rukio

There are multiple types of darkspawn: Descendants who corrupt their souls, amalgamations of flesh or soul that is repurposed for dark works, and that which is otherworldly. As Paladins of Xan we learn of these, how to combat them, how they are made when applicable, how to cure them when we are able. Most every Paladin will have had these lessons at some point in time. What of mercy, what of redemption? How many Paladins are born to parents who led this life, how many Paladins seek to do good and live holy lives fighting that which offends their morals and mortality? Yet, how few are those who were once darkspawn that sought redemption among our ranks? Why are they few and why do those vampires we cure do the inevitable relapse into the communities that corrupted and tarnished their souls originally? These are pointless questions. It is a descendant’s nature to seek: Power, love, comfort, safety, community, the list goes on and on. We, as Paladins, often fail those we seek to protect and those we love are often failed by us as partners, friends, and parents. The age old saying is that you may be a good Paladin or a good parent, you cannot be both. Xan’s cause is an important one, but it is also an all-consuming cause. We may not be required to worship him, yet we honor and obey him as a loyal knight serves a just king. We serve one half of his title, Aengul of Guardianship and Order. We maintain Order by killing and hunting, we obey the creeds and aid no darkspawn. Yet do we guard the descendants? Do we comfort them when they suffer and struggle, do we treat those who are capable of redemption as normal descendants? Or do we scorn and shame them, thereby forcing them further into hiding among those who exalt the dark. Too often do the tales of Paladin cruelty spread through the descendant realms. Of babies burned in carts during the Inferi invasion, of vampires staked outside and left to burn, anguish, and lament for hours before being cleansed. What self respecting or loving descendant would think highly of our cause after being forced to experience those turmoils, and that’s without considering their families. The way Paladins treat and redeem the darkspawn who can be saved needs to change. We cannot save all, and putting undo trust in those who will betray is foolish, but they are set up for failure from the start. The proposal to oust and scorn and massacre darkspawn and those who live on the edge of society has been suggested by plenty, especially those outside of the keep. What does massacring the innocent, those who will likely fall down a path of dark, achieve except to force them further into shame, hatred, and dark arts. Nephilim and other evils of this world often reach out to those on the cusp of society, those rejected who wish to shine and rise to something acknowledgeable. The way we treat these descendants must change for the better. We already fight an uphill battle against immortal beings, gloating that we continue to wage our wars in the afterlife. Why must we make it harder to do for those who will come after us once our candles are lit and the prayers with our names forgotten? Reconsider the treatment of those at the frayed edges of society. Welcome them, nurture the good in them, and know if they turn on you that it was their choice, not the action of all other descendants. Redemption is as much the Lion's vision as the slaughter of evil and protection of the innocent are. Aeolus of Khamees

It's just not that deep dawg

"Cute excuse to be absolute ******* about yet another war. You come as crows? No, you cower like chickens..." Muses a particular white haired 'Thill as he sets about brewing the next batch of potions. With a shake of his head, his attention turns from the cowardice of Haense, back to the protection of Adria.

[!] A note was left below the missive: You have no one to back this claim of 'we'. I will find you. You will die screaming. I will avenge them. The book will remain lost to you forever.

Elsewhere, a one-eyed elf of brown hair and blue eyes cold sweats. He shivers and shakes, murmuring often of the baleful eye, of pillars beneath soil, and of a darkness to come. Silenced only by the wroth of that which he served, whispers turning to stillness, a loneliness of sound quelled only by the dripping of blood from his now broken nose. "No riddles."

A once young farming girl of Arichsdorf, now an old, tired woman, knits by the fire. Her grandson, unrelated to the other Dorfers of yore, somehow manages to read the newest missive to her. She'd stop mid stitch, the rocking of her chair, rhythmic in its creaking slows, then stops all together. "What'd yew say?" She'd ask, wondering if perhaps her hearing had finally left her. "They claimin' yous all killed priests in Arichsdorf granny." "Dumbass." Tutted the older woman, frailed by the decades as she continued to knit. The fire crackled, shadows danced along the stone walls. "This boy claims to be Jrent does he? Bastard house, full of mentally ill products of incest. They married brother to sister, did you know that? Nasty people, those Horens, not like our good Manfred and Laurentina. This boy, Cassius or what have you, must've gotten in one of the old Moon Rock stashes still hidden in town." She'd say decidedly. "Caius, granny." Corrected the boy. "I said what I said. Dorfers don't forget." She'd scold, pushing herself up from the chair, knitting cast aside. "...Dorfers don't forget." She'd echo a moment later. "But m'sweater." He'd protest, looking to the discarded wool. "Can wait. We don't take insults from little men wit' pens an' paper for weapons." Alice retorts at last, pulling away the tapestry that concealed the bee shrine, and, more importantly, her old set of chainmail.

idk dude u just seem mad

where is the cooking plug in tho

The three eyed visionary, reborn twice: First as Gamling, then as An Gho, with his flesh and scales now turned to stone, unforgotten as he was, could not give this insight. Yet, somehow, through some unspoken magic, some wavelength of understanding the two had shared, Nehtamo knew well what he would have been shown, of what he would be told. "Even the ash is worthy of reverence." He'd murmur, smothering his campfire for the night. Unlike the An Gho, his slumber would be dreamless, dreary, grey.

Left leg crossed over and atop the right, a 'Thill of white hair and blue eyes would hear of the pontifical missive, the excommunication of the duke whose land he lived on. "To the An-Gho, I hope this letter finds you in good health..." He'd ponder, contemplating a very particular letter a certain man of ecclesiastical cloth had wrote. "Now I come to you seeking an audience in a place belonging to your kin. I hope to hear from you again..." He'd recite the words written and well preserved on paper. "Don't you think it's odd..." He'd finally ask the alchemist he served under, once they were far from prying ears and eyes. "How valah always seek to pact with Azdrazi in secret and condemn them in public?"