TheBigBubbles

A tiny half-elven woman had only just stopped wearing black, she proceeded to fish out the dress and wear it once again. Agnes pressed her hand to her chest over her rosary and wept. The girl wept for the woman she had loved, and she wept knowing she would never see her again. Agnes wept for her mother, who would no doubt be lost without her diety, and she wept for the world.

Good job my guy!

Alf Vuiller, son of one of the old magister's considers hauling his elderly 90 year old rump back home briefly. Only to realize he's dirt poor. Only for the missive to suddenly change, so that he qualifies again. He then sends a letter and makes his way over to the tropical state.

Olaurae metagames this and tries for government, only to somehow fail and send Faeryel a duck figurine instead of an application.

The old Oyashiman remained largely unaware of Basha's passing, and yet, the days grew longer, and the Adunian did not return to her room. Hesperia pursed her lips tightly and muttered a prayer for her safety, wherever she may be.

Princess Blanca polishes off her adventuring gear

A tiny 3'8 girl pressed her hands to her gaunt, sickly and pallid face "Humpf, I suppose I'm evil now"

A deviless recovers from her labours, somehow entirely unscathed. The devil smiled, "Submit, we called, and submit you did. Sleep now, you tormented soul, for tommorow, we reign death and chaos upon our foes." she sung it like a lullaby.

"Brother..." murmured an old Oyashiman, "Treading in the footsteps of Hahaoya are we?" she'd smile briefly, but it was quickly cut short "Curse you."

Alf Vuiller, a man late into his life, and even further into his own ruin pondered that man. Alberic. Alberic had always been there, had always been kind. The elderly Vuiller narrowed his gaze on the horizon, but it was not a feeling of loss that filled his abyss-tainted heart. It was rage. Rage that the best among the flock always suffered the most. It was in these moments that Alf decided he would not allow himself to suffer any longer. Alf turned away from the dying light of the sun and strode deeper into the keep, there was work to be done.

"Maehr'sae hiylun'ehya" murmured a young 'thill, costrained to a mechanical body "Unity is progress."

The Hag of Tsutenkaku, or, atleast, the hag's daughter grasped the missive with evident amusment. "Oh, how fall you have fallen" murmured the ancient woman, "I've half a mind to create a rival branch just to prove I could do better. Mm, I think I shan't be donating... though, perhaps I ought to involve myself in this raging conflict. The world really did need the Lectorate afterall" she'd then turn to face her brethren, "Is dragon hunting on the menu? Dears?"

