GrenadierGaming

The dwarf read over this missive, his red eyebrow arched at the mention of Rah'tuma, "Heiress of Rah'tuma, huh?" He put the paper down, "Oh sweet Panya, the Pharaoh is goin' ta' be pissed."

[!] A Missive would be posted to the public notice board in Valdev, as well as delivered to the Royal Duma and the King and Queen of Haense via Lector-Skull. [!] Tech-Lector's Response on the Edict of Cleansing Drafted on the 16th day of Msitza ag Dargund of 524 E.S. By Rakhnar Uristson, Forgemaster and Armsman of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, Ordinance Officer of the Sacred Guard of Owyn, Lector-Alchemist "Take hold of this blade, a symbol of holiness, and by it you shall cleanse mankind of sin." Dark has grown these days. The light shines dimly and the shadows grow long, their tendrils entangled in deep places where one cannot see. These are trying times for good and holy folk everywhere. In the lands I call home, here in the Dual Kingdom of Haenseti-Ruska, folk know this struggle greater than most. The Great War against the Veletzers. The dreadful raids of the Harrower and Necromancers, the infiltration of our society by Inferai, the Kidnapping of Royals at the hands of Orcs, and the Murder of the Venerated Queen Amaya. All just to name a few. I am an honored citizen of Valdev and this Kingdom. I have fought and bled in her wars as a soldier in the Brotherhood, slayed many foes to protect her people and her lands, labored in the fields to provide ration for her armies, toiled in the armories to forge her weapons of war. I’ve served her community in Valdev’s taverns during my early days here, assisted in public construction projects, and have done my civic duty in paying taxes and giving alms to the poor and needy. Never once asking for payment or reward in return. But, I am also a Canonist, a servant of God, and a proud member of The Lectorate of Exalted Owyn and the Sacred Guard, a Holy Order which has not only now been cast away and reduced to a ‘cult’ in the eyes of the Koeng and the Duma, but has even been outlawed and banished in accordance with the Edict of Cleansing as issued by the Crown of the Dual Kingdom. In these days where the enemies of Horren’s Folk and the Lord God are abundant and plentiful, it baffles me that we would turn upon our own. Within the Edict, the Lectorate of Owyn have been accused of many things, spoken of as borderline crimes against not only the Kingdom but to God himself, many of which are simply blatant falsehoods and accusations, while others are the results of simple misunderstandings. I aim to address these accusations directly. Firstly, we have been spoken of using magicks, as if we are some accursed void sorcerers or demon-worshippers. The Lectorate has always made use of simple and advanced alchemy throughout its history, and we are no different. The practice of Alchemy and the use of Animii constructs are, while practiced by few in the Dual-Kingdom, not illegal or unsanctified by the Church of Canon. So I cannot fathom why its use in this particular case would be spoken of in a bad light. Secondly, we are accused of disgracing and defiling the dead, as if we are blood mages or necromancers. I can understand this misconception, specifically in our use of Lector-Skulls. Simply put, these skulls are in no way, shape, or form made of organic material, dead or otherwise. They are forged of iron, and made to match the likeness of fallen Lectors and Warriors who had a wish in life to continue their service beyond the Seven Skies, even if it is purely symbolic. Moreover, I would say that the Order’s use of the skull as a common icon upon our tapestries and arms and armor are highly symbolic, bringing forth a personification of the constant struggle and sacrifice of the men and women who fight and die to preserve light and holiness, as well as being a very literal anatomical representation of Mankind, as no other descent race has a skull exactly in the shape of that of a Man. Lastly, we are spoken of polluting the rivers and air around the city. This we understand to be a valid reason for concern. Our Manufactorim, or simply Factory, does produce smoke from coal fuel, as well as slag waste from the production of steel, both of which are dispensed in the most efficient manner possible through stacks and river-dumping. However, it is worth saying that before plans for construction were even blueprinted, the Order had worked closely with His Majesty King Aleksandr, God rest his soul, as well as the Stewarts of Valdev and the Office of the Royal Treasury to ensure that the sight for construction was distant enough so that the waste products would not affect the populace and fauna of the lands surrounding Valvev and Waltonburg, and that construction would be done with as little environmental effect as possible. It is also worth noting that the method of disposing of the slag was temporary until we could construct and install a sophisticated slag removal system, which would recycle the slag for different uses. The Order has ensured that the construction of the factory was done with the complete consent of the Crown and the Duma, was built within the defined guidelines and requirements laid out for us by the Crown and its Offices, only for it to now be scheduled for demolition after months of labor without so much as a word spoken to the Lectorate. Now, with the written issued laid out and addressed, I would write here a list of the Blessed Labors and Virtues the Order and it’s Guard have brought during our service in Valdev and the Dual-Kingdom. - Aiding on many occasions the Brotherhood of Saint Karl in joint-operations. Fighting and dying alongside our fellow brothers and sisters in arms. - Including the assaults made on the Harrower’s forces, the siege of the Shadow Raiders encampment, the efforts made to reclaim Castle Morteskvan, as well as numerous skirmishes with the Harrower’s forces. - Provided a rapid-response defense force for Waltonburg and it’s people in the absence of the Brotherhood. - The destruction of necromantic forces scouring the graveyards of Waltonburg. - The destruction of an Azdrazi raiding party on Waltonburg, which resulted in the An-Gho routing his forces. - The repelling and defeat of numerous Ferryman and Orc raiding parties during the Great Coalition War. - The destruction of a demonic knight whose aim was to maim a young Chris Weiss and other children. - The production of arms and armor for the Brotherhood of Saint Karl during the Great Coalition War. - The production of cannon and powder for the Brotherhood of Saint Karl during the Great Coalition War. - The production of medical supplies and alchemical medicine for the Clinic of Valdev and the Brotherhood of Saint Karl. - Providing advanced medical care to the sick and wounded, as well as giving Animii limb replacements to those who need it free of charge, in the name of charity. - Providing training in the arts of metalworking, alchemy, and medicine free of charge to the citizens of Valdev and the Dual-Kingdom. - Providing clergy services to the good people of Canon, including officiating weddings, baptisms, and performing funeral rites. - Providing care and upkeep to holy grounds around the Chapel in Waltonburg at no expense of the Kingdom or the Church. - Aiding in construction of various infrastructure, including roads, bridges, and fortifications. These are just to name the major actions and projects we have conducted during our time in the Dual-Kingdom. In conclusion to all this, I can only ask one thing: why? Why has the Crown and the Duma suddenly turned upon us, when we have done nothing but good for the Kingdom and her people? The Lectorate cannot understand such a sudden, radical shift in attitude and doctrine. We would implore the Koeng and the Duma to reconsider their decisions made in the Edict. We are open to negotiate and speak with the Crown and the Duma should there be room for negotiations. We are all people of God, and aim to serve him righteously and with unwavering faith; so in these trying times we should not seek to cast down our brothers, but lift them up. The Lectorate shall await the response to this missive. God bless you all.

