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4853 Divine

About Valannor

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Character Profile

  • Character Name
    The Faithful Hound | Tarathiel Asul'onn | Greyhound
  • Character Race
    Poltergeist | Mali'Ame | Highlander

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  1. "Ad Mortem Inimicus!" Cried a leal Wyrmstalker, delighting in a recently completed raid on the dark queendom...
  2. A Keeper of Xan would grin, raising her lance as the news circulated throughout the realm; "ORDO VULT!"
  3. AN OPEN LETTER IN SUPPORT OF THE HOLY LECTORATE For many years, the Order of the Golden Lion has worked in concert with our allies within the Holy Lectorate in opposition to the Dark; and the matter of Serheim is no exception. This stain has roosted itself within the ruins of the fallen Ando Alur, named in honor of the first such settlement which wrought the Voidal Calamity upon Almaris. Within this hive of villainy and evil, many have met their end, and within the bowels of the fortress lay a freezer stocked full with dozens upon dozens of corpses, of man, woman, and child alike. We have stood stalwart against this foe within the East, primarily occupied with the scourging of the threat within the Urguani and Nevaehlii realm, as skeletons walk the earth and maraud passer-bys in aims to feast upon their flesh and blood. We have taken the blade to their fel lords and slaughtered them upon the cobbles, and to the Realm of Men we say this; This monstrous foe can be felled, even by mundane blades. It can be beaten. In lockstep with our allies of the Owynist flock, we offer our aid in every capacity to the endeavor of scouring this blight from the realm, as we had during the Inquisition upon the Azdrazi earlier this century. There will be no respite for the Vampire, nor the Dragon or the Werbeast. Let their carcasses burn upon blessed pyres, their stench scoured from this realm for all eternity. They congregate as an army in a great Black Crusade; let it be broken by the will of man, dwarf, and any who would live upon an earth free of their black sacraments and ritual sacrifices. They must be driven back to the unhallowed pits from whence they came, and the undying must be sealed away until even the stars themselves would die. We have fought this foe for the long few years it has been revealed to us, and would delight in doing so alongside the hallowed blades of the Holy Lectorate, and the progeny of Horen who would stand alongside them. Our blades are yours to direct, and our shields yours to join in the great bulwark against this gnawing terror. Ser Uther of Acre may call upon us at any time he so wishes, alongside the honorable Arch-Lector and his cohort. SEREMVS * DELENDA * EST
  4. 8iWUCdM.gif?noredirect

    Jarvis, Valannor followed us. Follow them back. Inspect their profile. Befriend them. Make an ST application. Join ST using Valannor as a contact. Gain total control over the Story Team.

    Give Valannor a burger.

    1. Valannor


      I'm now biased firmly in favor of JARVISPOSTING.

