ChainedDragons

Heimweh watched little Erika giggle and run around her room, playing with toys. The daughter of Redgar wondered if he would ever be able to come home...

Bron read over the missive his eyes narrowing in disgust. If this didn't sway those of Idunia to turn their backs on this tyrant what would? When would Idunia let go of their fear? He hoped soon.. he had invested too much in this country he had been enamored by. He didn't want it to be a waste.

what made you decide to make an old man character and how do you feel about his development?

What I give "Run away with me" "What is he thinking?!" "Iudas is hunting you, he's searched Tir'glas." "We're going to the Capital." Blood pounded in the thin skin of his ears. Whilst he heard everyone speaking, the words never got through as Bron's focus remained on the rat that refused to stop biting. It's been 40 years and yet the Magister still slinks after his shadow as if it were a prize. "If one is to call themselves the 'Devil of Idunia' then they should very well represent their kind well, don't you think?" Bron's heart hammered in his chest. The familiar anxiety of ones life teeter tottering closer and closer to the edge eating at him. Trust. He had to trust those around him. They've known him for years. They had his back. Trust. "Matters of military desertion are firmly a secular manner." "For exactly that, REDEMPTION." "Tell mich, Magister, what exactly does dur redemption entail?" They walked into the grand church within Idunia's walls, Bron told to take to the stands. All those who came in his defense stood around in the observer seats. Solveig tried to stay by his side, the clergy speaking to her in warning to go sit with the others. "Go.. is fine Solveig." It wasn't lost on Bron that the last time he was allowed into a sanctuary such as this he was nearly impaled on a Grail mens' sword. He took to the pulpit, black eyes peering at those who would ask him; "Bronadron Callaghan, do you have anything to confess?" The devil rolls his shoulders and pops his neck, easing the tension that had settled in before speaking. "Eam confession. Ea made a poor choice without thinking it all the way through." "Ea thought ea would serve better by leaving Idunia for the time being." "Ser Arthur wrote to ea and explained the error ea was making. Ea then realized eam mistake and decided to stay." "Bronadron, you have failed to stay fast to your station, as bid of us in the Canticle of Fidelity in the scroll of Virtue. - For your penance your horns will be shorn off. That when you catch your own gaze it be a reminder of what you tried to give up. And should they regrow, they will be shorn off again." Bron listened to the voices of protest of the fairness of this punishment. His black pools settled on the magister. He knew he was getting enjoyment from this. Knocking him down yet another peg. But he responded no further and looked to Ser Llewyn. "Ea request that Ser Llewyn would be the one to remove eam horns then." As the 'confession' closed Bron was bidden to rest his head over a side table. The devil brushed the candles aside, laying his chin down. He trusted Ser Llewyn to not be cruel about this. The man likely had no desire to do this punishment in the first place. But something had to give. Bron closed his eyes to keep horn shavings from getting his eyes as he felt the pressure sawing back and forth on his infernally given crown. Upon bringing his head back he nearly staggered, a weight once there now gone. He touches the shorn stubs tentatively, one bidding in an attempt of comfort. "At least you can wear a proper helm now." Right. He inhales deeply before departing from the church halls. For a place that was supposed to breath light into its people it always seemed to show him the darker parts beneath. "It is always darkest just before the Day dawneth." - Thomas Fuller (1650).

"Are these vyr beliefs Norland or that of the emperor? Then again vy have always flip flopped with the treatment of cursed children... eam beginning to question if Norlands integrity can be trusted." Bron lowers the missive, tossing it to the campfire as he looked at his sleeping wife. He hoped his parents were alright.. seems they would be on the run again soon too.

Bron's heart ached as he walked away from Tir'glas, clad in studded leathers. Why did it take his sisters death to wake him to the truth? He looks back at the place he loved so much only for his gaze to fall where Morwens body had crumpled. Idunia was not safe so long as the empire held her by the leash. The devil moved once Solveig took his hand.

