wooz

Aurae gripped the letter after reading it. "It is time, then." She'd turn her gaze towards the direction mentioned.

"Father." The young Nephilim's voice hissed out from his polymorph. Smile plastered upon his face.

To whom it may concern. To one, Announcer of the Shuul arena. I, Aurae of Arbi’a of the Order of The Golden Lion and Paladin of Xan. Here forth heartfully offer my sincerest apologies to you and your kin and your gracious arena. I have overstepped my bounds and let emotion consume me and lead me away from the Creeds I have pledged an oath to. It is with great sincerity that I offer to make amends in any way I can. Me and ours have built a monument to your kin overlooking a cove in the Urguan bay. We offer you it as a sign of good will towards us and yours. If anything else is needed I, Aurae, will graciously in the bounds of my Creeds make amends any way I can to you. As it is was my words that caused the harm. It is my hands that will repair it. Speak the word and I will come to remedy my errors. My hands are always open. -Aurae of Arbi’a.

"That's a shame. I wanted to be the one to destroy it." Aurae muses. With a hum she'd continue. "Oh well. Wherever they move to now I will drive them out. For Rollachio."

Page 1 (Day 1:) I spent the last 3 days tying logs and sticks on the beach at home. It was almost ready, all I needed was my journal. I grabbed my journal, headed out to the beach and I tied Bodakur's stones to my waist as tight as I could. The raft was ready. I pushed the raft into the slow waves licking the sands. Crawling onto it was a pain, but I managed. It was just for a week. A week to prove my worth. To make something of myself. I could handle that, I'll show them all. I watched home fade away as the currents washed me away. They were faster than I anticipated. But there's nothing I can do about that now. Just a week. Just. A. Week. A week is doable. I have entertainment and my mind. I can do this. Page 2-4 (Day 2:) The sun woke me up. Hot and suffocating. Nothing I can’t manage, I resided in that furnace of a volcano for years anyway. Speaking of, I wonder what it’s like there now. I haven’t returned since I left that letter to Bodakur in front of his ruins. I’d rather not return either. Not until this is all done. I guess I’ll sit and think for most of today. Maybe I will write a new book about drive. I haven’t written a book in forever. Pain is the motivation of all things, the big mover. The impetus of Man, one could say. The drive of Man is a constant strife and struggle to see self-serving goals made manifest. Canonist belief, National determination, just being, living. Take your pick. They are all the same when stripped of their contextual meaning. Or perhaps, the meaning is what gives it the motivation? One needs not worry about the enemy and their beliefs, if they’re the same or not when yours are supreme. Dreadful. I regret even starting. I’ll work on it later. I have time. Not that it would help. I am a dreadful writer. The clouds in the distance are a bit worrying. But I should be fine. It’s the wind that’s a problem right now. It’s blowing my hair in my eyes and making the waves horrendous. The waves and wind make it hard to write and think sometimes. I thought the sea was supposed to be calming? Put a shell to your ear and hear the waves. It’s been more troublesome than it has been relaxing. The sun is going down and the clouds on the horizon are making it harder to see my writing. (The writing for these pages would be substantially more jagged and sloppy.) Page 5 (Day 3-4:) It rained. Correction, raining, it’s raining. I woke up with my body almost half in the writhing sea. Any later and I would’ve rolled myself to my death. It’s petulant, annoying and terribly, terribly busy. Busy, busy, busy. Bump, bump, bump. The waves and winds, and the rain, oh, the rain is never ending, it is terribly annoying and stressful. I am wet, I am cold, I am hungry. But hunger can wait, I have to survive, and persevere. Persistence is the key here. I will write when something important happens. The rain has not let up for hours, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I am shivering and cold. I’ve been rubbing my hands together and blowing into them for some warmth. But there is no warmth that stays from that. I saw a whale though, what a glorious thing it is. Maybe I am like a whale. Surviving in this tumultuous sea. Page 6-7 (Day 4-5:) I will say