The Silver Wordsmith

[Gemini 1737]

 

   

Issued on 2^nd of The Sun’s Smile, 1787

First from The Silver Wordsmith

The Followers of Azdromoth

 

 

 

The pact between the titan and the Silver Bastion of Haelun’or has surely changed the Blessed Bastion and her citizenry. Mali’thill and Azdrazi - Brothers in arms, working together to keep the Inferi at bay.
To protect the City of Silver we made a pact with the dragon named Azdromoth. Now lies the draconic wards in the corners of Haelun’or, protecting us. Protecting us from the evil, from the corruption. 

But do they?

Do they really?

 

After talking with many Mali and the Laurir of the Uradir talonnii, Anethra Uradir herself confirmed these horrible accusations I did not believe to be true. Okarir’tir, Celiasil Uradir was accused of mutilating one's body, destroying what was given to him by Larihei, the Haelun of all Mali’aheral. 

 

Celiasil Uradir, Silvyr Uradir and even the Laurir of the Uradir talonnii was confirmed succumbing into impurity. Of forsaking the blessed teachings of Larihei simply in order to show loyalty to the dragon kin. Is this the cost of our pact? Is our purity the cost of keeping our people safe? 

 

Laurir Uradir also stated the Okarir’hiylun, Sohaer and Maelunir being worshippers of dragons. “If such is true one can but only hope they only believe in its power but refrains from destroying their blessed body”, says an anonymous ‘Thill. 

 

What do you think, dear reader? 

 

Do you think it is proper for a Mali’thill to cut themselves? Do you think it is just for an Okarir who succumbs to impurity to lead Her blessed people forward.

 

- The Silver Wordsmith

 

Spoiler

[!] A many a newspapers would be given to every citizen of Haelun’or by the means of small children, running around and giggling as they did so. In every newspaper, there would be a small note attached:
”With this, it is within our pleasure to announce the very bringers of truth, the Haelunorian newspaper called The Silver Wordsmith.”

 

[Johann 2498]

Muriel squints profusely at the Diarchist sigil stamped upon the paper, a tangible frown manifesting upon his expression as he peruses its contents, ”This is not Haelunorian... nor is it a newspaper – inflated, Diarchist propaganda, is what it is!”, he dismissively remarks with incredulity somewhere far beyond the city walls, returning to his work shortly after in his solitary space.

 

A snap of his fingers prompts the paper to go up in flames.

[KronugiN 137]

As Mr. Khaeryr scans the fresh newspaper, his eyes widen. He reaches behind with his hand, grasping for the back of the seat he is about to slowly lower himself into. 

“This is how it starts,” he mumbles drearily to himself “At first, the sheer idea is abhorrent. Then, as more and more influencers vocalize their support, the public opinion shifts. Slowly, inconceivably.” Khaeryr shivers ever so slightly as he puts the tabloid away. “It will either end in a wide-spread acceptance,” he sighs, “or an outright civil war.” With these words, elmali stands up and approaches the dumpster to dispose of the fresh issue, fighting the urge to burn it immediately. As he does, he lets out a despaired chuckle. “I wonder which one would be worse”

[Werew0lf 24180]

 

To the one who hides behind a title,

In response to your whining on the painting of the heralds of Azdromoth, a practice which does nothing to harm their form — as it would not be fitting of a paternal titan to have his own wards damage themselves in devotion, I say the following :

 

The people of Haelun'or came to the titan supplicating for transcendent aid in a time of corporeal peril and you mock it on pretences entirely visual, the talk of impurities and mutilation by way of marks of the flesh being drawn as some grand equivocally to an infernal corruption and death of the soul. A mutilation of the body, so put, pales to the crimes of the soul that would be provided unto those of Haelun’or should the protection of the titan be non-present and infernal beasts in front of baring at your gates. The titan as shepherd and vanguard seeks for a unity of spirit and people, to preserve them safe and spotless in their existence among this realm.

 

The Archdrakaar forgives all impieties and crimes multiplied against the Azdrazi, including the afflictions of other religions daily growing more severe against the guidance of his work, recognising that the cultures and histories of Haelun'or are so fixed and set that he has not only strove to work alongside it but has made no attempt to convert nor force his praise upon the populace. Liberate yourself from the shackles of anachronistic histories and afford yourself the humbled gratitude that the protection of the titan provides.

 

Do not seek protection with one hand and dismiss it with the other. We exist in a time of metaphysical peril that cannot be paralleled by any recent history, one with a proximity and reality most prescient should one venture to the great south and witness the regions of sorrow and doleful shades that was once a resplendent desert continent. To cry foul of impurity for paint-on-flesh is to spit in the face of the protection provided against destruction most existential  —  a spiritual annihilation. 

