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Creative Wizard
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    הנסיך שהובטח
  • Birthday 12/20/1998

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    Sky God Prison

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  1. Addressed to the King John, provided that it was delivered to an aviary and made it to him. Due to social station, it might reach one of his aids instead, but an attempt was made. My name is Alexander Montalt. I am a member of the Burgundy Host led by my brother Sir Radmir Montalt, the Grand Marshal. We seized control of the city as a consequence of the Duke of Adria's choice to hand our destiny to the Coalition and not suffer through the slog of war in our city streets. While the Duke of Adria is commendable seeking to save more lives, I am unwilling to bend the knee to a King who consorts with a Lich, and if not for anything but honor's sake I shall fight with my brother bitterly until the city is nothing but rubble. I will not lie and say I mourn the last King who was slain in a pitched coup de t'at in his throne room, but I will say it is regrettable that so many people have died over a mummer's farce. Honor has moved me here. I shall not move an inch until this city has collapsed into nothing but rubble. Until our point has been made that Sir Gaspard left us years ago now. That all our allies have abandoned us. The Celia'norians have joined Hanseti-Ruska out of fear for their national interests and a desire for self-preservation. The Adrians have left for Numendil to live in a refugee camp. The Orcs have decided that the battles here in the Midlands are not relevant to them, and I cannot blame them for they have bled enough on our account. The Stassionites who killed your King now run amok elsewhere, and former Veletzian vassals have gone off to form a new home elsewhere. Then there are the Burgundies. Myself and my brother. Our closest allies and confidants. For the King of Hanseti-Ruska to make dealings with a Lich is most suspicious indeed, and we would sooner see our lands presided over by the Church than any servant of Iblees. If that means that we must stand in this empty hall devoid of even furniture and barricade it against the incalculable hordes of the human piastdoms, then we shall do so proudly and suffer not a single tear, and that is what brings me to you. We are prepared to lay down our lives and burn our buildings. We are prepared to fight for a hundred years. My children shall kill their children, and their children shall kill mine. We shall slaughter their cows, we shall put explosives in their mercantile carts, and we will not stop until all servants of the Lich have been routed from the Midlands entirely, and until a Midlander Prophet of the Church rises to protect us. The conniving North Man seeks only to disrupt the Midlands and make a mockery of our hallowed traditions, and our venerable customs - the King of Hanseti readily throws his soldier's lives away to prove a point, that as a people we are not unified. He flaunts the control he exercises over the Church. You must ask yourself if we will be the last ones to be crucified because it is only a matter of time before he comes for your flock next. Breakwater is broken. Veletz is dissolved. What they come for now is the shell of a city filled with a few hundred men. And we shall fight gladly and martyr ourselves if necessary. Our children shall kill their children afterward, so that is where I issue you this humble request: act with honor, no matter the exercise, and guide those of us who remain if we the Burgundies fail in our endeavor to save the Midlands from the Spawn of Iblees. Signed, Alexander Montalt
  2. Grisha walked into the lab and saw Veluc wasn't there. He paused, before exiting the lab with a lofty shrug of his shoulders. "I swear sometimes he's hurtling through some vacuum in space and getting lost. We were supposed to do our lesson an hour ago. Where is he?" As if the teacher doesn't show up in 10 minutes you can leave, Grisha just left to go attend to personal matters. All the while, Veluc was getting throttled by some ugly planetary hell-scape outside their comprehension.
  3. "My soul bleeds burgundy," said Alexander Montalt, the brother of Radmir.
  4. The Anti-Pontiff Dmitri Derfey blessed this counter-offensive. "May the agents of the Burning Bush, the False Curia, and the Dwarven Puppet Masters be bathed in fire."
  5. Exalted Derfey laments the fall of one of his chosen, "If only the HAENSER devils kept to what they're good at and kept on beating on unarmed women with gentrified can-openers instead of killing my boy! My dear, darling boy. BY GOD! Bring him back to me, o' Lord."
  6. what's your discord these days

    1. Knight of Elken

      Knight of Elken

      elku knight#4151 add me brotato

  7. "IDC," proclaimed Penultimate Paul, Sailor the Ferrymen, from his abode within the Seven Skies. It was then that Emperor Bartholomew Derfey played his harp, proclaiming to the Heavens for all to see the sad tale of the Republic of the Petra, done away to become an Aaunite piastdom of no consequence whatsoever, inhabited only by snakes and troglodytes who aspire to lick the boots of foreign dignitaries for the slightest smidge of clout.
  8. Emperor Vesper Derfey smiles and then prepares to lay waste to the Kingdom of Haense with his newfound Tripartite armies. With the combined forces of Derfey-Renatus, the Piastdom of Aaun, and Fake-adria the true Emperor of Man would see to it that at last the North Man was pushed to the very fringes of civilized society, wrung from the earth much like a dirty towel being flung at a high velocity out of a broken, rattling washing machine. "Derficus Eternicus," proclaimed the Renatian Emperor to his followers with perverse glee. The Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth, and Seventh Coalition Wars had begun. The Derfeonic Wars were just beginning. @Mio@Nectorist
  9. "OK, now that is epic." said Quintadrette Derfey, Professor of the College of Talar'nor.
  10. Valas the Sailor sends somebody else in his stead. A letter would be penned to his old ally Tymen. Let it not be said that time is fleeting. May you and the princess have many good years together free of longing or adversity, despite her cow-like fascination with you. Sincerely, V
  11. The High Pontiff, blessed be his name, Derfi Eternicus III, blesses the man's death with the ceremonious silhouette of an obsidian burning cross in front of Norland. The Red Faith could not save Dagius Fylch, but Derfi could. He welcomed him into the Seven Hells with glee. "Welcome home. We shall find your restitution soon, and you shall find your reckoning against your enemies as a vengeful spirit. Death to those who abandoned you. In a world filled with such wretched sin, you stood apart as the most moral man there, and they castigated you here - to me - in Hell!"
  12. I knew you'd say Diogenes. 'Lo, behold, it's a man!
  13. Paul shrugs, then shrugs, and then shrugs again. Before shrugging a fourth time.
  14. what's your favorite zoo animal favorite lotc historical figure favorite rl historical figure
  15. In the midst of the night, corpses were littered throughout the consecrated grounds of the Valdev Cathedral. A place of awe and reverence for the one true God or so they say, the Everardian Basilica was a place of beauty and it appeared transfixed in time hundreds of years in the past. The hallowed traditions of Canonism could be seen in every nook and cranny of how the interior of the basilica was arranged. Upon crossing the foyer into the building, a raven-haired boy moved along with a bottle of alcohol and some matches. Before long, the place was thrown into absolute disarray. The boy moved to and fro with a madness to his step, destroying all that was within reach as the Tree Demon had instructed. The stained glass murals that depicted many vital historical events of the Haeseni people were shattered with stones. Sacrilege perpetrated by a boy with nefarious aims, to be certain, as he did not merely stop at overturning every table and smashing every piece of furniture and pottery in sight. The horrifically mutilated corpses of goats were found crucified within the church and dangling whilst nailed to the cross by each limb. Goat’s blood smeared every inch of the tile flooring. Shattered glass could be found upon the ground at the origin point of what was seen to be a blazing inferno that consumed many of the church’s well-decorated interiors. The pews and chairs over-turned. Written in blood outside of the burning basilica were the following words: Alea iacta est. And so the boy made his departure, forgoing the ruined sanctuary forevermore, and abandoning the reverenced divine in pursuit of something more.
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