Karina

-------------------------------------------------------------- It didn’t come as a thousand pyres. It didn’t come as a hateful mob. It wasn’t some grand, fated story; played out on the battlefield of time. When death found her, it was violent. It was quick. Chaotic, bloody and over in an instant. Leoni was right. She deserved far worse. To be ripped apart and fed to wolves. To suffer under the yoke of another for a thousand-thousand years. She had overplayed her hand. Adya was right, it was theater to her. The suffering of another was but an elaborate play. A chance to sway with the beat of lifes drum and find endless entertainment in the weaving of a continual string of lies. Of course, she didn’t expect the knife. Nor the arrest. Nor fate itself to conspire against her, as it played out. Iron dug against the leather of her gauntlets. Presenting a constant reminder that freedom eluded her, even now. In her most brilliant moments, and her most mundane. But she had escaped captivity before. She had done much to survive. Standing before the previous Pontiff, Sermi made a mockery of justice. Spit on the courts and Godan themselves. Fostered undue apology from those who had been made a fool of. This time was different. Something ate at her chest, but she wasn’t quite sure what. Maybe it was the look the other had given her. Maybe it was her blessed kin near ravenously waiting for the chance to pounce. The point came where her lies started to crumble inward. She could deny, she could pretend otherwise; but they knew. She knew they knew, and when she moved to turn her back to Gusiam… She expected the blade that would come next. Staring through the iron bars of her cell to the woman she had once loved, and thrice broken. A flash, and thannic steel started to bury itself into her neck. Cracking through ferrum chain, and spilling forth her unholy blood. Her hand clutched at her chest, as muscle started to yield. Death roared, as it threatened to take her. In those final, fleeting moments of blessed sanity; she clutched one name to her chest. To her heart. One name, as hateful as she was. They had once offered peace, an escape from this cycle. A chance to be born again. Maybe, even, freed from the strings that bound her limbs. As Zaitharn gripped and clawed at her soul, she held that name tightly to her. A plea, as much as it was an offer. M O R D R I N G --------------------------------------------------------------

Sermi briefly scanned over the missive, laughing to herself. What a clever ploy, she thought. She truly had convinced them. "Ever the snake." She regarded. A letter might yet be penned later, congratulatory. The hardest part of being a good liar was that no one ever believed you, when the time came for trust. Doubt was a hard thing to escape.

[!] Missives, one way or another, were distributed. Be it on a tavern wall or nailed to a tree. Spread wide, but sporadically, through Aevos. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- TO THOSE CALLED DEVILS, Many missives have come stating hatred for our kind. The Haeseni wish to kill us all outright. The Petrans refuse to accept your existence. Even in the far reaches of the West, under the cherry blossoms: you are considered a leper. They wish to rip you all apart. They wish to make you invisible. We are a reminder that descendant-kind is never far from the touch of Iblees. Our existence is the greatest weapon the warlocks have to wield. To rip apart a soul, and to let their enemies drive you towards the Dark. Hate is a powerful thing. I fought for years, trying to serve ‘the right side’. Trying to hunt darkspawn. When I was brought into this horned form, they all turned on me. No longer, did they regard me with a smile. They wanted to kill me. I hadn’t changed, not my heart. Only my skin, my eyes. I wonder if any of you remember what I looked like, back then. The world would have you believe we are damned souls. Perhaps, they are right. For lo, does XAN turn his back on us. For hatred exists in his eyes, for sins not of our own fault. Malchediael too does turn his back. The spirits loathe our very existence. Proof of the touch of Iblees. You may have heard my name. That of Sermi. To the Draalguna, I have heard you wished to appease the church by offering them my head. Do you think the sacrifice of a limb will save the whole? They see your blood as fetid. Your soul as cursed. You think you will be spared the pyre? Look at the many lambs before you. The Canon Church is good at waiting until you are upon the altar, to show you the knife. I write you all today, my blessed kin, to offer you something more then death. Laelia and I have come together to offer you power and purpose. They hate you, for what you are. They will not stop. The day will come where you can accept this, and die… Or do as I do and fight back against it. To us, you are blessed. To us, you are loved. The infernal blood that works through our veins makes us even more adapt at manipulating felflame. Your curse can be turned into a weapon and bring you strength even those who have taken the Lords gifts envy. Why not come to those who wish for your success? You need only write to us. -----------------------------------------------------------------------

A certain, accursed devil prepared a response. Sermi looked over the brief message with something of an eager grin, before it was yet attached to bird and sent off. She hadn't known exactly who it was, she helped bless, until now.

Sermi read over the missive, and couldn't help but laugh. So much hate. It had borne her into this life. The curse truly was not her fault, not at first. When the world pushed her away, who else was there but those who preyed on the desperate and the weak? How might her life have been different if it was acceptance, instead? Perhaps there was a world in which she would have fought for the Light. Found a way to let wheat grow on ash-covered ground. Instead, they made an enemy of many. Now, they would push the next generation towards darkness. The Lords, no doubt, would feast in the years to come. She couldn't help but have a hint of smug pride, that Laelia and her had truly caused so much damage. If nothing else, she would be remembered.

