Anti-Setherien Posters

[Slic3man 484]

     Posters are found among many of the towns and cities, nailed firmly to the wall. It would appear they cannot be torn off, as the paper cannot be torn. They cannot be burned, inflammable. As such they would remain pinned with pre-cut holes for the nails, and their owner would be unknown.

 

*The writing is in a fine calligraphy, but is easy to comprehend for even those with a basic knowledge of common. It would seem educated all the same, and continue on as such:*

 

     How can you trust such a being that had once taken your very own flesh to corrupt, and make their soldiers? Surely such a power would not have failures, but he had failed at such high grades as to wipe out nigh all the loved ones taken into his military. He is of no mercy, hardly of power even. Perhaps he possesses more power than the average mage and has gained secrets locked away, but he is surely of no capability higher than many. Setherien has sent behemoths of power to interrupt your mortal livings, and they still falter underneath the boot of the races. Do tell, how does such an impressive power remain uneducated in history, perhaps of his more higher peers? Iblees and Aeriel were both much more powerful than this one, and were far more capable of both defending and taking their domains.

 

     Even now, we know not what is fully done to Iblees, or Aeriel. Some have proposed that they still exist. Yet this one is just a meager power, starved for more. He is but a noble begging his highers for land. Has he not showed heavy failure over the many times, and showed his anger and disdain toward them? We look upon the North, an isolated area of land inhabited by something they propose as a deity regardless of his weakening strength. Many before Setherien have shown much more power than he himself. The Undead held more power than these meager Harbingers, and were able to complete their goal. Show not respect, but the opposite for such a pompous organism that threatens your livelihoods and at the same time cannot carry out his threats. He is no better than a cocky warrior, adorned with his father's long past artifacts. 

 

     If their Harbingers, who have been defeated by mere mortals beforehand, are a fraction of his power; then what does that say of him? Can you not band together and destroy him, as meager mortals and nations can spoil their plans with blades? You are presented with a threat, one which you can overcome. This is a facade awaiting its master to let it give way, and show that they cannot hold themselves up. Their scaffolding is your fear, and their structure is their weak, malformed power.

 

     His strategic ideals stretch to simply sending mass amounts of servants to kill what they can, and throw crimson crystals among land to corrupt it. These crystals are torn asunder by mere mortals as well, clerics, druids, and other cleansing powers. Setherien is but a dragon it would seem, something slaughtered many times over the ages. Servants of the Northern cowards are those who walk about, wielding the power of cold. These are even easily slaughtered and are nothing compared to the powers of those before them. Do not feed the beast, let the beast feed on his own carcass until there is nothing left. I wish you luck in your endeavors, to whichever race you preside and wherever your allegiance lies.

 

     *At the bottom lies some sort of imagine drawn by an artist, upon each poster it lies. It would depict a dead being of such, perhaps a dragon.*

 

 

 

[Arkelos 1027]

A strange seal has been made under the letter, words underneath

 

 

"For glory, death to the Scourge."

[Dizzy771 900]

*Dizzy Chuckles, turning to a young beardling at his side he speaks*

 

Aye, gud propaganda an all but...... 'ow maneh people really needed tu be told 'es evil? Ah t'ink all t'ey did is 'urt 'is feelings! 'Ar 'ar!

 

*After realizing the posters immunity to removal he simply removes the bricks that it is attached to from the wall. Replacing the bricks with fresh ones he sets the propaganda nearby*

 

No use wastin a gud poster loike dis, but ah cannae 'ave it up ferever. Be bad fur t'a stone

[Demotheus 651]

Daniella glares heavily at the posters, though she reads it thoroughly, several times over, going so far as to think about it even, Then she sighs, shaking her head. "He does not understand..." She turns, going to walk away from the blasphemous poster.

[DragoonCrow 346]

Smelly Scourge Sodomites.

[Swgrclan 2682]

Scourge is sin.

[Demotheus 651]

Scourge is sin.

She twitches, glaring at the...person...thing... "And necromancy is not? You are a hypocrite."

[Viper3X 1056]

An unfaced, robed being chuckles as he reads over the inflammable note. As he places his hand over it, the parchment falls victim to the cold and crumples from the frigid grimness of his freezing touch. He slams his chilling steel sabaton into the earth, twisting his leg while watching the note bury itself into the ground. The figure gazes up to the numerous individuals observing his actions, and begins to speak.

