Ryanark

An Azdrazi recalls killing a prominent Novellen in his lifetime. A facet of his memory he had not recalled until now. Curious. "I praise the new name. Let Novellen shrivel and die, fall to ash asunder."

Your topic is something I have had on my mind, but I've never been able to put it down to words until now; Many guys on this server fear RPing with children due to its implications, including myself. It does not matter what the RP is about, there's an unspoken rule about even doing it, is what I feel. Personally, I experience this with both genders. But it's by far weirder for a 50-some man RPing with a 9 year old child in the square, it's the sort of thing I raise eyebrows at. I don't do it because I am a misogynist, but because I have a universal belief that all children should be protected from predators. Why don't I RP with children then, if I want to protect them? — Because I don't wanna be frowned at either. Definitely some eye-openers in here for me though, and I think moving forward I will be making a greater effort to initiate RP. I'm usually the one getting initiated on (very rarely), or I schedule RP through Discord. Thank you for making this post, think a lot more people should be looking at this and taking notes to include everyone and reflect. Probably repeating what others have said previously in the post but sorta just laying it out here.

Sir Hannibal set his sights elsewhere, his focus turning away from Lurin. There are bigger vampyres fish to fry.

Sir Hannibal slammed his glass into the table. "EMPIRE NOW!!!" he demanded.

A lone Azdrazi marked down Sakuragakure as yet another hotspot of fiendish activity.

In a gasping breath of fire and flame, the young Azdrazi awakened from the vision with its flaming heart racing— swelled within his chest as he gasped for breath. Climbing out of his rocky hole, struggling to shake the lingering sense of terror that had clung to him like a shroud, one that made him feel weak, inferior. Tiny. He detested the thought. The Azdrazi's vision shook as he crested his hole— those piercing eyes continued to bore into him, leaving an indelible mark upon his psyche, a lingering darkness that he could not shake off. ".. May thy wings spread wide - blot out the light of false idols, Father." The Azdrazi prayed, finding cleansing solace before the altar of Azdromoth. Yet the dread lingered.

"Woe, the curse of Dragur be upon ye," Ahnakriel held his clawed hand out to a hastily-drawn image of the pharaoh, before it turned to flames.

Where light reached his page, the thing tapped upon it, drawing with its shark-toothed finger, a raring smile could not help but encroach over its rough face, "Even a sleeping hearth can smolder."

The towering Azdrazi awoke within the jagged hole of its blazing chamber. Cinders and flames died down from the edge of its eyes, ashes clinging to its form as it hastily ascended its deep resting hole. Staring into a pillar of flame dancing by the wall— a rush of fury and malice washed over him, flashes of the foreboding dream flickering through his fiery gaze. "A beast stirs." was all the Azdrazi could quietly muster, peering down to the ground beneath his feet.

A burning memory writhed, weeping tears of grief that none could hear. Were there truly any tears, then? The Azdrazi that read the letter was indifferent, a part of its Flame shunned in a silent expression of the sorrow it would have felt— Hannes would never see her in the Skies, and the cries of his forlorn soul fell on deaf ears.

Vlan looked in awe at the Legion of Burgundy and their.. Burgundy tabards.

let us paste builds again =3

A newly-awoken beast indulged in a great inaugural feast— a concept it was getting used to. "Bring more," he beckoned, scraping entrails off the walls to taste and spit out. Nay, the blood was the sweet treat of the day. A shower of delight washed over the Azdrazi, a bloodied smile formed, beholding the mangled remains.

"You'll be home soon. You'll be home soon.. You'll be home soon ... Soon." Those very words he constantly repeated to himself thereafter. Remembering how he so hastily scrambled for his bronze mask once more, to hide the tears, the grief, and most importantly the past. She was a daughter to him, a staunch protector who did naught wrong— nay, incapable of doing wrong. How the wicked and dark seek to corrupt that which is perfection plants the seeds of anger in his heart, to see a friend in misery is nothing he would wish upon any enemy of his. "Fa-mily. . ." An old heart crumbled, hearing that from her beastly maw. His sword was doubly hard to remove from her thick skin, or perhaps he felt so weak from the passing moment. No matter— it was done. No more tears. The walk back home was grueling, and burying her corpse among the ashlands was withering, breaking off a piece of genuine raisin bread from Acre to throw into her grave. The other half, he ate himself before she joined the ashes.

Martijn sipped his cup of tea.

Somehow, even amongst the fires, the page reached him, ".. How the wicked fester in such a place of fertile riches." An old father said, sighing deeply. Immediately, he made an offering and prayed; "Good things must burn, too. Shame." he detested with a mumble, frail form rising with a sizzling tear.

An old man strolled through the fields of gold, tickled by the wheat passing his hands. It was not home, but it was close enough. "Do you see, Gustaf— my son, what we built? Nature always reclaims."

A shrouded figure left a black tulip at the woman's vigil, a tear shed from under the hood. It was a bad day for rain.

A rush of sorrow ran pulsed through the old Hannibal as he heard the news. He had not known him long, but nonetheless he paid his respects to a fallen brother-in-ash. Kneeling among the firelands, he made his offering with a long moment of silence.

"GOD has chosen its people, High Pontiff." He proclaimed, beaten from the fight.

"Peace..." Hannibal rested, making his way to the firelands.

Martijn burst into laughter upon reading the hilarious comic! He had never seen something like this before, and he went to go show all his Adrian mates.

I was here

An offering was made before Hannibal donned the armor of his old order— Hoping he shall not don it for the last time. The battle was won, the old man was holding strong, three Aaunite heads under his belt. Blessed by the Titan.

"A great shadow shall grace the world. Let it be known it shall be that of the Great Titan— First of his name."