such as this, a real magmari fights naked with only the spirits of his ancestors to serve as armor.”

A show of disgust could be seen in the face of the Vetruvian general, a clear culture divide between the two generals blocked the way to any true alliance. The Magmar general continued to remove the rest of his armor save for a fur pelt covering his lower body and a headdress presumable meant to display his hunting prowess.

“The time has come, the light of the moons are beginning to align. To experience evermore strength, you must step forth onto the platform.”

At first, a look of fear crossed his countenance. Like the frothy waves of the sea pounding the cliffs of Windcliffe, various wrinkles emerged and just as easily disappeared. Or perhaps it was the symptoms of excitement; for one who devoted a lifetime to protecting the Queen Mother, strength meant everything.

At any rate, the soft light of the moons began to fill the small room high up in an observatory tower nestled deep in the dunes of the Akram Desert. Suddenly the light began to envelope the position of the Magmar general. Though it should have been merely particles of light entering the room, it seemed as if he was covered in a soft dew paralyzing his speech.

As he struggled to reach out to the Vetruvian general, his last words were “…this…is the price…”. His hulking presence which filled so much of the room instantaneously disappeared.

The scioness whispered with what seemed like a smirk “Join your precious mother”. She closed the window that gave the moon access to this small room high up in the deserts, but just before leaving, she spotted something a peculiar. The general’s name was carved out on the floor where he once stood as well something else carved next to it. Whatever it was, the scioness must have found it quite ironic as for the first time in a while, she smiled.

She soon left and the room was silent once again along with motes of dust floating in the space where the magmari had once stood.


well done, comrade


Entry 7: Indominus - The only way


Stop. Hold your bearings and watch their next move.

Observe. Take in their movements,the subtle hints that betray their purpose.

Think. You’ve seen their moves. You know their tactic, now what?

Retreat. They’re too close, you need more time to enact your plan. But how…why?

Realize. They’ve gotten closer and… that expression… Your eyes widen, there was one thing. The one thing you forgot to do, the thing that you came here to do. The goal is clear, your purpose renewed. You crack a smile.

Act. No time for hesitation. It has to happen now and you know it. No more adjusting to their plays, no more watching and waiting for a chance that grows slimmer by the turn. All that’s left is your plan, your path, you
Get up. Shake off the dust and grab a drink.

Congrats on the win.


Fixed it for you.


Or Blood of Air’d, or DarkT’d, or Aspect’d, or Marty’d, or…


Hello folks and welcome to the continuation of the Tavern Duelyst thread in which people come up with Duelyst inspired food/drinks! Other than officially expanding the menu to food, the policy still applies;

  • Name
  • Description
  • Duelyst Inspired (it isn’t just food we’re serving here, it’s DUELYST food.)

Have fun and don’t forget to be original!

Primal Relish:


A brand of relish popularized by it’s emphasis on natural ingredients. Often accompanies bland meals to add a burst of flavor.



A stronger form of sauerkraut. Ill-prepared diners often find themselves in the restrooms after consuming large amounts of Pukraut.

Tombstone Pizza:


A brand of ready-made pizzas. It’s HQ is located in the whyte mountains.

Ube Paste:


Sweetened purple yam paste often found in desserts. The famed Ubo utilize this in their nests to attract bugs upon which they prey.



A ball of deep fried dough traditionally coated with confectionary sugar and filled with cream or some other sweet filling. Recent trends have been to shape this in the form of the cute zetta.

Broken rice:


Rice that was broken during production. Is often made into a porridge/congee that’s used to feed POWs or poorer populations. However, it’s absorbetn properties and faster cook times make it a fairly common ingredient in normal households.

Bloodfire Tots:


Tater tots with bits of bacon/meat inside.

“So good they made my cholesterol lvls go up, whatever that means!” - unknown


you’d be surprised: ube paste is a real thing in my country


Entry 8: Azurite Lion - When words would fail you


There is order here. Here in this place of steel and flesh. Where minds collide and bodies pour sweat and passion in one. They cannot hide it.

Past the roars of orders barked, of crashing metal and burning flames there is meaning. With each wave of thought, each ebb and flow of ways unsaid that meaning grows clearer. As clear as the crystal that holds it.

Of feelings made motion. Of witholding emotion. For that first taste. The taste of purpose, of clarity.

Of hunger.

They stoke the furnace, the dough rough handled, ready to bake in the heat. The wines are poured, delicate legs of bloodmoon wine, of elklot, and whatmore. The tables are set, fine porcelain sets adorned with fanciful cloth and merry fixtures put in place. Ready to entertain their famished guests; baskets woven of wood and small whorls of twine are put forth, cradling sweet smelling bread and loaves of Zion Rye.