 

"Would you be so foolish to believe the lies of this unknown messenger? He challenges you to bravely stand against the approaching darkness, yet he cowers in the shadows hiding from what he claims to be inferior? If the dragon is so weak and puny, then why hasn't it been slain? Why did you not end it at the battle of Greywynn? Surely none of you have ever been swallowed by a Shurr'dru, only to rupture its entrails and split it in two? Even the orcs mightiest weapons yielded to Death itself that day and fell to the unforgiving grasp of the North. If the Black Wyrm is as measly as you claim, then why has the Ascended themselves skulked in the far reaches of this world, watching from afar while the one that will mask out the sun purges the land with his gift? An entire order fell to the Drakaar many years ago... An order committed to the so-called purification of the dragonkin. And look what happened to them! They serve him to this day because he opened their eyes... he showed them their real purpose. It was them that needed to be purified. He granted them the gift of immortality, and with that came true power. And in return, all he asked for was eternal servitude. Is that not what you want? Mortals crave a purpose, they crave power. You are all fragile... the curse of flesh hinders you. You are the ones who are weak. You may stand against the Dark Master, but when your bones litter the earth and his chosen followers bury you beneath the ground, only then will you know who made the right choice. The choice only a fool wouldn't make. If you wish to begin a war, then throw yourselves into battle. But don't forget which side suffers the curse of inevitable death, and which does not."

[Demotheus 651]

Daniella grins lightly as the supposedly indestructible poster is destroyed, watching the...assumably Harbinger of sorts.

[Slic3man 484]

     Slowly but surely a black steed would trot behind the group, looking toward the robed being while also doused in cloth of his own. It would halter, before the being atop is would raise a hand and speak. A voice of jagged origin would echo across the group, ensuring it be heard by both the onlookers and the one before them.

 

     "Your messenger stands here before you, as a caster of word among the populace. You stand here today, possessing power all the same to which I've mentioned. Chills send down the spines of those you encounter, but what of those who look toward you? Winged lizards have been slain, your Harbingers have retreated. From word they have even faltered beneath magics of mortality. The Order before you is nothing, they have befallen the corruption. Weak minds, as well as bodies it would seem. Your touch, whatever it may be, is not all that grants immortality."

 

     A gauntlet-clad hand would find itself pulling back upon the hood adorning his helm. Then the helm would slowly slip off to reveal naught of humanity. A void to which nothing is seen but a void of anything. It keeps his hands raised and horse prepared for any who may interrupt as its voice continues to usher toward the robed one. 

 

     "You incite fear, call upon past entities that have failed to end what this Scourge is. In truth, these past entities were unfated, not the ones to end your apparent reign over the cold. The Ascended, long before your reign were just the same when facing Iblees himself. They are nothing, yet it would appear they are much more than you may ever be. Undead once before basked in power from their master, yet the Harbingers would be stricken down by a single of their might. The only eyes opened in the times of dismay were ones of bleak weakness, they could not handle the task at hand. Fear will not forever grasp the races, and when they no longer do the weight shall bear down the strength of fated upon your 'cult'. Your most powerful weapon is fear, and fear, is not a metal that you should expect to fight your battles forever."

 

     It'd remain, staring down at the populace as well as the robed one who had rendered the paper useless. Its hood would find itself back over its head as well as its helm.

[Swgrclan 2682]

Cast within cloth of weaved shadowed and tainted life-force dwells a malignant force of dark-energy with the stature of a man, hooded and obscured safely away from the scornful sunlight as it stands beside it's Gravelord brother. Whereas Vinzakra spoke words of malicious reason, it remained silent -- the Lord of Infliction did not need to spare words for the mockery of the North, nor it's warped demon-minions. It would drift and remain standing, listening, and watching -- but would suddenly freeze as one statement in-particular is uttered by the frigid Harbinger whose words are like a blizzard's chill.

"Mortals crave a purpose, they crave power. You are all fragile... the curse of flesh hinders you. You are the ones who are weak."

The robed creature twitches, it shifts and it shudders; something stirs within it's void-black mass. Not the will to lash out from the Drakaar-Server's insults, not rage from it's audacity, but.. amusement. A discomforting, distorted laugh suddenly rises from it's hood in tones that echo close to one's ears, yet far and distant at the same time. The laugh cracks at the sky in open mockery of the Harbinger's words and power; spite and twisted amusement laced within it's cackling that would cause the ears to rattle and the mind to blur.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2fGQU_YiQI

[SirSnowMan 318]

 

*Ailred mumbles to himself after reading a copy within the walls of the Dreadfort*

 

"Northern Pests"

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.