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The Sisterhood of Xion


_Leyd
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“Radiant is the Black Sun, 

We march as pilgrims of death,

To prepare the world for The Darkness.”

A-EtmDmFyrK4Y0zOWCt9G1RLUD4_KyCYIemLkRlF6RHqpgb31lZE6ICqa45fDVFBWk0uYPtW4Y5G_zD6xWmVMjFoJ3TIMislKe8E-ZS1iMbvcYbvKXhtElPsfl5Zr6ctDH7B-TNU  Wreathed in Holy Dark, bound by a yearning pyre of Elder Flame.

 

The Mother of Crows, a pagan in the ways of Old — she breathes frost and ire, releasing in her wake a mural of darkening, for no King is indebted GOD’s grace until the Lordsake returns. 

 When it is bestowed, armies of dark will march, and they will be her daughters; It will be The Mother of Crows; The Saint of Yathnz; who rallies the Women to war, for those free of sin will be granted a blessing. That which shall return them unto GOD’s intent, a woman who shan’t falter to death of age nor slaughter, for when the Lordsakes are granted, one shall rise as Queen; A queen to lead the Northern Wildlands, to call it’s blizzard and to ensure the age of dark is prolonged evermore. 

 

It is these daughters, whom be bound not only by blood, but eternal purpose, that are the true soldiers of dark. We are but worms, fingerlings to the Black Hand of The Darkness. We are immortal, but respect is commanded amongst all who ravish in undeath; Be they necrotic, phantasmal, or otherwise corrupted, one’s mantle is formed of their devotion unto Xion, their penance unto THE GOD, and their absence from the Sin of Aengudaemonica. 

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Divine Purpose;

 

When Provident Comes, life itself will be lifted from the banks — to blot out the sun, the Sisterhood will have watched in GODLY song and sabbath around a pyre of dark; coalescing the life of beggard men riddled with sin. As truth is bore, and the Gods fall from their skies, those blinded by their lies will drop to their knees in repentance — Being offered at last the mercy of dark; Mercy of death.

 

Until Provident, these Sisters have been aligned with The Black Sun, the Army of Mordring, Bane of Man; Ghamûl and the Red Prophet — the herald of the Fifth Lord, whose presence shows the come of The Dark. The deathly choir sings, and with it the spin of a prophecy; The seals broken, the Moon God fallen, eldritch grown ravenous, broken men find peace, and enlightened women send bastardized offspring into the river.

 

War has spread even amongst families; The four brothers having never been more astray, will be, from their own ruin, united in the coming of the Red Prophet.

 

Sisters of a single, all-encompassing deity, whomst absence leaves many faithless, return a portion of his truth. The creator had foretold unto the Saint of Yathnz his truth, that through the springs offered by The Burnt Man, the return of The Darkness will empower all who walk the road to Xion.

When the images of the Provident flooded The Saint’s mind, escaping was nigh an option, as on her very path stood the man, wreathed in Red, who — impressed by the pious warrior - offered his favor, and thus his truth.

 

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The Fifthlord’s Doctrine

 

 

"He shall dig His roots into the depths of the earth and purge it of its illness; and thus all Men shall be purged of their barbaric darkness and ruinous, divisive inflictions; they shall become one..

 

 

 

He shall invoke the fire of unified Man and cast it upon the followers of Gods, thus banishing their masters from the world we walk upon.

 

 

 

He shall take up the broken sword and forge it anew, and then lead men in a battle against the Gods that shall last half a millennium; Hereere, Light and Dark shall remain anchored, the battlefield acting as their ever-churning border.

 

 

 

He shall be slighted by an unknown Final Sin, where He will call upon the name of the Demiurge before killing the False 

Gods themselves, thus blanketing All Things in primordial darkness; Calor Mors.

 

 

 

“And then Men will take the Light of Gods and consume it, and then stand against the Void."

 

— The Four Fates (known as: The Advent, The Rise, The Struggle, and The Quietus).

 

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The Tenants of Yathnz;

The Crows, whom lurk in the guise of ravens; pious be their duty, the dark pyre within leave them to a yearning to be quenched only through the repentance of sin through death and reawakening.


Whilst the creedos of Old Xion may change with the return of the Heralds, and orders be given anew by the last son of Mordring or The Red Prophet himself, for The Sisterhood, there are tenants sewn into their very fabric, pasted above a cross on every hall of their lustrous abbies; The direct word of The Saint of Yathnz.