What is death but an absence of love? A lone orcess roamed through lonely forests and empty grasslands. Her search was simple: food. She'd return to the hearth that she had stoked, to a catatonic mother. No words were exchanged, even if the youngling wanted to, she wouldn't have any to give. Years went by in this disgraceful state. Surviving off of odds and ends and scraps of meat. Even throughout all of it, she took solace in what she could feel, touch, and smell. The feeling of earth beneath her feet, the chirping of birds. They looked so free. Was she one of the animals? A creature easily amused by the simple give and take of nature? Or was she something below even the lowly bird, for even they had family. Giving, and giving, and giving. The youth was drowning. It was time to fly the coop. Death The catatonic husk would surely die. The woman she'd once called 'Momo'. Guilt had to be pushed aside, she could not live her life as an outcast. She couldn't live it on the edge of society in the shadow of a grieving mother. Unequipped Unable Unsuited Chierae Hawksong? No. That family had abandoned her mother, and if they abandoned her, then they had abandoned Chierae. Who was she really? Who was she beyond the reaches of the forest? The waking death she'd endured, the tombstone of her childhood. Chierae did not know, and even if she did, she didn't have the words to express it. The feotid orcess wandered through the lands of man. A woman of few words, and plentiful anxiety. Her hair was ungroomed, and her clothing was naught but scraps. Her mastery of the common language even worse, she could hardly manage one or two word sentences. Chierae gave the wrong impression. Defensiveness was mistaken as hostility; Fear as hatred, and ignorance as stupidity. Hostility, hatred and stupidity however, was levied against her in full. But not for long An elf? The elves had scourned her mother and resulted in the untimely death of her brother. This one, though, this one was different. A home? A bed? Love? Chierae's naive eyes were blinded to the truth of her new elven guardian, but that veil would be lifted soon enough. These elves were very different. They behaved like orcs. Raiding, pillaging and most surprisingly of all, cannabilsm. Yet, she did not question it. This must be what elves do. Perhaps there is just evil in every race. Chierae kept her maw shut, lest rot pour out of it. The orcess was not familiar with the traditions of the elves, she shouldn't push her luck in the only place that had accepted her. Years pass this way. Finally, she had a home and a community. Her worries about their behaviour began to melt away. These people were family afterall. Family is to be forgiven. Chierae had finally begun to open up. This time it was within the shelter of a lonesome tavern, somewhere in a desolate ruin. Between fits of discomfort and intense worry, she spat out one word answers in regards to her life story. It was within this tavern that she laid her soul bare. Jolene - a woman she'd soon call mother, ensnared Chierae into an embrace, a hug that would plant the seed of her ruin. It was a sharp and sudden pain that pierced her nape. Sharp enough that the timid beast retreated, much like a wounded animal might. That was the day the child died. She was a child no more. Over the course of years, she changed. Any semblance of warmth was replaced by hollow aching. Love, care and joy was robbed from her. It was difficult at first, she was not equipped with the knowledge of how to use a knife and fork, let alone to scheme. The woman who had promised her redemption had sealed her damnation. Chierae had no choice but to adapt. The decades dragged on, and she learned to harness the only gifts that came with her form. Chierae had indulged in countless lives and faces. She had spawned many plotlines of her own. The witch was afforded minimal tutelage as she stumbled through her existence. A trial by fire. The orcess with many faces acrued the knowledge of most any culture. Through experience, she became wiser. The more she learned, the sharper she felt the pain of the proverbial, and literal dagger in her nape. Finally, she had awoken. She refused to be pitiful anylonger Wisened and skillful, she participated gleefully with plots and subterfuge. She herself was a coven of two but she provided aid to her cousins. For what was eternity, if one could not enjoy it with those broken just like you. This of course, was not meant to last. The witch soon found the faces of her sisters began to fade. Eventually, she too was abandoned. Like she had done all those years ago to her very own mother. The amalgam of faces set about wandering Almaris, and then Aevos listlessly. Of course, she showed loyalty here and there to various groups, but without the shelter of a coven, she felt vulnerable. Naturally, the orcess returned to what she knew. Her isolation brought about a similar suffering to that of her early days, but twenty times magnified. Over the century, her mind would fragment into pieces, each individual fragment believing she was truly her disguise, a respite from her illnesses, but denial could only last her so long. The orc had two options: Adapt, or break. At this point, she'd exhausted all options for a cure. Chierae had always wanted one, it was not her nature... well, not her true nature to maim and kill. Her curse had brought her naught but suffering. Patience had afforded her true allies, women and men who truly cared for her wellbeing, but she was unable to feel anything in return. She had to escape, she had to fly the coop. Retribution The beast she had become made her sick. Chierae vowed that she would do all that she could to extinguish the corrupting forces in this world. Over the course of her undeath, she'd collected many trophies of monsters killed and forged alliances with forces of true good. Even her accursed form was good for one thing - killing. The divine would not save her, but she could save her own self image. The witch endured this existence for far too long. Any wrong move would be fatal. Without a coven to ressurect her, she was entirely alone and entirely helpess, should death come to claim her. Every action warranted searing mental anguish, her fight was as much with her nature as it was with others. Something had to give. A warrior cannot fight forever. Chierae set aside her plans for Judgement, and set her gaze inward. It was time to seek her own peace. The orc, the honourbound orc wrote her fairwells and set her plan into motion. The time had come to be cleansed. The undying warrior set out on her journey to die. Before the titan, Sol Invicta, Chierae kneeled. The great warrior stripped her weapons from her person, and kicked them aside. A show of complete submission. "I am a disease. I do not wish to be. Take my Essence, my being, and use it. Please" The shield was discarded "I pledge myself to you. If you see it fit that my pledge results in death, then it will be so. I pledged my undeath to extinguishing the dark. I did not want what was robbed of me, taken from another soul. I lay myself bare before you. Should my fight go on. I wish it to be on the right side. Should it end, I wish it to be in service to the light not the dark" "I shall redeem you. Kneel above the fallen. You shall reach the light, together." "Perhaps you do not believe in mercy. If not, use it, turn your rutheless gaze to those who forsook me." "I shall grant you redemption. Freedom from the chains that shackle you. Lay forth next to this one, abandoned by all. Rest your head against his" And so she did "I shall avenge those that cursed you, and shall endure the Order of Death upon all" The end. [!] Letters were distributed, upon the condition that she did not return. On letterboards within some elven territories Sarah Artenin Madoc'Lur Naele Ophelia The Weiss Family Uvil'igne Ash Nemea Adam The Hawksong Family Atsuko Reza Weiss Deadlock Danzen Astrid of Sabet Myleres Kuku'lur

