Rigorous

Sul Amirsan aen Sov shakes his fist at the sky. "Acaelan's reckoning! Death to the Swivelers!" He immediately placed a new order for three ships and lamented the cost.

(Diablo Art, Blizzard) The Forsworn Diante stood afterward and as the remains of the honorable Wizard lay strewn about the field, the age-old Eidolon of the Wastes carried them to the brazier and then burned them alongside those of the fallen Aurae who pledged the Forlorn Legion her eternal service. The Paladin of Sol Invicta considered his role in the carnage and then alongside other members of the Damned Host resumed his patrols to pursue more interlopers. The wraith-like entity passed through the air away from the wanton carnage and corpses to resume his duties with mechanical and unthinking gestures. This would surely not be the last time that their border was penetrated by foreign vessels. Trapped and accursed, the Wizard had left a lasting impression. He was the only one among the fallen apart from the Paladin Aurae to be burned. It was a small gesture of kindness that could not erase the lives taken. But the long-dead tell no tales, for as long as there were interlopers in the Abyss, so too would there be Diante the Cometstruck to damn them to the terrible curse of wandering the Wastes.

Rufus the Magical Dog prepares to torture Hacket Hemoss in response to his scathing setback on mic. "Sure I can't hurt you," he barked angrily. "But that won't stop me from hurting him." The Magical Dog emerges from a vortex of swirling ether in the Zhu, prepared to unleash the full brunt of his cruelty upon the mortal world. It's so over Azdrobros.

much love bro

"Fire, Spirits bless." says Bhutt'Lur, Kapo's Hobgob bodyguard.

The Crest of the Champion is affixed to the letter. To the Dead-Eye of Veritas Alicjo Verrana, If that Paladin was named Redwulf, then you may have my regards, he was an affable enough warrior and met his fate with bravery and faith. In the past, many of your kind have taken the wise chance to transform and escape their duty. The Sunlit Lord is a cruel benefactor, even long after you are dead, he shall reclaim your soul and throw you into the meatgrinder, to die over and over again in feuds between himself and the Dragonkin, or even in feuds between himself and the Heavenly Court as seen in the Inferi Crisis. It is very unusual for the Father of Titans to offer that deal to one of your kind. All of us despise the tendency of Paladins to recite vicious rhetoric and then dwell in their keep on Dwarven lands in Urguan, never to sally forth and meet us in combat. Only Redwulf remained after his Druid and Paladin allies fled and left him there. If it were up to me, I would sever the connections of those who abandoned him, there is no truer show of cowardice. There was a girl who was brave enough to stand with him who I kicked down a hill. I asked her, “Why do you bother? They must not care much about you if they send young girls after me.” She relented quickly after that and assured me she would grow stronger before coming before me again. Tell Xan to stop sending little girls after me. I will gladly fight you Alicjo or a Keeper of Xan if they come and issue their challenge, but these dime-a-dozen "do-gooders" simply will not do. That being said, the Titan’s message remains for all Keepers who will take it: Conjure forth Sordran and bring him before the Black Titan, and you shall be allowed to leave once we capture you. The traitor must face punishment for betraying his kind to serve masters who will simply kill him if they were to succeed in this war of extermination. We honor the death of Redwulf as the first sad but necessary step in destroying the Order of the Golden Lion once and for all. For all the brethren that we have lost to failed peace deals, to druid treachery, and the list goes on. You would have been impressed to see that “Redwulf” channeled the Aengul Xan with his body and that he delivered a rending strike through the air that pierced many of us, including me in my Superior Form. A goliath nearly two feet tall sent hurtling through the air and into a pit of lava. Let there be no question that Redwulf was given his trial-by-combat before Azdromoth, and that he lost to Azdromoth at the very end, his golden pools of ichor staining our holy halls as he crumbled into an ethereal mist that was returned to the Sunlit Lord’s realm for judgment. Once you stumbled across me in the wilderness and we had a long conversation on your duties and convictions – the fealty that you owe your erstwhile Lord, and how you would opt never to stray from that path. The venom with which you write is concise enough, it demonstrates your convictions rather well, but it also betrays your frustration with the indolent Order of the Golden Lion. While in the past I had my doubts about the motives guiding my people, I have realized now that the only option is to pursue a higher peace. A peace that can only be purchased with the utter destruction of the Paladins, and a fierce rebuttal to the genocidal tendencies of the Heavenly Court that deigns to try and extinguish the lives of my honorable people. We have opposed the forces of Iblees for generations, but nonetheless the Heavenly Court seeks our destruction all due to an ancient rivalry with the Daemon Dragur. Many of your kind deem Azdromoth accursed without considering the Curses of Iblees placed on the Descendants. Dwarves are vain and greedy, Humans are short-lived, the Uruks are cursed with bloodlust, and the Elves are cursed with sterility. It would seem that your kind share more in common with the Father of Titans than we share with him, for we bear no such curse, and endeavor always to purge taint from our body as one would any other illness. Our only curse is to be unloved in the Realms of Men, but these days that is the case for the Paladins of Xan as well. It must truly be foul to be doubly cursed. The Black Titan is free from the chains of Iblees and now commits himself to a mission of his own: Ascension. If you wish to stop all of us, so be it, you may try. To try and maintain the status quo and to eliminate any chance of us further driving a wedge between the High Heavens and the Earthly Planes. Alas, your opposition comes as no surprise to me. You may find me whence it pleases you to duel or speak. Let it be known that any of your brats that find themselves on the end of my sword shall be spared. I care only to fight a distinguished challenge - the Keepers of Xan. May we all die as well as Redwulf. Peace be upon his soul. Signed, Alistair the Red

