Dymase

she absolute on my truth til it shines

A satisfied smile was cracked behind the Inquisitor's visor as he eyed the missive. With naught a word, he strode from the notice board.

╔═══━━━─── ༒︎ ───━━━═══╗ Hubris. The one crack in the Spellblade’s armor. Hubris was what had spurred him to ride with Caurósian forces. To lend his blade while his mind was elsewhere, thinking of plots beyond the squabbling of Canonists, the schisms of Humans. Hubris was what allowed his neck to be hooked, for his body to be pulled from his horse - what allowed his head to strike rock as he clattered to the ground. Hubris, the thing that was shattered as he was dragged to safety by a faceless Praeven’tir, only to be deposited somewhere out of sight, out of mind. Hubris was what made him think he would be able to mend his cracked skull, heal his severed nerves - to be made whole again. The journey to sanctuary was a much more arduous one than he was used to. Alikos’s pride kept him from asking for directions to Aevos’s Western shores, forcing himself to stumble through a haze of bright whites, blurred greens, and murky blues. He knew the way well enough. His struggle simply permitted him to not have to think about just how he intended to rectify his dilemma. Eventually, Alikos managed to pull himself aboard his vessel, armor caked in muck and mire, hands flailing wildly in search of any familiar rope, ledge, or barrel. He trudged laboriously to his cabin, the door swinging open as he crumpled into an exhausted heap just beyond the entryway. How could he fix this? It would not be as simple as slapping in a new set of eyes - And even if he could, how could he expect to perform such a delicate operation on himself, much less with such a disability? He had nobody. No one to call out to, nobody he knew he could trust not to make things worse. This was his fault. How could he have been so stupid? So arrogant? The prospect of killing Balianites, Haensers, was it truly worth the risk? And what of the price he found himself paying? The man’s hands balled to fists, a cold malice coursing through him. He wanted to scream, to pound his fists into the floor, to break everything around him until his own bones shattered. But he could not. His Hubris had finally caught up with him. All he could do was succumb to his torpor. ═══━━━──────━━━═══ He stood then upon a sea of inky black which stretched for miles, only broken with the occasional dark tower forcing itself up from below the surface. A kaleidoscope of abyssal greens and yellows spun in the sky above. The air was still, yet the water moved with some strange current. The once-lord’s ears only picked up distant whispers and moans from some unseen place within this realm. His stomach churned with anticipation, trepidation. He could not tell if he had been standing there for mere minutes, or hours. Suddenly, he witnessed a shift upon the horizon. The miasma of those accursed hues cracked and split, giving way to some great shape, its outer protrusions sharp and wild, almost like tendrils. Within the center of the mass opened a singular eye, its iris glowing with the same green of its surrounding haze. Alikos could do nothing else but stare into it, his breath taken from him. A low rumble sounded from the distance, the waves about him beginning to churn with vigor as Alikos just watched, frozen in place, the words which emanated from that Black Sun reverberating to his very core. ═══━━━──────━━━═══ "Augur. The Smothered Spark. The Prodigal Knight. You have been away for FAR too long." "My people have strayed from their faith, falling for promises left unkept, allowing their knowledge to stagnate and wane. The city that you once so faithfully constructed now lies in ash, its denizens cast out and in need of a True shepherd." "The time for Diplomacy has passed. This is war. The Fire that you once clinged so tightly to has given way to Darkness; EMBRACE IT." "Walk in it. Listen to it. Learn from it. FEAR it, and the Dark shall be your ally." "Don your visor. Embrace its shadow, and what was taken shall be returned." ═══━━━──────━━━═══ Alikos awoke, lying on his back in the middle of a forest, its trees stretching high into the air, his surroundings darkened by the thick canopy of foliage above. His armor, still caked in blood and filth, felt stiff; his helm was skewed atop his head. Slowly, an arm creaked forth to adjust the steel façade, and just as he succeeded, all movement ceased. His breath quickened, his mind beginning to race with confusion - But then a stillness overcame him. A resolve. He knew what he must do. ╚═══━━━─── 𓁺 ───━━━═══╝

Thank you for the suggestion, I edited it. If you think there is a better way to clarify, please do let me know.