[Edit made 12/18/2025] The following was sent out shortly after the first letter; AMENDMENT: So after speaking with Ser Arthur, I have decided to stay in Idunia instead. Things are complicated so I apologize for the disruption to your lives. - Bron Where does one even begin with such a heavy way to say goodbye? I have been given so much, been through so much, fought for so much, all in the name of Idunia and her vassal Tir'glas. This wondrous nation has been calling to me since I was six. And even against my better judgement I somehow found myself returning again and again to her gates. What makes Idunia great is her people. They are complex. They are loving. They understand. Even if there are those among us with more stern kernels in their hearts, those with more tenderness to them outnumber them by a mile. Dear Idunia, I leave not out of hatred or malice. I leave because I need to fulfill my life while I still have breath. Whatever higher power that permits me to breath each day and guards my back at night, I hope that one day I can return again and live among you all. But I know consequences for leaving will follow... I will answer for them. One day. I will live first. When death comes knocking, I will go with him. Stay strong. Stay smiling. Keep showing love to those who need it, for that is what makes Idunia the greatest nation in our world. Goodbye Idunia. May we meet again in more peaceful days. - The Devil of Idunia; Bronadron Callaghan, formally, Nickolai Karl Weiss. ---------------------------------- The letters below are private and are for those addressed to them; do not meta; the message above is public To Ser Elise Callaghan; To Mereid Callaghan; To Ilmarion Callaghan; To their highness's Sascha and Bohdan; To Saafiya and Ser Llywen; To Ser Boromir; To Ser Arthur; To Admiral Maeril; To Ser Valanor; To the Tar;

Bron cursed this conflict. He cursed the war. And those who started it. His little sister... Guilt gnawed at his heart.

Another war he didn't wish to be in yet here he was - firing arrows and bringing forth his shamshir. All Bron could hope for was that his kills were clean and bereft of cruelty. Life is still life. Be it man, dwarf, elf, or uruk. All should pass with the same grace.

Bron stares at the missive and takes a deep breath before chucking it into the forge. "Can we fucking NIET?" He shouts, aggravated that now that he was left little choice but to fight in a war he wanted NO part in. Not being able to get those gemstones now was just salt in the wound.

[Note this is a response to a fellow players character death - and since there will be no PK post from them, I wanted to still commemorate a post to their characters memory in my own way. Varaegon was such a fun character to interact with and he will be missed] Bron had known his god father was going to die. Varaegon had told him himself that his days were growing short. And yet... the news reaching his aviary made him feel weak. Varaegon was gone. No last goodbye. No last verbal spar. No final message of wisdom that the templar could have left the devil. Quietly Bron left Tir'glas, the informing letter still clutched between his metal fingers. He remembered the day they met. Bron but a small child that barely came up to Varaegon's knee. Despite his teachings, the templar had treated him with kindness. The devil's hooves crunch through dead leaf litter along the path that led away from Tir'glas's gates. He walked for a ways, taking a step off the road and into the forest. One of the first gifts Varaegon ever gave Bron was his protection. When he was at the mercy of the Chapter masters blade within Idunia's church, it was Varaegon who came and whisked him out of harms way. The squire moved tree branches out of the way, pushing his way to a clearing where a lone tree stood. Its leaves scarlet with winters cold. He approached the tree, taking a seat at the base. Resting his head back against it Bron felt the tips of his great horns scratch into the bark. "...never did ea expect to 'pray' or.. talk to vy of all beings. But... perhaps somehow vy will hear ea. Though the more cynical side of ea wishes to doubt it." Bron spoke softly, wind rustling through the grass near him in hushed whispers. "Malchediael... treat him well. Varaegon lived to follow vyr guidance, vyr teachings. He wasn't a perfect many by any means. Nyie mortal is. To expect such of us is to be frank, folly. Mortals are niet perfect. We are flawed. But that's how we were made nyie? To stumble. To fall. To learn. To hopefully rise back up to the challenge put before ourselves to become something better?" The devil's tail curled around his hooves as he looked at the letter in hand. "Surely... as an anguel.. that fell to his own rage vy understand that beings change over time.. for better or worse." Bron allows the wind to snatch the letter from his grasp, carrying it out to the waters beyond the clearing. "Malchediael.. all ea ask is that vy keep Varaegon's soul safe. He will serve vy well as he did in life. Ea know he will. Ea know eam words mean little to vy but if Varaegon revered vy so, like many others, surely.. surely there is good enough reason for it." Bron bows his head, shaking as he let streaks of tears fall from his face. Surely if Malchediael is as right and just as Varaegon believed, then Varaegon would indeed find himself at his patrons side. It's all that the devil could hope for. He remained in that spot for many hours, mourning the loss of yet another person he had grown to love so much.

