ToodIes

"Glorious retribution for the holiday raids," observes Faeryel as she secures the armor of the fallen on her horse.

Faeryel writes up a receipt to the Grand Magister for 9.3 minae, the cost of the anvil's materials, since she was providing her skill as a golemancer pro bono. Squinting, she erases the 3, and write a 4. "Heh heh heh. They'll never know."

you literally need an associate’s degree in forum threads and discord messages and staff networking to know what’s allowed and what’s not. make a clear and consistent and fair ruling and then stick to it im begging you

[!] An EXTREMELY private memo is sent in. "My name is Faeryel. I would like to be considered for Mastery. Here is my resume." FAERYEL ARTENIN Riva 5, Lurin. Arcane Relay Coordinates: ‡⊗ WORK EXPERIENCE The Chamber of Fire. Hohkmat, Aevos. Lieutenant General. 1950 - Current Led a group of militant magi in conflicts such as the Siege of Breakwater and the 1955 Demon Incursions. Mass-manufactured magical and alchemical weapons for Chamber of Fire use, such as Auric Oil and evocation mages. Wrote the organization’s charter, as well as lauded reports for the Grand Magister. The Leaky Dolphin Tavern. Fi’Andria, Celia’nor, Almaris. Bartender. 1872 - 1875 Supplied beverages and foodstuffs for day-to-day tavern operation. Attended festivals and court functions to hawk goods, resulting in a 300% increase in revenue. The Coalition of Arcane Knowledge. Sutica, Arcas. Professor of Herbology. 1779 - 1787 Organized the construction of a greenhouse with herbs such as Jailer’s Moss and Mandragora. Formulated lesson plans and then implemented them through in-person lectures and herbological demonstrations. The Constabulary of Llyria. Llyria, Arcas. Secretary of Endurance. 1724 - 1738 Developed SOPs to standardize the operation of a city-wide guardforce. Spearheaded a successful initiative to cure individuals affected by a mind-controlling voidal parasite. Was knighted by Crumena Izalith and dubbed the ’Silent Knight’ for services rendered. Adherents of Tahariae. Sutica, Atlas. Priest Healer. 1680 - 1697 Collaborated with clerical staff to impart light-based healing to benefit the Sutican populace. Fought and slew impurities such as Frost Witches, Ghouls, etc. Xionist Organized Guard. Kingdom of Devirad, Axios. Guardsman - Coldblood. 1632 - ???? Went through the resurrection process to become a Ghoul, facilitated by Malineer, the King of Devirad. Worked in a fast-paced, high-focus environment to slaughter innocents and consume their flesh. Interacted with necromantic technologies such as phylacteries and became familiar with the inner workings of a Kingdom of the Dead REFERENCES Crumena Izalith, Concord of Llyria, Principal for Bodyguarding Services as an Empyrshield Kairn Ithelanen, Pale of Camlannen, Client for Weapon-Manufacturing Services during the Inferi War Sarrion Zytiaear, The Enchantry, Magical Instructor SKILLS Proficiencies: Fire Evocation, Air Evocation, Translocation, Transfiguration, Atronach Creation, Voidal Eminence, Alchemical Science, Automaton Creation, Sorvian Sculpting, Golemancy, Conduits of Enlightenment, Sintel’s Smoggers, Herbological Science, Common, Flexio, Al’tahrn Durngo, Illatian