GREEN: New STRIKETHROUGH : Removed PURPLE: Explanation Arcane Scion [Spell [Combat]] - Melding Adept and experienced in combative and generally impromptu magics, melding is a trademark capability of Arcane Scions, serving as a useful tool in battle as a crossover of transmutation and ancient arcanism. A Scion may be versatile in situations where required. Using pure mana, one may make minor adjustments to existing objects. After [2] emotes [1 Connect + 1 Cast], one may make a temporary (until the end of combat, or 10 minutes in narrative), amendment to an item already existing up to 1x1x1 meter in size in total. An example of this may be adding more grip and blade to a dagger to turn it to a makeshift longsword, or patching damaged or incomplete armour with an arcane protection. Redlines -An Melded item would only last until the end of combat or for 10 minutes in narrative. -Only one item may be melded at a time. -Given the temporary nature of Melded items, they are obviously not ST signed. -A Melded item may have it’s amendment broken instantaneously by means of Abjuration or Thanhium. -Given the clunky nature of quickly changing the purpose of an item, it is likely that item will be ineffective as it’s actual counterpart. (E.g. a dagger with an extended blade and hilt would not be as durable, wide, or controllable as a shortsword, making them non ideal) -A Melded item would have no special effects, and would have the hardness & durability of Steel at most. -A Melded weapon, being entirely made of mana, is able to harm beings weak to voidal magics the same way as any other spell. (i.e. Feeling like a hot iron.) -A Melded item would only be as hard and durable as its steel counterpart at most. -The larger an amendment made, the more mana this spell may take. At its maximum, a full meld would expend as much mana as a Tier 3 spell. -A Melded item would appear as an ethereal (either partially, or fully) extension of the original item, and would bear the aura colour of the Scion. -Melding cannot create objects with Melding, only amend them. -Most melded items will be not nearly as effective as their proper counterpart given their makeshift nature. However, items specially designed for melding may function as normal- at cost of being impractical or outright unusable without its application. PURPOSE: Seeing as Melded items are created through pure mana rather than mundane means, it seems logical that such an item would have properties, albeit limited, beyond its non-magical counterpart. The rationale for this is that combative evocation spells are still able to harm spectral beings, and those spells are also constituted from the same mana used to create a melded weapon. Some confusion arose when I read melded items have "no special properties" while voidal spells do have the property of causing harm to phantoms. I just think this ought to be clarified in the lore for ease of explanation.

The cloaked shoulders of a Lord lofted as he turned the missive over a few times in his grasp. A sigh escaped him as his icy hues turned to the specter. "Well?" he inquired.

A certain Lord let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "Now they get their children to beg for this wretch's release? How amusing."

{!} Figures donning black hooded robes and steel masks lurk throughout the cities of Aevos, nailing missives to every notice board in every city, town, and settlement. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________ To you, whose Flame now dwindles, dormant, Heralding little more than shadows of a dying light, A new spark flickers, burning to a blinding torrent. You have forsaken your place by letting your Embers die. I take your title. Come and take it back. - Lord of the Xi'tharii @The King Of The Moon

A harsh laugh escaped the maw of the Royal Inquisitor as he finished skimming the missive. "I wonder if the good lady Kortrevich will attempt to use blood-ties to save herself from punishment," the Lord mused. "I do hope Klara makes her grovel."

what's wrong with fish driving automobiles?

how become mayor @christman

A cold sneer cracked across the Bayac's face as he read the missive within his room. "Illness?" mused he, folding the paper neatly and setting it upon his desk. "Perhaps she is just hungry. . ." He turned for the door of his home then, that cruel smirk still plastered upon his face. He chuckled, uttering a malefic, "We shall see each other soon." With that, the door slammed shut as he strode out into the night.

A certain Adunian put a hand over his mouth, uttering a sardonic "Yawn..."

Silence. That was all that filled the Inquisitor's ears now as he sat in some dark corner of the Adrian chapel. Blood still drenched his gloves, dripping from the thumbs that he had jammed into the eye sockets of some Haenser. It was a brief solace, the sound of those pathetic screams of that man as Alikos knelt over him, the cracking of bones beneath each furious strike, the squelching of those blue eyes, turned red and bloodied. His one regret of that murder, no, that execution was that he was pulled back before the bottle of Alchemist's Flame in his grasp was able to be poured down the Northman's throat. The hiss of the Adunian's emerald blade as it manifested above the Haeseni's neck, the thud of his head hitting the bloodied wooden stage... All of it was now quiet. Completely, and utterly silent. Eventually though, as it must always be, that silence was broken. "I am sorry, little one," rasped he, his voice ringing dully from beneath his helmet. That steel façade, that metal wall, blocking himself from the world. He did not think he would ever take it off again. "I have failed you... I will not allow this to happen again." His voice now hardened. Turned resolute. He knew now what he must do. And so he stood, gaze falling upon the crucifix nailed to the opposing wall. From beneath his visor, a grimace formed upon his lips. Without another thought, he strode out from the chapel, the door slamming shut behind him.