Conqueror

KHÂZVALIKAR rows the Canoe down the Silver river of Metztli, towards his Fathers new heaven. He'd stop. It was then did the Khazdrazi realize, he was the victim of the Church, this time. Probably because there were no more Kharajyr left for them to kill. "How many times did I have to tell them." He spoke with a risen tone. An angry one. He'd row some more, before stopping a second time, and peering into the Water. "We can grovel all we want, bend our heads to them. It won't matter. I doubt we will seek revenge for today." He'd stand on the boat. Shaking his head to himself, he spoke again! "It took two lives for my Brothers to finally make this... fleeting realization!" Remembering those inverse words the false Aengul spoke to him, before he lobbed his head off, he'd spring off the side of the canoe, down deep into the Silver River; to his drakeshrine. He'll come back. Soon. In a different form.

KHÂZVALIKAR stood in the Ash-Knight meeting, simply listening to the topics of discussion. "-must speak of Vedyolthur." Stood out from the discussive voices. He grins. The mere topic of his friend making him smile! "What of him? Perhaps he made a new grandeur weapon." Voices spoke at once: " He is the first in the New Garden. He is Stone. Enlightenment. He came to me lost. " The Khazdrazi frowned then, nervousness in his belly. "Speak plain!" A demand he made with a spit, with a snarl too of fear, of confusion to such answers. Voices spoke again, in clarification: " He is no longer on this Plane, Brother. His soul, with Father. " Silence.

KAAZVÂLIKAR rose from being knelt in the Ashes, Flaming Ichor falling from his head, tattoos glowing from under his Armor. Though now he stood, he was silent. Liquid Fire stained the ground beneath him. Again, it wasn't blood.

KAAZVÂLIKAR clears his throat, before speaking to his newest student. He'd speak words that aren't his. "...They will answer kindness with viciousness. But to strike, when reason is outstretched like a willing hand, is that strength?" He'd go silent, before speaking more. The Third-Eye's word, recalled just as they were said, the perfect words he had struggled so long to say to those who rose against him. Maybe they weren't remembered correctly, but it didn't matter. "When one holds the capacity to burn it all to cinders, but chooses reconciliation, is he stronger than the one who rebukes him, who chose that violence?" The Khazdrazi rose a hand then, bidding his student to be at ease.

KAAZVÂLIKAR leant two hands upon his Rapier, watching a conversation.

KAAZVÂLIKAR watches as Sebastian carries off the Stroheim's fabled corpse, the look of regret plastered still upon his face. "I didn't know..." Begins the Nephilim, the tool the Legend had used to kill himself. "I didn't know he was... serious." He'd say, to his nearby ally. He had more words to say, but not yet. Liquid Fire stains the ground, and it was not blood.

KAAZVÂLIKAR rides along the North with his allies, the traumatized Numendain Princess on his Steed. "I wonder if the Templars will care." The Khazdrazi thought. "I cannot wait to see the looks on their faces, when their HEROS are the ones they distain." His Steed sends him upwards a moment suddenly, as it jumps over a rock. The snow around the travelling party evaporates with their very presence. "I wonder if they'll care." He thought again.

this is too op!

jousting events should be both emoted and performed mechanically via surge they are fun to participate, boring to watch, slightly better than court rp while watching thats my opinion

THE CREATUYRE!!!!

"A familiar tale." Muses an old, very old Kharajyr. "Perhaps I shall pay him a visit, a shame he does not count as a... canonist clergymen." Drawls the mangey cat, reading red scripture off of a strange, spherical object. Instead of taking the very long journey to those Blackrooms, he goes back to bed.

KAIROS, the injured forever-Herald, limps to his room and slams the door, collapsing unto his bed, his right arm missing and hair lightly burned. Passing out once again, he'd remember the death of Thelia within his mind; watching the woman who he spoke to before, the wise Elf, be impaled by that of a Demi-God. The Herald he spoke to only hours prior, dead. The Fire within him is fueled once more.

The Sunderer trudges away from the now vacant keep, walking through river and lake as to return to his belligerent Creator.

we're doing this the wrong way... buff the CAs so they have to remain CAs guys!1!!

TRITON, who had not caught the ride back to Aaun, would trudge along the seabed for one day. Eventually, he'd climb the continental shelf of Aevos, and emerge on the most Southeast shore of the land, near Balian. The venerable Machine would walk for another day, Northward, back to his creator.

A KHARAJYR ENTERS the stonen room, gazing forlorn to the statue before him. The calcified Bokakur. His gaze flicks to the loose note on the ground, and with a furrow of brow and deepening of lip, the Kharajyr's expression changes to indifference. "With IRE do I bid you farewell, Bodakur. A voice..." He says ambiguously, gazing up from the note to the statue. "But... bad timing." The Herald of Heralds swiftly turns a cheek to glance over his shoulder, but looks back to the statue. "Your Student has sense." He'd go on, talking to it. "There is War. And I wonder if you'll come back out when the day comes." The Kharajyr takes one knee to speak closer to the statue. "...And that day is near." The Herald of Heralds then rises back to his full height, turning his back to the statue; and leaving the Stonen room. The rattling of his equipment grows fainter as he departs.

"When will I get War?" Asks an exalted Herald aloud, to no one in particular. "Where are the blade-carrying Soldiers? What's with these... Totems?"

The Great Automaton: Triton the Sunderer, delves down into the ruins of the Lower City, searching for the Blade of Ame Renshin!

"You will die, Pharoah of the Rah'muns." Says a voice, deep and gravelly, their gaze raising from off the missive in a hot place, shrouded in shadow and unknowing. "You will die, and your conquest will be forgotten. You lead men to their deaths." The voice would pause for but a moment. "You should have taken our mercy with purpose."

"guys lets call it mrp instead of MRP and hav it autocorrect when written in chat guys" -staff

KAIROS reads the missive, he'd nod to its words, stroking his chin as he did so. He is frowning, though such a guise was his natural expression. He truly felt indifference. He would wait.

PLEASE! +1