“The shadows are not the dominion of evil alone. From darkness can spring light. 

This is a fact that even those most wholly consumed by the chaos of evil must 

remember, no matter how secluded their gatherings or how hidden their plots. All 

those who have betrayed descendant-kind in the service of the dark forces are not 

above the fear that one day, a stranger will emerge from the 

darkness, bringing with them faith, steel, and fire.”

‡ The forces of Tor-Praeth will march upon your walls. Immediately. ‡ 

Steel Yourselves.

Across the Seven Skies, Ebrietaes, the Eternal Forest, Stargush-Stroh and other mortal fates the same call is made time and again by the sounding of a horn, followed in turn by the soothing yet sinister words of a wraith: 
 

'A man who fell as all men must,
Denied his glory, turned to dust.
This man who lies will lie no more:
Arise again and march to war.'

Its message is clear: the promise of an escape from the pains of death. Perhaps to some hope glimmers for the first time in grim millenia as a window into Aevos is opens before them.

All they need do is answer. 

((I am recruiting players old and new alike to come and play undead characters in an upcoming RP conflict, especially those who have not yet had a shot at dark magic/ creature roleplay and would like to give it a go!

The only prerequisite to respond to the in-character call above is to have a PK'd character who in life was not a Dark Shaman, Naztherak or Devil.

If you would like to discuss details or engage by arranging RP with your dead character that would - ICly - determine their place in the conflict ahead as well as their potential resurrection as a phantom/ ghoul via a seance, feel free to join here and begin scheduling: https://discord.gg/hpXuTs8nk2))

MALEFICAR OF NÚMENDIL, WE HAVE YOUR PRINCESS.

TOO LONG has the Midlander domain been left unchecked, as the treacherous claws of maleficar - naztherak, templars, paladins, azdrazi - have itched away at mortalkind's liberty.

TOO MERCIFUL have we been to those that would pervert the righteousness of Canonism toward bargains with Aenguls and false idols, culminating in the coming of the Aengul Raguel.

NO MORE shall such be abided. For the crimes of hosting maleficar, we find the Exilic Kingdom of Númendil enemies of Xion, and thus the mortal living and the dead. The Ascended Order shall abide these transgressions no longer.

Doubtless some will read this missive, and quip of their own misguided heroics and indifference to our cause. YET OUR CAUSE IS STRUGGLE! Emerge from the safety of your cities, heroes of the Light - for death awaits you in the North.

PRINCESS ERIANTIEL, DAUGHTER OF QUEEN ARYANTË IS NOW OUR PRISONER.
TURN YOUR BACKS ON MALCHEDIAEL AND SHE SHALL BE RETURNED WITH HER HEAD.

Maleficar of Númendil, we have your princess. 

Come and save her.

Barrowlord Azazel,

The Herald of Embers

The Death of Selina Yuriel - Astark

"This was the right path, wasn't it?" her voice echoed within the confines of her mind, her ectoplasmic form inhabiting a battle worn husk of armour that had seen many victories and just as many defeats in the Wights existence. Before she could answer herself she suddenly lurched forward, a chorus of blood curdling screams echoing from her maw as she starts clawing at her own visor with taloned digits, adding to the marks of her helm.

"No No NO! Yes! Whatareyoudoing?! Ascend! Die! Be reborn!"  the choir of voices, of souls that comprised her tormented existence all screamed for attention, filling her mind with their own thoughts and opinions as she took up her mace in frustration and destroyed a nearby statue overlooking a fountain. Ectoplasm drooled from her visor, as her taloned digits tightened about the mace and she focused on her own thoughts. She could feel the last threads of her sanity slipping from her control, the last remaining thread fraying dangerously close to its end.

"Aleksey, if only you were here to guide us as you did Veil.. to offer your council.." her mind flashed memories of the former Poltergeist, the infamous Hound. One of the first she had met upon being inducted into the Fifth Synod and one of the first as a Mortal she had come to call friend. She slammed her fist into the wall, cracks splaying out from her gauntlet in an intricate web upon the stonework. 

Her mind drifted then to the events of the morrow' to the fated 'Duel of Words' she had been forced into by her once adopted daughter, Melandrach. As a Mortal, she had found Mary has but an orphan child, took pity on her as the poor girl resembled very much her own history before she had been inducted into the Fifth Synod by Naurallas. How cunning the girl was.. who had taught Mary that? It certainly wasn't her, for she had no memory of her own parents herself and didn't know how to be a mother. Was this why Melandrach hated her so much? Cunning.. she had expected to fight in a duel, but to be lured into a debate of words, Melandrach had her exactly where he wanted. Oh so cunning..

