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THE INQUISITORS DEPARTURE


Milenkhov
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THE INQUISITORS DEPARTURE

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TO THE GREAT TITAN

 

Father, wait for me.
I shall only be gone for a few years.
I will return with conspicuous jewels.
I will return with enticing trinkets.

 

I will be Inquisitor still, yet Eternal in the hearts of our kin no more.

 

With fire and steel, blood and anger.
Spread your wings, the Great Titan.

 

The Inquisitor Eternal, Eluitholnear


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THE JOURNEY

 

As came the yawning gulf of metaphysical peril, the Inquisitor Eternal sat idly in his burning abode. His fingers curled in, one hand brushing away at his rough locks of bronze. Oliver stared intently at the burning pit that sat under his chimney; his glazed orbs of gray scrutinised the fires shape, and so he saw the Great Titan speak. “Journey to the north.” It was bluntly spoken, flames hewing out into the shape of a drake.

 

Slowly, the Inquisitor Eternal stood. The dragon-knight sauntered over towards his creaking, burnt vanity. Falling onto the wonky stool, it’s top right leg shattered from his brusqueness, the dragonkin took a hold of a quill and a scrunched up parchment. Upon flattening it straight, he wrote away; incomprehensible mutters were heard under his breath. “To my brothers and sisters. . .”

 

Time passed swiftly, welcomed by the brazen rays of sunlight beaming through gaps in the house. He took a hold of a lantern, gauntleted-hand burning its wax and sprouting to offer more light. Oliver approached the nearby wall, finger-tips beginning to mark the wooden surface with draconic markings. Swiftly, it parted to reveal an empty canal leading into some sort of cavern.

 

“How annoying.” The dragon-knight complained, halting before a rocky crevice which connected to a pool of magma. In the sundered rocks, magma bubbled; the centre of the hold claimed a sword. It was silent. . . - a vaunted longsword cascading with unnatural, unworldly energies; they were draconic and similar to that of the Archdrakaar. A few moments later, cacophonous laughter bellowed, a violent blare.

 

“Inquisitor. How are you doing?” The dragaar questioned, contained within the chained weapon, summoned by the Inquisitor Eternal. “I don’t care.” It cut the dragonkin off, much to his annoyance.

 

Oliver began to approach, feet dipping into the scalding hot lava with nonchalance. “We’re going on a journey. It’s time to hunt.” The dragon-knight bid simply, followed by a gentle scoff. As he approached the vaunted ‘Sword of The Dragaar’, he was met with protests.

 

“You’re weak. Fight without tools.” The sword commented, flames of crimson red flaring across its dracanium edge. A hilt of dragonsbone, one as dense as carbarum,  shook and swayed; it was a living weapon. “You’re not holding me.” It bid starkly.

 

The Inquisitor Eternal halted before the sword, gauntleted hand extending out towards its hilt. “You’re trapped in a sword. Shut your mouth.” Oliver commented, coiling his fingers around the longswords pommel. A violent shriek was heard as the veins of the dragonkin bulged out, black and grim. His maw unhinged, revealing many unnaturally sharp canines, veiled by his human guise. Luckily, the sword was under his control. . . - the horen pulled it out of the rocky stash and pivoted, lurching out of the cave.
 

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LETTERS TO THE NEPHILIM

 

TO MY FAVOURED BROTHER, Antonius Vilac @Milenkhov

You are strong, brother. We taught each other on how to survive, the cruelties of life, for hardship, glory and blood found us under our esteemed Father. Look at us now, immortal and filled with prowess. Sadly, I am departing this continent for a few years. Something has  . . . come up. As someone who is equally respected by our brothers, take the mantle of leadership and rule with a stern fist. Let them hear your flames roar into the future; I expect to return and see my favoured brother covered in jewels and surrounded by women.

 

I will return and teach you the arts of blood carving. We can rule the battlefield ourselves once more. Not to worry you, but I am turning insane. This sword is unhealthy for me. I will find a worthy replacement soon and chain this one up in the firelands.

 

Spread your wings, Antonius Vilac, the Chosen Prince of Humanity.

 

TO MY STUDENT AND BROTHER, Alric var Ruthern @biggestdon

You have grown, Alric. Once a confused man, a Knight Paramount to some kingdom. It was love at first sight. . . - platonically. A warrior who is unclaimed on the field, carrying the laurels of our Father. Claws as sharp as swords, strength as overcoming as mountains. I am proud you went from student to brother. A dragonkin worthy of his name, one who will live for many thousands of years to come. I gifted you a cuirass of wyvern scale, and once I have returned, will give you something better.

 

Continue to show your strength. Be prideful and be strong; you are not allowed to falter and show weakness.

 

Spread your wings, Ser Aldric var Ruthern, the Champion of Azdromoth.

 

TO MY STUDENT AND BROTHER, Krendogron @Spoons

Though not as combatant as Aldric, you are still one worthy of being called dragonkin. A young man with small ideals of wealth. You went from sellsword to immortal. . . - a feat many are unable to exclaim. Not only a worthy fighter, but a legendary forger, a blacksmith able to create blades that slay kingdoms. Do not forget your promise, Krendogron. You have to make that sword, whatever you do. Whatever you do.

 

Continue to show your perseverance. Be crafty and intelligent, kind and noble.

 

Spread your wings, Krendogron, the Infernal Quartermaster.