that it is quite nice today. Calm waters and the sun is out. Drifting slowly forwards. Ever forwards. Or maybe back? Who knows, I don’t. It’s of little interest to me where this raft goes. As long as I live and make it back. I have to make it back. Making it back means opportunity. Chance, making Bodakur proud. Staying means death. Red waters, Gold waters. Little of it matters now. I’ve read my fill of Asioth, I don’t need anymore of it. I gave an eye just to taste it. I gave my mind for it too. Maybe that is its purpose, to drive one mad in its labyrinth of “self” and “thought.” I consider, or maybe considered, myself a man of thought. But promise a man that he is his own God? Give them the keys to salvation through the search of attaining “Asioth,” the Self is paramount, the paradigm. I have killed a man and who are you to say I am wrong for I am God. A God drunk off the ambrosia that they can never be wrong because Morality is nothing but a sham made to inhibit your inhibitions for a God that is absent. The ambrosia of their own making, one sip and forever you are drunk. But you are God, and since you are God you make the world, and if you make the world then you can do whatever you want in it. Can one not see how that would drive a man mad? Or are they, too, drunk off their own ambrosia like the rest of us? An eye lost for it. To understand it. I have come to peace with it, I do not need the eye back. Nor do I regret giving it. I am writing as if anyone else is going to read it. It’s cathartic, so why do I care? Anyway, it’s a pleasant day. I am going to take it easy and sleep. Another day has come. I can see a tiny spot in the distance. Maybe it is land, maybe it is not. It has almost been a week. It is almost over. I wonder if the war is still going on? How many years has it been going on now? Seven? Eight? Longer? I’m not keeping count. I’d like to see what comes of it though, mayhaps. Granted that is if I live long enough to see it end. I will, though. I have to. I have to keep moving forward until I make it there. I will see it, and many other things. That is all for today. Page 8 (Day 6-7:) The dot on the horizon is getting closer, and with it a bit colder. That at least tells me that it is land. I will make it, and with it I will see that the smugness is wiped off his face. I have lived, and I have persisted, and I have persevered. No one can say that I have no worth now. That I am not strong. I have conquered the sea. Unforgiving and maleficent. But I lived. With this I’ve secured my spot in eternity. For eternity I will live and for eternity I will carry the memory of You. I will put you back together, and maybe, just maybe, you will wake up and see me. How I cannot wait for that day when you can see me and say you are proud of me. Proud of me. I will make sure of it. That day will come. Then there will be nothing but Days, never ending. Never. Ending. And we, together, will talk for days. Share our stories. But that is for the future. I am not there yet, I still have a day to make it to land. I will see it done. For myself and for him. For today I will try with all my power to hold myself on this path. I will see the land again. It has been a few hours, it’s gotten darker and closer, the land is getting. I can make out the forest on its shore. I recognize it as somewhere close to the north of Aevos. It is taking me everything to hold back my jubilation. For that will raise my hubris and then I, like always, will make a mistake and be back at square one. Or dead. I can’t have that. It is the final day. In a few hours, I will be back on land. Closer it gets, taunting me. Closer, closer, and closer, ever closer. I wonder if Balian ever got wind of my murder? Hopefully not, and if so hopefully it is blown over now. That’s not my problem anymore. Just keep my eyes forward. To the end, it is over, and it is no longer something that needs to be done. Just forward now. Ever forward. Condemnable fool that I am, I will see this done, and the rest. I deserve a long rest after this, but I doubt I’ll be granted that. Respite is not something I am often granted. Well, I’ll soon have all of eternity for that. So I can wait however much longer. I landed. The cold shores of the forests near Talar’nor. Or is it considered Celia’nor? Whichever it is. I am back, where it all began. I will make my way back down to the south and see this through. You better be waiting for me when I get back, Hiroto.

