Ryloth

The assassin of that night was not pleased with his actions. Upon retrieval of a copy of this retelling, he took a seat in the shade of a roadside palm to read. The same rains of the night before pelted the dry parchment through the reeds and stalks of the tree. "Ugh." A complaint as he wiped the surface free of water drops. "If Father Basil Moroul only had stopped running his mouth," He said somewhere along as he read, "Maybe Father Otto would not have died, too. My intent was for only the Moroul." Rolling up the scroll, he sat back under the tree against its creaking trunk to watch the passers-by.

A THUNDERBOLT’S FLIGHT "Blessed is the flight of Avendal’s thunderbolt, bringer of storms.” The rainswept lands of the Princedom of Savoy flashed with lightning, then thunder. A deep cacophonous roar quaked within the skies and across the world. The horizon was deep, and the sky weeped. In the bustling city of San Luciano, all was chaos. A pyre had been burned, druidic interlopers set aflame after they had been rounded for execution. In the city square, a collection of Canonist priests cried out in anger to protect some, and fell others. As the dutiful end of the event came to bloodshed and fire, the clergy retreated into the Basilica of St. Pontian III. Lightning struck and thunder rolled. The dark night skies continued to weep, and the roar of the world shook the basilica. Chandeliers trembled and candle light shivered. As the priests collected around a raised table, they spoke in hushed tones. What about, who knew? Alas, someone heard. Someone who shouldn’t be there. A shadow-bound figure adorned in cloaks as black as the night behind crept far above along the towers, into the upper architecture of this great cathedral. Lightning struck and thunder rolled. In a sudden second flash, the thunder outside the cathedral was in tandem met with a deafening explosion within the structure. Something black and fragile had been thrown. The congregated clergymen were thrown apart, and the architecture cried out in the wake of the devastating shockwave running its core. The interloper above ducked back, and unleashed a follow-up strike, fire splattering across the ground as alchemical agents violently met the stonework of the floor. Shouts between soldiers and surviving clergymen exchanged within the belly of the basilica, but before they could gather their senses, the attacker was gone. Shingles came loose on the roof above as the assassin made way to escape the site of attack. In some sick display, the men of the church had been slaughtered in a mere blink of the eye. Boomsteel dust, glass, and death were left as evidence. How terrible the flight of that thunderbolt, a bringer of storms.

[!] A simple note is posted in response.

[!] A MISSIVE IS POSTED OVER ANOTHER, UNSIGNED SAVE FOR ITS INSIGNIA. IT HAS BEEN MODIFIED AFTER UPDATED INFORMATION, AND IS FOUND IN VARIOUS KINGDOMS IN-GAME IN PUBLIC SPACES. WANTED ALIVE WHO: THE GRAND JUSTICIAR of the BROTHERS OF VIRTUE, ALICJO VERRANA For the retrieval of the one LIVING Alicjo Verrana in bindings where ever they may be, the individual responsible shall be awarded TWO-THOUSAND MINAS. Any individuals with information leading to the capture of Alicjo Verrana will be awarded fifty minas if proven to be accurate. Pin a response to this missive with your information if you are successful in their capture, and an exchange date will be scheduled at a stronghold of ours. He is a Heartlander man who stands at about 4'10", commonly sighted within the bounds of the Orenian Empire around the remains of the Ivy House. He is a lecher and a scoundrel, missing his left ear and the ring finger upon his right hand. Heavily tattooed, often armed with a baton and a knife. They are a suspected dragon hunter of some kind. REWARD: TWO - THOUSAND MINAS INFORMATION REWARD: FIFTY MINAS

[!] A missive is posted in response, pinned in locations plentiful.

yo since when do you write for kunuk

Haskir didn't have much hope anymore, these days. Too many had come and gone, and the more frequent it occurred, the less he smiled. The less he frowned, too, a stalwart and expressionless thin-lipped indifference beset upon a countenance no longer caring. But as the days went by after hearing she had ventured afar in search of empowerment, he waited patiently to congratulate her in return of her three-hundredth birthday. Yet she would not return for these congratulations. Time went on, and finally it was to be assumed a similar fate to the rest had consumed her, 'lest she be lost to wandering. Helinathe, none other than Vivyne Ravexi would not be returning from her ventures. All he could do was grow angry. Seething, violent, terrible anger.

"No-one has done anything in this manner as the vast majority is ravings of a mad-man, and the Empire is allied to Haelun'or. High Elves don't worship anything. When will they find the Azdrazi temple in Oren?" "I wonder too when he'll figure out that the Imperial State Army's Fourth Brigade was founded upon the Azdrazi." He murmurs as he reviews the call.

Haskir observes as Olivier Renault applies his facemask before leaving his palace. Providing him a thumbs-up, he realized that Olivier Renault was likely quarantined since the coronation.

The Coast of San Luciano, Sunset of 17th Sun's Smile 41SA To Olivier Renault Ashford de Savoie, Serene Prince of Savoy, Duke of Corazon, Count of San Luciano, etc. It is with pleasure that I bestow upon you one of many relics of the Imperial Crown, affirmed by its authenticity mark of the Imperial Curator of the Crown Jewels. This one, the Crozier of Helena, is that of the blind High Pontiff Daniel V, a walking stick fashioned for the late High Pontiff in his elderly years. It has in its miraculous journey between hands passed on to myself, and it is a high honor of mine to grant it to you, Serene Prince Olivier Renault Ashford de Savoie. I hope it lives on in sanctity forevermore within the confines of Father Paul's Basilica of St. Pontian III, untouched by the outside world, especially the now-parasitic claws of a ruined Oren from which it originated. May the life of High Pontiff Daniel V live on in memory through this vessel of his journey. GOD bless. Anonymous

"Now this -- this is comedy." Haskir laughs.

+1 make the voidal mages poor

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