Fleeperpriest

The old priest continues to preach to the elderly Canonist slave-caste that never managed to escape their mental bondage: Do you want to be lied to every day of your life?

The Mandate of Heaven is lost.

Alas but that the reign of Virtue did not survive even two generations removed from their Vander sires, if that far. An Empire raised by the Church for defense of the Truth and to honor the innocent casts us back already to the time when it was conceived, when the Church were a slave, and men of power were a scourge unto the ancestors of this nation. Never in the wildest of nightmares could I have thought to see the Holy Nation of Man so long in the making turn upon God and on His Church. Never could I have thought the sons of Gaspard to be the men to betray us for Haense. It profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world . . but for Haense? May the Living God have mercy upon the makers of this golem. May God above forgive Mankind. May my fathers, Saints and Teachers forgive me. May God grant His Holiness the strength to persevere, and may the Truth preserve forever.

"YES, MY LORD." replied the FLEEPER, convinced it had saved the world.

"I always needed a horse..." spoke one of the three accused, and the new priestly caretaker of John Horse, the Horse of Fatha Ted, bequeathed unto him as HIGH PRIEST of a TEMPLE of the TRUE FAITH that poor Alaric no longer recognized. He was mourning. He caught himself repeatedly and with great conviction declaring such things as "The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church!", even knowing the dangerous spiritual affliction that addled the poor man, his Cardinal, a gentleman, a co-worker of many years. He could not bring himself to hold against the man his Carrionism, fore he were not really a Crow; he was of the tribe of Saint Rhosyn, and for that, for whatever reason, the Vander felt, knew not what what he was doing. He remembered still despite this the many Bligh-esque tirades and accusatory outbursts he would unleash upon the man for his heresy, but even then, he recalled, equally in the matter of Bligh, still thereafter shower him with praise and brotherly affection, as one could never hold much against Alaric for very long. Mourning was no impediment to the Priest's impeccable aptitude for cognitive dissonance, as the ridiculous suggestion that there would ever again even be a Patriarch of Jorenus were filtered through his mind on reading them, as though they never were. Some days, he wasn't sure if there was such a thing as Joren at all. Some days, he wondered if the Raevir had not made it up, to better pretend they were Vanders themselves, or Teutons, God forbid. Today he thought nothing, fore he had seen nothing. "Interfere with the candidacy of Father Drusco . .?" he had noticed very plainly. "Yet, Father Drusco has no candidacy. He is not an Elector, nor a Cardinal, nor even a priest of much note, certainly not one so outstanding as to be up for consideration for Pontifical succession despite lacking any qualifications. Alaric on the other hand, was all of these things..." "A kinslaying."

"..WHAT!?" grumbled the High Priest. "Madness. Madness and profanity! Sacrilege! And in the Holy place no less! There are no words! Look at how they massacred my boy..."

"May we at last, by the grace of Almighty God, make good now on what we had ought to have done the very moment we first claimed victory over the Enemy, and preserve what has been for so many years stifled by the malignant heresies of antiquity." wrote the Supreme Pontiff in one of a set of later publicly released personal letters to Rebbe Elim, among others.

APOSTOLIC LETTER OF THE SEE AT LEMON HILL PENNED BY THE SUPREME PONTIFF LEVITICUS I FOR THE DEFENSE OF THE TRADITION OF OWYN THE WORSHIP OF THE CREATOR IN TRUE FAITH FOREWORD I could not know how many times an attempt upon my life, upon the whole of our way of life, has been planned and carried out. As I write to you today therefore, it is for two grave reasons. Firstly, that you may hear my voice, and know that I am alive and of good health. Secondly, that you may learn of the grotesque gravity of the continued crime, unparalleled in the history of Mankind. A very small group of ambitious, unscrupulous, and at the same time unreasonable, criminally-unlearned “clergymen” have plotted a conspiracy to eliminate me and at the same time to eradicate alongside me practically the whole of the elector college of the Temple of the True Faith. The articles, which have circulated by the collaborative penmanship of several anti-civil Raevir elements under the suspected direction of one Ivan Spiveystrelt, show all the hallmarks of corrosively degenerate Carrionist conspiracy to insight schism, and it may not be ignored that they have endeavored to do so by the premature declaration of my death at the hands of Vörtibloodplague. The rumors, however, that I myself have contracted this disease are greatly exaggerated. I am completely unharmed, save for that I have endured over the course of my service to God and to His Holy Nation an unalarming accumulation of Imperial Fatigue. This is, according to the Surgeon General for the Physical Wellness of Apostolic Church, Cardinal Doctor Nerium S.T.D. Psy.D, by whom I have also been diagnosed, the very common and very natural consequence of the ceaseless pursuit of Order over the case of dozens, and in extreme cases, hundreds of years. He has determined in my own case it is the result of sudden and traumatic cessation of Total and Unending Hyperwar with Unimaginable Victory. Notable sufferers include Archlector Dante de Denelse whose body, following the completion of Third Mission, so shocked by the trauma of sudden peace, became wracked by sudden onset jaundice accompanied by potent spiritual psychosis; may God grant him Solace and eternal reward! It is simply a fact that great men of all stations are at high risk for Imperial Fatigue, from our Holy Imperator to the most devoted Imperial Knight. The Renewed Mission It is this revelation of the continued war against the Holy Truth, demonstrated by the vitriolic work of these heretics, that I find the confirmation of Heaven in the mission set unto me by Providence, to continue to pursue my life purpose, as I have done for so many years before. For I may solemnly confess it before the whole of the Holy Nation that from the day on which I took up the Cup of Saint Lucien, by the witness of the Aengel Raguel, I had but one single thought; one driving fervor; to fulfill my duty to the best of my knowledge and belief, and that, as I realized that HYPERWAR was inevitable, and action against the Raevir Conspiracy could no longer be postponed, that I have since lived for the flock, my people, in worry, in ceaseless work and worry, and in countless days of sleepless nights! In an age in which the Imperial armies stand a gallant watch throughout the world, enforcing a peace not seen since the days of Emperor Godfrey himself, triumphant in our hardwon struggle against the nations of Edel, there is now again, as in antiquity, a small group of conspiring heretics that believe they could stab the dagger of “Canonism” in our backs, like they had done in Aesterwald in former days. But this time, they have been very wrong. The claim of these usurpers that I was no longer alive is now refuted at this moment as I write to you, my Imperial compatriots. The circle represented by these regressive heretics is remarkably small. They have nothing to do with the True Faith, with the Church, and especially with the administration of the Empire. It is made up, as is being revealed, of a miniscule gang of Raevir-cult criminal elements, and those who have fallen victim to their ploy to deign any minuscule degree of authority or wisdom. I am therefore commanding at this moment: That no clerical authority may accept any command from a service which these usurpers claim. That no Imperial authority, no leader of a troop, no knight nor soldier is obligated to obey any order of these criminals. On the contrary, it is obliged that any who should come upon such an illegal order should see to the immediate arrest of the transmitter, or elsewise in the case of violent insistence of heresy reckon them immediately. SIMON OF KHAZAV The rhetoric espoused by this criminal element should be familiar to any learned scholar of the True Faith. It is the sweet song by which the Sages and the Prophets were put to the blade. It is the sudden thunderous discord by which Holy Aesterwald were washed away in blood. A sudden blitz of strange and confusing argumentation conjured suddenly and overwhelmingly into a bloody torrent of unhuman slop, pouring fourth from the greatest minds twisted Edel can muster. The Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the True Faith is intimately familiar with this conspiracy, which we now identify plainly as the Heresy of Khazav, originating from the pen-name of the heresiarch ‘Daniel the Reader’, for reasons to be elaborated on shortly. Before I am to engage in the arduous process of exposing the underlying anti-imperial, chaotic, regressive and heretical Khazavist view, I shall open with a prayer to beseech High Pontiff Regulus, who dwells now amongst the Skies along the angels, to pray for the unity of our faith, as he himself had worked in his life to bring unity of faith. O’ Regulus, Scion of the House Winter; Priest of your day, and past your days, Author of Dogma, Defender of Faith, Pray for us to the Lord our GOD! That just as you had rebuked Khazav, We may in our own troubled times Defend the True Faith and Church, Against those who would seek chaos. Not by the great effort of any man, But only by the good glory of the Lord, Who has granted us this priesthood, May then Preserve it throughout the ages. Amen. What is Khazavism? The Khazavite rot has long festered in the sacred halls of our Temple, and long has it reared its ugly head (and petulant Raev rear) towards all agents of Virtue: those of the Magisterium, of our Sanhedrin, of the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the True Faith. One may be tempted to associate it as Canonism, and it is by this banner that the Heresy shielded itself throughout history, but for the sake of perfect clarity a distinction shall be made. Canonism is the manner in which the Priesthood has operated for most of the time since Daniel the Reader’s institution of such teachings. It has not been without interruption or rebuke in all that time, for both Lucienists, Owynists, and otherwise sects of the True Faith came and went across the ages to try and push against this revisionism; some facing remarkable success and reconciliation, only to be swept under the rug the next generation. Canonism, as a broad category referring to every faithful man who understood his religion in such a lense, is not as a whole absolutely condemned, its priests not defrocked. It is the Heresy of Khazav which was the doctrinal and institutional poison placed upon the True Faith which is condemned. The same poison which had seen the Church confirmed into a diminished role of political mediator. The same poison which contends all bishoprics across the realms must dress the same, and dismisses any unique vocations. The same poison which utterly rejected its mission to proselytize to the other races. The same poision which promotes the Godwinite worship of ancestors as lesser gods, even if not by name, and promotes that the traditions of mortal, documentably flawed emperors are the first and foremost condition of the faith. This heresy came about during the time of Daniel the Reader, beginning under his penname as Simon of Khazav under which he aided one Basil of Sabris in condemning the legitimate pontiff Paul III of Darfey. This was done under the pretense that Paul III had engaged in egregious schemes against the laity, which shall not be rehashed when in its own day Regulus (as Pontifex Emeritus) rebuked the claims. The written goal of these schismatics was the establishment of the Emperor once again as Head of Faith, and to determine his own High Priest. It was by the very same methods we observe today that the Khazavist heresy mutated the Chivay Empire into a dark, perverted weapon against the Church of the True Faith, deposing High Pontiff Paul III of Darfey in favor not, of course, of the Raevir themselves, but of the Emperor of their feigned worshipful devotion. Ah, but being that all good priests of the Empire have been confined to arrest, or else put to death, it seems the ‘loyal’ Raevir must step forward to serve the Emperor in filling the ranks of this novel “Imperial Church”. The consequences? Divorced from the grace of God, and swarmed by the worshippers of Carrion, it was not long before the Chivay dynasty was nominally extinct, a Carrion sat upon the throne, seized from the inside. Thus the Ring of Saint Lucien gave way to the Throne of “Daniel the Reader”, and to no one’s surprise, our Simon-Khazav’s colors show, the facade of the revolutionary cleric dissolving, leaving the true visage of a newly-hatched Raevir patriarch, first High Pontiff of the “Canonist Church”, destroyer of past things, the nephew of Siegmund, his idol and false prophet made the final divine prophet to conclude the salvific plan of GOD. Khazav radically and unilaterally transformed the doctrine of the faith in regards to institution, reading of scriptures, and of providential history. This was the Khazavist Heresy, in which the word Canonist was first coined as a cover to the methods. A revisionist doctrine which seeks to place first its own order of the world, and as a ritual of humiliation demanded that any scholar who knew better denounce their own wisdom. There is, nor shall, God willing there ever be a race of Men more devoted to the Empire than the Vander Volk. In the wake of the shadow of this nightmare remained the Apostolic Konigreich of Aesterwald, that GOD alone could have arranged to be set apart from Carrion hegemony that the True to GOD may be preserved, and even in defeat it was from Aesterwald that those who refused to denounce their own Wisdom preserved a Flame, and carried truth across the ages. Khazav today- Edelites in the Empire It was the war between Aesterwald and Carrion Church which started the Schism War, the very same war reignited upon Aevos as the princes and powers realized the Temple was to be restored, and would not shy from embracing wisdom once more. The enemy is known, and has been known, but has been quelled. They were purged through saintly fire and powder in great numbers at the Siege of Koppany, and they were reduced to that which they are - Edelites. It is this very conspiracy –though they may have turned coat, though they may bow their heads to conceal the sneer on their face as they lick the victor’s boot– that has come to blossom grotesquely into a pandemonium of parrots reverberating dialect of ambitions off of each other, growing giddy and aroused at the thought of heresy, schism, treason, apostasy, and every crime a beast could hope to sin by. They have laid dormant, and silent, and unwilling to act; they have laid in the lower echelons of the clergy, not zealous or true enough to their faith to voice their concerns in any measure of the tradition they cling to. Recognition and Condemnation of Schism We condemn this conspiracy against the Third Temple and the Holy Imperium - the schism, heresy, and treason - in words simple and succinct: It is Schism, coveting the authority of the Supreme Pontiff, and of the High Priesthood, and an intentional provocation of division with a displayed disinterest to compromise amongst many interviewed ranks. It is Heresy, insofar as it is the fruit of the doctrine of excommunicants, designed to lead Mankind astray from the Truth in deliberate, knowingly obstinate falsehood. Worse yet, this falsehood is pursued not for sake of any theology of GOD, but an idolatrous desire to worship favored saints, and indignation of the recognition of the sins of man. It is Treason, desiring severance of the Holy Imperium from its sacred unity with the Temple, the destruction of the foundation of the Coronation, and testified attempts to sway vassals to involve themselves on one side or another. It is High Treason, setting man upon the all-to-familiar path of Imperial dissolution, or, worse, the usurpation of the royal privilege of the House of Horen, as the Khazavists have proven time and time again to seek. It is a Caeseropapist plot, soliciting the Holy Imperator himself to intercede by their temptuous invitation in the selection of a pontifical substitution, and the regressive redefinition of the law. A greater tragedy to Mankind could not by any sane mind be conjured than to conspire to blacken the soul of the Emperor of Mankind. The very man who, like his father Godfrey before him, and his father Horen before that, forged by the blade a covenant between Man and God through the Church. To entice the Emperor to raise his hand against the Church is to compel a man to take his own life. Should you think him such a fool as to condemn the hands by which his brow were anointed? Should you think him so lowly, that he would repeat the sin of Holy Johannesburg, and strike at the Lord’s anointed? This unforgivable sickness cannot be overstated. But is it very likely that this conspiracy would seek the corruption of our Anointed Emperor? Who could call themselves a son of Horen and all the while seek to undermine the Soul of Man? Were that we suspected Horen’s own sons were responsible, it would not be likely. But these criminals which we see now, they are not Men. Who, or what, then, are they? Who else but the sons of Edel, in the name of the Raevlord Sigismund? The very same blighted race that put our fathers to the sword, and set Iblees’ heel upon our neck for six hundred years? A RENEWSED SENSE OF DUTY FOR THE PERSERVATION OF ALL MANKIND [Link] An ancient Callahan, gaunt and drained of life, lurched up suddenly from his bed, sweating and feverish. Dreams again. Nightmares. He had seen these sights before. A bloody Harren, a bloody hall. A tattered dragon banner burning. He reached for a crown, his charge, his duty, the thing he could not lose– but it was gone. Guilt washed over him in his first frantic waking moments. The plague which he had so wished to deny had taken much from him. The man was old, sick and haunted. The fiends would visit in the night, the sick-green-men, bringing plague more and more with every invasion of his sleeping mind. He was ever a potent dreamer, and it was only a matter of time before they neutralized him, certainly a long time coming. Before today, dejection took him. Two thousand years, and he was there again, there again at last before that blinding Holy Fire! How, then, could he have failed? It was as bitter as the day a burning blade cut all things short. A glory unthinkable, a victory impossible, and a flash of indescribable beauty– and he fell. He dreams now of his father. A great golden ark basks a loving glow upon the home of a friend, reigning lonely from the dais of a livingroom, there where all the world forgot– save for the weeping man. The man was old, his face sut-worn, and the whole of him was bathed in fire-orange light. So tremendous was his love that one might know from the sight of his passion alone that he would travel to the depths of the abyss, if but that the golden seat deigned to sink first into the drink. There was weeping the author of the Virtue, the friend of God, calling out for aid. He made to take upon his shoulders the weight of glory, out of exile, out of here, which did not suit it. What is this tent, this hovel, no throne-room, no place for a King. But Horen’s son did not come aid him. He dreamt of a banner, streaking proudly through the heavens, callout it unto its people for victory. He recalled the certainty by which he would chase it by the day, how he saw it in the sky, how he caught glimpses of its glory as he made about his quest. Golden threads, when he were lost, gave clues to its direction. These dreams are bitter now, since he had failed. The Banner of Rivia ran a bloody red, standing a grim witness over the ruins of a dead city, drenched in the price that its people had paid. His hands would never know it, and he could not go forth to give it honor– fore it came not to those who wished it theirs, but knew only the blood of its people– and it did not know him, fore he bled no more a heroes blood. He dreamt of old faces. At his height he saw them well, with each day, and every victory, he knew them more. Arm arm, they cried! Arm arm, they cried! Arm arm, Arn Arn! Arn, Arn, they cried! The chorus growing ever louder with his march, he went forth the vengeful of nations, a great burning in his wake rising up a flame of fire; climbing, dancing, regal, royal, meteing judgment where they went! But here has come a Prince in Black, called out foemen from their path– see what cruelty is there with him, sut and ash, and all things burning, marching in the shadow of the exiles, see them dancing on the walls! Hear them singing out with vengeance, not so, not so, this blinding light, but here has come the Pyre’s Knight! Burning, burning– fever! A small noise at the door. “Esther!?” “Avartagh, your Holiness. I come from the diet.” Perhaps, then, his war was not yet over– perhaps his war was not yet lost. Perhaps old ghosts, a hundred years evading him, had finally taken flesh to wage one final battle. Perhaps they waited for their time, for him to be weak, for the final sunset hours of his long watch. “I am reminded of the Schism in Aesterwald,” quoted the hobbit, thus the Vander saw the signs of hope. SNAP! And he awoke, a cane flew to the floor. Even if it took the last of him. CLOSING REMARKS In order to definitively restore order, I have appointed Father Avartagh to the station of Inquisitor and regent in the absence of my presence in the Holy Office. He is ordered to take up a seat in the Holy Office of the Doctrine of the True Faith to replace the Lectordroid Cardinal General Enrique, who is currently missing pending peace time protocol update maintenance. Nothing changes in all other authorities of the Empire. I am convinced that, with the defeat of this small clique of traitors and heretics, we finally will create an atmosphere in the core of our Empire that the heroes of our triumph deserve. It is impossible that so many countless number of brave men gave their best for our Faith and for our Empire only to find at home and in the background a lousy group of ambitious, miserable Raevir bureaucrats labor ceaselessly to suffocate their sacred mission. This time they will be called to account in the way that we Lucienists are used to. I am convinced that every respectable officer, every gallant soldier true to GOD will understand this order. What terrible nightmare could have befallen the Church if this ploy had been carried out successfully, perhaps only a few can imagine. I myself do not thank Providence and my Creator for having preserved me that I should still live - fore my life’s duty is consecrated wholly to the concern and worry for His people. But if I thank Him, for that He has given me the opportunity to continue to bear this concern, to continue with my life’s work, the service of His Flame. Every Imperial, no matter who he may be, has a duty to ruthlessly oppose these elements. They are to be arrested immediately, and, should they elect still to resist, be slain with no further ado. Thus is the order of the Supreme Pontiff of the Church of the True Faith. They will be prosecuted immediately, according to the devotion that only true Lucienists know. For me it is a special pleasure to greet you once again with joy, my old comrades-in-arms, with the knowledge that I am again granted the privilege of escaping a fate that did not hold terrible things for me, but that would have brought horror to the Empire and to our Church. I see it also as a hint from Providence that I must continue my work, and therefore, I shall continue it! D E V S ✠ M A G N V S

the wizard (shallow creature) is not capable of effectuating change within the world so he must lobby the lawmakers in the voidal dimension Can you make this a roleplay post ?

If but that we could repay every ounce of victim's blood. I pray the justice we had dispensed upon the Novellen Kingdom be some satisfaction to the Law, as was our ever-conscious intent when we resolved the fate that should befall their successor nation at the hands of Captain-General Tiberius, for this crime, and for this savage secular people's brutality against our now Imperator's kin. Thus was written the personal commendation of the Supreme Pontiff of the Church

Harren grinned the fierce grin of all men singed and driven back by flame. He knew that when he returned to the firehouse, he might wink at himself, a minstrel man, burnt- corked, in the mirror. Later, going to sleep, he would feel the fiery smile still gripped by his face muscles, in the dark. It never went away, that. smile, it never ever went away, as long as he remembered.

MANY HAVE HEARD THE TALE OF SAINT KING CAIUS, THE LORD OF LAUGHTER THEY MADE TO TAKE HIS JOY AND LOCK IT UP ; TO THROW AWAY THE KEY CAST BY DREAD-KNIGHT LOCK-LORD DOWN THE PIT BROKEN-BODIED, HOLLOW, WITH EYES THAT BEHELD A FIRE OF INNER-VISION . . . BEHIND COMATOSE, HE HAS MUCH TIME FOR VISIONS, HE STUDIES THEM, FROM MORNING TO NIGHT, AND ALL HE SEES OPPRESSES HIM. FILLS HIM WITH AN INDIGNATION AT MAN'S MIRTHLESS WAYS, HE BROODS, AND BROODS, AND FINALLY FROM SO MUCH BROODING, HIS SPIRIT TRIUMPHS. HE LAYS DOWN THE MELANCHOLIC BURDEN . . . In the wake of the GREAT VICTORY, there was a BITTER MURMURING souring Lemonhill, dispensing throughout the land by their lament a quiet restlessness. Towers from nothing had sprouted forth, proclaiming the victory of Man over the Dark Demense, but still the simple peoples of the Lemon were downcast. Had they forsaken, in their conflict, the virtue of their devotion? Were they, for all their efforts, and all that radiant dream, only now the slaves of the Second Scar? But though they could not bear to utter such thoughts, they slouched in the shadow of a grim Citadel. Maddening, this taste! Sour was the sweet beloved Truth, not this, the bitterness of dirt, of worldly, not Heavenly, victory. A victory of the world. A spirit agonized. It were not so, not for this wall, not for all that they had toiled-- Santa Lorina, Holy Helvetz, Blessed Lectors-- Holy Fire, Loving Flame, forbid it, no! Upon Mount Lemon dimly burned a smokeless flame, hopeful seated on a golden throne, a Holy King not quite yet reigning. Mercifully distant, that they be not judged, but brooked until their time. Mercifully close, for love and keeping, SOLACE of the Exiles. And rising high above that land, a white smoke bellowed. And from the smoke had come a SPEAR, And from the SPEAR had come a MAN, And neath that MAN were now a HORSE, And before that HORSE were close, A WALL! CLOSER, CLOSER STILL, UNDAUNTED, Sallying forth unto the world, the One True King saluting, Crying out, "Hear me now, thou bleak and unbearable world," "Thou art base and debauched as can be!" "And the Pyre's Knight, his Banner all bravely unfurled," "Shall hurl down his gauntlet to thee!" Then, he exploded, flying thence from out those Temple gates, that whole form with wall colliding. Naught remained but smoke and cloud, Gone were the pompous screamer, As though he were but only SPIRIT! And from that cloud was a RUMBLING, And from that rumbling was a CRUMBLING, And from that CRUMBLING went skyward rising, WHITE SMOKE from LEMONHILL, RICH now with potent asbestos. So exposed before the King again were, unscarred, a vast demesne. That is to say, it was a nice view.

A memory-holed Priest of the True Flame, infatuated by the beautiful, reverent and worshipful language due unto the Deity quickly soaked up the Flamenist liturgy with eager eyes-- leaping from Truth to Truth in what was less reading and more an ever-observant quest in search of the Flame. All the more unfortunate his curse, then, in being so called, that the sight of the usurpative DRAGONSFYRE cast upon him an immediate and unshakable pall. The thought of a "stifled flame" surpassed by the breath of an alien invoked a potent annoyance. He spent the remainder of his day cursing brick masons, his face painted chud, frowning perpetually.

THAT IS CRAZY MY FRIEND SIGMAR JOREN BARUCH THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO NOBODY ELSE NEVER. ACTUALLY WAIT WTF. WAIT WTF. DID THIS HAPPEN TO SOMEBODY ELSE? MAYBE THEY R OUT TO GET US ALL. MAYBE THE REAL OPPS WERE THE ADMODS THE WHOLE TIME! THIS WOULD NEVER HAPPEN UNDER ENLIGHTENED HAENSEMODS. SOMEBODY NEEDS TO STOP THIS TIM AND JERRY CAT SMOKING GUY. - SIGNED YOUR RIVAL NL (BANNED LIKE U BY KGB ADMIN ABUSE RAEVIR TEAM (NOW CIA ADMIN REDEEMERSQUAD ADUNIARASTA RHUNCULT REDSTONE-DIVISON AFTER SILENT CHURCH-DWARF METAALLIANCE REGIME CHANGE)) P.S. EVERYONE WHO IS NOT ON MY TEAM IS ABUSE-CONSPIRACIST GOOD THING I WON THE CONSPIRACY AND DONT GET BANNED. AHAHA YOU LOOSE! ADMINS PLEASE OPEN A POLL TO SHOW HOW MANY ARE VICTIM OF POLITICIZED ADMIN ABUSE THE NUBMERS WILL SHOCK YOU (YOU WILL RESIGN, PK, QUIT SERVER ECT)

...

, from somewhere in the depths of someplace, stirred from his coma with a genius thought. and in a flash he understood, so with this clarity set out to express an ATROPHEID CONSCIOUSNESS... HE made articulate theory, and endured a brainblasting, as theory transcended into supertheory into... but then he forgot. Goes back to sleep . . . but he knew the BREENI before him had been here. one does not truly sleep in the BREENISCAPE

DEUS MAGNUS, DOMINUS OMNIUM TEMPORUM TEMPLUM EIUS IN AETERNUM PERMANEBIT High Priest of the True Faith, Successor of Clement and Evaristus, High Pontiff of the Church of the Canon, High Pontiff of the Church of True Faith, Keeper of the Canon, Missionary to Aeldin, High Servant to the Exalted’s Testaments, Humble Servant of the Faithful and Vicar of GOD does decree… It came that one of Horen’s people, a man called Saul, had ignored the warning of Julia and left the camp. He wandered into the iniquity which Iblees wrought and coveted the gold and sweet food, and he spoke at length with the Denier. Iblees was cunning and guised Saul with the appearance of Horen, and sent him into the camp of his folk with a message. Saul went among the people of Horen in his guise, and he began to work Iblees’ iniquity. And Julia, having cast out Iblees, had retired to her tabernacle where she cared for her three sons and awaited the end of her husband’s fast. Thus Saul worked Iblees’ iniquity in Horen’s camp, and it came that a great many there were corrupted. From Saint Godfrey’s Book of Horen, verses 28 to 33. THE TEMPLE IS UNDER SIEGE From the West rides a warband host governed by the spirit of Saul. The Vinovian Company has been organized for the rejection of the Church, the rejection of Spirit. They call themselves reformers, but have no reform; they call themselves liberators, but are themselves enslaved to violence. By the very words of the leader, their hatred is against Lucien, against Clement and Evaristus, against Owyn; that no spirited principle should guide Man, no flame alight the sword. Their mission is plainly spoken before rulers and published before the world; to usurp the Holy See by blood and iron to install a puppet pontificate. The Vinovian Company began its war by proclaiming itself as defenders of the weak, starting with the false pretense of the defense of the Vale of Nevaehlen after the Nevaehli Tribe had already met with the High Priest to resolve grievances[1]. These brigands moved quickly, securing an alliance with Krugistan[2] to help in warfare against Hyspia, and thereafter signing with Haense to trade with and sponsor their military training[3]. Almost immediately afterwards, the warband launched a surprise attack upon the Holy See with the goal of destroying the seat established by Owyn, confirmed throughout the ages by every good king of man and Apostolic Succession. But the Temple is not without a shield, and the many scattered Tribes of Horen were contacted. The full schemes of the Vinovians were put on display, and those who had dealt with them were admonished and questioned. All the Tribes of Horen were invited to join in rejection against the schemes of the Vinovians and their conspirators, and all had signed willingly such… Therefore the Holy See calls upon all faithful princes of Horen’s scattered tribes to commit to the opposition of the wicked warbands and defense of the holy temples, and to sign onto the following commitments; I. To abide by the interdict and excommunications, we call for the dissolution of any pacts with the Vinovians or Banjo Ferry-Wouldbe; never to raise swords with them. II. In rebuke of schemes to subvert the Temple, we call for all leaders of the faithful to commit to the defense of the Holy See and affirm the successor of Clement and Evaristus. III. In opposition to their mongering, any information on the Vinovian mercenaries to be turned over to the Seneschal of the Temple for immediate military coordinations. THE ANATHEMA WARBAND For these schemes all who have held direct roles are observed to have directly condemned themselves by their hatred for GOD’s temple as EXCOMMUNICATED and are considered ANATHEMA to the true faithful. Specifically we name Captain Vargys of Vinovia who has sent letters and spoken his intentions before a dozen witnesses, as well as Banjo Ferry-Wouldbe who had openly declared his hostility against the Holy See. By the authority of the office of the High Priesthood, INTERDICT is placed upon the roaming warband of Vinovia; denied the sacraments and graces of the Flame ‘till they repent and denounce the false cause they have sworn their swords to. There can be no grace in the Vinovian Company which makes its purpose war against the holy; depart from it, denounce it, and return to the company of the holy tribes which seek your redemption. Lastly, a grave warning is issued; do not kid yourself and pull fleece over your eyes. The Enemy has made a move, and there is more to this scheme than any just man has learned. I ADMONISH those who know more but do not act, and warn such conspirators that they draw close to a state of excommunication should it be that they have withheld their part for sake of vanity, and they shall be rebuked before all the nations as others before them have been rebuked were such a lie made clear before the world. GOD is most merciful, and He cherishes every wicked man who repents before the hour has struck. REPENT, and know the hope of the Seven Skies again.

But you may fail of your fair hopes, If fates propitious be; And yield your loathed lives in ropes To vengeance and to me. When as the Swedes and Irish join, The Cumbrian and the Scot Do with the Danes and French combine, Then look unto your lot.