TO REPEL THE VOID

[Fleeperpriest 1484]

 

And so it was that the enemy still refused the authority of the One True Faith to bring purity, denying redemption by the Baptismal Waters and condemning themselves to redemption by the Flaming Sword. Tribes of Norn, the Sons of Krug, the Sons of Malin, and all the nations of the beating heart of Canondom in the east had rallied in the repulsion of evil and defense of the good. The Crusaders had marched in growing numbers, first marking their path upon the northern expanses of the corrupted shire, clearing a launching point for further attack. As they sailed across the waters to Silasia, the Grand Duke denied all calls for surrender and instead dissolved his realm after countless losing raids. Perhaps he had finally realized that the Dreadlings he had landed wished not for his defense, but the offense of the Holy? Maybe he had realized evil would not prevail, yet he wanted not to engage with the Temple despite this. Who can say, but the Crusaders moved through Silasia swiftly, and entered the southern Dunwen. There, the Halflings recognized the immutable truth of the war and arrived in Mont Lemon, surrendered and penitent so that their lands may be cleansed and their people pardoned. 

 

The march continues northward upon the spreading rumor that something was terribly wrong.

 

☺

 

*

 

 

 

 

High Priest of True Faith, Archbishop of Visigia, Successor of Clement and Evaristus, High Pontiff of the Church of the Canon, High Pontiff of the Church of True Faith, Keeper of the Canon, Missionary to Aeldin, High Servant to the Exalted’s Testmanets, Humble Servant of the Faithful and Vicar of GOD does decree…

 

 

 

---

“So I find that you seek impossible knowledge not for the good of your fellows or precious wisdom but in the desire of power. Indeed, this is an insatiable desire, for none can overcome the Lord. This is the sin of envying GOD, a desire which cannot be attained, and the deepest blasphemy.”

The recorded Spirit of the Exalted Owyn, the Epistle to the Magi, verses 11 to 13.

 

---

 

THE REBUKE OF LURIN

 

Steady has the Rowdy Realm of Lurin been in its subversions of the Virtue of Horen. Its leader has sought to manipulate the narrative, portraying himself as a meek yet virtuous pagan who tries his best to protect the allegedly innocent and weak. However, Lurin has not raised its sword for the defence of the innocent but in defence of the perverse and in stubborn opposition to the righteous despite all offers and calls for penance. 

 

Lurin has raised a temple to worship angels, believing the Ibleesian lie that the Creator is weak, scattered, and uncaring. They have made a false idol of balance to justify their actions, which are intrinsically ordered and justified against the Natural Good. Now, by the gathered tribes of Horen, Krug, and Malin, the priesthood of Owyn sets the Flaming Sword against a wicked Edel as it did in former times.

 

You are rebuked this day Lurin, not for your pagan worship of angels but for the obvious evil it has wrought upon your lands under your watch.

 

You are rebuked this day Lurin, not that you marched in war against us but that you masqueraded as justice to do it, denying yourself surrender and penance.

 

You are rebuked this day Lurin, not that you have failed to root out the temptresses and thralls which lurk in Lurin but that you have willingly hosted them for revenue or other illicit gains.

 

You are rebuked this day Lurin, not that you have magis in your elfen city, but that you have set them to perform an act so terrible it stirs the wrath of all the nations; conjuring a black mark upon the veil raised by the Creator, and inviting the Serpents beyond to destroy the land rather than see it redeemed in faith.

 

 

IN NOMINE DEI

Written by the Seneschal of the Faith, Antonius Arthalion.

 

WARCLAIM

 

 

WARCLAIM GOAL:

Annexation

 

WARCLAIM TARGET:

Lurin [tile_cherry_blossum_2]

 

ATTACKERS:

The Holy Regency and allies

 

DEFENDERS:

Lurin and allies

 

[wowj 9760]

A man walks into the Grub-Bucket, and orders the shrimp fried rice, sits down at one of the booths and gets brought his Shrimp Fried Rice, he looks the Grub-Club employee in the eye and says: "Your telling me a Shrimp fried this rice?"

 

[woke 1158]

"i cant wait to fight"

[Gaea_Foundation 625]

A Devil pursed her lips upon hearing word of the coming march. The Oussana set down the paper she had been staring at. Her prosthetic eyes looking across to the horizon. She turned to head back inside, picking up her quill and setting out a piece of parchment. "Father..."

[nepir 472]

*A elder mali sits in a rather poor situation far from his own lands. A atronch drone on its last legs in power falls before him clutching the missive as he reads it he lets out a deep sigh.* "no date of an attack no warning for civilians when to expect this battle." *recharging the small atronch it got its orders.* "warn the civlians."

[Publius 4098]

Spoiler

 

 

[xo31 3984]

The Thrice-Bathed in the Void stirred with his unsanctioned creation.

 

An arcanium blade was pulled from the tear, crackling with energy.

 

"Perhaps I ought to help defend."

