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    Salty Alty#7030
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  • Character Name
    The Faithful Hound | Tarathiel Asul'onn | Hoarfrost
  • Character Race
    Poltergeist | Mali'Ame | Treant

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  1. o7 chief, wish ya the best.
  2. Far away in a crumbling ruin, a particular Graven would ponder on the number of failed assassinations within the past Father's month. Said Graven would roll in its grave at the sheer quantity thereof, and the magnitude of such failures.
  3. From within the Kingdom of Crows, an Elfess would find tears streaking down her cheeks at the text she read; not for the Mali of Elvenesse, nae, but for a man whom she once sought the hand of, who she regarded dearly as both friend and subject of her affections. Collapsing to the floor of her room as the missive fluttered off, she would pull her knees close to her chest and cry. Both for love long since gone, and a friend wrongfully slain by those she had grown to despise. "Velulei y nae ilumeh, Vulen... You shouldn't have gone... not like this."
  4. From within the bowels of the earth, Came comfort borne, of spirit's birth. The Hound sat idle, lingering in caverns deep, 'Til the King, once again, woke from sleep.
  5. [!] This book would bear covers of pure white, laced with bindings of silver and gold alike, its spine bearing a royal blue hue. A cobalt eye would stand front and center on the front cover, staring at the viewer emotionlessly; The Clerical Eye. This tome would find itself in libraries across the continent, easily able to be perused by those who seek wisdom in its pages, though sired by a nameless author. The White Tome Ad dirigendos onto orbis iter sine macula sunt. Disciplina Tahariae The Tahariaen Discipline, and the White Faith.
  6. Verily, indeed then, did it come to pass, That the man's hound had come to rest at last. 'Twixt entrapments of foulest ilk and horrid birth, A Raevish mutt sat, next to him, within the earth. For indeed, 'midst fur of blackened shade, Did this wolven servant do as bade. Shackled, yet free, it roamed the horrific wastes, In servitude to shepherds, it had found its taste. So, too, it sat, on the brink of vilest ascension, That which had been borne of esoteric intervention. At the precipice of annihilation, it spoke henceforth in
  7. An Aged Raev would cackle madly as he read the letter from his corner in the Novellen tavern, a frothing mead spilling forth from a wooden tankard as he slapped his knee, wincing at the pain that then surged through arthritic bones. "Bah! Vy are just mad zhat vyr advances vere declined." He began, as if the man could hear him, before he swiftly cut himself off. Shaking his head, graying hair swayed with the motion, rough and unkempt in true Highlander fashion. Idly, the man would brush a bit of dirt off of a tattered and worn cloak, caked in dried blood which fell to t
  8. From within the City of Crows, an elfess would regard the missive with some degree of fondness, having remembered her talks with the Herald Kleo, on the exact nature of Asioth, and what it might take to achieve the gift of divine privilege. "Iheiuhii narne narneyem'ehya, Child of the Firstborn. Perhaps we might sit and discuss, should you find your way this far north..." She would muse, a small smile stretching across her lips as she snapped her fingers, a golden haze carrying the pristine parchment to a nearby shelf, depositing it within gently.
  9. An 'Ame of particular repute would narrow her eyes as such swill would find itself in the mailbox of her family estate, grumbling under her breath as her eyes scanned the putrid document. "Adil'okinare, this is... horrid. Who would find it in themselves to write such disgusting words, let alone publish them to the masses?"
  10. [!] Across the breadth of the continent, a plethora of parchments would be found clinging to trees of birch, within areas of particular tranquility, and along errant riverbanks seldom visited. Below each missive would hang an aurum censer of simple make, unlit and filled with dry coals, incense sticks, and chips of wood. Such notices had seemingly been sired by a nameless author, the only method of possible identification being that which lay in the center of the parchment; An eye, drawn in cobalt ink.
  11. From a cave in the far reaches of the north, an aged Keeper of most graven persuasion would regard the missive with some degree of annoyance marring her features, a cold countenance sporting most unkindly frown. Delivered by way of spectral crow, a reply would find its way delivered unto the author of such an inflammatory document. "Greetings, ye of the Kindled. I would not expect you to understand quite why Darrowmere, now the County of Leumont, remains aligned with the likeness of the Crossed God after so much time at the side of the likes of Alisa Camian and Halvar
  12. Username: altiar1011 Skin: Evening Primrose Bid: 35 Mina
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