A hint of interest had settled on the brow of a certain Devil. Sermi took quill to paper, when the news had reached her. The letter to Malphas read as follows. "Castiel, Or I suppose whatever it is you prefer you call yourself now. I admit, your name come up into my mind not too long ago. I was telling another of our time, however brief, at Hallowcliff. That, somehow, it was you who spared me being thrown into the pits and swallowed up. There have always been lingering questions. It's hard not to express a certain level of curiosity. The matters of my allegiances are well known, certainly. While I do not think any words could pull me away from the White Cat. I have to admit - I would value the opportunity to talk without the fear of death. Even if it is only to take measure of ambitions and strengths. I think there would be some value in that for us both. Would a meeting on some form of neutral ground be something you would be interested in? I've often found mutual interest is a very useful tool, and despite the differences between us. There is always some to be found. If it is benevolence you preach, then let it stand as a testament that this is just not some elaborate trap. I await your favorable reply, The Cats Most Loyal Hound"

Nah. They're still descendants. There's already a no FTB / romance clause for 'akal, which is the expected endpoint for naz. No romance is just exceptionally silly.

DISCORD: katherinelelievre IGN: katkatkittykat SKIN TITLE: Emerald Isle Martini Armor BID: 250

DISCORD: katherinelelievre IGN: katkatkittykat SKIN TITLE: Emerald Isle Martini Armor BID: 180

DISCORD: katherinelelievre IGN: katkatkittykat SKIN TITLE: Emerald Isle Martini Armor BID: 150

DISCORD: katherinelelievre IGN: katkatkittykat SKIN TITLE: mixed berry cocktail dress BID: 300 mina

[!] The following was distributed as the occasional poster, attached to a tree or wall. Scattered through the Silver State, though outside the walls of Kaethul. Atop the page was an erratically drawn symbol of an eye. —----------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Many of you have no doubt read the recent talk of the ‘War on Ailmere’. Today, I would like to eschew politics and discuss the simple truth of a familiar name. That of Anatoliy Ilya Silveira. The current ‘commander’ of the fight against the Harrower. Just who is he, and can he be trusted? Kaethuls efforts to ‘repel the darkness’ are no more than a thinly-veiled attempt to profit from the ongoing war against the Ailmerens. This has been revealed to me in confidence, the only reason he is even heading this project is for the fame, glory, and mina it provides. There are no altruistic motives here, no true wish to eradicate the ‘plague’ of ‘shadow’ that has ‘taken the North’. How am I so certain of this? Aside from it being revealed directly to me, we need to look at the man behind the slaughter and betrayal to-come. I would like to take you back to a time I stood side by side with him during the fall of Mummers Gate. We had been separated from our comrades, and the forces of the Harrower had come to take claim of us. Rather than captivity, we were offered a simple choice. To serve, or die. There was no hesitation in the choice Anatoliy took. He did not even attempt to negotiate, not for his sake; or the life of one Dagfinn, a loyal squire thrown to the wolves by his actions. Proudly, did he fight back against the Haeseni he spent so much of his life with. We stood together and fought those we had once called Kinsmen when they had once more come to raid the Gate. He did not need a blessing to turn on his own people. He was all too happy to indulge in anything that promised a smidgen of worth or power. The only reason he is on your side now is that he simply believes it to be the most profitable. The moment that it changes to the Harrower, what do you think will happen to your battle plans? You are all pawns in his greater ambitions and his scheming for coin. He lusts after the azhl the Ailmeren mines provide. He cannot wait to dig his hands into the ground and rip from it all he can. If working with the Harrower was not enough to convince some of you, I would wish to expand on his ties to darkspawn. WIllingly did he recently go meet the fabled White Cat, his great-aunt. They spoke on even terms, content terms. There was no shedding of blood, despite all his wishes and outward hate of her. What he wished to do, simply, was chronicle her story. Does this sound like the actions of a great warrior fighting back against the darkness? To willingly meet with those who would tear apart what he has long worked for? I question; how deep do his ties truly go? He makes so many claims about the Chosen being mindless thralls, yet… He himself is magically bound to Yera to be completely, and utterly loyal. Oh, yes. All your money, all your troops, all your time. It is not his, but an extension of Yera. A known darkspawn sympathizer who has worked with the likes of Lanre (A former Azdrazi sympathizer, now undead), of Castiel (better known as the inferi Malphas), and Cordelia. Yera, a woman of ambition who knows only her own wants, and who is willing to lie and kill to get what she wants. I serve willingly and contently; because I believe in the Harrowers purpose. He, however, is naught but a slave. Bound in chains. So what is his hatred for me, then? For someone who has long stood by his side. Through Poppiyas disappearance, through her siring of a bastard child. For his repeated attacks on her, physically and emotionally, that ultimately resulted in her tragically taking her own life. He is mad that I am the Cats Hound, and not his. Ilya, when you read this; I regret not smacking you across the face for the gall of kissing me. Let this nonsense end. Let us stop pretending to be better than we are. It is the one thing I despise the most. All of you little ambitious descendants running around, taking what you wish with no regard for consequence. Yet, claiming to be above your actions. At least I have the honesty to admit my service to Sarryn. You are chained in the dark, surrounded by spawn, and pretend you are clean from it. Need I remind you of the time you requested my assistance in the assassination of a paladin? Shall I further shed light on the dealings and horror you have wrought over so many years? Oh, I did find information on that grimoire you had enlisted the Infernal Courts help in finding. Perhaps we can speak of it, next we meet. The Cats Most Loyal Hound, Sermi Ulveryn, Betrayer of Mercy.”