MRCHENN

@aiden0023 it's time.

"Lets ******* gooooooooooo" Babbles Victor Ashford de Savoie from his crib.

[!] Beneath Tor'Azdroth, a great sermon was delivered unto Tarathiel by the An-Gho. A test of chivalry. The test of ideology between Order and Evolution. "We know the power of the soul, and in it, lies the weight of death. It is ambition, but ultimately it is fire. It is a revolution, it warps and changes. The death of stagnation. If you seek our Father and our brothers as a threat, then we are salvation. Those who will pass will not be in vain. Erresioth is worldly, the ambition of the Mountain. And yours? The jealous sun, who will never walk the Earth." "We kneel together in a world burning of fire, Tarathiel. The dreamer has dreamt. The promise of Asioth - to take flight, to soar to liberty. The truth of our flesh is what he has envisioned for this World. This is what he has dreamt." It was there, that the Inquisitor of the Chosen stood before Tarathiel, bestowing unto her the fate of her justice. "We stand in the same plane, but are ever-so different. She has sinned. She has endowed herself as a knight of our Father's mortal enemy. But we are ones to know both Ruin, but also clemency. We stand against her, as polar opposites. But there is one that stands true, as would a beacon of light shares with a world of eternal flame. - Cause. Purpose. - We both are endowed to it." "We have come to love purpose, and have dreamt it. And so, she will live, and impart the fruits of our discussion to her kinsmen. The departure of this Tarathiel this recognition. In the end of time, one dream will come to fruition, and only one will remain to stand."

Wait till you find out about the other $100 he embezzled

A towering figure of Nullivari name smiles the Sun's smile, finding himself a seat beside the rightful High Princess.

[!] The following would be placed across poster boards, and missives of Almaris. HORVUTAH DO FAAL KUN 14 AMBER COLD Y56 SA KREH US MU UV OFAN AHST HIN SOS The peace between the dragonkin and druii has expired. It is only appropriate now, that Ruin - Evolution faces you today. I Our kind are not known to be a virtuous people, nor are we a people to be tempered with. Reason has come to pass, and so have our filiatory attempts at resolution. We have offered negotiation, and you have cast it aside as chattel. We have offered you peace, and you have misgiven it for opportunism. We warned you that three is a sacred number - three offers of peace, of which you have ignored. Today, ignorance will be your downfall. We have liberated your own people, as they have flocked to our cause. Will you not realize? They have sought enlightenment, they have sought the infinite truth of Asioth that binds this mortal plane. The path of ASIOTH is abstract, it is everything but nothing. For reasons unknown, we have been given a sacred tact to impart it to you, and you will realize it, for worse or none. It is an ancestral endeavor we engage in, do you see it? We seek to reclaim those generational lands of His that have been unrightfully taken from us. Is this not justice? In seeking the peace we offer and the recourse we give, you have flocked to the intrepid children of the False-Gods, but to what avail? They stand to a still in our presence, and wither in sorrowful mercy at our army. You may hide behind them, and your walls. The druid Dragaar you venerate and the Aspectists which you worship will not save you from justice. II As I write this letter, we stand once more within the tavern within your grove, as three of your dedicants kneel before us. There will be no exploit that will save you, nor will there be a defense that will keep you safe. These three have realized their Asioth in passing, and we have left one to bear witness of our message. These lands are ours, and your trees burn in passing. In defense, you have flocked to your Xannic overlords, praying that their supposed Order will save you from machination. But it has had no avail. Their Order is not virtuous, instead they fight to fashion themselves with the fake apparition of glory as a means for selfish praise. They hunt us not for order nor virtue, but the greed of our brothers. They seek to lay atop thrones and embellish in the prizes of Man, while claiming to protect it. They are no different than the accusations they volley against us. In recognition of the failure of the Children of Xan, we have come into capture of their prized hunters -- the so-called elf known as TARATHIEL OF THE SEEKERS. Know this: you have no place amongst our kind, nor will you find success in intercession. When the sun falls, we will impart to them the justice of the heart of fires. Just as we have to this seeker of Light, we will expel their sympathizers threefold, with an army that shrouds the Sun you cower under. If you seek their livelihood, you will return to us Alicjo of the Seekers, tied and bounded in her stead with a relic of your False-God. As your kin has famously published in the past, we usher to you now the Fall of the Children of Light. Yield. Answer our demands. Meet with the King of Dragons and hear His voice. Lay waste to your shrines, evict the ship docked by the Xannic seekers, and renounce the aid of Light you have persevered. We lie in wait - remain to your accord and embellish in the voice of the Firstborn. We kneel in a world of fire, as we burn together. To those that seek mercy, we invite you to come forth unto Nahldroth to commune with us and receive the sacrament of Aaz - the blessing of aspiration. Now comes Asioth of One word, eyes like crystals. You have been seen and can no longer hide. So long you abide my decree, you need not fear retribution. - Keledan, The Immortal Agent. For the preservation of dignity, Qahnaarin, Inquisitor of the Chosen of Azdromoth

George Galbraith would likely roll in his grave, his back severly injured in his youth after aiding the creation of Woldzmir, brick by brick.