Right as I PK my witch lmao.

A devil, a distant relation of the Raev people set her eyes on the missive. Mircalla held a hand over her heart and procceeded to light a few candles for the girl that she did not know, "Baalial said this would happen. I laughed... The reality is-" she'd shake her head "Horrible. Poor girl."

A lone Dralguna responds in kind, "Dearest Sermi, I'd not deign to offer your head to the church. When it would serve it's purpose far better on my mantlepiece. The canonist dogs don't deserve such a gift. I don't know who of my kin claimed such a thing, but I shan't seek you out. Stay clear of me, and I will do the same. If you know the name of the Dralguna that offered your head, tell me. I don't hate you for what you are. I understand you seek refuge in a pact with the lords of moz'strimoza, that you want to cause suffering on to those that have so unjustly caused it to you. My only question is why? Why crawl into the arms of the very dieties that torture you and cursed you? There's not a single good God. If you ever come to your senses, you know who to write to. -Mircalla"

An Orenian Sarkozic well into his late hundreds peers at the missive "Hm, okay" An even older Highlander grasped the missive between her digits and procceeded to laugh. The elder grasped a packet of cigarettes from the days of Old Orenia, the old world now. The woman lit the cigarette with a flame that sprung from the tip of her finger, "I cheered when the empire fell to the ground, and I'll cheer when it falls again. This development however, is all the more exciting" A Hyspian princess recieves the mail by automaton, she'd discuss the fate of Petra with the elves in her company, but ultimately her sights were not on politics but the heavens.

A haggard wench of frost clutched the form of a witch greater than herself. Her own expression was entirely unreadable, if not callous. It was a genocide against her kind, and yet... despite every instinct within her, the tiniest smile brewed on her face, only to be wiped away seconds later.

A bubbly pink Mali'ker somehow heard news of her first teacher's demise. Olaurae hopped up from the chair and pointed her hand skyward, "Mark my words!!! He is not gone!!" the elfess tore up the note and threw it into the air. It all dissappeared in a trail of green sparkles, "I'll not see this act ended. It's too soon, grand actor"

His mother, resting in a seat after an intense battle for the very lives of those that proclaimed to scourn her now peered over to Baalial with a half-lidded, weary expression. The devil was seared with malflame burns that had reached her scalp, and bandaged, "You understand now, don't you? After all of this? Why I chose survival over morality?

An ancient alchemist remarks at the odd use of language in this particular missive "Hm, John seems quite a fan of new-fangled youth speak. I'll have to consult him about it once I've checked on my dear patient."

"PADRE" - "You can't be in the cold like this, come come, let me get you some cocoa. Oh... what- What is this?" the Hyspian flushed pink and grasped the missive from his hands, "What?"

Baalial's mother, an equally accursed soul crumples the missive in question in her fist, "No..." - "This kingdom was my home. My origin... That man's family were like my own. I still remember my days by Georg's side fondly, and my days by his father's side even greater so." The fiend shakily grasps for her own pen and paper to write and once finished, she sought out her son, "To expell my kin is a bridge too far." - "Genocide, the same as I faced in my youth. Not again"