Likewise, Alistair stood before a mirror recovering, feeling a scar that formed from the bolt of Xan Mist that reached from his navel to his shoulder. Clad in long and flowing pants as well as a robe, the creature drew his talon along the scar and then glowered. His unblemished body was now cracked. His veneer of perfection, earthly beauty, and nobility, had been cracked. With an arrogant glance, he lowered his gaze, wondering what had gone wrong. They had won this time. But if this was the travesty that could be wrought by one Keeper, what of the others? Looks are nothing, Al chastised himself. There is a mission here. Yet, the Elder Azdrazi was ashamed all the same of his inability to do anything except shield the others. No amount of training could prepare him for the Aengulic blight that rendered his scales and their brilliant majesty scarred. No amount of polymorphing or purification could fix the wounded tissue. His countenance was wrathful, the ancient figure's jaw taut as he contemplated what events would proceed to the Keeper's death.

"No," said Alistair. "I don't think I will."

Few warriors could ever best Alistair the Red. Even still, Alistair had laughed with joy upon the realization that Azdromoth would offer the Keeper such a deal. To bring the Azdrazi and their Prophet Sordran so that they may at least bring this war to an end. In the many centuries, since Alistair awoke in Tor Azdraeth to the face of his creator who had brought him back from stone, the Dragonkin had never experienced a Paladin with such nobility. The first of his pupils he had transformed had been Paladins, such as Gwyn, Suldaeroth, and Azaerya, and this left him with lofty ambitions in his heart. To Alistair, no Paladin was above transformation, and their righteous cause could be swayed to something less perilous and more sophisticated - the preservation of the Draconic Species, and their undertaking of reclaiming the world for their forebears. Just earlier that day, he recalled besting some female warrior, one that he could not remember. She had said he had bested her once. The aged Dragonkin had kicked her down a hill and told her she was a fool for attempting to beat him. He was a thousand years old; the Dragonkin could assume shapes nigh inconceivable for most Descendants to best in combat, and he wielded the legendary sword Blackstar. In his arrogance, Alistair saw himself as an agent of divine providence, the true epicenter of his universe where he was simultaneously the best and worst person for the job. Yet, his ego was shattered when the Keeper declined the deal. This had not happened before. How many times had Alistair himself been able to reason with Paladins with his silver tongue? His pride was wounded but it could not be said that the Nephilim did not respect the decision. It is better to stick to one's principles more than anything else. Just as he and his sword Blackstar would probably never stray from siding with his divine creator, Alistair could commend somebody's strict principles without hatred or remorse. He foresaw that conditions might escalate for the worse. Alistair shifted not long after that into his most powerful form, a bestial and scaled creature of immense size and prowess. Yet, he looked on as that brilliant flash of light had turned the Keeper into a Host of Xan. He roared and gnashed his teeth and moved to attempt to save his erstwhile companions from being damaged in the furious onslaught. The Mists of Xan permeated his enormous torso as a bolt of energy sent the massive creature flying into the pit in the pit. Agonizingly, the Mists of Xan seared his scales with what felt like the worst taint he had ever known. Though he had never been cursed by a Necromancer before, this painful sensation was one that Alistair could imagine drove other Dragonkin insane. This challenge interested him, however. At last, a formidable foe, and Azdromoth had hoarded the man all to himself. It filled him with incandescent wroth as he attempted to clamber up and get a piece of the fighting. To soothe his wounded ego and placate his self-worth. Alas, he watched on from his serpentine eyes as the Keeper died not too long thereafter, his head rolling off of his shoulders with a sundering cleave of Azdromoth's magnanimous weapon. Contempt and venom filled his heart in that moment as he was robbed of a valuable conquest. There could be no more honor found for him here. His prior words to the fallen Paladin echoed again like distant beats in his heart as it thrummed with molten Inner Flame - the molten Draconic ichor that sustained him, pulsating through his body and keeping him from perishing. "Die well."