I
Carry at all times the holy text, the Sisterhood’s sigil, and a weapon, for it is through these that no evil formed against you shall prosper. 

 


II

 

Men and women of the Cannonist Faith, unless proven to be sinners in guise, are left exempt from our conflict unless it is they who invoke violence outright.


III

 

The transcended are to be respected until proven sinful, as both we and they embrace umbrage. Precious few are considered nobility, this being left unto a mantle considered most HOLY by the Saint of Yathnz, whom first may commune with the Fifth Lord's herald for approval.

IV


The corpses of Men are consumed in full, their bones burned or put to some use, but never left to bleach under the sun. Women who are slain are buried by the sea, and let off with a prayer unto Terra to guide their essence to the banks, as well as a sapling to serve as a gravestone, thus appeasing both God and Oak.


V
 

Mages are not to be killed, but instead captured or punished with a cursed existence. These voidal fiends are given a chance to repent if they have not already on the path of Xion; though if weighed and found consumed by sin, they shall be purged of their eyes, with their right hand removed, often wakening from their unconsciousness to a mended wound and their shame to man displayed in righteous view for all sinners to see and repent as they.


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The Dark Sanctums; Abbies of Xion.

The dwellings of the Sisterhood serve as a haven for all allies of the Dark, ensuring a place of peace can be offered where wounds may mend, and praise be heard — These dark fortresses ensure a home for not only the Sisterhood, but as well it’s allies who might seek to dwell there.
These lands house levies of corrupted, but it is in them that they are expected to prolong it’s peace, it’s praise, and it’s duty. 

Those who inflict violence on another within these lands are often cast away, considered heretics for causing harm against a brother or sister of Xion.


(Referenced Lore)


(Big thanks to Hephaestus, ThatTromBoneGuy, and everyone else who helped me with suggestions on the conceptual, proof reading, or just overall support)
 

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An elder, self proclaimed, Queen Winter, adjusted her crown. She prepared to lead alongside her daughters to create a sanctum for the dark dwellers of Almaris. 
 

Spoiler

Can’t wait.. :) < 3 

 

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The Prophet in Red, marvels it’s make. It’s die is cast, and now it waits.

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[!] This knowledge is spread, by scrolls, fliers, and so on, all throughout the realms.

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Deep within the unhallowed tombs of the North, a figure clad in Infernal armour sits patiently upon a decrepit throne in silent contemplation. Their stygian gaze, forever held captive behind the cold steel of their visor was set upon a worn parchment, a map of Almaris. 

"
So much to do.. if we are to achieve our vision.." the Barrowlord mused, a great many voices rising up to speak in a discordant melody that carried across the chamber.

Their silent musings would be brought to an end as a towering Scion of stone marched towards the trio of thrones, bearing this newfound information.

"
An interesting development.. your thoughts Sister?" the figure queried, casting their gaze upon their counterpart. @Gamma

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A sister, a Princess of Winter, grinned wildly with a sharp smile. Off she went, gathering all the paper and quills she could, yet; no ink.

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7 hours ago, _Leyd said:

Big thanks to Hephaestus, ThatTromBoneGuy, and everyone else who helped me with suggestions on the conceptual, proof reading, or just overall support)


 

Spoiler

Happy to help, space cowboy.

 

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9 hours ago, TheWhiteWolf said:

Deep within the unhallowed tombs of the North, a figure clad in Infernal armour sits patiently upon a decrepit throne in silent contemplation. Their stygian gaze, forever held captive behind the cold steel of their visor was set upon a worn parchment, a map of Almaris. 

"
So much to do.. if we are to achieve our vision.." the Barrowlord mused, a great many voices rising up to speak in a discordant melody that carried across the chamber.

Their silent musings would be brought to an end as a towering Scion of stone marched towards the trio of thrones, bearing this newfound information.

"
An interesting development.. your thoughts Sister?" the figure queried, casting their gaze upon their counterpart. @Gamma

 

A shapeless figure wreathed in black and jade fog erupts out of the throne beside the Barrowlord, voice warped as it shifted between feminine and masculine "An interesting development? Read carefully, little sister. They do not follow the four, but the fifth. Reminds me of a certain snake made of bones." It'd rasp, a twisted maw forming out of the misty sludge. A hand raises into the air, causing the paper within the statue's gauntlets to implode into numerous pieces, littering the soaked wooden floor "I care not for this. If you wish to aid this author, I'll see what excuses you both can come up with to change my mind. I've already made an exception to an individual due to our slumbering brother. I do not see why I need to make another."

