Baudouin

egypt or persia

please delete

Name Sarrin Isilioleth Desired Moniker (If enthroned as a Lord/Lady-Magister) TBD Age 60 Date you wish to compete (You may choose more than one) All involved. I wish to make a showcase of myself, not simply act as a one-trick pony. What are you wishing to compete for I wish to showcase my power, my skill and gain a position in the city, if not a master of some sort. Failing that, gaining some useful artefacts, relics or heirlooms to keep safe and use with honour and righteousness would be a beautiful compromise. Justification I am a veteran of discerning the transmundane, of fighting magic and discovering it. I keep several relics on my person and in my possession, and it is important that I discover more for preservation, and to ensure the mageocracy's stability and security, Luara willing. Without the first mystery to define the rules of magic, the third mystery of the sorcerous path would not exist. To allow these mysteries to guide, to seek enlightenment and follow the trail of knowledge ad infinitum is the true path to mastery, and mastery is what I seek, to understand the simplest question that is hardest to answer. Why. Heading the Chamber of Fire is something I would fight and die for - the duty of protecting the Grand Magister - a duty fitting for one raised in the shadow of a volcano.

Jesus Christ you included Mori'Quessir and Vel'Luah based and Kerpilled

Sarrin polishes his ancient sword further. It would be ready for the coronation, or he wouldn't go.

As this goes on, Sarrin writes his report to the War Office regarding the evacuation of Atrus. It was only a matter of time. Only a matter of time.

Senior Corporal Isilioleth views the parchment, before making his way to the barracks. He had an application to fill out.

i choked on my coffee 10/10

Sarrin smiles, knowing full well that this would be his time to find answers, and perhaps something to help him achieve his birthright, at long last, in the depths of the desert. How ironic that his old home would yield the answers of his future.

let him cook

A copy of this missive would blow across a southerly desert dune, into a leather-gloved hand. Reading the document, the Maehr smiles. 'I was not wrong, was I, Qudlia? I told you our people were always meant to embrace the wastes.' Mounting his horse, he carries on, pocketing the document. He would need it for his catechism.