CHAMBER OF FIRE INCIDENT REPORT Filed 3 of The Amber Cold 1955 by Faeryel Artenin File Number: COF153 Title of Incident: VOIDFIRE and MALFLAME and BONESMOKE Date: 16 Sun’s Smile 1955 Personnel Involved: Faeryel Artenin, Sarah Artenin, Melfani Mashan Description of Incident: … “GLORY TO THE BLACK PONTIFF, HAIL THE DARK STAR!” wheezed the skeletal-robed cardinal as he staggered into Hohkmat’s square. With him came his retinue; a pair of demons with twisted, feminine features, glowing violet and hissing with malice; armored Orcs, whitewashed, abandoners of Krug; and a sorceress in pink, who would later claim she was there to sell cookies. “HAIL THE ARCH PRINCES!” Several heavily-armed Hohkmati happened to be present. The Chamber of Fire’s soldier and mercenary and witch; an enigmatic Lady-Magister and her paladinic paramour; two knights of the Petrine Laurel, resplendent; Slith; a man yelling in a strange tongue and wielding eastern weapons; a child with a fire-wand; various bystanders. “MAY HIS ROT TAKE THE WEAK - EMBRACE ME - MY LORD!” The cardinal erupted into a mass of black miasma, spreading viciously, bringing with it boils and sickness and decaying flesh. He would be found dead, once the smog was banished, a smile on his emaciated features. The armored orcs went to the right, clashing with the Thricebloods. A searing sphere of violet malflame soared through the black cloud, scattering knights with its explosion. One of the demons, a bleached, veiled, sharp-clawed monstrosity, produced a whip of evilfire; she turned around. While an ally had appeared– a singular, annoying imp— new enemies for the Ibleesians had amassed. Mali magi and knights, tall and pale and fair of hair, had arrived at the Hohkmati gates. “Karin’ayla,” one of them said. The gates slammed shut. The garishly-garbed sorceress fled in one direction; the crow-like demoness in another. The cultists trapped within were brought down by boomsteel and blades and conjured earth. The womanish whip-wielding fiend was incinerated by an overzealous bastard. The hungry mist, expanding and clinging and malevolent, was rent by flames of orange and blue. Hohkmat emerged victorious, though peppered with pockets of bonesmoke and struck with malflame scars. Once again, the agents of the Betrayer were routed; their defeat celebrated with weary smiles and injured cheers. …the use of black alchemy indicates that necromancers number among our enemies, in addition to demons. This author speculates that it may have been the work of Gashadokuro or his affiliates, as we know that the H████████e Coven are associated with a larger group. While the identities of some of the arriving elves were known– Lady-Magister Silveira, Nepir, ████-- others were not. It has been suggested that they were passing Celia’norians. That being said; one must wonder when the demons will tire of being outmanned and outgunned. Or, perhaps, these seemingly feeble attempts are meant to obfuscate some insidious plan…

“Let them fight,” says Faeryel, scrutinizing the soaked parchment, borrowed from a recently-slaughtered messenger-zombie. “I don’t care for either of ‘em.”

"TURN! FIGHT! TURN! FIGHT!" Among the vestiges of the Coalition's shattered army, with her sword tragically unbloodied, Faeryel made her last stand against the grey-plated knights of Veletz. "BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!" The opportunity for death by combat was cruelly ripped from her when, by divine design or unfortunate happenstance, the world fell away. The darkness of the Void ate at the corners of her one good eye; the battlefield receded into the distance; and, screaming, she sought out the arcane within herself, and vanished in a swirl of black.

CHAMBER OF FIRE INCIDENT REPORT Filed 14 of Malin's Welcome 1955 by Faeryel Artenin File Number: COF148 Title of Incident: DEMON ATTACK from THE TOMB of ANCIENTS Date: 7 The Deep Cold 1955 Personnel Involved: Sarah Artenin, Louve Thriceblood Description of Incident: ... A brisk winter wind blew through the rooftops of Hohkmat, sending chimes a-tinkling. The sky was merry and blue; the grass was not yet brown; and the fountain in the center of the city was turning red. They had emerged from the tombs. Two demons and three cultists stepped out from the dark recesses of the district of the dead, black-cloaked and armored, weapons bristling, green malflame churning with hate. They had demanded Hohkmat to kneel; and Hohkmat responded with incredible violence. Fireballs and potions and blasts of wind sung through the air. Crackling boomsteel exploded into the peace of that beautiful afternoon; bones splintered, muscles tore. Flesh bubbled and boiled and melted. Sir Atticus Reinhold, knighted for his valiant efforts at the Battle of Whitespire, introduced one of the demon's faces to a blue fireball. An arrow intended for Louve Thriceblood sank into the helm of a cultist that Elena Thriceblood had bashed into the way. Sarah Artenin, the coolest wizard in all of the cosmos, found herself blasted backwards by a boomsteel blow; manifesting her own boomsteel weapon, she rejoined the fray. Melody Twilight Valkyrie, the woman with three names, said "I don't go down that easy!" when she was, in fact, lifted up. Iduna Thriceblood, grinning madly, was likewise lifted up. Both were thrown; both suffered little injury. Yera Silveira, fanged and masked, vanished into miasma rather than take a fireball to the face and a blade in the gut. The demons died. The Hohkmati onslaught was too much for them; their smoldering corpses, slathered in ichor, slumped to the cobblestones. The cultists retreated into the tomb; their way of entry was discovered, and walled-off. The citizenry took to the clinic to nurse their wounds. “The Dark Star Rises; Five points to his star, Five fingers to HIS fist; Hail to the Arch Princes." The Ibleesians had come with five; the Hohkmati numbered a dozen or more. Perhaps the Archdaemon needed more fingers. ...the strength of Hohkmat is not in our organization, nor discipline, nor the strength of our gates and walls. It is in that every citizen is ready and willing to, at a moment's notice, unleash magical and martial hell on anything deemed an acceptable target. I almost feel sorry for them.