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Within the depths of a dank cellar was a shadow cast against its walls.  Footsteps approached the The Magi’s carcass that lay breathless in a finite state of rot and decay.  It’s forehead marked with that of a black tree and roots that dug deep throughout its flesh.  Soon a voice sounded. “Within you I could have sown. . .”  As the candlelight casted an incandescent illumination upon the side of his visage, it would give revelation to a pale gaze staring down the parchment.  A corner was offered to the candle’s flame and soon the missive was set ablaze within his cold grasp.  
 

A figure clad in sanguine robes emerged from the cellar and just behind him a quaint homestead burned to ash.  As the light of Ebriaetes shown down, so too did Ukita’s silhouette wane from sight into the stygian wood. 
 

He would await, Him. 
 

 

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A figure laments the accursed north, exhaling a sharp heap of cold air. Murals within caves depict a parable of falsity; to worship without conviction, and be struck by its heinous and treacherous path. "These are not carved upon rocks or marble, but come as a scroll. An effortless endeavour. I would carve the very essence of Aurgelmir upon the north, as I have." 

 

The Lord of Tears struck its claymore down before a pit of snow, encrusting outwards towards a hundred-foot figure, propelling the conclave of the mountain upwards, and trapped for a thousand-years; the corpse of her forefathers of Jotunheim. "That is a pity." She hollered with an agonising weep, covering a pile of mangled corpses upside, allowing for blood to slither through jewels and cracks. 

 

"I will find the one who seeks a false crown." The Crying Devil sauntered forth, being followed by six-armed creatures with lidless-eyes and scorching, burgeon flames igniting their ashy flesh, baring golden-shackles that rang vibrantly across the mountainside. 

 

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Spoiler

FORMAT COPYRIGHT: @Werew0lf

 

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With untarnished beauty so loomed an egregious figure, one drastically behemoth and omnipotent. It was a Mother of Frost - slumbering deeply beneath the wavering snow as The Crying Devil rampaged the mortal coil. The doom of Men’s ilk brought relief for this ancient sorceress, though it was an unsuspecting factor for a mere witchling to ignite within the Elder’s carcass a sentiment of wrath. Hatred. She freed her ephemeral mind from her frozen tomb - rejoicing in the crisp flesh of Men as she plotted, striving for the power that this proclaimed Queen so seemed to desire. "Doo'math Yatl." Ruminated the Banshee, finally awaking. [COPYRIGHT: @Werew0lf]
 

 

  An undying fury sparked within,

. . . not one, but two wenches

 

     Mamen'ka fissured the ice aside,

   . . . and Avarosa crafted accursed arts,

longing for the hunt[COPYRIGHT: @Werew0lf]

 

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Spoiler

FORMAT COPYRIGHT: @Werew0lf

-PXz3n-FgAfRLwsr-YnB78fD6KCK99MKOSwoG6uVRbq1AlDSSpemwxDymGldMHSMLaxhlPwu_Fpe91IG9H1m5htzz9HUmnSZNaUNdz-Cy3OLGTB1lEUhgeQzIWDL1W3bNS4gy6T3  

f7c057635cb033510edf109e260c8525.jpgEternally sound, the Heir Apparent was.. Loomed she, stepping from her icy throne.. Setting her cares aside, her cerulean globes of frigid prowess scanned over the missive; telling news of one with a False Crown.. Gaze igniting with vigor, she allowed her frost to envelop the paper; one foretelling of a mere witchling laying claim to the power of the Four Elder Hags. It  folded in on itself.. Shattering to a fluttering of snow shards - The Mother of Frost now sought to chisel out a plan in iceforged rage.. To see to the end of this egotistical banter in the name of their Blessed Brunhylde.. Gritting her sharpened teeth all the while.

 

 

     "Such a threat by the means of a missive?.."   The mother's lip curled up in disgust. "How asinine.. Who dares to ignite this war?" A looming realization  struck her features, cleaving aside her rage.. Her countenance parted into a  sickly, multi-rowed grin.. Now, she sought out her Lobalm and close acquaintances for their opinion on the matter. [COPYRIGHT: @Werew0lf]

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On 11/22/2021 at 7:31 AM, _Leyd said:

[!] This knowledge is spread, by scrolls, fliers, and so on, all throughout the realms.

A small halfling reads the scroll, unravelling it and studying it deeply. He's beginning to enjoy the life of a Scholar.

"Perhaps the Mother of Crows is Hemea? It would make sense for the texts to be aligned, they have a very similar tone."

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