  5. [!] A depiction of the Besieged Realm, during an infernal assault upon one of the central cities. [!] The events detailed hereon out are not common knowledge, known only to the Barrowlord of the Empyrean, serving to document its journey through a far flung realm. War. That is what Atzudeth awoke to, when It had recovered from being hurled through space, and through time. Its husked form crashed against the soliloquy of a thousand cannons roaring, into the dirt and mud and blood as the howls of aberrant beasts assaulted its dulled senses - memories kindled of the . Its masked face arose, and it was met with all the carnage and viscera that the maddened fantasies of some sick delinquent could muster, devil hordes crashing against a shield wall of mortal men, titanic beasts held back through the drumroll of artillery battering their scarlet forms, cannon shells burning craters through muscle and sinew until hearts were rent asunder. In the midst of the violence, that unhallowed script would be stowed within the Barrowlord’s armor, and it hauled itself to its feet with the aid of its staff, caught between the armies of men and the hordes of some infernal shore. Hushed words and invocation of spectral power would cause It to vanish from sight, and it walked among the battlefield as a specter of foreign realms; souls dwelt upon the field, mere morsels to satisfy the desire for bloodshed, stamped out beneath cloven feet. Atzudeth lent what aid it could, without revealing its presence. Murmurs of advice and warning when most required, a trick of the light to draw the attention of the fiends from the wounded. Soon, it departed from the frontline, as the stars wheeled overhead and a vermillion dawn soon rose, blanketing the land in that tepid radiance. It walked, trudging through the barren plains for what felt like hours until it came upon the walls of a settlement- a city, ringed and fortified, with numerous ballistae and cannon emplacements lining the parapets. To evade the gate watch was a simple task, the embrace of the ethereal carrying it through the crowds and with little incident, and what It found within was a stark contrast to the horrors that lay upon the blood-drenched soil. Though little, hope was kindled in this place; the market stalls were replete with all sorts of odd goods and flora, children and womenfolk of all sorts wandered the streets with a dampened candor. The city seemed a bastion, far from the din and ken of the battlegrounds where devils laughed and good men died. The winding streets were explored with laxity, and clad in the shroud of ectoplasm to shield it from sight, the Empyrean would soon find itself before a church, erected in the name of some unknown pagan god. The tongue and script of this realm was unfamiliar, yet strangely elegant nonetheless, with written words being fashioned of harsh angles and fine curves to form an alphabet the Barrowlord could seldom fathom. Days could have passed, months, years, and the Lord would not have known. Time fled as a concept, trapped in the macabre wonder in this world forged by war, and it found itself within a vast graveyard, as large as a field. Headstones and crypts littered the verdant, well-kept soil in the thousands, yet one stood taller than the rest; a vast spire, a dozen feet high, wrought then of finest marble. Atzudeth approached, and soon, it found itself as a supplicant before the monolith, the depiction of a stoic man carved deeply into the rock, alongside a litany of scrawlings and obituaries. The script of this land eluded it still, but the Lord understood the grave nonetheless; the first man to fall, from this city, in the eternal war which it waged for its very right to exist. Its hand lofted, placing itself against the rock, and it bowed its forehead against the marble - and in lowest of tones, it sung. Oceanic arias filled the yard in mournful sorrow, as that Empyreal lord sang for a life that could have been, and the love lost in the malefic flames of the hell which was loosed upon this realm. When it next lifted its gaze, however, it found itself back home. Away from that grave of a noble soul. Static lingered in the air which was so soon to fade, as the Lord dwelt upon that which lingered in the cosmos beyond.
  6. What is your name, hero-to-be? Alatariel Athna What is your age? 2 Centuries of Age What is your race? Mali Where do you reside? The Seeker's Ark What powers do you have to fight against this great evil? The unfettered wrath of the Lord of Sunlight What is the meaning of a free-spirit, in short words? One unshackled by misery nor toil nor unjust authority, given the ability to pursue life and enjoy it to the fullest extent.
  7. I hate common core

    1. Panashea


      america commercialized public education and now its ruined

  8. [!] This is a lore-compliant Prophecy, and as such only users with accepted Mysticism, Vivification, Farseer, Naztherak, or Seer applications may bear witness to it. One’s vision would be overcome with a vision - a cavern, far beneath the dirt and deprived of light and love. A door would be seen, a faint outline traced into the wall, shining in reflected moonlight refracted through hundreds of crystals. The door opened - and entombed within Light would be seen a great King of Crimson; lashes of solar power coiling about its extremities, drawing it into the vortex of Silver, leaving only its skull to remain exposed. The maw of that ancient, untamed evil spake henceforth; a rattle of bones and choir of the dead forming harrowing words of malcontent. “Cold be this hand, this heart, this bone, Cold is this eternal slumber in rock and stone, Far beyond the realm of Horen’s birth, Trapped and entombed within cradle of the earth. Eternity here, I shalt lie, Until even stars and gods would come to die. Essence of flame, purest in form, shall be mine unsealing; Set this dark crown free - to continue the Weaving.” It would be by the will of fate alone that this malefic thing would find release - or be forgotten to the aeons, never to be loosed upon the world again.
  9. Valannor


    Godspeed, Cowboy. o7
  10. [!] The following is not common knowledge in roleplay, and known only to the Fifth Synod and those present at the events detailed herein. Within the depths of a sullen trench within the Tomblands, a titanic quake was heard. Stone was rent asunder, formerly tall and proud. A throne, broken. Before a bedamned host, a flaming Lord would fall and kneel - begging the forgiveness of those they had wronged in their iron-fisted tyranny. A crown, broken. A host of loyal spirits, bound in servitude, would be met by an empyreal lord. Chain and collar fell to the floor, the locks shattered and servitude lifted. The chains, broken. A Herald of Flame returned, and in his wake followed the promise of ancient lore once left buried - to be preached and scribed anew. Ignorance, broken. What befell the Fifth Synod of the Occult was a grandiose rebirth; the failures of yester-year buried in a grave, the shackles of slavery rent asunder. The Second Founding of the Fifth Synod was at hand; and in this, it would either perish as all before it had, or manifest the destiny so long foretold by the ancients.
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