A shell-shocked elf prepares for another campaign in the trenches. She takes a shaky sip from her flask as she organizes the plunder from the previous successful sieges; "Home by Krugsmas," she mumbles.

“The Ibleesian legacy is one of failure,” the elf says, sweeping away atronach blueprints from her desk as she stands up. She produces a joint as she rides the lift to the main floor of the Chamber of Fire. “Their Archdaemon has tried, and he has been beaten, his essence scattered. They have built no cities. They are hated the realm-over by enemies who would gladly unite against them.” She leaves the Chamber, lighting the joint with a snap of her fingers, before she manifests atop the roof of the building in a flood of black smoke. Faeryel takes a drag. “They skulk in the shadows. They leave threatening little messages. They rub their hands together inside of their hidden crevices, thinking themselves terrible and powerful. And then, time and time again, they throw themselves against us, and they are broken.” She exhales the grass-smoke, before a sword explodes into existence in her hand. She aims it skyward, the joint clenched in her teeth. “They’ve gotten overconfident again. We’ll put them in their place.” Silhouetted against the ash-choked sky, burning violet tinged with black, hover eleven enormous flame-hewn letters. COME GET SOME

"They blew up a bridge," says Faeryel.

Faeryel lights up, looking to the night sky from Hohkmat’s rooftops, as grass-smoke drifts above. “Home by Krugsmas.”

In the Chamber of Fire underneath Hohkmat, Faeryel offloads all of her plundered armor and weapons. "Kaggath? Is that what this sort of thing is called?"

"I don't really know what everyone else is here for," remarks Faeryel to a wizard while she wipes Ferrymen blood off her blade. "I just don't like Lanre. I wish he had been here."

"No," says Faeryel.

Faeryel looks up groggily from her desk as the voice booms, having fallen asleep planning the parade through Paradox. “…All that work. Down the drain.” She then sits up, looking out the front window. “Not that I’m not happy about the outcome, mind you!”

A secretary at the Chamber of Fire files the Fatebinder’s missive in a folder labeled “Shows of Force”. She then sets about the unenviable task of coordinating regalia, maneuvers and operating procedures for an organization whose charter was finalized just the day before.

Faeryel's hands are stained with ink. She longs for them to be stained with blood.

“Actually pretty funny,” comments an incredibly uninvolved dark elf. “Ruling a place for, like, a week, and taking the opportunity to start stripping peoples’ titles.”

Thirty-five odd years after she'd sworn never to visit Nor'asath again, Faeryel found herself inexplicably drawn to its architecture. She ended up in the Maehr temple, where a pair of young shamans explained to her that Qudlia had died over a decade prior. "Ah. How?" An explanation was provided. Faeryel blinked. "Do you know why she did it? Jumped?" Another explanation. "Well, that's a shame." Faeryel looked away. The shamans told her, since she'd evidently forgotten, that Maehr lived forever in the Ancestral Realm. "That's true." Faeryel brought up a hand to scratch her cheek, eyes taking the far-off look of recollection. Consulting Qudlia on ancient 'ker history. Refusing her offers of tutelage. The scarred Porôbmog passing judgement on Sarah, and then her apology, and Faeryel's acidic reply. "I can't help but feel a little glum. She was strong. Smart. Full of conviction." Faeryel looked up, swimming in memories of Qudlia, and of all the other friends and enemies she'd outlived--"Ach, well, c'est la vie."

Ithuriel's grief can be heard echoing through the Grove for many-a night; her keening stirs the trees and frightens the animals.