Her mind flashed to images of the Twilight Princess, Ivarielle. "Ivarielle, oh how we could use your cunning mind in these times.." She had coaxed the Celianorian Princess into beliefs of Xionism, coaxed her into be an ally. She had fully intended on manipulating the woman to accomplish her own goals within the city, but in the end had she been manipulated by the Princess instead? A complicated relationship, though one forged on mutual respect.

Respect.. something she had lacked as a Mortal and then again as the Barrowlord Astark in many instances and yet despite all her shortcomings and outbursts, there were those that still chose to believe in the her vision. A vision of a world free of Dieifc Influence, a vision of a world where she had ascended to Godhood and brought down the Pantheon herself, a vision of a world that was free for Mortal hands alone. Of those who were drawn to her side, one stood out among them. "Valindra.. your loyalty never wavered, you truly trusted the vision we had. Trusted us to make good on our promises.. we can only hope that our mind remains intact long enough to bring you the future you deserve."

Promises.. oh so many broken promises. Memories of her first student, Yukio Hirano flashed in her mind. "Oh Yukio.. you were promised the world and yet you were the one we had first failed, the one we had failed the most. Our ambitions blinded us to what was truly best for you, in the end you did what you thought was right and left us.. something we hated you for. But, perhaps you were right?"

Failure.. the Legacy she had been handed down, entrusted with by the one she would call Sister. "Naurallas.. oh how we miss you.. the first to show us kindness.. the first to give us power.. the first.. you were the start of this story. Without you taking pity, or perhaps simply seeking to twist that poor orphan girl into a servant for your own uses, we would have never begun walking this path. You were the Catalyst, for everything that was to come. For good, or for worse we cannot say. We were so angry with you, when you chose to abandon the Synod and free yourself of the Apparition.. and yet, now we understand as we face our own fraying mind.. you made the right decision." she lingered in silence for a moment, studying the worn mace in her hands as she could feel the voices in the back of her mind beginning to well up again. "We failed you.. yet we did what we thought was right, and still continue to do so. We shall surpass the Mantle of Divinity in your honour and bring peace to the world."

And the Librarian, Korhuz.. oh so faithful spectre. You were there from the beginning, always standing by our side and in the end we failed you too. Sacrificing you in attempt for more power, to achieve our goals. And yet, your death was for nothing.. a sacrifice we did not need, i can only hope Aeriel was true to her word and you were given peace. I will not rest until Aeriel is dethroned and we can bring you back.

She grabbed her spear in one hand, mace in the other and proceeded out of the Conclave of Whispers to the Xionist town of Lumbridge.

She would not make it out alive, her form cast into the elysian wastes for a time, to be reformed.. and yet.. this would not come to pass.

Deep in the Ebrietaes, the strewn souls of Vorztrok, Astark would feel a sudden sudder of pain, like a dagger to a heart that she had long forgotten.

"N..no.. not like this, it wasn't supposed to end like this!"

Less than a moment later, the apparition tore itself away from Selina's soul and she was left in the depths of Aeriel's realm. Alone. Forgotten.

So ends the tale of Astark, let it be a cautionary one that the Mantle of Divinity is not so easily obtained.

 

There are no greater charges than those levied at the divine. 

You thirst for it.

HARKEN O'SONS OF XION;

Astark, the Betrayer, has abandoned Us all in her hubris.

She has decreed her intent of forceful ascension, a heretical decry against our very philosophy. 

An attempt to challenge the immortals through criminal means, a profanity most heinous against our ancient tenets. 

She yearns for Godhood.  

The path to Xion closes before her and the Old Dark opens in its stead.

Through doctrinal deliberation, O’ Sons of the Synod, I Barrowlord Melandrach, Gravelord, hereby REBUKE in the PERMANENT REVOCATION of the title of Barrowlord to the once-Astark, now Vorztrok, forever in shame of her malicious deeds.

Let it be known to all those who heed, that neither through the succession of Naurallas or the coveted tradition of Xion, might she claim to be Barrowlord or Herald, for all ages.

My sleep has endured far too long, and this is my penance. 

Azazel is Herald of Embers.

Phylacteries of the Synod

Gravelord Melandrach,

Barrowlord Mek’Abiri,

Barrowlord Azazel

ASTARK, GRAVEROBBER

The mantle of a Herald is a charge, not a throne.

He who guides, not reigns, and comforts in the word of Xion.

What is a preacher who does not know the faith?

You have hindered Xion at every turn until your selfish pursuit of power found strength in our tenets.

You do not care for our scriptures, our histories, our revered practice.

You have proselytized poorly to the faithful. Behold your flock; so many have strayed.

You are not righteous in your claim, founded upon footholds of egocentric ideation. For far too long your heresy has been ignored and your critics too oaken.

It is the right of any Xionist to challenge a title mistreated,

On behalf of the true herald of Embers, Barrowlord Azazel: I, Gravelord Melandrach, move to challenge as his singed champion. Gleefully you robbed his grave and let him rot, for you rathered his fate sealed than a potential check on your own perceived importance.

