IMPERIAL SUMMONS: THE ROT BENEATH

[Morigung-oog 5697]

The missive finds Valindra where she often lingers these days; the Capital of Alduun beside the unfurnished shell of her home to be. She reads it once. Twice. A third time, the page lowering just enough for those near to see the silent twist of her expression; exhaustion that, for a moment, she could no longer hide.  Despite this, she reads it once once more in calculated silence, posture straight, countenance returning to its unreadable normality.

 

“Ah,” she murmurs, tone utterly devoid of ceremony. “So the inevitable finally claws its way to the surface.”

 

The 'fenn's fingers drum once upon the parchment before folding it neatly, almost tenderly; the gesture of someone who has held too many crises for far too long. She turns the paper between her gloved fingertips, the galaxies in her eyes dimming into narrow, ember-lit spirals. 

 

“I hold no office, no official influence, no obligation. I cannot interfere. The city has made its choices.”

 

She turns away from the small square her residence-to-be sat in, her cloak cutting a clean line through the marble dust left by construction efforts.

 

"My hand has been utterly forced. The fate of elcihi sits solely in your hands now, lliran."

 

 

 

 

 

[Unwillingly 18133]

News of the Haelun'orii blight had reached Galahad when the rest of Caras Siol slumbered, and the soft trill of forest creatures mingled with the monotonous rush of city streams and lakeside waterways. The eastern moon marks the high onyx sky, her rays passing afront the young Prince as he passed beneath wispy trees and glimmering, light-steeped spires.

 

The better part of him rebukes the elvish folly, it took no moral conundrum to do so, after all— but the worse part of him had never felt more vindicated. He often wondered if he had gone cold, or if vice pooled in his heart for it. He had toiled over sleepless nights,  recounting the tally of slights like script, but even reminding himself felt like a half-hearted throw into the wind more than it brought assurance. Introspection had always been a craggy path for the young Prince, but such was the boon of companionship, and the warm heart of another to surrender that burden.

 

He walks the north wing of the city's waterfront, arm joined with a bronze-daubed elfess, and she speaks to him solemnly.

 

"Does it make you feel justified?"

 

"A little."

@queenmother

 

[Hawkeye_Gough 624]

Wize Akenzaemon, the Sorvian put to death for the crimes of another, sits in the Death Dream. Even in this state of mere mentality, he sits perfectly still as he muses to himself. 

 

"What is death, to His Progeny? It is not like this, for the vile and the beautiful are sent to very different types of Hell."

 

As beloved family members lament the loss of their youngest son Akenzaemon, they source lifeblood and suitable clay -- for the poor construct was always picky about his body -- and begin to make him anew. As he feels the tug on his twin Iota, he begins in his dream... To cry. 

 

"I am not ready. I have not studied this place enough. I could not find the entrance... I will wait behind. GO, VERDANT BELEDRAN! PAINT THE WORLD GREEN AND WAIT FOR ME!"

[Ferd0207 217]

The Acaln'sae Manor was erratic, ecstatic, exigent. Armour and swords rattled as the troops of the Ihnsilonniran, the Elven Talonnii's privately embodied houseguard, marched to-and-fro, delivering this missive and that letter, carrying orders and relaying information. The house servants too hurried - some to leave the Okarir'sil's manor, others to hide deep within its bowels, third - eager to carry out the man's imperious commands, spoken with eerie calm. Controlled chaos. This is what best described the sight one would see within the sprawling Elven mansion with its windows shattered and its doors broken out of their hinges as it had previously been searched by a troop of the impudent outsiders.

Within, locked away within his chambers on the last floor, stood he - Antelian Acaln'sae, Okarir'sil of Haelun'or and Patriarch of elTalonnii Acaln'sae. A liveried footman, resplendent in the argent panoply of the Spear-Born, assaulted the office's door, carrying with himself a folded missive. The scene reminded the sanguine-haired Mali of another news delivery, one that too closely foreshadowed what was to later come.

"What do the Valah seek of me ?" Queried Antelian, his amber gaze shifting from the journal in front of him and towards the soldier that had assailed his calm. It was then that, wordlessly, the warrior approached, leaving the folded letter upon the desk of the Patriarch.

 

Skimming over the words, the corner of Antelian's nose twitched briefly. "They seek to make of us slaves." He spoke, more to himself than to anybody else. "They seek to rule us through terror."

 

[lemonke 6014]

1 hour ago, Xergarok said:

 

The Barrowlord eventually received one of the many missives, be they of Man, Undead, or Inferi. They handed the message to their squire, a well-built warrior who consumed the missive whole. The Barrowlord merely pondered, and began the implementation of a new plan. "That little rat has a point... But Smilebone has no bones... Not a true Smilebone then but a pretender... What could this gremlin offer our Sister then? Lies... They trade in naught but lies... It would appear that a singular raid does get a lot of traction though... A battle lost, but not the war. We shall never kneel to these beasts!" 

 

"HEH!" Evildoer Smilebone prepares a stick with a carrot on it labelled as a lich ritual. She sits on a nearby bush and awaits. She laughs evilly.

 

Spoiler

I am messing around. It's a based response xergarok's

 

[ProcaPro 559]

A young Reinhold reads the missive with worry, looking from her grandparent's balcony to the silver spires that imposingly loom over Dùn Mòindamh. She hadn't felt threatened by them until now, having visited so often to see the library, told even she could study in their halls...

