Ryloth

Haskir reviews the paper with a blank expression. Settling it aside, he then closes the curtains to his window, shadowing his pink and baby blue trousers neatly-stacked within his home. "Nothing to see here."

Haskir wonders what mental gymnastics the Grand Kingdom of Urguan will pull next. Perhaps they will reveal that the mountains of Karinah'siol harbor secret labyrinthian dwarven catacombs?

Another panther nods in mad respect for The Panther!

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

Updated per pending status, see changelog, also shown below:

After sending forth Sir Tobias de Sarkozy upon his quest along the path to Asioth, teacher sat silent as student trekked into the world. The task: convert one who opposes the Titan, or slay them where they stand. He could have chosen anyone: holy knight, necromancer, druid, or demon yet Sir Tobias did simply find one so wicked and strange -- he chose a friend who was wicked and strange. As Haskir sat pondering the moments when the Sarkozy had left the gates of San Luciano, he wondered for a minute if he'd return. He was certain Tobias would -- why send a student to his death? That very same night, Haskir watched the fall of an armsman of Savoy, felled by an otherwise innocent trio of orcs assaulted by the people there, Savoyard men who sought to demand these green-skins kneel before their all-mighty God. This man -- one who had moments before shook the pantera's hand, a man of honor and courage who had fought hours prior against an interloping beast on the beaches afore -- lay dead. So thin, that thread of life. Thinking of Tobias and the armsman, he settled down against a barrel on the street side. Gazing up, he saw the same stars they bore witness to atop that frigid mountain so far away. He felt at peace -- as did they. Now he awaited his herald's return -- perhaps, a convert in tow.

[THIS POST IS ONLY AVAILABLE TO HERALDS OF AZDROMOTH AND AZDRAZI. DO NOT METAGAME.] A CALL TO TRIAL FOR: HIS MAJESTY King Heinrik II of Haenseti-Ruska As a Herald of Azdromoth, it is your duty to uphold the tenets of our Lord the Arch-Drakaar, and to protect our brothers and sisters of kith, the Azdrazi who guide your way to the auric gift of ASIOTH. It is your duty to protect the realm to ensure the sanctity of our Lord's lands and charters be without harm by the otherworldly influences of damned aengudaemonica, the Void, the Infernal realms, etcetera. Today, your faith to our cause has become questioned for your open letter to Urguan. Your alignment to Urguan's forces rather than neutrality or to our brother Draakopf Doomforged and his most righteous and honorable rebellion to seize the obsidian throne of dwarven kind is curious, for the lands of Urguan bear the festering forces of the Aengul who shall not be named and the Vasiyeva to which proclaim holy crusade upon our kind. Once upon a time I was called to trial, and I answered. So shall you. Grow from this -- do not wither. ♛ FOR BREAKAGE OF: TENET V - The cretin who slaughters our kin, the accursed Aengul who shall not be named, must be opposed at every opportunity, for he is our bane. ♛ YOU WILL: Venture to the Temple of Ei'Othdra to kneel before the Eye of Azdromoth and our Council of Embers, which shall consist of Ri'Haskir'Kul, Marchosias, and Ruvaak in convention with our brothers and sisters, heralds and ordained. Your loyalties shall be reviewed. AAL OK YOL AAK The Herald of Azdromoth Ri'Haskir Therkul, Lord of Aaz Hahdrim [THIS POST IS ONLY AVAILABLE TO HERALDS OF AZDROMOTH AND AZDRAZI. DO NOT METAGAME.]

Haskir remembers standing at Cloud Temple when Mordrin Doomforged first appeared. As he watched the dwed run by, he lofted a brow. "Who the hell is that? It reads like 'Mordring', is he a dragon-worshipper too?"

Haskir watches the smoke fill the air from the countryside of Orenia, the scent of charred structure filling the atmosphere. A wind flows by, a remnant imagination of Eluitholnear's cackle heard within it. How maddening. In his hand, a crystalline dragonbone shard from the ownings of Zahkriikyzer. "A symbol in their honor, the blessed men of God, betrayed." The roaring fire on the horizon was visible between the trees, above the jagged spiring rooftop peaks of Providential homes and government facilities. "I hope they are remembered eternal, as were their roles." He says in thought of Helinathe.

broo?.. it's dark dael @Xx_BloodStalk_xX

"A shame such a place of godly worship and beauty must burn." The Kharajyr quietly says, shaking his head. "But it would nay happen if not for the threats of the Church." Haskir smiles, patting his herald on the back. "Your trials come along well."