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THE AZDRAZI ANSWER THE CALL


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THE AZDRAZI ANSWER

 

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Atrium Carceri & Herbst9 - Ur Evighetens Pipa

 

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The faithful have been called

 

And so Tor-Azdroth answers

 

My predecessors lost our ways of old

 

Where men made work with my kin

 

In deep chasms long we lulled

 

Now woken, a chance presented

 

So now I walk that path;

 

The golden thread of old

 

 

Of the thirteen Aurelects, lessons written by my father, the Vessel of Triumph contains elements denoting not servitude, but slavery, by Ibliss; the Betrayer. My father was tricked by that fallen prince, and now my people entire suffer that manipulation. 

 

The Nephilim were crafted as the early agents of my father; their purpose was the upholding of the Horenic pact, an immemorial agreement between dragons and men, and the roots by which the emperors of old claimed dragonsblood as part to their right to rule. I call it now - again, as I have before. Let us serve that purpose of old, which has been forgotten by men, in place by a seething hatred and distrust, the craft of xannic worshippers, the politically savvy, and the crimes of my forebearers. 

 

Let there be, if only briefly, peace between men and dragon. But I expect salvation from these acts. I will not be saved. This soul cannot be saved. When I die, I will ascend to no heaven, but I will be made stone, and dream an endless dream. As any dragon ought to. No act can change this. No single deed nor miracle can undo this. I accept this, as I accept my fate, as bound to return to the rock of the earth beneath. Despite my inability of reaching any ascension, however, I should nonetheless extend this remission of sins to my faithful adherents. Many, I understand, have already picked up the sword, but to the others I say this; 

 

Take up your arms, and fight for your very salvation, lest damnation choke you whole. 

No matter your creed. No matter your beliefs beyond the philosophy of Asioth. What is a hundred, or a thousand years of pleasure on this earth, for an eternity of agony? 

 

If we are remain cast out, hunted, and spurned, for the crimes of our predecessors; so be it, but we shall be idle no longer. The Horenic Pact shall by our kin be honoured, even if we find ourselves hated by the ones we were created to protect, for such is our immemorial purpose.

 

Under the wisdom of my inner flame, and the sword of my brothers and my sisters, we, the Azdrazi, and their adherents, do petition the Holy Mother Church and the Chair of Saint-Daniel to join the hunt of the damned, on which the faithful have been called to embark. We call to uphold the Horenic pact of old and make service to the races of men. We call to beg submission, as the tools of war, so that our fire might clean black, torturous halls, and our heads be bowed to receive the baptism amidst temple halls. 

 

O’ Horen, who broke bread with my father, and who was once father to me - accept this call for mercy. 

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-The An-Gho, Immortal Agent, Prince of the Nephilic Azdrazi, and master to the bells of Tor-Azdroth

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An old pirate would be reading the missive, hobbling along a cobbled path. He'd trip and fall onto the ground as he was so engrossed. "Oh shit." he'd utter.

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A young elf would come across the missive, snatching it up from where it lay. His eyes searched the missive frantically before he took a deep breath "Ahernan." was all that was said in return, the saddened expression his features once held bloomed into pure determination.

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A young Vilac received the missive on a dead night outside his father’s home. Glancing it over with stormy Horen hues, he memorizes it’s call, but contemplates it’s meaning. Hums escape him as they transform into the uttering of silent parables. Flames to guide him, ash in his wake, he gazed upon a ruinous path inlaid with gold that begins with his fathers midnight sword made of Asioth. His mind as clear as the path before him, his heart set to answer the call. 

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"About time." Charles of Alstion remarked, his thoughts spoken aloud as he perused the Azdrazy lettering delivered to him.

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Inquisitor Dharas folded his gauntlets 'pon eachother with an audible clank, sardonically reading over the missive. "Stupid fakking Lizard men."

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"Stop pretending to be nice. Your father is a scammer and he is evil, and thus you're evil. Just submit to the Dark Crusade, and serve the Dark God." The Dark God blares towards the volcanic lands. 

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The Doomforged  raised the missive high to the sky before his duo smouldering eyes set on the paper, sailing past each word with ease. Damnation and lust filled his eyes; his ash lips curling into an ever soft smile as determination followed with his gaze. His form of ashened skin dancing as he raised his sword fire raining from it, he then chanted and prayed waiting for what is to come.

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An undead wonders why fellow spooks are working with the church!

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