Treaty of Portoregne RECOGNITION OF BORDERS AND NON-AGGRESSION ENACTED BY THE CROWN OF AMATHINE 9 Snow Maiden SA 170 PAR’INDOR (Preamble) As a part of our pursuit of the wisdom and efficacy that was once native to Malin's Kingdom, we endeavor to bring administrative consistency to our realm, and that includes the department of Foreign Affairs. Upon riding to the city of Portoregne, I was greeted by Queen Sybille, and we discussed the Aaunishmen of Ascalon. The Balianese expressed a worry about increasing amounts of nominally Elvish settlers in lands that exist between Balian, Amathine, and Haelun'or. In reassurance, the Crown of Amathine has agreed to a Non-Aggression Pact and a formal recognition of the Terra Sancta Lotharia. It is for this reason that I, Sul Amirsan aen Sov, Medin’sair of Amathine, pursuant to powers held in trust to the Crown of Amathine by Indorii I of the Edict of Aianear of 166, proclaim the following terms, to be proposed to the Queen Sybille of Balian and High Princess Idril of Amathine. INDORII’OEM (Article I). Terra Sancta Lotharia By this decree, it is enacted that the lands of the Crown of Amathine shall respect the following territorial claims mandated by the Balianese Terra Sancta Lotharia. As such, the case of the Aaunishmen of Ascalon shall be resolved between Prince James of Ascalon, Queen Sybille of Balian, and King John of Aaun. INDORII’NIUT (Article II). The Claims of the Crown of Amathine By this treatise, Queen Sybille I of Balian acknowledges the following territorial claims of the Crown of Amathine. These include the Capital of Aianear and the Marevarns of Tahn'Larueth and Illivira. Additionally, the borders of the Druid Grove Watcher's Roost shall also be respected. INDORII’HAEL (Article III). Non-Aggression in Perpetuity By this pact, the Crown of Amathine and the Kingdom of Balian formally entered into a pact of Non-Aggression in Perpetuity. Neither country shall practice acts of war, sabotage, or commit to aggression against one another. INDORII’VAILU (Article IV). Trade By this decree, it is enacted that the lands of the Crown of Amathine shall readily allow the easy flow of commerce between the Crown of Amathine and the Kingdom of Balian. Both countries shall provide the other one tax-exempt stall for conducting international trade. Pursuant to Indorii I of the Edict of Aianear of 166 Pursuant to the Terra Sancta Lotharia Proposed at Portoregne on 9 Snow Maiden SA 179 el’laurir Sul Amirsan aen Sov Medin’sair of Amathine

Release of "Ascalon" THE BORDER CAMP AUTONOMOUS ZONE ENACTED BY THE CROWN OF AMATHINE 17 Deep Cold SA 178 PAR’INDOR (Preamble) As it stands, the Refugee Camp of Ascalon was a settlement erected by Aaunishmen who left their home country in pursuit of lush lands far into the South— erected on newfangled territories on the land situated between Amathine, Kaethul, and Balian. The Crown of Amathine is not interested in retaining a Human civilization within its borders. Amathine is a nominally Pan-Elven nation and desires not to issue Marevarns to people outside Our Realm. The Refugee Camp of Ascalon is to be referred to as a fully autonomous zone outside of the Crown of Amathine. We claim no ownership of the Aaunishmen, their peers, and titles, nor do we aspire to retain ownership of that land. Though it is a lush and fertile landscape, Amathine's efforts ought to remain invested in the city of Aianear. It is for this reason that I, Sul Amirsan aen Sov, Medin’sair of Amathine, pursuant to powers held in trust to the Crown of Amathine by Indorii I of the Edict of Aianear of 166, proclaim the following decree, to be enacted with immediate effect across the realm. INDORII’OEM (Article I). On the release of the Nominal Aaunishmen By this decree, it is enacted that the lands of the Crown of Amathine shall release control of the lands that have been colonized by the Aaunishmen. The settlers' right to housing shall be respected. Moreover, by this decree, it is enacted that legal recognition on behalf of Amathine for the Refugee Camp of Ascalon shall hinge on whether John of Aaun recognizes his son John Marcel's claim to the region. Unaware of their claim, the Crown of Amathine shall recognize that the colonists are not Amathine's subjects. The Medin'sair was not aware of any humans moving South until very recently. INDORII’NIUT (Article II). On the claim to the region. By this decree, it is confirmed that the Crown of Amathine was unaware of any squatters on the fringes of the territories occupied by the Crown of Amathine and Haelun'or. Consequently, we implore the international community to offer the Aaunishmen aid, as they appear to be in dire straits. Food, water, and other basic necessities appeat to be scarce. The Aaunishmen and other refugees native to the region's customs shall be respected by the Crown of Amathine. There shall be no efforts to remove them from the land. The Prince of Aaun, James Marcel, shall not be persecuted by the Crown of Amathine for occupying the territory. We afford King John of Aaun our deepest respect and wish his son Prince James Marcel well. We thank you for the interventions your men have rendered us against the Darkspawn in recent years. Pursuant to Indorii I of the Edict of Aianear of 166 Proclaimed and enacted at Tahn’larueth on 17 Deep Cold SA 178 el’laurir Sul Amirsan aen Sov Medin’sair of Amathine

The minion, Bhutt'Lur, lets out an annoyed shriek but did not resist corporeal punishment.

Bhutt'Lur (No Relation) lets out a cacophony of rough laughter from his lips. Maniacal laughter.

Mr. Montalt moves along to go and find Mr. Whitespire.

Friend 1: Alistair I shall be your friend. I am a Dragon. I am a thousand years old. I live in Tor Praeth. We shall go questing together. Inshallah!

Would it be possible to add a bit of a free-form clause so long as it fits the theme of Azdrazi lore? Think that could be cool too. Otherwise, think it's dope, in agreement with it.

I like the idea and with new Azdrazi lore, it works. But I think that Ascent should allow for variation in transportation for the land-bound Azdrazi who do not have wings. For instance, they can utilize the power of their Drakeshrine to transport themselves in a manner that is consistent with their Soul Stone mechanic instead of wings.

The Elder Azdrazi Alistair considered all the events that transpired in the Underdark. Deep in the bowels of the earth, the warrior had engaged the Dread Knight he was faced with head-to-head. As a nimble woman in armor had suffered the first blow from the animated suit of armor's rancid claymore, Alistair had intervened on her behalf with his greatsword and entered a fierce mele with the creature. To Alistair, this was merely another fight to delay time to preserve the flesh and blood of the less hardy Heralds who had accompanied the Nephilim on their dastard quest to the deep. Alas, as he stepped backwards and allowed the monstrous armor to detonate, he heard a cacophony of voices as the Azdrazi of Tor Praeth lamented their convert's death at the hands of the Mori'quessir marauders. "Drakon!" One voice wailed, as another shouted. "He is dead!" It was rare for the ancient Dragonkin to feel much remorse. Much less when he was not polymorphed into a human shape. The lives of normal people were simply far too short to elicit any sense of sympathy from Alistair on most occasions. Though he was reluctant to take the lives of others, Alistair believed that to lament death was a waste of time - some forces of nature were simply inescapable. But that did not change the lingering feeling of failure that he felt roll through his nerves like a plague beneath his leather skin and his stone heart. For a brief moment, he experienced a human feeling of shame. Not unlike the sensation he had experienced when he lost close friends of his to the trials in Tor Azdraeth. Wasted potential, he lamented. His greatsword Spite whispered to him, "Yet all the same: Inevitable." Alistair moved to help conduct the man's last rites and made a solemn vow to the An Gho, "I shall not let this happen again." How would his species survive if they could not even keep their Whelpings alive? If the man were to die, it should have been to hatch Drakon as a Nephilim. Not becoming some rancid corpse dragged to the surface for funeral rites. The warrior tightened his jaw and then beset his new task without question; but his thoughts lingered on the ally he had failed to save.

for my trans-masc friends, remember, i recommend hitting the gym, playing some basketball, frying some eggs, and then showering in the dark with a beer and lofi beats playing you'll walk out feeling powerful enough to transcend the gender spectrum altogether happy visibility day!

Grisha sat in his office chair with his scuffed black boots kicked up onto his desk. He pondered the fact that he had never caught the Inferi who had troubled the town of Illivira. Bondage, he considered in quiet contemplation. How many have led fleeting lives? Far from the light of Acaelan. Grounding their souls in the Nether. Each torch in his room flickered, the flames glowering at him with a fiery intensity, and intensifying his thoughts. Pity the fool who readily makes decadent peers, he decided. To consort with evil from time to time to maintain peace is no sin. But to readily engage with Iblees and cavort with his servants, now that is irredeemable. The Ferryman flipped a coin and then checked it on the top of his wrist. He saw the glowering bearded face of a Mareno soldier bearing a half-axe. Death, then.

To be clear, the tone of my post is not directed at people posting here, but more so at the people who behave in the way I am describing. I apologize for any confusion!