IMPERIAL DECREE | Suffer Not The Witch

[Coronate 5519]

 

 

Issued and averred by the office of the

LORD JUSTICIAR &  MAGISTER MILITUM

 

THE DRAGON DOES NOT DISCRIMINATE

 

The lands of Haelunor have long kept a tradition of supremacy, purity, and nobility. What we examine this day is nothing less than a rotten structure, a hollow shell of a government that has been operated by a cabal of Daemon-kin conspirators for over a hundred years. A government operated by disciples of the heretical dragon-cultists who drowned priests and hung nuns, followed by Warlockian Magicians. Haelunor, as with many structures of the past, has been demolished by the Imperium and her loyal Kingdom Idunia. Once and for all, the arch-manipulator, the string-pulling faction of High Elvendom, has been torn asunder by the firm grip of Man.

The delegation of Haelunor righteously slaughered upon the floor of the Idunian throneroom.

 

 

Who is to blame for the slaughter of the Haelunorian delegation but themselves? A corrupted grouping of mutts who howl but do not strike. They, like the scum they are, believed in their supremacy over their own liege-lord to the very end. The masses will gawk and gasp at how they howled to the Prince-Consort: ‘you are valah, you are beneath me,’ before finding themselves slaughtered to a man.

 

Now your city will burn, your people will perish, you will be scattered to the winds as you should have been some thirty years ago; the same mistakes will not be made a second time. This is a new age, an Age of Dragons, an age where no man must fear for his life, an age where man must: 

 

✷ SUFFER NOT THE WITCH

 

Brand this statement into your minds, for it will be made again and again. The Imperium has no place for the Warlockian scum, who used to wander the streets without shame. The Imperium has no place for Kings who sell their subjects' souls for a leather-bound book. The Imperium has no place for Knights who, in their keeps, hide away daemonspawn and curse its Emperor. The Imperium has no place for the Witch.

 

Any city knowingly harboring the daemon, the witch, the warlock of Iblees, take this as your first and only warning. This is what will become of your foundations: ash. The Dragon does not tolerate dissent and conspiracy, and the Dragon’s flame does not discriminate.

 

Haelunor, as a state, shall cease to exist henceforth. Any recreation of the rotten institution shall be plundered and demolished. To the enemy of the Imperium - expect swift and decisive action should you plot a return.

The Dragon’s eyes see all; suffer not the witch to live.

 

 

 

WORD FROM THE LORD JUSTICIAR, 

Prince Hadrian Tiberias of the House Horen

 

Mercy is afforded to those who deserve an opportunity to grow — when Haelun’or stumbled at the edge of a cliff, preparing to plunge themselves into the deepest and darkest crevices of their self-made demise, the Empire offered to raise them up. We offered them kindness, we offered them strength. We would protect them as if they were our own, regardless of their status as elves.

 

Our expectations were betrayed. They were grasped by the wick of Iblees, and it burned through their impure souls. Know that the elves have always been known for their egoism, it is their longevity that makes them think of themselves as far wittier, and cunning. They are not.

 

You have turned to dark forces in order to afford yourself a meagre volume of strength. Despite this, your nation still crumbled — brick by brick, the foundations of your city were torn. Your men and women were killed, their blood stained our halls, and we watched as your cruel spirits burrowed into hell. 

 

Never again shall we make this mistake. Let the world remember your folly.

 

Daemonium delenda est.

 

AVE IMPERIUM!

 

 

---

 

H V M A N I T A S    I N V I C T A

 

HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, Hadrian Tiberias of the House Horen, Crown Prince of the Empire,

Prince of Burgundy, Lord Justiciar of the Imperial Privy, Duke of Grense.

 ALEA IACTA EST

 

 

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, Tar-Zôrzagar Argelion Anorion Harren Arthalion, High King of Idunia, Prince of Númendil, Chief of the Númenedain and the Tribe of Harren, Defender of the Númenaranyë, Sovereign of Númenost and Alduun, Knight of the Realm, Slayer of the Gilded Queen, Master of the Sharadûn, Protector of the Adunians

 

 

HIS EXCELLENCY,  Aetius Vanderius, Legate of Legion II.

Magister Militum of the True Faith.

VAE VICTUS

 

[Rig 17580]

“A step towards an equal society,” said Inquisitor Germanicus. “Suffer not the witch.”

 

[Random 1690]

‘Cruel, but necessary.’, thought one Prince of Idunia as he watched the combined forces of the Empire of Man cut down the once-so proud Haelun’orians. A prayer was offered as the last of them fell silent. “May Aeradar have mercy on their souls.”

[Nectorist 12869]

“This is BULLSHIT,” says Numerian Visaj when asked about the destruction of his homeland. “You cannot even begin to compare it to the Celian’or matter, because… um… erm… uh… it’s just different, okay!”

[MrMojoMordor 2413]

A rare moment for the goblin Bon'Ox to agree with the decision of the Mega racist Empire to take out the Ultra racist Elves.
It's a compromise he can live with, humans tend croak after a century or so anyway.

[lemonke 6014]

"holy IBLEES!" Gasped, Smilebone, the clearly not-satanist Jester.

[Behindbush 163]

A certain sand atronach nodded at the missive, glancing toward her master @Samler "You were right, creator, humans are indeed mentally challenged." Shortly after, the atronach tore the missive from the board and ripped it in half.

