Valannor

The Keeper would quirk an eyebrow at the news, idly sipping at her ale, the light from the Hearthfire illuminating her ashen robes as she scanned the document.

”... So first they break into a clan hall, now they’re kidnapping Dwed off the streets.”

She would slowly turn to stare into the fire, her palm colliding with her face in a resounding SMACK!

”By the Father, I don’t think the Inferi will be what do us in...”

13 minutes ago, drfate786 said:

In a forgotten urn, the corrupted ashes of a once Necromancer and former Keeper would stir.. Whispering dark, mad things into the ears of any who would hear. Dead but not alive, unable to take upon a form yet denied all peace.. Revenge.

The newly-minted Keeper would sip at her Purifier’s Blend, calmly sitting in her usual spot on the Ashwood tree. She would cease her sipping as the whispers of a long dead and mostly forgotten Keeper tickled the back of her mind.

”Mmm... You know, this is a damn good Blend.” She perks up as the whispers would intensify. ”... Oh. Oh, so that’s a thing now.” She deadpans behind her mask, reaching for the aurum hammer hung at her hip. ”Here we go again...”

19 minutes ago, Knightie said:

Chadmyr Edvardsson Ruric turned to his cousin Halvar to ask the question “He kneeled!? He ******* KNEEELED?!???” @DAENGIE 

The Hearth Sister wheezes as she hears the yelling from her position in the Hearth Temple, haphazardly tossing another log into the holy Hearthfire.

”What do you mean he kneeled?!”

The Hearth Sister would gaze upon the short missive curiously, enthralled by the words scrawled on the parchment.

"The more I learn of the Brath, the more respect I gain for the Dwarven people."

She would nod, once again returning to her studies within the depths of Morsgrad's library.

The Hearth Sister would tilt her head confusedly at the news, though still impressed.

“Without armor? Color me impressed...” She’d reread one of the opening sentences, before blinking.

“But how in all of the hells did an orc manage to break through those doors, let alone fit through them?”

The Hearth Sister would quirk an eyebrow as news is delivered to her by a dear friend. “The path of Redemption is a hard and laborious one, Ireheart, but the decision to walk it is one of the hardest choices one can make.” She’d comment, with some measure of respect. “I bear no grudge against Clan Ireheart for what occurred in the halls of the temple that day, and as I told the Grand King, if the clan is willing to move past it, as am I.” 

She would hum, looking at a sketch of her latest quarry, a large and grisly hound, said to prowl the sands of the Khorvassa. “If you seek to bring glory back to the name Ireheart, then you need only send me a bird. There is little honor to be found in mindless banditry, but the Hunt? Now that’s a different story entirely...” She would chuckle, stowing the sketch away and continuing her march.

Masterful piece of literature right here. Legit got chills reading this, and the visualization was pretty damn good.

This gets the Salty Seal of Approval, +1

The Ashbringer of Norland would hum as she reads the paper, her eyes dimly glossing over the missive.

"One need not be a mage to understand our foe, but so long as they're competent and don't needlessly send men to die against the Infernal host, we should take what help we can get." 

She would neatly fold the missive, tucking it into her pocket, marching down the cobbled path once more, resuming her everlasting patrol across Arcas. "My suggestion to the Kaedrini would be to seek out knowledge in the Imperial library of Helena, and perhaps convene with the Sea Prince to acquire the necessary knowledge to defeat these scourge. This threat is not one born of the void, but of the hells themselves, and a mage would prove of little use in understanding this threat, much less combating it."

MC Name: altiar1011

Character Name: Chryssa Stormbringer

Hell yea, let's go kill some spooks. We can bring our own armor, yeah? 

I sign this petition. FOR PUNCHSTEEL!

The armored aspirant smiles softly at the notice, leaning back in her chair and laying the letter on the menagerie of tomes and papers she was working with. “Hm... Perhaps I ought to attend?” Chryssa Stormsong muses to herself, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair.