The Betrayer Returns

[Traveller 2718]

In a distant castle near Celia'nor, a certain red-headed man would look up from a missive, squinting at the distant tremors that plagued the dust on his shelves.

 

On the other side of the continent, an elderly patched man would look to his peers. "I nay be readin' all o' this. Someone put it in normal words fer me."

[AmericanSniper52 272]

"I hold ne love for Celia'nor, but if what they say is true, I will set aside my grievances to battle this evil" an ame said from Elvenesse as he read the missive. Readying his forge, for he would have to work long and hard to make weapons able to skewer uruks with ease 

[Mescaffier 6197]

A woman read over the paper, again and again, her pale eyes scaling each word and sentence for some misunderstanding. She felt her stomach churn and she fell to the floor in a pathetic, trembling heap as she tried to hold her sickly frame up from the floor -- to no avail. Puke dribbled from her chin as she retched, clinging onto the counter beside her with both hands to prevent herself from trying to end it there and then. Her dagger clattered to the floor and she kicked it aside, screaming pleads through her gritted teeth;

 

"No.

 

No.

 

NOT AGAIN! PLEASE, NOT AGAIN!

 

NOT AGAIN!"

[ToodIes 1575]

"A third time?" remarks a elf, somewhere. "The writers are getting lazy."

[JoLeTaco 83]

The guard stands tall on a mountain, opening a parchment in the face of the red blinding sunset.

He opens it and reads its content, before dramatically dropping the news paper in the ashy snow.

 

"The dark elf goth mommy is back."

[Laeonathan 5889]

3 minutes ago, Toodles78 said:

"A third time?" remarks a elf, somewhere. "The writers are getting lazy."

"Just what Lefkos said!" remarks another elf, somwhere the other elf that remarks clearly knows "But well..."

[Pancho 4197]

A prince would slowly descend the steps of his tower, each boot making a thunderous clap in the stone walls as he marched on. It was time.

 

Spoiler

 

[Norgeth 1894]

Father Wert read over that missive, looking at each detail "Nohw, oi normalleh nae trust heathen elves ahn tahre news... buht oi felt teh trembles furst 'and en teh Krugmareh ashlands! Teh praisers ov false faith even spoke ov such 'wuhrm', though en whispered tones. Preparation es vital nohw, oi goh, warn teh flock undah meh!" he'd state, running off to find his friends.

Aglazeki Archzealot Xob Wobson read the same missive, mumbling a prayer to AGLAZEK "Praise o' Praise yer, Lord ov Teh Felten Cap, yer shall guide meh ahn moi folk toh safeteh, fer PROGRESS stahps fer naething, naebodeh, ahn nae necrotic worm, weh shall prevail, even ef tis land es lost, such es teh way." That small gnome then waddled back into his temple-abode, a walk soon to occur...

[__Zuko 171]

A 'thill looked at the missive then spook to himself at the feast

"This needs to be informed to Pamphilos@SteppeNomad"

he said walking towards him and giving him the document

[TheBigBubbles 963]

An ancient Oyashiman sorted through missives. The woman was worn out. Though, upon reading this one in particular she'd pause. The woman's pale blue hues scanned it in detail, every detail "These spies... They're good" she'd comment, waggling the missive in the air by candlelight. The being couldn't have asked for a better summary herself. The Hirano peered to the collection of potions she'd amassed, "But what to do. It feels almost inevitable..."

 

A scarred young devil peered through the missive with an intent stare. The woman's purple skin was marred and broken, her talons tapped against the paper a few times "Maybe the tree deserves a visit" she'd think aloud, hopping from her perch in the trees to stride toward it's location. Mircalla would only get so far before she stopped in her tracks, reading and re-reading the missive. Wyetta Wyetta Wyetta Wyetta Wyetta Wyetta, the name resounded in her head like a thousand bells, like a thousand drums, thrumming, hissing bleeding... Mircalla collapsed in the swamps, soaked in the murky waters, she'd scream.

[ThatFunkyBunch 2818]

Amber, eyes open slowly. In his bathrobe. The man ventures from the depths of the industrial forge. Old, covered in scars. The man rubs at his face with tired eyes. And looks down to the pile of papers outside his small door. He starts to unravel them, reading them over time and time. Eyes narrowing with concern. It seemed like ages since he walked down, into a narrow tunnel with Tedyn of Yar. With the Shrogo, and gazed the Immortal Realm of Luara. Since the days of hiding in a bunker of stone with his family, and Dak'ir. 

Long he had left the worries of the past to others. Set aside his armor, his weapons. though many a Ker carried his tools to this day. They had withstanded the test of time. With no, insult to his cousins, his sons and daughters. There was truly no Ker smith such skilled as himself. 

Ibless...a worthy battle. No mad kings. This was pure and simple. Would he fight? Most likely. The dark elf, turns back to wander into his room. Eyes, glancing over a set of pure, black ferrum with a bright, orange plume. Made during the days of Vira'ker.  He was no shaman, no. But he did not need any magical art. He was no alchemist. He was a man. 

The paper was tossed aside, and a leather smock and apron was adorned. Returning to the heat of the industrial complex underground. The great forge. Taking up a fine, hammer. 

Daichia Jusmia, terror to some, hero to some, crafter of ancient arms had returned to his craft. To make weapons to combat these threats. 

[Lord_of_losers 1546]

"Haha, I predicted this years ago." She nudged a certain mali'ker, "Remember? Remember how I said the tree would be Iblees?"

[Reckless Banzai Screamer 15456]

1 hour ago, Cepheid said:

In the years to follow, the Order of the Fallen Mongoose found and detained a witch named Wyetta on confirmation that she was a demonologist, nor ‘naztherak’. Wyetta was interrogated, and attempted to save herself by revealing her true master was in fact this same Tree. 

 

 

"KAKAKAKAKAKA," cackled an Oyashiman as he thought of his brother Trevor.

[Islamadon 9158]

"It is no surprise that Iblees would take the guise of one of the FALSE GODS." mumbles a retired Lector, satisfied that he was proven yet again that Xionists and Darkspawn were all hypocritical weirdos in service to the Deceiver.

The Lord is the Lord GOD without peer, but you have divided his infinite authorities among many beings, and in such you profane what is holy. This is a grevious sin, for in parting holiness, you destroy it. You have traded one GOD of infinite power for many of little worth. And more so, the Denier is wicked and he takes many guises. Soon, for their weakness, he may creep into the idols of your temples, and into the vast halls of your false gods, and little by little take many roles. Scroll of Spirit (3:8-12).

"KA-KA-KA, I hope they all kill eachothah' and save us the trouble."

[MakeshiftFoxxo 313]

Roui de Melphestaus, the Elven Captain of Haense, would read over the missive. Something in his mind had blocked off the possibility of this being true. He had read it before it was published and felt a numbness. Perhaps everything that had hinted such a thing to him, among other things further, was truly correct. 

 

"No, this isn't what everything has been hinting toward." He murmured, an attempt to assure himself that nothing he believed was true. He turned his gaze across the small, cozy bedroom with a farmland backdrop.

 

Across the far side of the room, the wall was filled with missive's and illustrations among pages of writing. A lot of it jumbled. Some were speaking of the generational pain that had been bestowed upon the elven mind by a paleknight, alongside the pain of many other things yet to come. What these things were, some of the rambling's attempted to decipher. Pulling sources from nowhere, theories driven by nightly hysteria. A daily hysteria driven by the doomsday theories bestowed upon him by the idlehands disease.

 

"No matter, we shall face this with the same resilience that generations before us have held."