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The Mistakes of The Holy Paladins of Xan


Ryloth
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A short letter embroidered with a peculiar symbol laden with the

Eye of Azdromoth found its way to the notice boards of cities around

Almaris, particularly to those harboring the Paladins of Xan.

 

14th of the Grand Harvest, Year 11 of the Second Age

- - -

Into the desert wastes they went, these Men of the North. A foreign land unknown, coarse with rough sands and thick with ashen smoke which plumed in great swathes from the fiery volcano afar. Brimstone littered the pyroclastic hellscape in their approach, but alas they pressed on. In a valiant effort did they lay siege to the Mouth of the World there. Ballistae emblazoned with the divinity of daemonic Xannic fire wrought their 'holy' might unto the slumbering drake therein which called this place home. They were invaders to this land, trespassers on soil they did not own.

 

Just as these Paladins of Xan had done to the great Empire of Oren, their terrorism once more strikes hot -- now at the behest of Norland. They had awakened a terror, just as the drakes of lands past. Just as Avendal of Atlas, just as Gudour of Athera, just as Malghourn of Anthos -- drakes of immense power who dead or alive live on by physicality or myth, legend, and fire-side tale. Once more and yet again as these Paladins had done throughout the ages past have they awakened upon the Lands of Almaris an old, timeless drake. For why?

 

In their brazen attacks and outright ignorant, impossible assaults on beings as mighty as drakes such as these do they raise an endless threat and unstoppable power. They endanger the people of Almaris -- threatening nations, cities, capitols and the innocent. The bounty of a fallen drake would line the pockets of these 'holy' knights in gold should they succeed -- but they failed, and utterly so. It is with solemnity do we of the Titan Arch-Drakaar express our disdain with these Paladins of Xan, purveyors of dark daemonic influence and their taint unto the world. You know not with who or what you toil, and a reckoning will come.

 

We may only hope now that the drake returns isolated to its home. If not and instead a city, this was your doing. You are our undoing, this world's undoing. 

- - -

The letter is unsigned, but the message was clear.

 

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Vivyne Ravexi sang old Renelian hymns about finding peace and finding glory to her troupe as the crossed the Almaris desert. She recalled to herself about a time when  her uncle Ailmar, the last Archon of Renelia, told that she would find peace when she fought for what was right.

 

You were right, my dear uncle. I hope you and Saint Koltira are keeping each other company. She thought to herself along with a smile.

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An 'Ame of repute would frown as she regarded the missive left in her tavern, though she would leave it up for all to see, regardless. For though she claimed many friends who followed the Lord of Sunlight, this news bore tidings of most grave ilk, and of harrowing omen. 

 

"They brought an army to slay that which knows no equal, other than perhaps the Firstborn and the Aengudaemonica... Mindless attempts at wanton slaughter, for I would reckon they know naught even its name. Ignorance, truly, knows no bounds; from the southern reaches of the world, to the frozen north, it would seem that all are gripped with such horrific affliction... Tch, a shame."

 

With but barest semblance of a scoff, laden with an inherent tinge of superiority, the wroth of the Elfess would make itself clear in her mood as she turned on her heels, her boots softly clicking against the smoothed stone of Haeseni roads as she made her way back home. 

 

Preparations must be rushed, it would seem. 

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An anonymous poem was posted beneath the message!


At any time there are mortals whose maw creates Treacherous words

But your faith is truth in your flesh
Serve until you lie resting, so that your soul might arise

Like the wings of our lords rise in loyal wind.

 

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"They do not hunt for virtue. They do so for the right of self-styled glory, and the greed of wearing the hide of dragons." This murmured some grunting Gamling. His single, golden eye peering at the parchment. He kneeled upon a hill, contemplating that poem, stitched to the notice. 

 

"The Mountain that flies." he murmured. 

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A woman clad in leather and furs had cradled a missive she discovered by other sources, digits pinching the edges of the parchment as she idly read the contents below. She did not stir nor fret at the slander as it was expected that those who hold only hate in their heart would attempt to pounce at any chance. The woman knew the truth in the fullest; The Dragonkin were of corrupted origins and always caused chaos and were better off dead. When she was invited to the attempt to defeat the Drake by one of the Paladins within the Sunlit Order she took it. If Norland alongside Her allies sought to fight the beast she would uphold her Lord's desire and fight alongside them - for it was her cause. As she stood flank to flank with an assortment of five Paladins, one from every order, she would smile. There was no regret, there was no delayed reaction, only a feverish zeal that could not be snuffed out. For Xan was her flame, and she was the candle that supported it. [Forgot to reply to this, forgive me.]

Edited by DahStalker
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Spoiler

 

Ezyl frowns as she reads the missive, her left hand pinching at the bridge of her nose. With an exasperated sigh, she would shake her head. "Hillith." She'd hazard a guess to the cold Northern wind, teeth chattering as she does so. "I- we had this under control until idiots decided to be reckless." She'd grumble, fingers curling into a fist, the paper crumpling within her grasp. Glancing overhead with a cold, unamused gaze, Ezyl would study the sky. Snow, melting as it fell, struck her in icy droplets. This, however, she seemed to ignore as she looked for further sign of her quarry. 

 

"The worst headaches." An exhale, powdery condensation escaping her in a rasp after half a day of travel. "Its war, I suppose." Her lips forming a thin line. "Against who..." A studious gaze would be cast down to her faithful dog, Oddwig, who merely wagged his tail in response. With a click of the tongue, a shake of her head, Ezyl tugged a hood over her hair, trudging onward in their quest, the Catahoula-esque dog following two paces behind her, using her footfalls to traverse with ease. "Back to the Chancery, for now...Damn." 

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An uruk woman nonchalantly skid into a halt to skim her conflagrant eyes over the letter, addressing it with irreverent scoffing upon conclusion. "Immensse power, huh? Pfft! Didn't sseem any tough after I sshot it under the wing right after it firsst sswoop down- jusst a maimed flying chicken. If thosse sscaliess hadn't wrecked one of the ballisstae, nor sscreeched as much as they did (only to run without a fight), chancess are it'd be dead already. To me it sseesmss like both paladinss and azdrazi fucked up.ere sauntering away with a contemptuous snort, seeing that the two orders had endangered all other denizens of Almaris. 

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High in the North of Almaris, a tall elf in plate looked at the letter an eyebrow raised "Paladins, pfft" he scoffed before returning to his home, filling himself a tankard of mead. He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink "One of these days i'll end up using you again" he says, looking at the massive Greatsword leaned against the wall behind him. "It's been too long, Libertas."

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Caedric reads the letter as he remembers the Dragonkin fleeing from their own attack, he'd laugh at the thought before commenting to the bystander next to him, "We simply slaughter t'e corrupted. I've a Primer if ye'd like te' educate yer'selves but ye' cowards seem te' run at t'e sight of Norlandic might."

 

Caedric then vandalizes the posters within the North by scribbling "IRON FROM ICE" over the poster.

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