Karina

The Prince Formerly Known as Sermi, now O'zen, briefly regarded the list of names. In the dull candlelight of her dusty, overpacked study - a claw was scrolled down along the list of names. The creature of rotting flesh managed the closest thing she could to a laugh, something raspy and hoarse. An utterance, guttural. "It has been long overdue since you returned to the fold, Laelia. Perhaps this will motivate you. Let us not forget your true nature, nor mine." Something akin to sentimental longing. Though no emotion truly settled into her heart. Just something numb, and dispassionate. A fraction of a whisper of a breath of what perhaps she'd felt before. Next, came a quill. And so did ink flow, the first of which were simply: "Dear Patriarch,"

-------------------------------------------------------------- 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.”

Sermi sat at one of her many homes, a glass of red wine swirled in the stemware. Eyes scanned over missives, passed through many hands to reach her. She couldn't help but grin. Murmuring to herself, "Good hunting, old friend. Betrayer of Mercy? I'm rather fond of that." Fingers tapped, as she continued to read. Something caught her eye. A few things, even she was unaware of. Any sort of entertainment was wiped off her countenance, as something bitter settled there instead. The Devils eyebrow twitched. That was certainly not what she had expected. Hatred, though not at her pursuers. Not at Villorik, not at Callahan, nor Caius. They all had their part to play. There was no light, without darkness. She had long sought to be the whetstone for their blade, and now - she was. But this? Her lips contorted into something calloused, and cold. The thinnest possible curl of a frown. All her birds would certainly tire far before the evening sun, as quill would soon take to ink. All signed with that well-practiced signature.

Somewhere, deep in a hidden place of worship; one of those hounds stirred. Sermi drew the whetstone across the length of her blade, a check of equipment. She hadn't bothered to repair the damage to her chain that Villorik caused. She had not even cleaned the blood off her breastplate. Slowly, they stood up; adjusting the belt of potions that sat across their chest. Yera had one year. Others were not as lucky. Work called, once more; and she would always answer. Both the Fox, and the Wolf. The hunters on her heels only made her feel alive. Dancing on the lines of life, and death. Complacency would never do. Not for her. A small prayer uttered, under the Devils breath. To the Dark Star. To her Lord. To Chaos, and Calamity itself. They would all burn.

[!] In the early morning, scattered missives were thrown from horseback around the Silver State. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "On Kaethul, their association with darkspawn & recent events. Hello, Given that I was mentioned by name on the plaque outside of Kaethul (Thank you, by the by. Though you really should list it under Sarryn) and the talk of darkspawn testing. I thought it would be pertinent to disclose to the public some facts about what occurs behind the scenes. Some of those, especially more familiar with valah nations; may know that a crow-demon has been plaguing us lately. They are known as Malphas, formerly – Castiel. Yera has, for many years; worked knowingly alongside them. While it was originally to destroy Hallowcliff, it seems that their arrangements have progressed further then just mutual interest into an outright alliance. Private meetings, agreements stricken in backrooms. For example, if I were to visit Kaethul; they would send word to both Castiel & Cordelia. At this point, I would likely be tortured. Not to death, mind; because they would never waste meat. Instead, they would rip my soul apart and bring forth a new horror into the world. Whatever I was, whatever I am, would simply no longer be. Twisted into the broken shape, and chains, of an inferi. As they have done time, and time again. How many have died for Yeras ambitions, in this? How many horrors has she turned a blind eye to? They feast on souls. Feast on chaos, and they are allowed to fester like a plague under the surface of a great city. I ask myself, how had it gotten this far? This bad? The simple truth is that she doesn’t care. For the term ‘darkspawn’ is simply the bat she uses to beat those who disagree with her. I have no doubt she will use my associations against me. Make no mistake, I am not an innocent soul. Not anymore. but neither is she. To pretend otherwise is a mockery of any sort of justice we may find in this cruel world. Darkspawn in Kaethul are not killed on sight. They are accepted and cherished allies in the fight against Sarryn. It was only once my affiliation to her was revealed that she even cared about the felflame that comes to my fingers. She knew, and was happy to be complicit. Even her own inner-circle was unaware, and were shocked at what was kept from them. I urge the Mother Church to investigate this. If there is a wish, I will provide written testimony against them. You know of the demon which I speak, and the horrors they have wrought. While Yera has long been clever in hiding her associations, her insistence on purity is laughable. As for those of the Silver State, an infestation lingers under the surface of commerce & greed. Are you willingly letting this happen, or is it ignorance that keeps her in power? When a wound is rotten, sometimes all that can be done is to cut it out. The Cats Most Loyal Hound, Sermi Ulveryn."

