Ryloth

The weary Kharajyr watched as the body floated into the blue yonder. The deed was done. His helmet shrouded his visage and emotion, and behind him the Azdrazi Helinathe praised him in his victory. He felt dark, the same horrific vision of his sword serrating the head from her shoulders repeating at the back of his eyes in sick display. "Damn.."

SHATTERED PRIDE The leal Herald of Azdromoth drew upon the letter with an ire beset upon his countenance, a visage wroth with anger at the mere suggestion he were a betrayer. To who, Azdromoth? No, never. He grips the missive with a fist on one side, crinkling its surface upon the black gauntlet he bore. "How dare they suggest this UTTER non-sense?" He balls up and throws the paper aside, kicking it against the back wall of his granite hearth fire. Smoldering licks of bright orange consume the message, ashes and ember fluttering through the air in a haze of flame. He sets his timepiece and makes headway for the door, gathering only his equipment before stepping for his fellow Azdrazi, Arthonath and Helinathe. My Brother Eluitholnear, the Inquisitor Eternal I hear your call and I shall heed it. I will arrive unto your fortress Aah Hahdrim, but with a burning malice in my heart. These accusations are steep, and you understand not what tribulations this creates for me. My work to discover the inner-circle of these Knights of Xan is torn asunder with what has been done this day. My work to understand when, where, and how they will strike these drakes of Our Almaris. My work to understand all that which stand in the shadows despite their light. Pray tell the consequences if a letter of these were intercepted. No elf, no man, no dwarf, no orc knows I am a Herald of our Titan 'lest I tell, for my midnight veil shrouds all that which identifies. Ezyl Grey is indeed one bearing the embers of that Aengul which shall not be named, that accursed creature of the light, the maleficiar of our damnation. My intent was to learn, but to learn I shall not -- for this letter forces my hand early. At the behest of you, Inquisitor Eternal, I will deliver for you the head of Ezyl Grey upon my entrance to the halls of Aah Hahdrim. Perhaps that, my brother, will provide the clarity of mind to remind all for who I stand, The Firsborn of the World, Azdromoth. If I do not show for your call, then I have failed, and I am dead. Wings shroud you, Inquisitor Eternal. Let us hope I prevail. In Silver Starlight, Ra'Haskir of the Empire of Khalenwyr [OOC: This letter is available ONLY to the character Eluitholnear and those kin around him.]

The leal Herald of Azdromoth drew upon the letter with an ire beset upon his countenance, a visage wroth with anger at the mere suggestion he were a betrayer. To who, Azdromoth? No, never. He grips the missive with a fist on one side, crinkling its surface upon the black gauntlet he bore. "How dare they suggest this UTTER non-sense?" He balls up and throws the paper aside, kicking it against the back wall of his granite hearth fire. Smoldering licks of bright orange consume the message, ashes and ember fluttering through the air in a haze of flame. He sets his timepiece and makes headway for the door, gathering only his equipment before stepping for his fellow Azdrazi, Arthonath and Helinathe.

stuns are pogstomp borderline pging in CRP so imo idk but lightning magic is based

i hadn't even considered being nice and rebuilding their farmland. kinda based tbh

The Herald of Azdromoth and friend of Ezyl Grey, Haskir, stood stalwart against the siege of frost trolls invading Haense at the time of this missive's writing. He didn't know it'd been written. Azdrazi and herald alike held the line against the bestial army swarming the city walls and gates, dragons fire and ashen weaponry lashing forth alongside explosions of cannon fire in chaotic flashes of light and divine might to strike down the evil that assaulted the stalwart thread of civilization. In his Path to Asioth, the pantera sought no death unto those who bore the spark of Xan, 'lest they misstep. He still didn't -- yet. As the missive was sent forth unto the Paladins of Xan, the Herald of Azdromoth ripped and tore into the Rimetroll beasts with fiery bloodlust, ignorant to the writing.

i will take your aether ty

alright if you didnt deserve the warclaim before, you definitely do now

one of the best decisions to be produced from WT alongside the recent addition of world edit

Knowing eyes drifted the writings from start to end in scintillated candle light, all the same as the one which lit the page's surface when scribed. "No finer an observation from a Titan's child," drawled the grated voice from within the chambers. "Pray, pray that we misunderstood are seen in righteous firelight. It would do the whole world a goodness." Haskir takes a copy to save for the coffers, words for eternity he may reference for years to come.

my name is ryloth and this is my new favorite post on lotc

"Another that I shall acquire for my ever-expanding collection!" Haskir slams the table at which he sat with a firm fist, like the gavel of a judge. He WILL have his pillows, and he sets out post-haste to collect one.

Haskir peers over the message with risen brows, surprised that the elf had passed so soon. He unleashes a gentle sigh. A brief memory came back to him, albeit in a collection -- all those times he'd caught Nuala sitting silent, watching the sunrise over the Silver Forests in Arcas on her bench. Quiet as ever, silent as she is now. "Well, at least she got what she wanted with 'the lizards'." The remark was quiet, and he then looks on ahead of himself. "I'll miss her."

based but when will xan accept my kha brethren 🥺

♫♫♫ A short letter embroidered with a peculiar symbol laden with the Eye of Azdromoth found its way to the notice boards of cities around Almaris, particularly to those harboring the Paladins of Xan. 14th of the Grand Harvest, Year 11 of the Second Age - - - Into the desert wastes they went, these Men of the North. A foreign land unknown, coarse with rough sands and thick with ashen smoke which plumed in great swathes from the fiery volcano afar. Brimstone littered the pyroclastic hellscape in their approach, but alas they pressed on. In a valiant effort did they lay siege to the Mouth of the World there. Ballistae emblazoned with the divinity of daemonic Xannic fire wrought their 'holy' might unto the slumbering drake therein which called this place home. They were invaders to this land, trespassers on soil they did not own. Just as these Paladins of Xan had done to the great Empire of Oren, their terrorism once more strikes hot -- now at the behest of Norland. They had awakened a terror, just as the drakes of lands past. Just as Avendal of Atlas, just as Gudour of Athera, just as Malghourn of Anthos -- drakes of immense power who dead or alive live on by physicality or myth, legend, and fire-side tale. Once more and yet again as these Paladins had done throughout the ages past have they awakened upon the Lands of Almaris an old, timeless drake. For why? In their brazen attacks and outright ignorant, impossible assaults on beings as mighty as drakes such as these do they raise an endless threat and unstoppable power. They endanger the people of Almaris -- threatening nations, cities, capitols and the innocent. The bounty of a fallen drake would line the pockets of these 'holy' knights in gold should they succeed -- but they failed, and utterly so. It is with solemnity do we of the Titan Arch-Drakaar express our disdain with these Paladins of Xan, purveyors of dark daemonic influence and their taint unto the world. You know not with who or what you toil, and a reckoning will come. We may only hope now that the drake returns isolated to its home. If not and instead a city, this was your doing. You are our undoing, this world's undoing. - - - The letter is unsigned, but the message was clear.

*smiles

"At Elibar'acal Memorial Square? Azorella is turning in her grave." Haskir chuckles.

"Our friends in Haense?" Haskir snickers as he read the article, "This is some serious ass-kissing!" The Kharajyr remarks before wadding up the news paper to by tradition wipe dinner crumbs from his maw. "Maybe next they'll send a care package of minas!"