To the General Lost to Time

[Lockages 489]

 

[!]

Reaping across the snow were a series of oddly-constructed, Automata couriers. They carried numerous copies of the same missive to differing portions of the continent.

 

 

---

 

To the fabled Herald of Strife; The Ashkeeper,

 

The time for stagnancy dwindles. With war on the horizon, and the continent’s soon collapse, I see it fit to claim your long-abandoned position as Herald for myself. Of course, you are welcome to challenge such if you wish to come out of hiding, but as I expect, if no response is given, I will grant myself the means to claim your forgotten throne.

 

I eagerly await your presence within the True Synod, Ashkeeper. If any time is fit to act, now would be that time.

 

Signed,

Abendevek

@Swgrclan

 

Spoiler

OOC: This  missive would find itself issued to all members of the True Synod, and any Shepherds loosely, or directly associated with such. If you are meant to receive it, you know who you are. To know of its existence otherwise would be considered metagaming.

[Mannamannaa 1626]

Kor'garr raises a brow, passing by some misshapen message carrying contraption on the western roads. He simply sidesteps the slow automaton with lack of concern, having seen similar constructs assembled by goblin tinkerers. The incident is forgotten and the Skriptgoth pays no mind...

 

 

Spoiler

Yay unrelated group politics! Glad the Synod are still... unaliving? Doing well? After our old war plotline attempt nearly half a year ago.

 

[Zarsies 6024]

The lost soul of a once-herald roils in the deep. Heed the call, brother. Rise, Judge.

[The King Of The Moon 5116]

The once-devil whom had shared the Judge's name - now Herald of Embers - sizzled below the permafrost of Lumbridge. It seethed:

 

 "Prove your eternal war, Abdiel; Herald of the Nameless.

Prove your honour, and sanity, in triumph or defeat."

[Omen Prince 387]

https://files.catbox.moe/rgaawb.mp4

There would eventually be a meeting of man-made-things upon the Eastfleet roadside, off near the towering tree Tanilla which oversees the remains of a city once bound skyward. It was a strange kind of contact, for the strange walking construction of the Synod stood at a kind of contrast to the far smaller Sorvian Newt, where upon its smallness was cowled a heavy black robe that obscured any actual Sorvian distinction beneath it. Their interaction was fittingly machinelike; a simple exchange of the missive, where while in the tiny clay man's hands a reply was written upon the backside with a piece of coal, indicating the fallen city of Du Loc as a fitting meeting place.
 

Moving on immediately to a conclusion, the Newt then pulled a torn strip of red cloth from their cloak that was dyed with the coppery-stenched blood of beasts, of which the both of them paid no mind to for lack of mortal senses that would curse a common courier. To the automata, this was tied, and then turning away they both seperated on the road and would not see eachother again. Should the machine courier return to its masters, these two clues would act as their only response - a beckoning to a graveyard.

[Lockages 489]

2 hours ago, Omen Prince said:

https://files.catbox.moe/rgaawb.mp4

There would eventually be a meeting of man-made-things upon the Eastfleet roadside, off near the towering tree Tanilla which oversees the remains of a city once bound skyward. It was a strange kind of contact, for the strange walking construction of the Synod stood at a kind of contrast to the far smaller Sorvian Newt, where upon its smallness was cowled a heavy black robe that obscured any actual Sorvian distinction beneath it. Their interaction was fittingly machinelike; a simple exchange of the missive, where while in the tiny clay man's hands a reply was written upon the backside with a piece of coal, indicating the fallen city of Du Loc as a fitting meeting place.
 

Moving on immediately to a conclusion, the Newt then pulled a torn strip of red cloth from their cloak that was dyed with the coppery-stenched blood of beasts, of which the both of them paid no mind to for lack of mortal senses that would curse a common courier. To the automata, this was tied, and then turning away they both seperated on the road and would not see eachother again. Should the machine courier return to its masters, these two clues would act as their only response - a beckoning to a graveyard.

 

[!]

 

"So be it."

The voice of that spiteful woman rang outwards, scanning over that proposed meeting-place with a slow nod. That charcoal-stained piece of parchment was slowly, yet very meticulously folded over one another until it was bound into a tight square. She had no weapons to grab, nor anything to bring along, setting off towards that fallen city with deliberation in her steps.