And finally, cards left at each table; each with lettered markings, with a special person’s name. One by one the chairs fill and one by one the plates come out. Azurite entrecotè, Goldenleaf Galette, and classic mac n’ cheese to name a few of the dishes passed around. Hands find purchase on pre-prepared utensils and the clinking starts. Hushed whispers and breathes of delight follow up the sound, a pleasant buzz picks up as guests gather round. To share stories, or discussions we know not what they found, but know this; it was not left forgotten when the cloths fluttered down.

The evening concluded, farewells come to pass, the kitchen door closes, ready for next days harass.


Entry 9: Sol - To Linger


The rush. The rush as we step blindly forward, all too eager to please, to prove our worth through sheer, crashing perseverance.

A cacophony of noises, of snarls, of growls, of whines, and whimpers. Mindless and unerring in devotion, that is what they…what we are and that is what we were made to be. Fearing nought pain, nor suffering, but rather the inevitability of utility, we stride forward, blindly yes, but forward nonetheless.

Crying out against a bleak and darkened future we carry on, our voices neither heard nor noticed yet we continue. Forward we go, down into the deepest depths, into the highest isles, to the farthest reaches of imagination we venture; unsure of where our efforts will find us yet hopeful we remain.

With time the cacophony will fade, its luster lost to the roar of innovation, but until then we will continue, fading, following, our noise subsiding deep within the heart where mistakes and miracles convene into a symphony most divine.

But better yet, unforgotten.


Chapter 0 - A Confession


I remember.

I remember traveling the world with you. Venturing past wind broken peaks and frost laden valleys, of sitting in skin covered houses drinking heartwarming ale and sampling frost tipped toasts. Of breaking the silence of tranquil monasteries with banter and song. Of skimming the waters on salt infused lakes to reach oceans where sand muddles sea. Where compassion was the only thing keeping flasks moist against a beading sun. Of trespassing on the feeding grounds where soul-caked soil puckers up for a meal. Of wandering in the foliage to meet the ones who brought you up, the same ones who now bow at your feet.

I remember when we used to stay awake against the moons, counting the infinite stars through twinkling eyes. Of writing in texts the words which were meant, but hardly unspoken. Of keeping steady the palms which would sweat under pressure, keeping the bow swift and silent. Of fending off advances of those too unruly to care, too brutish to know the knowledge we shared. Of exchanging the vows, of truth and love made bare. Of baking the bread and sowing the seeds to sprout with tender love and care.

I remember the last day we met. Of the tender kiss shared and the common love that we held. Of looking down at the garden we sowed and the happiness it shone.

I remember all that and more, but there is one thing I forget. One crucial thing I cannot recall, no matter how hard I try.

Why do you cry?

Why do you stand on the dirt to say your goodbyes? Why does the band slip from your hand and into the boat? The boat as empty as the sorrow you behold? Why do your tears dry, etching lines across your face deeper than the moats of mount heliodore? Why do your eyes harden, jovial tunes slipping far from your throat? And why do you look at our garden, regret and contempt contorting your palms to fists? Did you forget our vows? To never abandon, to never lose hope?

I stand with one of two, the one sent as offering to the one up high. And before I slip away I must confess to you, my dear;

I will never leave you.

Even in loss I will continue my vigil, my gaze will lie unaltered-unadorned with naught, but thoughts of you. Of the happiness you once wrought and of the memories we shared.

My gaze lies unshaken,

And though my thoughts fall for the lions feast, I will never forget you.

My one, my only, my love.


A Rememberance - Lost Little Moon


The town of Lost Mahall is a place of regret.

Brutes come in droves both to drink out woes and to unload their unrest. Shadows sell their wares, blackened gums and hollowed eyes searing bargains into wares and holes into crests. Ladies marked in red follow next, unblemished faces hiding soul-searching death. And last, but not least, the noble men rest; their goal to dream of riches unspent by the notches they do well to rend at the cost of unmarked ladies. And them? They rest against the barrels, their unwitting charges laying bare across their chests. Their faces wet in anguish, the lives across their breast snuffed out by the stench.

But in one alley, a woman only once wept. Across her battered beaten corpse lay a life unrent, untouched unlike the rest. Its shine streaked across the mess, attracting all to its life giving glow. The brutes ceased their crashing, the shadows held their tongues, the fakers stopped their patrols, and the nobles stilled their hearts. All in the dirty, stinking town of Lost Mahall gathered round the unheard of little child whose name was not known.

Who could this child be they all wondered, too pure to be their own they thought and yet here he was found, amongst the forgotten, dirtied garbage they thought to be thrown out. It was then, in their awed appreciation that the first peal of sorrow was heard from the infant. A mad scramble ensued! Their hearts were aching at the thought of pain accrued! And so, enduring the nights of languish and woe, the people banded together to raise up this child of new.