[Luto 439]

"GOD is good. GOD is great. GOD is just." proclaimed the Raev serf, news catching her in midst of hammering a new set of horse shoes. Life is simple, and if not unthinkable -- safer, again.

[Morigung-oog 5697]

 

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

 

A fortunate, or inversely unfortunate survivor of the massacre knelt in the dusky gloom of Númendil’s chapel, the flicker of candlelight dancing across worn stone walls and stained-glass windows. The tips of her now unbound locks pooled on the ground like molten silver. In the quiet, only the distant drip of water and her shallow breaths disturbed the sacred hush. An weathered iron lorraine hung from her belt, older than this iteration of the Empire itself, and even the bastion of Orenia that came before it. 

 

She bowed her head, hands folded, lips barely moving as she whispered Flexion script in that holiest of tongues. Her mind, however, did not remain in that holy place, for it drifted, carried on the tumultuous winds of memory and regret, to somewhere far darker.

 

She stayed like that, motionless, as if waiting for an answer. Whether she expected one, none could say. In the darkness of the chapel, shadow and light locked in quiet vigil, mirroring the battle within the mind of the devout.

 

In the wake of tragedy, it was unknown as to who she prayed for.

 

That was between her and GOD

[Air 911]

One elf, meant to have attended the massacre, but fortunately had been warned against it now found this decree. Narrowly he had evaded a horrific massacre at the hands of the creatures he now despised most.

 

Humans.

 

"They gloat, they boast, they celebrate slaughtering innocents for the taint of the few."

 

"They are bugs; writhing, grotesque little creatures lacking in dignity yet high on hubris."

 

"Filth, the entire lot."

 

He lamented in the lonesome streets of his once lively city, that voice echoing from within his manor as he collected his belonging.

 

"They deserve nothing. Only to be crushed underfoot and forgotten."

 

A fist balled, tightening around the paper he held in hand, crushing it before casting it aside.

 

"Like the festering insects they are."

 

 

[Wonderland_Boy 1081]

[!] Beyond the snowy tundras of the north, the witch choked on his tea as he read his name printed on the imperial decree “Holy shit, people finally want me dead… I can’t believe my career has reached such an amazing degree"

[EagleEyeKK 69]

[!] A copy of the missive had reached the hands of a certain elf, who had on this particular day, shut herself within the confines of her small home. Her eyes cautiously scanned the penned words, only for her fingers- no, her whole body to tense up. Parts of the missive were true, even she knew that. The long history of the nation she grew up with was enough proof. After all, the ones who adopted her had forced her to walk and watch the very same executions wrought onto others who were innocent. She begged to run, look away, but they had forced her to watch. She heard their cheers, their laughs, those darkened smiles…she remembered all of it. She didn’t blame the humans, part of her understood it. Just a little.

But nothing can ever excuse violence. No justification ever could. It applied to Haelun’or, back then and now. But it just as much applies to the Imperials. There is no excuse. There is no righteousness. Not when children who had never asked to be there, were slaughtered for simply living in the same city. The Imperials had those same cheers, those same laughs, those same smiles. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. There is no excuse. 

The only semblance of respite was a woman who had told her to run, run and never look back. She remembered something then, all those years ago, when she finally escaped those silver walls. Her sisters had managed to sneak her out, one taking her by the hand as they ran in the dead of night. Run, as far as they could, where they to go, not even they knew. That same girl, with human ears yelled to the other two. “Run, keep running! Don’t stop! Don’t look back!”.

How would that same sister think of the ones she thought of as kin, think of them now? The same ones who instilled the belief to be open with others, no matter their creed or race? The same ones who took her and her sisters in when no one else would? The same ones who they fought alongside? The elfess isn’t sure, maybe she will never know. She and her sisters had hoped for a world of peace. But that seems further away.
The missive was thrown into the fire then. An old iron Lorraine cross, what remained of the past she had left, held within her palms as she knelt in front of the flames. Her hands clasped together tightly as she muttered under her breath. “Abby…what am I to do?”

She was never the religious type. But today, she would pray for the lost lives. The innocent lives lost on both sides. Perhaps, they will be guided to a more peaceful afterlife. But one thing remained certain.

The Dragon does not discriminate, but they are just as cruel and heartless as the “pure” silver. 
 

[Laeonathan 5889]

For centuries, Raziel had dreamt of this day; the downfall of Haelun'or. He had fought in battles alongside the Blackvale Frijkorps against these very Haelunorians.

 

Yet when the Imperium of Man, his newfound home, crushed these ancient fiends he could only pity those who were innocent, and he prayed that they might see the light of GOD.

[Mestvin 947]

Truth reveals itself when blinded men murder thousands for their fake deity. Woe upon those with mindless rage as the Witness will be the one to judge their masters in the end.

[____Spectral____ 168]

The ghost of Norido would stumble across this missive flying in the wind near the Haelu'nor and Empire border, it could come to rest in a nearby tree. The ghost would have a glace at it, thinking nothing much of it initially, but as he read through the missive, his calm expression turned bitter, and resentful.

 

"Yuck. They survived the move to Azuras; Of course they're invading my homelands again, there seems to have been no change since Vortice. Perhaps it's right for every single human on Azuras to start to feel some pain, though when they start feeling it, these little sheep will gather around their so called worm of a 'GOD'." 

 

The ghost then proceeds to storm off in a fit of rage, probably going off to cool off in a cave somewhere most likely.