You spit on his mercy, which alone saved you from my wrath. 

I CALL FOR A DUEL OF WORDS; on the Fundamentals of Xion.

I call the Pampo Perea, emissary of Mordring, to adjudicate. 

By the primordial laws of Xion a challenge answered with silence is a mantle forfeit. 

Gravelord Melandrach,

Acting Singed Champion of Barrowlord Azazel

@Zarsies@TheWhiteWolf

The Nameless Day is once again upon us, brothers and sisters.

In honour of Strife, and the war for equilibrium that those on the paths of Umbrage and Fire all walk in their own way, we do beseech the faithful to test the cosmic scales through a sacred errand!

A false crown to be seized from throneless king, fit for a teacher yet worn by a fool.

Pontiff Caius of Reinmar has, like many priests loyal to Aeriel's deception of an absent idol, failed to act against the rising Ibleesian threat of the Red Lich. All Men, including the faithful, are wounded by his ignorance and sloth.

He has squandered his mantle as a shepherd of men and allowed the Old Dark to fester, flaunting maleficar powers without discretion. 

There are wiser heads more suited to that clerical crown.

Seek Strife, brothers and sisters, by snatching Pontiff Caius' Mitre in the Nameless Lord's name, and ye shall be handsomely rewarded!

- Azazel, the Herald of Embers

The new flame called, and we did not answer. 
For we slept, and Embers dwindled.
A new spark offered to shape the inferno in our wake, but was quenched in its infancy.

The Four Ways are nothing without those to Herald them.
Irrespective of path, the mantle of each Herald is a charge, not a throne.
The route of Fire is no different.

With the sole exclusions of the maleficar and anathema described by Ember Law, it is the right of any practitioner or product of the mortal arts loyal to the Way of Fire to challenge for the mantle left dormant. 
With words or violence, through personal will or a singed champion, a Herald must remind their flock of their right to steer the grand sermon.
A challenge met with silence is a challenge won.

This is how we survive.

For a follower of Oaks to intervene is heresy.
For a follower of Dark to intervene is heresy.
For a follower of Strife to intervene is heresy.
For a Rh’thorean to meddle is heresy.

For you to have stood in the way of succession, Shorewalker, who hath forsaken all paths to the Land of Xion in favour of your own impotent faith, is a cardinal sin. A mockery of our ways.

This was an affair for the faith you have forsaken, not the politicking of the Synod we both belong to, and as a result the great jihad has dwindled beneath an absent clergy.

News of your meddling in our name has reached us, Barrowlord Atzudeth, and we are sickened by it. You have tarnished not only ourselves but the good name of Embers. You have spat in the face of tradition for the final time. Consider this admonishment carefully: tread where you do not belong again and you shall be undone by my own wroth.

I call now upon Kallig of the Xi’thari, the Smothered Spark, and declare the outcome of your challenge shambolic.

If your claim still stands, I would right this wrong and honour it personally in glorious combat.

If you have since moved beyond the pursuits of the clergy, then I shall see to it you are remembered as the Herald that was denied their ascension; lamented with the proper reverence in the songs of our tradition.

We keenly await your answer.

Barrowlord Azazel,

Custodian of the Pale Flame,

Interim Herald of Embers

@Dymase

@Valannor

Banishments of Lumbridge

5th of Deep Cold, Year 143 of the Second Age

"In this moment, I am euphoric. Not because of any phony god's blessing. But because I am enlightened by my intelligence."

Henceforth,
 

Those who commit grievous acts and break the law of Ember will be known as Traitors; exiled. We are not a people of forgiveness, they will be given no trial. To re-enter is a Heinous Crime, of unforgivable severity. 

Watanabe Ayako (known also as Abendevek), is to be seen eternally as a traitor.

A shapeshifter prone to undeath. Every person must be on their highest guard. She is known to take the forms of; 

1. An Oyashiman of black hair, bearing a scar across her eye. Often dressed in black and blue;

2. A ghoul-like creature of yellow eyes and white-hair. Often acting unpredictable and bizarre;

3. A dark elf of deep black skin and red eyes;

4. A bipedal bird, a clear costume worn. 

HEAR! She will be stripped of her title; The Herald of Strife, which might never be claimed again by her person. She will be stripped of her gifts, and she will be stripped of her memories. 

Signed, Gravelord Melandrach

The Council of Heralds,

{!}
Figures donning black hooded robes and steel masks lurk throughout the cities of Aevos, nailing missives to every notice board in every city, town, and settlement.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

To you, whose Flame now dwindles, dormant,

Heralding little more than shadows of a dying light,
A new spark flickers, burning to a blinding torrent.
You have forsaken your place by letting your Embers die.

I take your title. 

Come and take it back.

- Lord of the Xi'tharii

@The King Of The Moon