A letter is returned to Yaşamın, sealed with fresh Illatian wax, red as a rose. "Buongiorno, Zia Ludo always tells me that there are demons lurking under Providence, and that they take on disguises when they walk around - just like us! Sometimes they pretend to help young children in order to eat them. I think you may have found one. Be careful! Cari saluti, Cousin Vincente."

why did you take CT admin from me

[This journal is subject to privacy, unless received through proper roleplay.] “Survive.” These memories are difficult to recall. The sharp crack of my skull and the pooling of blood is what I most distinctly recall, as the ebon hue of the greatsword's hilt thrashed against the side of my head. In my fall, I saw them: my brother Antonius, and my kin, Eleanore. Those blurry figures resisted in pain. They could not move, even if they wished to. They watched. My master, the one who beheld the Third Eye, was starkly different. He laughed, bemused at my suffering as my consciousness wavered. What was he thinking? It was he who held my fate, as I fell to the ground. Was this the end? I could feel his voice ring out, soothing the same nerves that were intent on giving away the very life beholdened to Simon. The golden voice brought me back to his childhood - yet it were so distant. I knew it, but I could not feel it. Vivid memories of a young boy of noble stock, frolicking through the fields of his estate, when nothing mattered. How fickle he was, unknowing to the great tragedy that was to befall him. Fate. In either manner, he knew death was to await him, by rebirth or death. Then, why did he fear? He was clinging to something, was it salvation? If the sword of the AN-GHO pierced his neck that day, I would not have been born. In truth, it was Ant- no, Zahkriikyzer who saved Simon, who saved me. “There is only survival in this world, Simon Pruvia. Until you receive the sacred pact of STONE.” The Prince amongst men recanted to me. The dreamer had dreamed, and he had sealed my fate. I remember those three vivid eyes burning as I did on that fiery pyre, reciting unto the wind a golden song. I find myself, perusing over Simon over and over again. Even at the end of times, he was truly alone. Those of which he cared about either perished, or left him. I find myself perusing over his final interactions, praying peace with his Pruvian kin, as he left them for eternity. Was this his salvation, then? Amidst the dark, were there no one to hear his plight? I cannot save him, for he died, binding himself to the truth that his soul is bound to this plane. Binding himself to the advent of Ruin - the ushering of re-order. Accordingly with this tract, I have been born anew as the dragon knight Qahnaarin: The Vanquisher. Yet, am I Simon? Or am I the Conciliator sworn to the endeavor of guiding our mortal descendants? Simon is part of me, yet he is unsalvageable in the deepest of depths. Even as I place my pen against this paper within the peace of Tor'Azdroth, I struggle to find what is me. Everyday, the clash between him and I grows smaller, and subsides sooner as would a wave on the shore of a spring’s eve. Everyday, Qahnaarin grows stronger. Someday, I fear Simon will lose.

It's been real brotha. Farewell, and good luck to where you end up. It was a pleasure doing events with you.

"Mamma Mia." Says a Nephilim.

Crumena finds a wife in VR

"His Grace Peter d'Arkent is too stupid to write this coherently. Nice try!" An Ashford heartily laughs.

The smoldering figure of the draconic Inquisitor stood near the likes of the Immortal Agent and the Third Eye. He faced those cowering dedicants, and yet he would impart to them his cause, and he would make them understand it. He offered them mercy, sympathy - in exchange for the parting of this message: retribution. “It is an ancestral endeavor we engage in, do you see it? We seek to reclaim those generational lands of His that have been unrightfully taken from us. Is this not justice? And yet, we offer your leaders an offer of a mere tithe - yet attempts at resolutions have been cast aside thrice over. Is this not arrogance? Your leaders place their faith in the Children of the False-Gods while they stay cast within their trees, leaving you to machination. This is cowardice.”

"If the Pontiff is consorting with our dragonkin now, this must mean we are no longer excommunicated!" A lone, ashen figure exclaims to a certain cat, with some glee.

My friend Mohammad Hassan may be able to help you

"Damn, that's out of pocket what they did to him," Yells an Ashford, as he prepares his armaments.

"The Pontiff can't keep getting away with this!" A man declares as he learns news of a coalition being schemed by the High Pontiff!

Alexandre d’Aryn raises a brow, as his arm enwreathes around his new Imperial girlfriend. He was certainly enjoying a united humanity.

“The golden Age of Heroes dawns upon this daybreak. Is this not our cause? Rejoice in its wake - for its taste rests upon the brink of your taste. It is coming, and when it does, we will have our pace of mind.” A figure drawls, transforming into a chortle - grin smeared upon his face. “We will protect this Age.” ”We have been preached to embrace Ruin. What is it if not Re-order?” ————————— Meanwhile, a youthful Ashford rejoices, yet seeks insight for his conflicted views from the Prince of Savoy. @Milenkhov @Lionbileti

r.

Olivier Renault Ireheart smiles the Sun's smile.

"Peace has been tried, and reason has expired. These Druii, with their false endowed sense of harmony - know us to be creatures not to be provoked, and yet they have done so. They have seen their kin bleed. Is that not right, Zahkriikyzer? We are pragmatic, are we not?" A lone figure remarks to his side, yet, it was to his own vices. "All things, even be it beauty, are bound to ash."