 

I implore you to bear witness to them, released from their otherworld bonds, wandering about the land in rapt readiness to swallow man at any time, any day or hour-- as the ghostly hellmouths that patrol the desert, and to return and tell me that paint-coated skin is as equal a threat to life. We stand on the philosophical and theological shoulders of an ageless titan to bring immediate protection from the yawning gulf of spiritual torment. You stand on a few decades of history to try to spite your own safety.

 

In this swart night of eternal damnation bounding across the continents of this land, there are more important things to fear than paint.

 

Be wary that he that is hard to please may get nothing in the end.

 

Shut up, *****

 

Eluitholnear

Inquisitor Eternal

 

[Junar 808]

Thrictonoparic observes from his abode, infernal gaze fixating onto his comrade – the Inquisitor Eternal – Eluitholnear in silence. Upon his brother finishing his missive, the dragonkin’s maw fell agape, flashing his sharpened canines. “Inferi are attacking, and they’re crying about... paint? I thought the denizens of Haelun’or were smart creatures.” He swiftly pivot, hopping into the pyre ahead, letting the embers embolden around his form. “Mortals are mortals.”

[MsLinni 828]

Aeron Valaker; A hand encased in silk clasps tightly around the missive crumbling the delicate paper. “I warned them.. YET THEY DID NOT LISTEN” he slams his clasped fist onto the table of his man cave. “AAAGHH” he roars out in pain, grasping his fist “I SWEAR!!! ITS all, ITS ALL, The fault of the impures... YES THATS IT!! Impures have tainted us AAAAHHH.” The elf rose his thin crooked frame from his seat, beginning to pace across his room, focused solely on his hatred. The elf’s extremely pale features were if viewed in the light quite unpleasant, not only where the scowled in extreme hatred, but the lack of light had caused him to appear like a phantom.

 

[Urahra 5777]

Somewhere in Helena, Yuliya Styrne – better known as Bianca La Fleur – looks at the silver goblet she won in the 1778 Nikischurwe contest.

 

“But I’m the silver wordsmith?” 

[Mady 3771]

Maeve Elibar’acal would be found reading the newspaper on her front porch, a mug of freshly made Buttermint tea at her side. “An interesting argument, although the author is lacking in their credibility.” She stated, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the Diarchist sigil. “The missive is hardly informative as this debate has been going on since the Azdrazi arrived.” She mumbled to herself, watching the rain fall down beyond her porch roof. “And without sufficient evidence of the crimes mentioned, I do ne see the point in publicly exposing them.” She sighed. ”A claim without evidence and action is just whining.” She stated, tossing the missive aside and receding back into her manor. 

[Kalehart 1096]

In his office as ever, the Okarir’tir looks over the ‘newspaper’ with a perked brow, head tilting to ones side and a few slow blinks given at the contents. Taking a moment to examine his tattooed hand, the way the bright markings wax and wane like firelight, he rumbles with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, “You’d think the author publishing such a piece could’ve done a bit of research, perhaps sent me an anonymous letter or, indeed, just asked around a bit more. I make no secret of my deal with the Titan, I do not conceal the marks I bear, I’d have readily admitted and explained. It seems instead of seeking actual insight, they chose to take ineffectual shots at an issue that has long since been discussed and resolved.”

 

Tapping at the page, he leans forwards and props his chin in an open palm, the Okarir’s eyes narrowed to slits as he lets out a pensive hum, ”Peculiar, I wonder who would’ve written such a thing... Lari’onn must know.”

[Demented_Delila 1248]

Dele quietly reviews the missive after finally having a breakdown; her expression only remains that of anger as this blatant lie sat before her. She recalls her journey into the Firelands, letting herself part with a mourning locket made from her husband’s armor- though it was returned she’d not worn it since; it’d been ultimately the “let go” motion she’d needed. She didn’t seek power, nor fame, or knowledge when she sat within the halls of the Black Ziggurat, forced to her knees before a power she would not see. She sought to protect her own.

 

”My pact and ‘worship’ of the Arch Drakaar is none of your concern, wordsmith because they are done for my own reasons. It is no secret that my pact is not of heraldry or ascension through flames, I’m quite open about my lack of draconic markings on my body... I sold my soul to protect my son; what can say for yourself, Wordsmith? If you are too afraid to face those in charge with your questions then truly you’re nothing but a Diarchist at heart. Maybe you ought to **** right off to whatever rock you crawled from under?” 

 

She was embittered, knowing truths to those who had been responsible for these writings, Anethra had discussed with her; and yet she was betrayed. She was hurt. What point was there to make in trying to make them seem like villains? If the writer wanted a monster, then she’d not find one here.