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The Owl's Summons


AgentofDeath13
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Luminescent purple hues gaze over the missive. A lopsided grin comes a tan face covered with freckles. "Oh now that's funny, it only takes the end time to try and bring all together. Even then it's not going to happen. Only all will be united once we have gone in the sweet embrace of Sister Darkness." The dark priestess cants looking to the nonexistent crowd around her to agree. 

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"Let deh cave pests take deh realm. As long as one Dwed remains within deh halls of Kal'Darakaan, then them cohm!"

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Sigrun Ireheart pondered a bit. "Son, wot taeh hell."

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The Yargoth simply gave a soft chuckle, tossing away the missive; same old story. Not another thought was offered as he continued to filter through his junk mail.

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“I don’t know; I think I’d look good in Mori slave rags.” An aheral joked, spinning around in front of a mirror while she made her assessment. “You’d all probably die though… you don’t have the looks for slave rags.”

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"DONE NOTHING IS IT?!" The Towering Silverback Druid emits shaking his head and hucking the missive away "Didnt see you being half beat to shit by those spider fucks!" 

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The Third Prince read his grandson’s missive, deep in thought. “So be it..” He mounted his steed, beginning to ride to the sands of the South. Though a look of sadness crossed his face as he read the signature, tossing the missive aside as hooves thundered.

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Dele Seregon had only just put a kettle for tea on when the missive arrived, which she takes

in a quiet motion. Her eyes follow the courier as they leave, before she eyed the salt lines in the

doorway. . . Out of habit, two handfuls of salt are sprinkled across the threshold. To keep the spiders

away and out from her home. Their home, she thinks as she heard the light clattering of little metal

toys from the stairwell. 

 

In a quiet, bitter rage, she throws the missive into the fire. There had been no failures to protect

what God had given. There had only been impossible odds and slim chances. She thinks to

Saoren's blood staining the snow in Norland, the body of the great worm shuddering in its 

death throes. . . Impossible odds and slim chances were all they had, beyond their many gifts.

 

The Radiant Templar unfurls her tools as she sat by the stove, sharpening her blades and shining

her plates as the tea brewed. . . The rain was pouring, a distant noise like drums and heartbeats.

 

 

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“I hope the words of a mani can collect the rest of the lot if the spirits warning from years past did ne.” The shaman talking aloud in her clan house with a shake of her head as she pins it upon a board with a concerning look for a few moments. The shaman then returns to a lab to prepare for the crimson end. As she utter a simple prayer “Helun-velulaeya tom uhv’lye honyr.”

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Wagh be upon those who stand against us. Almaris has already fallen, a cleanse comes for all the unworthy.

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From the stand of her home in Caras Anor, the Shieldess looks on this missive as she pauses in her meditation.

 

A call?

 

Even though the choice has been given. She ponders a bit before sighing, turning as she took her armor 

 

“So be it”

 

Thus the paladin rides early off into the roads to assist her Druid ally, or distant familiar

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The Great Owl is much cooler and cosmically powerful, immune to all forms of nets. He smiles inside the body of his reincarnation, Stanislaw Weiss. 

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"nice try, fed. you say that you serve our interests, but count a draconic intervention as a blessing - so I know you're a spook, therefore propagating FAKE NEWS. heh." a peasant laughs mirthfully

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