ACanadianCraft (Nate)

Julius violently punches the bird carrying the letter out of the air. Brow furrowed, he scoops the stunned creature into his hands and fires it into the air with the fury of one thousand burning suns. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose and plucks the letter off of the ground, turning it over in his hand. The Eye of Iblees is a familiar insignia to him, and stares into for a moment unflinching. This would be reported to White Rose senior command immediately. However, before he could deliver the letter to the desk of one of his officers, Jullius briefly recalls his days in Aegis. He knew a few of his mates worshiped Iblees, and did nothing to stop them. He even went as far as to shelter them, believing his actions justified by the notion that he was protecting his friends.But they were all dead now, and he had not come so far into the light only to be swallowed up by the darkness again. Jullius tucks the letter away. Perhaps it was a matter to look into, but not too deeply. However...

Jullius’ iron boots clanked against the cold cobblestone ground as he walks down the road running through Westerland March. He looked to the side, and briefly observes the wall on his left. The wall looked quite nice in his opinion. Then he slowly turned his head and glanced to the wall on his right. It was a bit overkill to have two walls right beside each other, and Jullius would normally feel claustrophobic in such a situation, these particular walls made him feel a tad safer as he stood between them. Although, the erection of these walls had drawn the attention of many unwanted onlookers. Those in question were mostly Elves who would call it unnatural. A blemish. A scar on the face of the world. But it didn’t matter what they thought, because Jullius liked it. In his mind it represented a lot about The Empire which he served without question. The Empire, like the pare of walls on either side of him was powerful, and would remain standing no matter what other nations thought or did. Jullius strolled into the White Rose Headquarters, the clanking footsteps of his iron boots muffled by the grass beneath his feet. He made his way for a ladder which was propped against the wall and climbed up it. He then stood above the chasm-like road. He looked down from the wall and spotted a group of Elves being funneled down the path looking slightly perturbed. Shortly after they came into sight, the three in unison all glared up at Jullius, eyes fixed on the White Rose Crest displayed on the front of his tabard. He maintained a blank expression, looking back unphased by their piercing glare, and the malicious thoughts that surely accompanied them. He watched them until they rounded the corner, and just as soon as they were out of sight, one of the Elves shouted out “You stupid Valah and your wall will fall!” Jullius remained passive and said out loud to no one in particular “Edgy.” He looked up over the adjacent wall and into Malinor. He cared nothing for what The Elves thought. The wall was not coming down until someone knocked it down, which in opposition to The White Rose was very -very- unlikely.

Can't spell 'Necromantic' without 'Romantic'!

You are a great human being for coming up with this XD

Jullius laughs, seeing the poster. It has been his firm belief for a long time that Oren is an unstoppable force, and the idea of a petty rebellion is apparently humorous to him. This is obvious, for as he stands by the sign he has himself a good and much needed laugh, spanning a few minutes. "To threaten the Emperors peace -and- The White Rose all in the same poster! Even indirectly, how droll!" Jullius inhales through his nostrils before emitting a heavy sigh. He turns swiftly on his heel, resumes his upright and attentive posture and strolls off shortly after, still under the impression that a successful rebellion taking place within the Empire is the epitome of ludicrousness.

Jullius casually strolls down the stairs in the main keep of The White Rose Fort, his expression souring slightly. The Fort was on top of a snowy mountain, a location he had never agreed with, having spent a good deal of time in the Desert Nation of Seventis. The thought of leaving the warmth of the keep and tread out in the snow was clearly of distaste to him as a frown tugged gently at the side of his mouth. As he finally reached the bottom of the staircase and entered the throne room, he looked up and suddenly sprang backwards. He swiftly straitened his posture which was formerly relaxed, and raised his hand to his forehead, striking his regular crisp and attentive salute. There he stood for several tense moments in silence, his eyes fixed on Grand Marshal Thomas Chivay. The seconds droned on, Jullius maintaining his salute as he began to wonder why Thomas had yet to acknowledge him. “Excuse me si-“ The Grand Marshal interrupted Jullius with a soft snore, as he shifted slightly on his throne. With a sigh, Jullius relinquished his salute, resting his hand at his side. He had failed to realise that Thomas was fast asleep. There was a matter that he had wanted to speak with him on, but it is best to let sleeping bears lay. And with that, he dismissed himself. He walked past an eye hung in a frame. The eye of a Rebel named Jex, hung there as a lasting reminder as to how rebels within the glorious human empire are to be treated. Jullius turned to the eye hung on the wall. He nodded slowly at it, remembering how he had obtained it, and then shuddering as he recalled how Adorellan had removed it from Jex’s skull as he screamed in agony. “A fate well deserved.” He stated as he turned and walked away from the frame. And at last he had exited the keep. He glowered and furrowed his brow, as he was met almost at once with a gust of frigid wind, blowing snow into his face and into his crimson hair. He recoiled backward a few steps, bringing up his arms to cover his face from the harsh winds that felt like daggers upon his desert born flesh. After a few moments, the gusts ceased, and the snow fell more gracefully to the grown, culminating in a small pile which continued to grow in size as the weather persisted. He brought forth a short laugh as the thought of several unoathed feverishly shoveling away the snow, as Garen watched, jeering cruelly at them, in a way similar to what he had experience when he had joined. “Where would we be without that bastard?” Jullius patrolled the ramparts of the fort, all alone. The only company he had was his Cranequin, which he kept loaded, just in case. He looked downward onto the Vale. He narrowed his eyes at the Halflings bellow, waddling contentedly about. He managed to make out Folco, quietly smoking his pipe on a field. He smiled gently, as The Halfings were one of his favorite people. However, his briefly peaceful expression grew cold as he glanced upward. As he scanned his eyes across the once beautiful valley, they fixed on the volcano that seemed to erupt evermore, constantly spewing red hot magma forth from within. He watched is sickeningly ooze into the valley. Jullius inhaled deeply though his nostrils. He could almost smell the brimstone from where he stood, but not quite. He exhaled out his mouth, a stream of mist brought forth from his lips. He observed the mist curl through the freezing air, as he recalled a conversation he had shared with Captain Toov. “Ve need to get off zhis damnable place” Captain Toov had stated, a rather worn out air in his tone. Jullius nodded fervently before saying, “I agree. I haven’t the faintest inkling as to why we have not left yet. The island sakes itself apart, creatures of the night abound, active volcanoes, Orcs, swine’s walking upright... Wherever here is, it is where we should not be.” Memories such as this echoed through Jullius’ mind ceaselessly. Some of the living, and some of the dead. Some were good memories, but the majority of them he recalled against his will and racked him both in his sleep and during his waking day. Jullius shook himself away from his memory and once more returned to reality. The silence of the mountain wrung deafeningly all around him as he gazed down at his feet. He had come to a stop without realising, and stood leaning against the tower that seemed to hang over the ramparts. He pushed himself off of the tower and resumed his patrol. The expression of pensive agitation consumed his face once more, no longer bothered by the cold, but the state of his life, and the state of the world as a whole. The once great Elven Nation of He broke the deafening silence of the mountain by stating in a melancholy tone, “We have got to get out of here.” Jullius’ Cranequin hung at his side at the end of his arm. He quietly plodded through the fort, the snow that had culminated on the ramparts muffling his footsteps, and before long he had disappeared into the silence entirely.