Bron reads over the missive and a smile curls on his face for a moment. "...So the Dragons scales finally begin to Crack. Perhaps there is hope yet." The devil wished all the safety in the world for his life long friend who was now on the run. Should he ever broach his door step, he would welcome him with open arms. ------ Heimweh reads the missive and let's out a frightful sigh. "Don't let them catch you papa...don't let them... they never deserved your loyalty in the first place." The daughter of heldrakken cradels her child close.

Bron puts away his letter frowning lightly. He wasn't upset by the contents.. he was upset that by partaking in the conflict he had let himself down too. There is always a choice. What is his choice then? Stay safely within the lines of Idunia that he had spent years carefully crafting to help himself escape the stereotypical fate that befell many of his kind? Or join those who he saw as unified in mind against those who very likely would burn him at the stake if given the chance. There was never an easy answer. To whomever made the saying the world is in black and white, **** you, it's in shades of grey.

Heimweh stares at the missive, rocking little Erika in her arms. "W-what?.. no.. that can't be right.. Ark.. y..you.. what did you do?" The new mother holds her baby close, eyes welling up with tears as the missive fell to the ground. All Father why do insist on taking away the one mother I have left?

Bron reads over the missive, having been curious. "Well.. this makes sense to ea. Ea would like to learn more about this history to be honest so eam niet entirely blind to all of the goings on. But she makes fair point." He folds up the paper, placing it away before going back to his smithing work. The devil wasn't welcome in the heart of the empire anyway so it wasn't like anyone needed to hear he agreed with this random missive. But it was good writing.

Hart sighed softly as his son took on the mantle of lord paramount. He hoped his son didn't feel overwhelmed. The knight would support him as best as he could.

Bron hummed as he worked away at his project. He hoped it turned out just right...

Bron does the happy hoof tip tap dance in his shop upon hearing the news. "hells ja! He is getting married!"

MC Name: ChainedDragons Discord: Chained-Dragons Image: Description of Image: A request from someone to have a magical painting Dimensions: 1x2 [two high]

Sir Silas looked upon the missive with weathered brow, a soft sigh leaving him. "more does the garden grow but how long till its weeds begin to show?" He mutters to himself, setting the missive aflame with a candle. A mono-culture would never last long, no matter how many bodies feed the garden.

MC Name: ChainedDragons Discord: Chained-Dragons Image: Description of Image: Foot prints for an event Dimensions: 1x1 just one map

MC Name: ChainedDragons Discord: Chained-Dragons Image: Description of Image: Motivational poster Dimensions: 1x2 [2 high]

Bron... Nickolai.. dropped to his knees as the letter fluttered to his hooves at the aviary of Tir'glas. No. It couldn't be. Not Telly.. His half brother was much stronger than he was. He had things figured out. He couldn't be gone. He couldn't be. His head bows, horns resting against the Aviary post as sobs wracked his body. Another loss...

While Bron had not been present for the trial or know much of the goings on in the Silver city, he knew the destruction of the city would only bring more conflict in the future. When did darkness ever bow to fire and brimstone? Their dark dealings that were spoken of may have been lain bare for all to see but the shadows would simply crawl back into other recesses... The devil could only hope that corruption was not to take root in his own home.