Sermi trudged through wooden floors and collapsed against the couch of anothers home. She certainly couldn’t return to her own, after what they had just done. Her thoughts shifted, the ache that came with shed blood. The bandages wrapped tightly around her arm, where Villorik had cut through chain and into flesh. Into muscle – nearly into bone. Why did he turn away at that moment? Why did he not try to finish what he started? That would bother her, for some time. Her head buzzed, with thoughts. Was it something akin to regret? No, she thought. Shame? Certainly not. But still yet, her heart ached. Maybe it was the finality of it all. Watching the White Flame fall, bloodied. Watching Leonid under the breath of her own beast. The constant, roaring fel-flame. This fetid journey started with that, she couldn’t help recalling. Under the spruce trees, with nothing but screaming. They didn’t care, then. Maybe they’ll care, now. Scenes of the battle played in her mind. The Hunt, the careful stalk, the waiting approach. Watching them all, from a distance. There was no room for emotion, in work. No room for doubt, no – she wouldn’t be like Aaren. She wouldn’t falter. “It’s just work, Sermi. All of it.” The thought repeated in her mind. How true was it really? How much could she divorce herself for the situation. To kill, maim, and burn? That’s what the feeling was. Not shame. Not regret. Sympathy. She knew what it was like to be on the other end of that flame. To feel horror. To try and stand up against and overwhelming tide and despite your best efforts, you too become washed away in it. As bloodied gauntlets were tossed against the wall, she shifted a quill out; and began to write. “Villorik,” The first word took to parchment. The rest would soon follow. At least, in the end; there was some light in the darkness for her. Death took her, before they could rip her away from the Seven Skies. He was spared that fate, unknowing of what yet may still happen. Maybe in some way, it was a shame. Maybe someday, he’d understand why she chose this path. This cycle of violence and torment. That burning white cloak was an eyesore in her mind. A reminder of what could have been. That in another life, she wasn’t a monster. The scene of Amaya, standing against it all. Someone she had spent years at the side of. Who had gone through unfathomable betrayal. In the brief moments that her form had faltered, had she seen? Did she know it was those she had taken in, and cared for, that now sought to kill her? In that moment where Sermi herself had unleashed that torrent of malflame at her, did she know? In that last bit of life left in her eyes, how did the ailing queen see her? Remember her? Did it matter? They were now not even betrayers – just faceless demons. Darkspawn. Not even known by name. The paper was crumpled up in her hands and tossed aside. A seething hiss, something deeper than anger. Envy. The quill came to be dipped in ink, and once more, she started to write…

Restless sleep had always plagued the Devil, at least since the moment since that accursed mark was burnt into her back. A gift, a blessing - as much as a curse. Sermi woke in another cold sweat, hardly the first since she had fallen asleep that night. It was still dark, when those blue catseyes flickered back to life. There was a gentle nudge to the figure wrapped around her, her voice hypnagogic. Something was mumbled at first, under her breath; incomprehensible. With some gentle shushing, they finally managed to return to a more comfortable position. Eye to eye - a thin smile crested across her lips, flashing those feline fangs. "Did you see it, too?" The faintest, breathy giggle before the briefest of kisses was exchange. Eyelids weighed heavy, again. Her thoughts turned to interpretation. The figures, the heat. Recognition of the great Work hardly bothered her, after all; who else but herself to be a hunter?

When Sermi got the news, she couldn't help but light up with a wide grin. Reading that the horrible specter whom had haunted Lord Godunov for years had finally passed? It was freeing. He had a chance to live, now. To unbind himself from the chains she had put on him. Oh, and she knew so many of those damning secrets. To be unfaithful, to him, of all people. She could not understand it. Anatoliy was a brother, while not in blood; in spirit. She had been adopted into his Aunts family of found-family. Been at his side through thick and thin, as he did for her. Finally, the wounds could heal, finally - there was a bit of peace threatening to linger on the horizon. If only it had been sooner, the Devil thought to herself. The tip of her finger was wettened, briefly, as she clicked her tongue. A piece of parchment set aside to begin a new letter. 'Ilya', it started. 'My dearest condolences,'. She continued. Finally - punctuating it with. 'I heard your ***** wife is dead.' If Poppiya had a million haters, Sermi was one of them. If she had ten thousand, she was still one of them. If she had only one hater? It would have been Sermi. If the world is with Poppiya, she would have been against the world. How thankful it had never quite risen to that level, she thought.

Villorik had always been a clever hunter. Someone worth respecting. Truthfully, Sermi envied him. He took the path she could not. He was proof that her life could have turned out differently. That in some world, somewhere else; perhaps she could have been the ‘good’ she so desperately wished she was. She remembered the hand on her shoulder. Offering herself as bait, to draw the woman she once cared so deeply for, out of hiding. The threat of finality sent adrenaline through her veins. Bound, if either the Cardinal or Rhys truly did wish; it would have been as simple as a knife to the throat. That would have been a good death. Nothing she could have done, really. There was honor in losing to someone so skilled at their craft. Instead, grief laced her words. She screamed hoarsely, hoping that the Devil downstairs would have heard. "Why? Why?" Sermi didn’t find the answer in the burning wreckage of that house. She didn’t find it, standing next to Deias bedside. All the sacrifice, and in the moment she truly needed her; the Devil wasn’t there. The failure would haunt her, for some time, certainly. Yet, there was some relief as much as sadness. Beyond everything else, she had once more been denied that destined death. She had convinced even herself that, perhaps, there was still a speck of good in her heart. Her thoughts trailed back to wheat fields. Ash had long choked any hope of growing grain, it sat thick on the ground of her mind. Eschew the doubt, there was a long road ahead, she thought. Sermi had promised to burn the world to ash, if only that she might offer the spoils to those she loved. The Devil had promised herself that she would never be as helpless as she once was. When Rhys freed her from bindings, surprise settled in the back of her mind. Someday, they both would regret this moment. Her betrayal would be even more complete than Laelias had been. Someday, she would slip that blade into the Cardinals throat. All she could offer for all her respect was only a quick, meaningful death. But that day was not today. They had a Hunt to attend to, and the smell of blood never sat uneasily in her mind. This was what she was made for. It didn’t matter how many pyres she’d have to escape from to walk her path. A dozen. A hundred. A thousand.

I don't know why this is such a difficult concept for so many to grasp. While the level of homophobia I've dealt with IRP is nothing compared to what I've dealt with IRL, it doesn't mean the same tired arguments are not still the same tired arguments. I RP to escape, not be burdened with the same fights I have to handle day-in and day-out. The just ignore it argument, as satinkara already pointed out, just doesn't work. Sure, I can avoid places like Whitespire where it will be more prevalent. But I know multiple characters in human nations that simply cant get married because of the Church. There is no avoiding that except entirely uprooting and moving to some elf nation. Is tearing apart RP circles so we can have people be judgmental worth it?