Sene
Greetings, Illy traveller!
If you seek knowledge, then here it is:
How to rule in everything in life as long as it's hunting in Illy
Wanna know precisely how battle mechanichs works or how to kill thousands of NPCs loosing pennies? Check it out.
Or for lazy clickers:
Actually, this fantastic guy put it even better, short and simple. Bolism is gorgeous, his battle calculator is fantastic. Do check my stuff though if you still want a deeper explanation like why 61 or how many troops exactly should be in a division, how to calculate losses in advance and stuff.
Mail me if you still got questions, I'll gladly try to answer them all.
Hope it helps,
Great lucks and good hunting,
S.
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Harvesting:
You are welcome to gather anything on any spots around my towns, sovereignty matters not. See something good there? Be my guest. Hunting is welcome too.
Likewise I regard harvesting and hunting around other players towns to be allowed unless the player's profile or that of his/her alliance states otherwise, or if the player has direrctly expressed (mailed me) clear disapproval.
Anything that lays unguarded is regarded to be free for harvesting. If i need my kills, i put an army over. If i see anyone harvesting my kills, I say "Groovy! Come again". If you see me harvesting your kill, that only means i can't care less to remember which one is whose. When such harvesting doesn't make you feel good, please mail me, I'll stay away from that spot (providing it's really your kill) and return everything I've gathered there. Maybe even twofold if i feel gorgeous enough (which by the way happens quite often).
Finally, I'd really appreciate if you don't take dropped crafted around my towns for chances are it's mine.
Good hunting!
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From the very dawn of his life, that day when he crawled up his father's armory stack, not surprisingly falling all the way down with the stack following the suit, burying him with the earsplitting crash under; from that moment his deathly pale parents were throwing apart that infinite pile of sharpened, pointed, riveted metal and studded hard leather only to find the li'l bugger sobbing with weird giggling and laughter while tightly grasping a crossbow in one hand and an axe in the other – from that very moment Sene seem to have never let go of those weapons, growing some inexplicable affection to them, at times dragging them along even to the bad and restroom (that odd chuckling seemed to show his general approach to all that happened afterwards: with the same hearty laughter he would welcome both the darkest and the happiest days, smiling to everything from grave danger to a nice mug of good ale).
However – alas or not – it was not the kind of crafting affection Sene was supposed to inherit from his blacksmith father. Nor was it the passion of a battle man who would link his body and mind to those tools of gaining fame and wealth. No, Sene never happened to become a skilled crafter or a warrior of any sort. His interest laid solely in stalking beasts of all kinds, from tiny ratlings to staggering mammoths and fierce and fearsome elementals. Later he would disappear for days and weeks somewhere in the hills or snow plains of Wolgast, with his mother going next to insane with worrying and father going mad with anger. As he always made his way home, covered with his own and goodness knows who's else clotted blood, sometimes ripped, broken but always bearing a full bag of claws, scales, eyes and pretty bunch of incoherent rumbling stories of "whoa-yarr-shud'v-herd-its-roarrr-when-ey-shmucked-I's-blumey-tail-with-deds-biggast-hoomr" – as he always managed to bring his tortured, wounded body and shining with joy and excitement mind home, his parents little by little left their rakish offspring to his own devices, losing any hope for his bright future and their own well-off elder days. "Iv'n that blumey Audrey wud choke'n'spit that wee buggerr out it wud" his mother often repeated, shaking her head in sad disapproval. Anything more than that would be a total waste for all who met Sene learnt fast that permanence is his second name: whatever or whoever he sticks to once – be it a hobby, woman, friend or pet - is there to stay in his life for good, he could never abandon, never turn his back to those he once let in his heart. And so he lives, pursuing the life in all its' beauty and trying to involve in that process as many people around as possible.
P.S. Being an avid hunter, Sene has always left a pretty trail of animal parts behind which honestly little does he care about, even though it is to be harvested by stranger skinners or cotters however close to his home. Originating from a plain commoner's family, that hunter respects those men of labor, sometimes catching those scared guys on the spot and pushing them in the depths of his hamlet only to make them sit aside at his table by a fireplace and share his simple meal and a couple (or a couple of couples, or a couple of couples of couples, if it turns out to be that good) of jars of decent ale. "God bless ya, lad, may yarr road home be soft'n safe!" are the always words they hear when setting their feet on the way back.