7 years pass and the child is older. His features astounding, resplendent in truth. His idols the burly men at the taverns, the ones who taught him chess. His uncles the enthusiastic vendors, whose lips they keep well met. His brothers the nobles who hide notches well rent. And his sisters the keepers, whose guests they neatly lead to bed. The boy they named discover knew nothing of the depth of the secrets they kept. He roamed the streets of Lost Mahall, knowing not the dangers he lept. He spread cheer amongst the people, all who saw him would repent, repent the sins they knew not to commit.

And so the story would continue, little guide spreading smiles wherever he went had it not been for one fateful evening, when he stumbled into trouble the size of a shrew. Back home did he stumble, back home to the crew; who grew increasingly alarmed at the size of his shoe. For many days and even nights the little guide struggled, sweat pouring down his temples, pain being all that he knew. And as for the people of Lost Mahall oh how they did struggle, searching left and right they looked for a cure to the plague their little lost light had renwed. The men prowled taverns, the vendors trading stories. The ladies pleading help and the nobles asking through. They knew they could not waste a second for their sweet little guide was suffering through and through. Day and night they wandered, day and night they knew, that their little light was burning, that their efforts must be renewed.

Back at home little guide wondered, though the pain and agony ensued, where was his family? The older men at the taverns, his uncles sly and shrew, his sisters dressed in tissue, and his brothers too accrued. All he wished for was their presence, but they were nowhere in sight. Their traces left aplenty, warm wishes of best regards, but wishes were not his warrant, not his inquiry nor regard. All he wanted was for them to be there, when he ascended back to the stars. He knew it not to be, so he wrote a letter, explaining all that was left to be.

And so his time departed, his last breath come to pass. And the people cried out in anguish, to mourn their little star. Much anger was readily ushered, much grief and hopeless grasp, but that was when they saw it; a note made by his hand. On its surface lay a moon, a moon to bright to last. His final message that, he enjoyed it while it last.

And so the dark days passed, the people went back to their daily tasks. The Brutes went back to drinking, the shadows sold their wares, the ladies swept the streets, and the nobles went back to lack. But one crucial thing had changed, as a result of their little false star. The Brutes went to drinking, to sharing tall tales of awe; the vendors kept on selling, helping find a fair ware for all; the ladies went through alleys, helping up the women there, and the men kept up their promise, lending hands in bonded pairs.

All the people changed for the better, their hearts renewed with care. All from the forgiveness of one little boy, one little false star of hope.

For he was their little moon, the one to eclipse them all.


So hi guys, quick announcement for anyone interested. First of all the Lore Contests will start back up next week (9/12 to be exact) so look forward to that.

Secondly, in celebration of that I have a little game for you;

Simply guess what the theme is.

To aid in that I have supplied you a handy dandy lore entry which contains the theme for this edition of the lore contest. Guess before the official thread release and I’ll lower the word count minimum to 250 (not that you’ll need it :blush:). No jury this time other than myself so all previous winners will be able to participate!

I’m looking forward to your submissions!

Special Entry - “Untilted”


“Now entering Sir Steve Appleton, Royal Analyst of Duke Rothesay”

The giant oaken doors of the dining hall opened as I approached, their ancient hinges groaning silently against the roaring applause of the crowd. Men and women adorned in precious jewels and crystals alike arose from their places at the table, shining accessories clanking noisily as though to hide their murmurs of disdain. I knew of their malcontent, but I paid it no heed. My attention was to the table and of the feast it held in plates.

Whole porkish heads slathered copiously with jams and juices too sweet lay hidden in stainless silver domes, hulking mounds of mashed silver root lay in moats of thick boar gravy, steaming cobalt carcynus legs were piled high, and so many more awaited the hungry, hungry guests. Nevertheless, they were forced to wait, to pry their eyes from their golden feast and focus their glare on me, the peasant boy a year prior, now the one to judge the validity of their cuisine. Some might say it cathartic, the reversal of roles that is, but for me it was a simple job. A job owed to one of the two I owed the most. And to be frank, the food here disgusts me.

The pig they tortured to produce meat that thick, the root they took from starving kids, and the crab they acquired through prohibited means. I much rather preferred the simple stew my heart friend makes. Simple meats slow cooked to perfection, vegetables gathered from local gardens and the bread she makes… It’s cracked surface betrays the dough so soft it melts in your mouth. The mere thought of it nearly brings me to salivate, shaking the thought from my mind I go through the table quicker, eager to return to my table.

The last of the meals inspected, I hand a report to my helper, “have this delivered to the duke, the fines will fund his efforts two-fold.” And so I left, wealthy onlookers sweating nervously under cloaks, calling their aides to settle some accounts no doubt. I hid a giddy smile from view,/

I have a stew to help brew.

Duelyst Lore Contest Sept-Oct 2018!
The Purification Crusade

Well, the thread’s very title betrays your appetite for our most scrumptious writings, no?


So, is the prompt faction delicacies?