"Heketa Dorabek!" Rakhnar cried as he watched a foul Isfetian agent be tossed into the crocodile pits.

"All foul and dark things shall learn to fear the Purging Waters! HEKETA HESTHOR! HEKETA KA'TAU!" The dwed shouted behind his golden Te'tu mask, pumping his spear high in the air in salute to the Gods.

Rakhnar had been charging up the slopes toward the foul Vicar and his ritual when he was nearly knocked to his feet at the great explosion and crackling of energy. His glowing cyan eye, crackling with Hesthor's magic, widened in shock and awe. "Ah, cripe."

Rakhnar knelt in prayer, and began beating the ever-loving shit out of a figurine carved to the look of a necromancer.

Rakhnar visited Nor-Velyth often, be it to send letters or to scout for wares. Though the stalls were often stocked and the plants watered, he could only ever wonder if perhaps these things were carried out by ghosts.

Rakhnar looked upon the series of missives put out by the nobles of Haense, and grunted. "Leave it ta' Canonist Lords and Ladies ta' only start caring about tha' threat of the Dark Ones after they're upon the doorstep of their manors and keeps. As if tha' common folk and the poor militia-man haven't been sufferin' at the hands of Inferai and Necros for longer than they'd care ta' know." He shook his head and turned the corner of the alley in Valdev, "Not that I could expect a Weiss ta' care about that." He grumbled to himself.

We making it out of the Lumbridge with these

The dawn was a brilliant fiery red. The open sky streaked with the rays of the rising sun over the distant horizon. Clouds vacated their place high above and floated to unknown lands. The dunes of the desert rolled for as far as the eye could see, like waves upon a vast ocean. It was a sight Rakhnar took in as he crested the hill of a dune. The wind blew faintly, kicking up small swirls of sand from the slopes. Not a bird or insect in sight or ear, nor even a rock to break up the monotony of the landscape. The dwarf’s shoulder sagged low as he held onto his walking stick. He’s long lost count of the dunes he’d crested. He’d even lost count of the days he’d been wandering the deserts. Had it been weeks? Months? Years? His brilliant red beard, now nearly brown and gritty with sand, told him only one thing: it had been a long time. ‘You’re mind isn’t right.’ Rakhnar had been told, ‘Wisdom and Peace are to be found in the desert.’ The desert was a holy place, the favored land of the Gods, and the rightful home of the Rah’mun. It was here Ka’tau dwelled, and it was wisdom and peace Rakhnar sought more than anything. But now, he was hopeless. Foolishly wandering from the lands he knew into the scorching seas, he’d long ago lost his way back to civilization. His waterskin was dry, and his bread had gone bad. So, he drifted. Cresting dune after empty dune in some vain attempt to find a road, or even just a cacti to quench his thirst. So, it was now as he watched Ra’s sun rise that he slumped down. His cracked lips trembled in thirst, and he cried out with a parched, scratchy breath, “Ka’tau, hear me!” He cried, “I’ve been a fool! In search of yer’ wisdom, I’ve found only my death! Save my wretched soul!” Rakhnar was answered only with the faint howl of wind, and cupping his face with his hands he wept. But, his sand infested hair whipped suddenly, his loose toga fluttering behind him, and he looked up from wet hands. What was at first a sudden gust of hot air, suddenly burst forth a whirlwind. Sand clouded his vision, and the scorching winds burned his lungs to breath. Rakhnar raised his hands in an effort to shield his face, and the sands cut his bare flesh as the light of the sun became clouded over by this sandstorm. “Dare not cower before me, Priest.” A voice boomed, carried in the roaring winds. “Stand, or my storm shall consume you.” Rakhnar instinctively opened his eyes, for he had not heard a voice in far too long. The sands parted, as if he now stood in the eye of the storm, and his jaw dropped at the sight before him: it was a tall man, with the head of a magnificent lion. A golden toga was wrapped about him, with assortments of jewelry hanging from his form. In his hand he held a long spear, most of his form clouded by the sands. Rakhnar weakly got to his feet, hunger and thirst weighing him down, his stick barely holding him up, “W-who are you?” The figure grunted, his fine mane fluttering in the winds, “I am disappointed to hear a Priest of Te’uth to not know my name. But, I expected no less.” He paused, “I am Shab, Tempest of the Deserts, Lord of the Scorched and Chilling Sands, The Bringer of Sandstorms, The Fire of Ra, The Settler of Debts, The Bringer of Vengeance.” Shab announced, tapping his spear into the sand. “The desert is still cold from the night, but shall soon be hot in the day. I am this transition made manifest.” Rakhnar didn’t know what to say. He’d read the Books of the Gods many times, and never heard of this god before, “What do you want?” He croaked out from a scorched throat. “The People of Ka’tau have suffered much at many hands. Orcs, Dragons, Demons, Angel-Worshippers, and Liches.” Shab boomed, “So many wrongs have yet to be made right. So many misdeeds have gone unpunished. Countless beings of Isfet that assault the Chosen of the Sands from dawn until dusk. It is unacceptable.” Shab didn’t move, or at least he didn’t physically, but he appeared closer now to the dwarf, “The desert burns with anger at these slights. It has been watered with the blood of Rah’mun, and it seeks vengeance for this wretched act.” He pointed his spear at the dwed, “You shall see its cry answered.” Rakhnar recoiled at the command. The dwarf had fought many battles, had taken much life, and as such was no stranger to violence. But, he felt himself level-headed, he always sought a peaceful solution first, and never instigated violence if he could help it. Perhaps sensing his uncertainty, Shab growled, “You have witnessed first-hand the pain and terror the enemies of Ka’tau have wrought upon your brothers and sisters. Yet, you hesitate to accept my decree? You know what must be done. When the words of Te’uth and Hesthor fail, the action of the Protectors must be done.” He tapped his spear again. “The quill is only as mighty as the sword.” Rakhnar muttered with a nod. The words of a man meant nothing, if he wasn’t willing to fight for it. “I shall right the wrongs done upon us. I shall avenge every slight, every drop of blood...” He felt the words spill forth. As if a wrathful corner of his soul, long buried, had suddenly been unbarred and allowed free reign. Shab nodded, “Then accept my boon, and walk this world as my warrior priest.” He raised his spear high, “I shall guide you through my dunes, and save you from a pitiful death here. So that your khopesh may rain the blood of our enemies.” There was a violent crash of air upon the dwarf. It felt beyond hot, as if he’d just been sprayed with molten iron. Then, not a second later, he was chilled to the bone, as if his very soul was iced over. Rakhnar’s eyes clinched, his teeth chattered, and his hands reached out for relief. “You shall command my tempests. Your words shall burn the souls of the unjust, and chill them to their core. From your tongue shall whirlwinds howl and sandstorms cloud out the skies. They shall all know my name.” Then, it was all over. The feeling of scorching fire and chilling lashes upon him ceased. The sand settled, the skies became clear, and the winds slowly calmed. “Vengeance takes their damned souls.” Shab echoed upon the distant winds. Rakhnar opened his eyes, and gazed about. He felt something…strange within him. A fire. A purpose. Newfound. He stood up, his hunger and thirst forgotten, and breathed in the hot air of the desert, now a comfort as he watched the sun rise once more. “So it shall.” Rakhnar nodded. He took notice of a distant cloud of sand, a twister that ran across the dunes, and something within his soul urged him to head there. “The quill is only as mighty as the sword.” He repeated, taking his way down the slope of the dune. There had been wisdom to be found after all. [Spirit Pact with Shab, lesser of Urin, 2/3]

The Grand Archivist, Keeper of the Greatest Wisdom, The First Magician Silence filled the library. Candlelight flickered, casting shadows upon the bookshelves and pillars. The tables were littered with scrolls and tomes, quills and inkwells, and parchments ready to receive fresh text. But, all this was deemed appropriate, for Te’uth, Lord of Knowledge, valued such things. It was here, in his great library, that Rakhnar prayed. Down on his knees, his arms wrapped around him, head bowed low, the dwarf muttered words of praise. He knelt at the foot of a grand statue, carved of blackstone and adorned with ornaments of silver and gold, encrusted with opals. The circle of candles which Rakhnar prayed within made his robe and auburn hair nearly glow in their light, its warm hues lighting the dark face of the statue. “Lord Te’uth, Knower of All Things, Keeper of the Greatest Wisdom. I give ye’ praise fer’ your works, told and untold.” He lowered himself, his nose nearly touching the ground, before rising again, head low still, “It is your will that fuels me, drives me to a path of knowledge an’ understanding.” Again, he lowered himself, “Praise be! Praise!” His words were muffled by the ground and his beard. But, when he rose, a voice called back to him, distant and almost shrill, “Rakhnar, Son of Urguan, now Son of Ka'tau, rise.” It was a voice the dwarf recognized well, and his eyes widened as his ears were touched by his words. Rakhnar looked up, and the statue glowed a vibrant sheen of golden yellow, “You have done well in my name.” The jade eyes upon its visage flickering with every word spoken by the God. Rakhnar was quick to bow deeply again, “I have only done my duty, oh Lord of Wisdom.” He said humbly. “You’ve built for me a grand library. One you have filled with great pieces of knowledge. You have spread my wisdom to those who would hear it, and have built for me the foundations of a temple and loyal priesthood.” The voice stated with little emotion, “You have served me well, for this, you shall be rewarded.” The sheen of gold surrounding the statue shot out like a tendril and latched onto the dwarf’s forehead. Rakhnar felt his head recoil as his mind was pierced by Te’uth’s power. He wanted to cry out in shock, but simply couldn’t, his jaw locked. “You shall wield my influence. You shall wipe clean the minds of my enemies. You shall separate the lies of Ibless from my Pure Truth. You shall empty the minds of those who would oppose Ka’tau.” The voice boomed in a screeching pitch. Rakhnar could only nod as his mind was filled with the knowledge of Heka and the powers of the Great Keeper. His eyes widened, unblinking, “Yes, Lord Te’uth.” Was all he could muster. “As my Nehemtempi Netjer, my High Priest, I shall grant you one more boon.” The voice seemed closer, as if the God was leaning in, “A Volume of my Great Book.” Te’uth paused, “One of Thousands, but this one will be vital to your service. Its location I have long kept secret until a Netjer worthy of its power showed themselves. Find it. And with it, wipe clean this world of Isfet.” With that, the gold light faded, and Rakhnar gasped for breath as the room fell silent and cold once again. He held his head with one hand, and blinked. The knowledge Te’uth granted was all there, as if he’d known it his whole life. His emerald eyes gazed back up to the statue, and he nodded with a bow. “Thy will be done.” [Spirit Pact with Te'uth, lesser of Theruz, 1/3]

In the City-State of Rah'tuma, Rakhnar prepared himself and the Machimoi to begin the search for their dark ex-comrade. "He shall be put ta' rest, and Ka'tau shall judge him for his deeds in life and undeath." He affirmed as he sharpened a spear upon the whetstone.

Rakhnar jerked awake in the night as the dream ended. He gazed around his empty room in Valdev. "How?" He'd wonder aloud, wiping a cold sweat from his brow. He'd long ago given up his faith in Canon, not that he'd ever had the right to believe in the man-god in the first place. But now one of the angels inflicts his mind with visions? "I must return ta' Rah'tuma, and consult The Ka'tau." He nodded, and in the dead of night he gathered his things and rode to the Realm of the True Gods. At least Raguel had killed a Lich, an action even the 'heretical' Ka'tau could smile upon.

Rakhnar, sensing the sheer about of uninterest in the missive in Krugmar, spreads them even more. They appear on every hut, upon the bridge leading to the gate, on the signposts directing travelers through the desert, and even in the city-state of Sulianpoli. With any luck, a few orcs might even die of boredom trying to read them.

Rakhnar spotted the shrine in the dusk of the desert as he searched for dry herb, the rays of Ra's sun streaking across the darkening sky as it set. He reared his horse, and dismounted, the sands crunching as he walked. "A glorious sight." He nodded, "Ra'tuhmet's light smile upon us, and cast away the shadows." The dwarf then got down to his knees, wrapped his arms about his waist and bowed his head. He prayed until the sun was gone beyond the horizon.

Rakhnar prepared the purity salts and ensured the aurum blades were honed upon the grindstone. "Ra bless us all, his works bring forth the light." He muttered as his reflection bounced from the blade in hand.

Rakhnar grunts as he reads the missive, "Fer' someone who despised the Church not so long ago, ye' sure have no problems with it when it serves your nefarious goals, old friend." He shook his head, "No longer shall I take in words spoken from forked tongues, and neither should anyone else." He ripped the missive from the wall and stamped it into the ground. Replacing it, instead, with the missive of the Rah'mun and the message to the Lighteners. Doing so wherever he could.

A hooded figure wandered the streets of Valdev in the dark of night. His head kept on a swivel as he opened his coat and pulled out the rolled up missive where dozens of others were kept. Plastering it with some adhesive he began sticking them upon the walls of the city's homes, shops, the tavern, and the notice board for all to see. "A lone star in the night burns the brightest. We shall be hope." Rakhnar thought to himself, looking upon his hasty work, and he hurryingly was off to lands beyond Haense to do much the same elsewhere.

Rakhnar gazes upon the dozens of missives plastered upon the walls of every alley-way, tavern, and notice board. One was even placed upon the anvil of his forge in Valdev. "A bit excessive, my friend. But the truth must be heard." He'd mutter, taking the missive and pinning it upon the door to the forge. "Now ta' forge weapons of righteousness." He cracked his knuckles, and reddened the iron.

Rakhnar fired up his forge and dusted off his anvil, ready to begin forging great arms and weapons for the new recruits. Khopesh, Mace, Spear and Shield would all fill the armory, honed in the fires of Purity, ready to taste the blood of Darkspawn and Isfetian Ilk.

Nursing the sunburns from his many months in the deserts of Krug, the dwed reads over the missive with stoic, tired eyes. "So the Church finally begins to see, eh?" He grunted, and if he had any other words to speak, he spoke not. He shrugged the pack on his back, and continued down the road to home. "Ra's light guide those poor fools." He muttered.

The dwed dusted the gunpowder soot from his tabard. It had been many hours of hauling cannonballs and rolling powder barrels. But, in the end, it had been worth it. One more battle fought, one more day closer to peace...

Rakhnar took the bundle of scrolls given to him by Pharaoh, and with a bow took off upon his steed. Invitations they were, hand written in silver ink and closed with golden thread, to be given to any person who wished to have one; be they Lord or lowly laborer. The Pharaoh truly welcomed all of Aevos for this grand banquet (except for Darkspawn, Voidalists, and Vampires. They'll be shot on sight).