[Rig 17581]

Rhak'Dom, Targoth of the Khan of Khans, offers his solidarity with the Canonists before marching with them. The voidal abominations shall not scare him. After all, his own forefather Krug was scarred by the Void.

 

The duty as an Orc is to pay the price to save the flock. That is why once upon a time Krug wielded the Aengul Malchaediel as the Golden Axe.

 

May death despoil those who summon the forces of Iblees into the mortal world, or so thought Rhak'Dom.

[Caranthir_ 2533]

Spoiler

 

 

A bird flew into Salvo with the news. An old ranger on the back of a stallion looks out onto the marsh. Tristan, now almost seventy, squints into the horizon. The sun cast long shadows across the plains to the east—lands that once meant neighbours, now branded as heretics. The crusade's call rings in his ears.

 

"A man's got to make his choice someday," He mutters, voice gravelly and dry. He glances down at the hilt of his blade, then out towards the prismarine city beyond. It felt especially heavy in this moment.

 

"Guess I'll found out what kind of man I am when steel meets the bone." He grunts, spitting into the dirt. "For faith," he growls, his decision made, "And let the Lord judge the rest." His resolve was the iron, his faith the anvil. He turns his horse towards the coming storm.

[Werew0lf 24181]

St. Raguel, the Aengul of Justice, leered at the unsightly walls of Lurin from above the clouds. It needed a cleansing.

 

“This is justice,” he reminded nobody in particular, recalling his purview under the Lord GOD as His esteemed messenger and angel. 

[King_Kunuk 3022]

11 hours ago, xo31 said:

The Thrice-Bathed in the Void stirred with his unsanctioned creation.

 

An arcanium blade was pulled from the tear, crackling with energy.

 

"Perhaps I ought to help defend."

Spoiler

 

[The Black Lubba 563]

“Blessed be.” Lumia murmured, a soft smirk upon her lips. She would enjoy these coming battles. Her repudiated son only sealed the fate of Lurin. As the younglings said, it was cooked.

[DizzyGrey 1229]

Elsewhere, in Lurin, a particular Silver Lubba would have perhaps bene flattered by the assumptions in this missive that made it seem like he knew the first thing about theology.

 

Unfortunately, the druid was too busy trying not to throw up, and attempting to figure out what the hell was happening in his city.

[MALUKOR 225]

"IA," Aramor lamented, far away below the sands, swinging his head low from side-to-side and gazing up at some foul vampyr, as a thing of meat and flesh and wooden bone, hung and left to bleed out deep beneath the earth, where things surpassing all description lived, and prowled, and watched. "You are not real, fair angel," and the accusation cut deep, Aramor protesting his reality, touching his fingers with his other fingers, callous and worn nails drifting over his own skin, and he could feel himself, and so he retorted: "But I am. As are you," and the vampyr would have none of it, shaking his head and whimpering that this could not be happening to him, and then Aramor understood it for what it was: not profundity, but instead the wild flailings of a devil. "Hush, now," he bid, and he acknowledged that the way of the transgressor was hard, and taught him many things, of the bones of the earth, and of N---------p, and of the dead father, who had euchered the son of malin out of their patrimonial right: "To live forever and unsullied," he explained, but the vampyr seemed to think that he would die soon. He was right about that, but, Aramor explained, "I will not, because I have retained the gift that you no longer have."; the vampyr asked how, and Aramor said that he had already told him, and then, he withdrew away, leaving monstrous beings to pick at their flesh like carrion birds. "IA," he lamented, hearing their wails, but as he reached the surface and felt the desert-sun on his face, and heard the news of a new Crusade, he felt joyful, for this was the way it should be; "For," he bid the desert-reeds, "the void-agenda must be stopped at all costs." And, surely, blood had to be spilled to halt that agenda. The blood of Arthur Burke, the blood of Yera. The blood of Valindra, the blood of the dead-Lanre, and perhaps his son, too, though that was not agiven. All these would die, but he would do none of it: the children of Horen would. And that made it a blessed thing.

 

"For the children of Horen can do no wrong," he taught to the fading faux-sun, and then to the rising moon. In the distance, he spied a sandstorm. 

[TheGentleDuck 55]

Wrotek read the war calling with a wary heart as he scratched his beard. The old man closed the hatch of the furnace, letting the embers of the forge fade into the night. 

"Too old for war, I am" he muttered, taking off his gloves as he made the final preparations to leave the forge.

 

The veteran soldier had been a warrior since he was a young lad. 70 years of fighting left their toll on a man, but he had done it with pride, earning blood, honor and coin for his family, comrades and himself. He had done his part, and now he mostly trained the future warriors and made their equipment. His family was well off thanks to him, and he needn't fight any longer. He locked the door to his forge, and went upstairs to his home where he fell into dreamless sleep.

 

So Wrotek was content to stand by, until the missive came the following morning. His eldest grandson and granddaughter were off age, and they were marching to war. The old Bear grimaced, then looked over to the trunk by his bed.

 

"Hmm, perhaps a few more years then." he clicked his tongue. The fires of the forge burned brightly the rest of the day.