Wand

slaeme old, slaeme old

A curious-minded elven man, whose blood and creation were both born of divinity in servile forms, eyes the strange document among many others. "Perhaps my old acquaintance is at it again. Worth keeping an eye on."

Feanor Sylvaeri hopes a piece of Norli's soul wasn't sucked into the last project they collaborated on together...

"Another Ipos?" a retiree reads the missive. "And Sable Prince. Perhaps I'll pay a visit, see what this one is like."

A crate of whiskey would be shipped to Evar'tir's address by funny masked clay-men who scurry off should Evar'tir get the crossbow. Along with it, a set of matching aprons and a spatula for Medli.

The concept of simply 'burning' impure beings of any sort isn't really as problematic as prior versions. What in all is presented here is a lot more fair and balanced compared to prior versions of the magic. The former cleric write (pre-Lore games) featured several spells that would simply burn regardless of knowing for certain whether or not the individual was dark. It is exceptionally prohibited in the modern day to be able to just shoot holy fire into a crowd - such a thing actually being done before - and picking out the 1 or 2 disguised dark creatures. The majority of Dark CAs/MAs often feature some form of disguise or illusory ability to be able to navigate around regardless. Very rare is it for them to openly attack, and if it were to happen it is most likely certainly under some sort of open desire to roleplay. Happy the aspect of prophecy is being referenced - as it's been underrepresented in prior clericalism writes

mordu magic mordu magic mordu magic

Once, Feanor Sylvaeri recalled the burning questions of the youth - curious and eager in his own eyes. He had showed Avius great ruins and black spires, told him of the black-sword of Azdromoth which the younger elf chased. He had wanted to tell Avius of the cursed answer he found, what that infernal blade truly was - and now the opportunity would never come.

The bearer of the Arm of Aeriel, last remnant relic of the Order former, looks upon the happenings westward. Their intentions would be revealed in due time.

A retired elf looks upon the documents with enthusiasm. The revelations within provoke terrors in the night of bloody rituals and dark dealings: a life left behind in Arcas, come to haunt him again. "Juniper and Lothar - if the latter is who I believe..." Off he rode. "They've only touched the surface."

Among the ash and smoke of the calamitous ruins, a solitary rider in silver and ivory delivers his message. The only sign of his presence would become the sighting of a knightly rider, a halo of silver fire encircling his head.

Do you have a moment to talk about your car's extended warranty?

I will sacrifice an old laptop with some Gogurt in commemoration

The elf who brought word of Calamity to the East once again had been made witness to the destruction foretold for Elvenesse. This time, it was the great bridge of Sunbreak which had been torn asunder. Behind his eyes had been seared the shape of a ring - a cycle devouring. In his sleep, the Wheel-Turner witnesses a black sun. Passion and spite begs him to march and to write, to reject the scaled beast and His children, just as he had done before. However, had he not warned them many decades before? They had done all that they could without the Sunlit Lord. It had been enough in the moment. The clouds over the western Firelands portend further retribution - a bloody war in which that smoke and fire would seek to blot out the Sun for good. "Yes," he decided. "They will have to be enough alone."

Behind the lids of his tired eyes, Feanor Sylvaeri remembers his comrades-in-arms. It had been Murdok who reminded those men and women of Varhelm that their faces and names would live on in the memory of the long lived. Although he would not soon forget her face or name, there was the ever present, physical reminder of the Firewatch upon his finger -- forged of starsteel, and as everlasting as their vows in battle.

Unfortunately, Feanor hadn't realized what Gib truly meant by viewers. He doesn't mind the idea of listening into a few casual gentlemen every now and then.

When the **** are we playing vermintide again I need to kill some rats

An elf wandering Urguan territories is glad he cannot see the news, otherwise this would have been the second worst thing he'd seen today.

The names of Ostromir and son, which were revealed to him by this letter, cause Vaevictis to reach for his candlelight portent. The small flame burns beneath his hands, reignitung that ancient Sign of Calling... wherever its tethered Seven may be.

ngl when I didn't see any 'habibi' in that message that was sent around that made it seem a bit sus you're a real one though, ibraheem, nice to see folks worried for you getting potentially hacked

You're a real one dude, take care of yourself