TO MY BROTHER, Tytos the Drake @Valaryon

A man of worth, one ancient and knowledgeable. You have lived through eons of war and bloodlust; a man who has remained loyal to the ways of our Father Azdromoth since the creation of the nephilim. One so loyal to Horen, he would put his life five steps ahead. I wish we spent more time, I would love to know more about my brother. Sadly, this world if full of strife and tainted, hideous vile lightbearers, those ******* Xannites. I hate them . .  but let us not get off track.

 

Krendogron is crafting a sword worthy of your hand. See it as a gift, hold it well for me, and let us use it in unison.

 

Spread your wings, Tytos the Drake, the Protector of Horen

 

TO MY COMRADE, Haskir @Ryloth

Our relationship has been rocky. You are a comrade and friend; you were taken away from something. . . unsettling. However, I wish you would return to our kin. Mistakes are naturally a part of life's cycle, and though many of my brothers and sisters despise you, I do not. Our history is rooted through hardship and teamwork. I would have you be dragonkin if it was possible.

 

Don’t let someone pelt you for your fur, please.

 

Spread your wings, Haskir, the Legendary Kharajyr


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[OOC: This letter is only available to the Azdrazi and those that were pinged. Please do not use this to metagame!]

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A magical letter flew to the sender in return, wreathed in arcaurum gilding. It was stamped in the same Eye of Azdromoth denoting the sender.

 

 

[DO NOT META-GAME THIS RESPONSE]

 

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INQUISITOR ETERNAL,

Blessed are you, my brother Eluitholnear. Your wish is mine own likewise, and should you allow it, it will be done. In arms are the kith of the Titan high. 

 

I write to you from Karinah'siol, and have waited eagerly for some way to find solace by way of return to those that have lofted me so great. I have done much in my time apart. The Titan is empowered, equipped with weapons of ruin and creation alike. The skies beckon and the heavens weep for what is to come.

 

Thank-you, for this.

 

I wish you well, my brother. Don't lose that cuirass I once gave you.

SIGNED,

Ri'Haskir Therkul

Kharajyr High Aelkos & Mane of Pride Therkul, the Herald of Azdromoth & Bearer of Torva-Oth'zin Al

 

[DO NOT META-GAME THIS RESPONSE]

 

Spoiler

mfw you give the wyvernscale cuirass away @Werew0lf the SHEER irony.. thats ok tho only gods get it

 

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omw to metagame Haskir and Antonius rn!!! omg

 

Good writing :) 

 

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ELUITHOLNEAR,

 

My dearest Brother, and Second Eldest of our Knights. Your words honor me and my purpose beyond what I can write. Venture forth unto the frozen North that you challenge and put all who oppose our Father's whim to the sword. Steel the flame in your heart and you shall never falter. When you return we shall speak of the history of our Order and of our kin. There is much to learn if you or our cousin is to lead us to everlasting victory. Much of the road we walk has been traversed by our ancestors once before, we must succeed where they have failed.

 

Do not forget who you are Zey'mah - and the blood that runs through your veins.

 

Your Blade,

Agkulaan

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Kaal bearing the crimson armour of his kin looked upon the wyvern scale cuirass, holding it high-handedly, as a proud, but bittersweet smile brandished across his lips. Drifted eyes of the man then glanced to the written words of, 'you are not allowed to falter and show weakness.' The dragonkin reflected on those words for some seconds before casting his mind to a past vision, that seemed to caution him. But that, and what was written, seemed to resolve his mind.

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"My wrath once coursed through my veins, cracking the crust of my skin - burning at the touch of my malice. I feel it no longer."

 

A lone creature rasped, his voice hoarse and guttural, before the lowly confines that he held himself within. Krendogron raised the hammer skyward, placing a thick pointed chisel upon the stone. It was stricken down, a little chip breaking off. And so, the Nephilim toiled away; little-by-little, a chip at a time, parting the outside stone from the part that he sought for.

 

"Shackles. Chains before my soul and mind. A prison - covered in flesh, painted in skin - but a prison nonetheless."

 

A stream of smoke trailed from his lips, drifting onto the blank aether as he kneeled before it. The pointed chisel was placed aside, another tool grasped; the claw-chisel. The surface of the stone was weathered, rough. Rugged. He sought to level it, push down at all the peaks or crest, leaving behind a fine, shallow, parallel groove. With effort, the material began to resemble what was lost. Who was lost.

 

"My rage, my purpose. My hatred, my resolve. My memories, my own. Tempered."

 

The final task remained, the Nephilim worked towards it. A file and sandpaper. The rough paper took out the large sections, leaving scratches before it. The fine was soon used, taking away the marks but leaving smaller ones. A rough creation, yet one that'll stand the test of time.

 

"I am free. My wings are spread, the Sun is mine."

 

A brazen knight peered back, wrought of stone. It was not him, it never will be. Yet it was the closest that they had. It stood watch, gazing at the lost land. It stood watch before the Nephilim. It stood watch, awaiting for his return.

 

"Thank you, Eluitholnear."

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A lonesome mali clad in darkened plates ran an oiled rag down the length of a certain slayersteel greatblade, giving an exhale as he paused but briefly. "Wherever he is, I hope he's alright." He uttered, his jaw coming to clench and his face tightening in annoyance. "You're talking to yourself again." He'd stated, yet inward- as no sound was made from his low and soft voice. The Enrique returned to caring for the blade which had once belonged to his idol, hopefully to pass unto a herald of his own.

 

In time, at least.

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