 

Perhaps her friends were right to distrust the elves, if they'd been hiding this all this time. The girl retreats inside, as if the spires might know she was watching. For all she knew now, they might.

[Frostdrop1 1843]

Reinhard arched his brows of the missive, tilting a tumbler as his horned head tilted back. His gloves were stripped, settled aside to rest on his coffee table as the fire of the far-end of the room blazed, flickering shadows on the walls that swam in his vision. Marred hands clasped at the parchment, sable-clawed. One skin, one flesh; both ran with patterns that faintly glowed in pallid hues. At first it was merely a stilled reaction, before faintly fluffed feathered flared briefly - and an indignant snort was promptly stifled. Then, he just laughed. Up was his tumbler raised in great amusement as amber liquid sloshed over the rim. It was a low, warm, resonant laugh that ran until his lungs exhausted, fuelled largely by his drink.

As the sound spluttered, running dry, he settled the glass with a quiet thunk. His purple-hued fleshed palm raised to cover his mouth, muffling the mumblings unto himself: "GOD, bless these witless hypocrites! World's a damn comedy." 



 

[Frisket 4543]

7 hours ago, lemonke said:

 

  Reveal hidden contents

 

 

[!] Several missives of something so eccentric would be spread across the world, and especially around the silver city where the former xionists dwelled. Paper made from human faces and the skin of the innocent. 

 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
  

THE GREAT SMILEBONE EXTENDS HER GRAND SALUTE TO THE HONORABLE ADUNIANS FOR THEIR RIGHTEOUS DEED. YOU HAVE DONE WELL IN STRIKING DOWN THE SLUMBERING XIONISTS. THOUGH, I MUST SAY, THEY DOOOOOOOO TRULY LOVE BETRAYING ONE ANOTHER. IT WAS THROUGH ONE OF THEIR OWN THAT I LEARNED OF THEIR HIDING PLACES AND PRECIOUS SECRETS. PLEASE, OFFER A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR VOY, ADELINA, WHATEVER NAME SHE PARADES AROUND WITH NOW. A NECROMANCER SO BLINDED BY HER GREED FOR IMMORTALITY THAT SHE CLUNG TO MY WORDS OF “TRUST” AND ESCORTED ME RIGHT INTO YOUR LITTLE LAIR! I DO APOLOGIZE THAT THINGS UNFOLDED THIS WAY, XIONISTS AND FORMER XIONISTS ALIKE, BUT YOU HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME BUT YOURSELVES FOR TRUSTING THAT NECROMANCER AND HER KIND TO ALLOW ME TO BREAK IN.

 

BETRAYERS LINGER EVERYWHERE. ONCE A BACKSTABBER, FOREVER A BACKSTABBER.

 

KAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAK!

 

BUT NO MATTER. SMILEBONE, OVERLORD OF ALL UNDEATH, IS AS MERCIFUL AS SHE IS CUNNING, MUCH LIKE THE ARCHDEMON SOLOMON, THE BLACK PONTIFF! XIONIST, HEAR THIS WELL: I WILL BE THE BOOGEYMAN BENEATH YOUR BED, THE OWL WATCHING FROM THE DARK, THE NIGHTMARE YOU CANNOT ESCAPE. YOU WILL REMEMBER ME AS A CANCER IN YOUR LUNGS. HOWEVER… SHOULD YOU SUBMIT YOURSELVES TO THE BLACK CHURCH AND STAND AS SOLDIERS AT MY SIDE, AID AND SUPPORT SHALL BE GRANTED TO YOU. I DON'T SEEK TO ENSLAVE BUT TO EMPOWER YOU.

 

IF NOT, REMEMBER THIS.

 

YOU ARE NOT SAFE, NOR ARE YOUR SECRETS.

 

AND YOU CANNOT HARM ME.

 

I WILL BREAK INTO YOUR LAIR AS I HAVE DONE THIS DAY!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆

 

 

Meanwhile

 

The Dame brought A new nose for Smilebone. This was part of her new daily life. Though the Dame did not know who her overlord was talking to..

 

”You speak….to wall, granter”

 

@lemonke

[lemonke 6014]

Just now, Frisket said:

 

Meanwhile

 

The same brought A new nose for Smilebone. This was part of her new daily life. Though the same did not know who her overlord was talking to..

 

”You speak….to wall, granter”

 

@lemonke

Spoiler

Me when my darkstalker is blind and can't read it's a missive

 

[Tav 4339]

Atop his humble steed, a prince of the realm trotted the adorned western outskirts of Caras Siol. He took it upon himself to tidy the statues and murals after his studies; to brush off any foliage, or to scratch the dirt away from the fractures. It was an effective way to keep himself focused, picking up these hobbies–more so, tasks–which the Princedom granted plenty, or maybe he far too meticulous.

 

Anything to look correct. Anything to look superior to their elven brothers, many of who suffered great obstacles.

 

[Lortime 1153]

"More proof that the Malin cannot be permitted to govern themselves. The City ought to be levelled regardless of who attends."

Parzival muttered, spitting at the ground in disgust. He would watch eagerly. 

 

[JustMeMorgan 2067]

Acalmaehr prepares a sheet of small notes.

[DancingZebra267 1626]

Hans II von Aesterwald shook his head. "What else could you expect from these elves."