ORDER REPORT - CELIA'NOR WARLOCKS

[Baccaaa 490]

"Expel the foreigner, revere the empress!" Said an aheral upon reading yet another missive of foreigners trying to criticize the affairs of the nation.

[drywall 198]

In a separate part of the realm, far from Celia'nor, a man stopped behind the woman who'd just pulled a missive down from the local board, peeking over her shoulder. His head tilted, eyes scanning over the words written on the paper. Realization caused those blue eyes to widen, and his lips pressed into a grimace. "Shrew? What's a shrew?" He queried after the woman's muttered words, "A type of rodent?"

Edited November 12, 2024 by hauntedbats

[Havsbris_ 565]

The Archprelate would roll the missive’s parchment between her fingers, tapping against the table with a sigh of air. “No signature, no nation status, no courage to even ascribe their name to an inflammatory report. Likely a warlock or some sort of darkspawn pretender. They’re all a disease. You strike one, and somehow they all commune like a hive to lash out. Brace O Celia’nor for more lashing, for we are not yet done striking.” She would wave her hand, before making her way to the palace.

[Chimeraof1999 1187]

Spoiler

Gleep gorp schneep dorpius norp

 

[nepir 472]

A very particilure deamon inspects the missive its jaws parting teath gleaming in the moon light. "Did i just accidental a hunt, Awww cant beat the real thing so we kick the imp's. I think I found a personal toy chest. I do wonder if my little princeling will be upset with me. Naaa" Looks to the corpse beside him poking it in the eye "Snack time...." Inspects the corpse giving a shrug "Unseasoned maybe there guards can sprinkle more salt at me."

[Chimeraof1999 1187]

Amou would read this missive before a smile began to creep over the homunculi's face, unlikely due to his emotions being void. He would fold the note and say; "I am not surprised the daemons sent their spawn after my creator are darkspawn. Why am I not surprised?" The creature's smile drained before leaving his desk and laid in his bed, laughing for no reason as he stares up at his ceiling.

[subatomic 1497]

Deep breaths, everyone. You'll all be okay. 

[Frisket 4538]

Spoiler

@moderation wya

 

 

[Morigung-oog 5697]

Spoiler

Valindra wonders how this'll affect the talk-tuah podcast

 

 

Valindra grins, a note sent to Koyo Kuni to a dear friend of hers.

 

"Holy shit, you called it."

 

@Halfirate

[PapaRay 42]

The halls of the Divadri Barracks were dimly lit in the early morning light, shadows stretching across the ancient stone walls. The air held a quiet stillness, broken only by the soft, steady clink of the Mordu'lar’s boots as he made his way to his office, the weight of his armor a familiar comfort. His expression was unreadable, enigmatic and stoic as ever, but in his hand was a rolled parchment—a missive lazlily snatched from a tavern wall that very morning.
 

The Mordu'lar’s fingers drummed against the paper, catching a faint scent of stale ale and candle wax. He pushed open the heavy iron doors of his office and strode to his desk, unrolling the paper with a quick flick of his wrist. The words were scrawled in an uneven hand, large and attention-seeking. He scanned the lines slowly, reading the overblown language and alarmist accusations with a faint look of disinterest.
 

His eyes passed over phrases like "malflame" and "Elven Devil," a simple yawn was heard in response. He paused, rereading the line warning of a "failed state" under the supposed weight of darkness a threat, dressed in the clumsy guise of prose.
 

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room, broken only by the soft crackle of a distant torch outside the door. His gaze lifted from the parchment, and he began folded the paper once with a slow, methodical movement stopping for a moment. His fingers brushed absently over a sigil on his desk an emblem of Celia’nor,.
 

Finally, with the smallest trace of amusement in his voice, the Mordu'lar murmured a single word, the faintest hint of a smirk touching his lips.
 

“Ok”
 

He folded the missive into a crude origami troll, returning his attention to matters far more deserving of his time and focus, For now, the troll sat untouched at the corner of his desk, an idle ornament collecting dusts.