THE RIFTMAKERS ASSOCIATION - INVITATION

[Xergarok 811]

A figure, having thought of yet another fake name (Spatchooli), writes to Az'rekash. "Why did I do that?" he asked himself after sending his bird to a most (un)certain death. "Because no one else will teach these things..." he reminded himself. "We've got to crank it up a notch." 

[lemonke 6014]

"WHAT?" Said Ava Ranaleth after reading missive. "LANRE?!"

[MadOne 4945]

Caius I scours the land around Hexenwald with a little telescope, hidden within a disguised trench, covered with burned bushes with a determination to hang anyone who is in communion with the lich.

[tezzaract 191]

Astrid Thriceblood wrinkles her nose as she reads over the missive, making an unsure sort-of noise in her throat. Well! Everyone needs their hobbies, she supposes, even twisted undead archmages her family loathes with a passion. One of her hobbies, for example, was reptile husbandry, and she neatly shreds the parchment to repurpose it as snake bedding. Not interested!

[Wizzar 613]

A crimson-eyed Azulyte reads over the invitation, his lips curling into a smile as he'd prepare a letter to the Voidal Lich. 

[Orlanth 4667]

"Burn that one" said Calias to his usual paper reader as he finished the document.  

[Mister_Gavin 567]

Bishop Alexios frowned as he read the parchment,

"Go back to sleep, Lanre."

[Coronate 5519]

"Lanre Cerusil." The Autarch commented examining the missive with slight disdain for the necromancer. "I wonder what he is doing up there. And moreover, why no one has stopped him."

[Luxury 1082]

The letter lay unfolded and set aside, while the ponderings on its contents solely kept the Weaver company.

 

Her flat expression bore into wafting veils of smoke left adrift from the cherry of a half smoked cigar, as though there was aught to scry in those curling patterns.

 

An empty passage spoken then, into the fragrant parlor.

 

“Where would you have your final resting place be, Cerusil?”

 

The ember of her tobacco was subsequently extinguished on that paper, singing it.

 

“I think I have an idea, though it seems this interlude will continue to be a spectacle at the very least.”

[Forgefire 98]

A young, jolly, and questionably bearded wizard regarded the note with a smirk, rolling his eyes to his faithful companion, Zephrys. “Pft. How desperate can you get?”

 

“Ha!” cawed Zephrys, the wizard’s parrot familiar. “Complex artifice! I bet he’s not even an Artificer!”

[Cat Evocation 3728]

The ever powerful and all wise one-day grand magister Avindor Divadri heir to the Divadri lineage and its ever-encompassing influence over all voidal magic that is ever perceived manifested the missive within his own hand by the ever-powerful magic of coincidentally finding one. A powerful feat that only he was capable of. He was certainly unstoppable. A force to reckon with. The all ever powerful. He's just thinking of run on sentences at this point to extend the length of this post. He'd even made a witty quip about the missive! But unfortunately, no one is powerful to perceive his quip thus cannot read it here because he was too powerful.

 

He proceeded to make an origami crane out of the missive and mail it back to the return address without his own return address.  The poor lich will never know who sent him this paper crane.

[ThatFunkyBunch 2818]

An Inferi nudges a Warlock. 

 

 

"Peep this shit. We got action from the Draugar." 

 

"The battle continues." 

 

 

[Dj_McMuffin 150]

Isabella had the misfortune of seeing the missive herself. She knew better than to indulge in such frivolous reading. It was nothing new; it would all sort itself out naturally. Despite this excuse, she was struck with a terrible twinge that pulsed from her feet to her skull, twisting into a nauseating uncertainty. That terrible urge to indulge in the countless possibilities aching to be born, to cling to any one of myriad feelings that tugged at the mortal heart. It all clamored for her attention, begged for her aid, raged at her stillness. And still she was, after the wave had passed. She decided she was not in the mood. Others could choose adventure, or a great arcane achievement, or conflict. Isabella would distract herself with something mundane, until she was inevitably pulled into the tide by the others. 

[sapphic_spidy 1089]

Lanre.

 

Kiva frowns. They find the idea silly. Then again, their understanding of the void is limited, biased, and, ultimately, not correct. Viewing the void as a living, breathing companion to borrow power from, rather than a tool. In their mind, the Void will reveal its secrets as it sees fit, and causing tears and the like distresses it. And thus, causes the beast to be in pain, and to lash out, like a lion with a thorn lodged deep in its paw.

 

But they can tell him none of that. 

And they know he will not remember them. 

And they know...

 

He was never the type to choose to be good. So Kiva will not even entertain the thought of helping with this. 

[TheBigBubbles 963]

A voidal necromancer revels in the concept of an arch-mage undead and his experiments. Though his expression falters at the words 'supermassive tear' and procceeds to not write in about it just yet.

 

One particularly over-zelaous artificer packs her bags right away, making sure to send multiple overly-excited letters to Lanre. The 'ker packs on five layers of pink clothing and two hats and materlializes somewhere in the North in a cloud of sparkly green mist.

 

Luthia Acal'Turrii grasps the missive and shoves it into her father's face "THIS is what I found, dad. THIS... Oh god" murmured the twelve-fingered elfess, "****!"