Comrade Lafayette

Harsh amber eyes, stolen from the Five tore over the missive, eyelids drooping in dismissal. "It would seem that our once-bishop misunderstands the Parable of the Crèche. How woefully droll." The wytch crept off then, muttering to herself, "Birds of a feather flock together."

What interaction has left the largest lasting impact on you, either IRP or OOC? (Or both)

How have you personally been affected by the dwarf cabal?

That apostle of Violence scanned the missive, clacking her walking-stick 'pon the stone of the church "Roza Vhorazu!" The Bishop exclaimed, "The folly of Xion's warriors shall be revealed on the field of battle, let them pray to their messiah, for their words fall on deaf ears. The dead do not hear." The letter was placed back on its resting place, the penitent returning to their blasphemous liturgy. Somewhere else, a plate-clad phantom caught word of this casus belli. Reflecting of the futility of the battle the month prior, where dead met undying in combat, a weary sigh was issued forth. The letter was crumpled up and tossed away, the geist preparing himself for a forever-war.

Free LOTC

[!] At once, a shroud of gloam engulfs your vision. Where there was once your room, now resides naught. Your extremities start to tingle, fingers and toes growing prickly and numb with this sensation of pins and needles crawling up, and up your wrists and ankles, and not ceasing. As this abyss' grip takes full possession of your form, you lose consciousness. Mindlessly, you sit here in this stupor as an opium fiend for what feels as months. [!] A light in the distance sparks forth, your seemingly floating form beginning to drift lazily, but steadily toward it. You take it in your palm, the feeling is familiar, something lost, nay, taken from you long ago. The feeling overwhelms you, and you black out once more. [!] Your vision returns. Its a memory, one you long since discarded in the years that followed, meant to be replaced by the follies of childhood. You sit in the small dining room of your parent's home, he is standing by the fireplace gazing idly into the flames. You stand up from your seat, dashing over. Your stature is as the youth you've now lost, standing barely above his knee height. Your quickly embrace him and stand like that for a long while. You never got a chance to do this before, you never thought you'd have to say goodbye. He looks down to you, offering that gentle smile of his unto you. His face was just as you remember, but without the pallor which found itself imprinted in your psyche. My child, you've been put under a burden greater than any should. Rest now. His words resound through your form, echoing endlessly. You've made me prouder than you could ever know, but now we must be still. I've come to be at peace, and so to should you. Never have I left you, even if it feels if I have, and I will be here for you, come your time. Its time to go home. The memory fades, but the warmth of the light you once held has not. It remains yet in your chest. You awaken in your room now, your identity once more piecing itself together. Its unclear if that was your memory or not.

[!] Draped in sacral garb, the Lord Chorister lay down their prayer mat and supplicated in earnest before the Light Most Pure. "Glory be, may the Childer of Light suffer not the witch." They prostrated, head bowed 'pon the linen mat, "My life is thine, so long as theirs be spared." Silenced followed this oath, incense swirling about the room

I may be overthinking it but wording implies the list for Ensorcell Flesh is comprehensive vs old lore; Specifically gave permission to be more freeform. Is this change intentional or is the ritual still open in the way it can be used? Edit: Additional question, the limitation of siphon to only apply to the same race is related to old BM's Hazmic origin with Malghourn, but this iteration of BM seems to be a rejection of that tradition. What's the new justification for siphon being limited?

RP: Name: Idris Cadrian Age: 19 Race: Human Reason for Enlisting: To serve my Kinfolk Past Experience (if any): Collegiate studies OOC: MC Name: QliphothicCorvid Discord Tag: QliphothicCorvid

Shadows crept along the grimy, foot-torn paving as that elf-thing wept in the corner of an alley. Silence took hold of the night for a brief moment. Then, the nauseating sound of tendons separating, of sinew being stretched to its limit, ripped and tugged at every which way at full force, however weak that force was. Blood caked his hands, but he saw it not. For he saw nothing now. Nothing, save them. The figures of rapacious neophytes draped in red and grey still haunted and tormented his vision. Still berating him, still kicking and biting and scraping and hurting him. The elf-thing set his eyes to his side, he didn't need them anymore. Bloody tears streamed down his face from his sockets. He fell back onto to the cobblestones and sat there, lying supine in quiet agony. The feeling of the warm, life-bearing fluid across his hands and face, paired with the tears and dirt from the last several weeks, it was unbearable. Hands clasped, and empty prayer fell on deaf ears. Just as before, God would not hear him. The world just seemed to slip away, he fell away from his body, as if being lowered into a grave. There was naught but darkness now. Then, there was It. It fell on his chest. It took mount of him. It gazed into his soul. It pulled the wool over his eyes. And he was revived. He quickly sat up, breathing laboriously, sweat, blood, and dirt, remained as an ever present sensation on his skin. He looked down at his hands as if waking from a dream, then to his right and saw his eyes. He didn't need them anymore. He felt the cut tips of his ears, brushing aside his hoary hair. He didn't need them anymore. He thought of his past prayers and renounced them, he didn't need God anymore. All of this pain, all of this loneliness. It was his. He didn't need anything anymore.