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SETTLING THE DRACONIC QUESTION


Jentos
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In a nearby wooden shack, a spectral figure weeps for his loss; but finds solace in the essay, reading it through and through as he clutched it tightly in his translucent fingers.

 

Spoiler

I am the one who makes the virtual memes

 

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Read the missive thoroughly, not a single word his eyes skipped over he read it like art with each passing moment he found himself to agree with the missive, wrote by the draconic prophet named the An-Gho.

Then so his smouldering gaze finished reading it. A soft smile curling around his ash lips as finally the question the begging question could be answered, he only prayed there was no excuse rather that there was truth.

for he practises this.

YOL

Edited by Ragrin
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Nestled beneath the starry sky of Acre, a pallid man would read...and read...and readOn and on the writing went, yet in this ever-darkened land there was naught else to do but to read, and to think, and think he did. Long and hard on the words written did he ponder, and once the essay had been read in full, over his torso and armored head would he sign the Lorraine. "For we are not the villains, even if those who came before were." He'd say softly before settling it away to continue his silent study of that which was forever out of reach, ever waiting for a letter that may never come.

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4 minutes ago, satinkira said:

In a nearby wooden shack, a spectral figure weeps for his loss; but finds solace in the released masterpiece.

 

Alucard sat down next to the weeping spectral with a frown as he looked upon The An-Gho's wise words - shortly after reading it, a small smile would bloom.

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4 minutes ago, Neviah said:

 

Alucard sat down next to the weeping spectral with a frown as he looked upon The An-Gho's wise words - shortly after reading it, a small smile would bloom.

 

And, in this, some comfort was found.

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Radu relaxed, gentle by a great hearth of dancing flames, leaned back as he casually read through the many pages. Occasionally, looking aside to copy down most, if not all of its content onto another sheet of parchment. An empty stack lay behind it.

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Inquisitor Dharas levied the lengthy parchment scribed by Azdromoth's servant, surveying it with a keen eye before declaring: "You still aren't invited to our Crusade."

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An aged Lector neatly folds the essay upon his desk and files it with great organizational prowess. He then utters a structured, multi-paragraph tirade for none to hear, perhaps as a mental projection to the heavens above...

"So many words, yet a meaningless message. It is admitted that Azdromoth had been corrupted by the Deceiver. To willfully serve a master who would seek ruin in exchange for magical, draconic powers is no better than any X*nite. In feigned despair they wonder why Mankind has rejected them, yet explain why such has to be so. The sons of Horen can not afford to pact with he who had cursed them, lest the lessons of the Brothers be forgotten. If one was so penitent and disappointed, they would have condemned and abandoned their wretched master long ago.

The servants of the Dragon slither into the nations of Men because control ensures their survival. With domination, the flames of their egos are stoked because accepting any less would be an admittance of inferiority to mortal men. Asioth preaches freedom yet invites tyranny by entities who cannot be touched by mortal hands. The X*nites only grow in strength BECAUSE your kind will not leave this realm be. What use is a 'Holy' mage in a world where iniquitous beings do not reside? Do not feign kinship with mortal men when you have rejected your own humanity; WE DO NOT NEED YOU."


 

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Sigrun Ireheart reads the missive with a raised raised brow before mumbling to himself. "Nay Brankhyn, oi still donnaeh loikeh yeah." He said as a prepared response should the Doomforged attempt to contact him.

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