"It is interesting that you would accuse the Paladins and not the suspected and outed Darkspawn. Are you sure they were left alone?" A Paladin of Xan would idly comment after reading the missive.

[!] An illustration of Caedes painted a few years before his passing. [OOC: Art by Unbaed.] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “I see an eye. Haloed by flame, burning and great in the sky. Heralded by the sound of all things burning. Comrades adding fuel to a great flame washing across the lands, but I cannot participate. Not anymore.” Once, there was a man. Cursed to live in constant effeminacy. Cædmon, he was born as. A man of foul temper, and contradictions. Man of God, as much as he was a man of Azdromoth. But no more. In his home, Wall Street 3 in Winburgh, Veletz. Halberd to his throat, Wardren set upon the ground. One slice, and it was over. Abandoned by his only friends, abandoned by his mentor. Nothing was worth it to him anymore. Lost in a war he didn't care about it, surrounded by people he loathed. He would leave letters to only two people. To Nerium. To Aeolus. That was all that was left. Of a man, a poor, angry man.

"Now if only he'd remove our requirement to pay tax..." Hileia sighs reading the missive.

Caedes sat in the library of Tor'Praeth. Reading over the contents he would sigh in annoyance. "It seems I left right when it became fun, what a shame."

There is a war going on in Aevos. Unsurprising, man is not man without war. It is one of the gifts of the betrayer after all. As is life, as I would say in the past. But in the sounds of far off fire, screams, blood and the clashes of swords and ferrum I can't help but wonder; “what is it all for? For what purpose?” I am taken back to my youth, where I foolishly believed that world peace would come from some anarchistic society. I am taken back to you as well, mentor, and the lesson you gave me that day in the outskirts of Talar’nor. The path you set me on. I wonder if I will ever see you again. You are stone now, crumbled and broken, I wonder, still, if I have failed you in some way? If I did not live up enough to your expectations. But I have been taken in by another. He tells me stories of you and the history, he has taken up your mantle of teaching me in your stead. For that I am ever grateful. One day, I hope that wherever you ended up you can look upon me and see me as something to be proud of. Something that you would’ve found worthy and valuable. Bodakur, I will carry your flame for eternity. I will be your memorial candle. The Aurelects say: “In silence, First-Born shines between them all like light, the adversary of the fallen prince: Triumph.” It is in these words that I find the strength that you so desperately tried to teach me while you were around. If no one else will honor your memory, then I will. I was your lone student, and forever will I respect you and the potential you saw in me and the effort you put into me. Like the Um’ei you had me ponder on, I will forever ponder on your memory until we can meet again. "Now the World was loved by good husbands and sweet wives, whom sons of timeless insight did rule lovingly. Cherishing First-Born, nations vowed themselves to him; Asioth was a golden band on their fingers. Their hearts: buoyant waters filled these red-gold vessels, and he was held with caring passion over them. First-Born’s household did grow, and he vowed to new kin; by him, they ever multiplied across the lands. Golden fires shone brightly on their loving hearts. First-Born rules royally these red-gold vessels: love" - Median. Forever your student.

Bodakur's only herald, Median; who hoped to one day see his mentor again and be something he'd be proud of was silent. He read it over and over again, not believing the words as he began to weep. @rukio

"And yet, in the end they'll come back to us when they find out the true plans of the Azdrazi." The likewise golden-eyed twin of Aeolus, Hileia would speak into the lab, tending to the candle of Nehtamo.

[!] This note would be left in the room of Ahnakriel's drakeshrine, and therefore is only accessible to him and whomever he shows it to. persvek jacida letnic tir si faestir When I was but a boy, not long after seven, my father took me into our yard. He thrusted a sword into my hand and told me of duty and purpose. Words and ideas that were meaningless to my mind at the time. But, oh, how they would come back to me in many years time. Duty the thing all men are a slave to. Purpose, the one not all acknowledge to an extent that isn't one of idle passing. Many years later, in my, hopefully, pious and leal service to the Black Titan. When you sent me to the firelands on pilgrimage for a year to meditate. I took it as a pilgrimage of repentance, for my failure in killing the Paladin. I took it in stride, and hope, for I was self-flagellating myself already. I won't be dishonest and say it was an easy journey. You said not to bring anything but the clothes on our backs and I followed that to a Tee. When I made it to the Firelands I spent my first few months getting acquainted with the land I'd spend a year in. I found sources for water and food. All that was needed of me from then was my meditating and a spot. My spot I found was in a deep cave, full of bubbling lava, I went to the end of the cave, sat under a ruined banner and caved-in tunnel. There I sat, where it was hottest, meditating on Heralds past and the riddle you posed to us. I must admit, it was hard, I never considered myself one for philosophy. But month after month passed in that hot cave, where I let flame dance and lick upon my flesh with no answer. I begged and prayed to Him to help me understand, but He was silent to me as He should've been. But at my wits end, in the lowest of lows, the darkest of pits, covered in ash and burns in a cave full of the sounds of bubbling and roiling magma it came to me. Duty, was the answer. Duty, all men have one to something. But it is duty with purpose that separates blind faith, the flames that devour and beat down all. From an everlasting eternity born from flames that love and respect. Those who have duty without purpose do not know what it is that drives their sword through a king's neck. It is what leads men to so easily change their minds upon who to follow. But purpose, oh, purpose this is the missing key to lead men of blind faith to one of everlasting loyalty and eternity. Loyalty, drive, truth, all facets of purpose. The wind has duty in how it blows the grass, trees and flowers. But it is purpose that is what gives wind its force to be a destructive power. My purpose, I know, is to be as the wind to Him, and give His enemies a gale to reckon the consequences with. I am loyal in my duty to Him, as well as I am not, or no longer, ignorant to my purpose in mine service to Him. What there is now is only understanding. The mixture of duty and purpose, though limited, I am in mine shortcomings as just a man. But I can at least say that I understand this to be true. - Your faithful tool and hand in His service, Cædmon.

"Unity or Blood I guess means nothing to some. If we are tasked with the death of Azdromoth we should be together like what was demanded of those of the past." Hileia would say, reading the missive.

Reformat please lol, but otherwise +1 would like to see this, would drive me to play my seer again

please, i want this.

". . .I don't want to wear a hat and have darkspawn see me coming from a ways away." Sighs a tired Hileia of Arbi'a. Preparing a hat anyway, ever one to follow the creeds.

A man sat in his home. Kneeling on stones in idle prayer and self-punishment in his failure. Vowing to himself and to the memory of the Nephilim to do better, to hunt down that Xannic slave and finish what was asked of him.

"Well, Aaun does have dragons in its crest. It's at least fitting for them." The other alchemist in the lab would comment back to the man as she toiled away with her own tinctures.

Hileia smiles as her friends Aeolus and Amelia would be mentioned.