Mescaffier

[Please do not metagame!] Balian's Day of Reckoning, Told From the Other Perspective "Now ... Kick their ass!" Before the throne of the Archliches, Gashadokuro and Alkhayin, a white-robe-clad figure knelt beside their comrades. The time of Dúr-fán-agurth was nigh. Trudging through the swampwater, those maleficar clambered up the talons of that great beast and rode upon its back, soaring through the sky and slicing the clouds. The Dragon's roars shook the earth and tossed its riders wildly around upon it until they reached that grand city: then, the party departed to begin looping around to find an entrance. As they crested the hill, they came upon the Druids and their beloved Koko Mama. Bolts sailed through the air and flame spat through the grass, catching Ents aflame and burning them to their cores. Alas, amidst their fight, the tree had sparked to life and swept them all from the canyon and into the grasslands below. They tumbled and tumbled until they hit the bottom, others not as fortunate as they were crushed to death by the animated plant. Not far from their landing, draconic silhouettes could be seen battling against a throng of undead, mechanical steeds gnawing at bone and tearing sinew from their weak frames. The Darkstalkers were the first to attack, followed by their Homunculi, a Wolf-man, and two Descendants. A Crowdrake reared into the air and dive-bombed Azdromoth's chosen as they battled the party, the former coming out victorious in the end. The Crowdrake had been trapped by Morur'ei's whip and the Leper, it's summoner, & the wolf-man were tailed closely by another Dragon Knight, Kassian. The only two survivors from the fray fled to better grounds and then parted ways in order to witness the Lich-Dragons destruction. And as the Leper watched Dúr-fán-agurth fall in a firey blaze, they celebrated their comrades and their success. "The weak are meat, and the strong do eat." . . . "My ******* BACK. The damned livin' tree must'a been Awaiti getting back at me fer ..." They glanced back at Koko Mama, now seemingly torn in half and charred wonderfully. "Well. If it's so, she's dead twice, then. Stay dead, Druid."

wanna be adopted by a spook

Nah downvoting is for cowards, just say -1 like a normal person

amazing, showstopping, never the same, outstanding, gorgeous

A councilwoman plasters a poster beneath the flier, nodding at it.

Some woman squinted at the missive, furrowing her brows. "Mika or John must really like usin' Thesaurus, high hells. I need a TLDR."

An Ex-Orenite Dame read the flier, her jaw unhinging in shock. "WHAT." "Oh. Unholy Empire, my bad," she nodded, folding the paper back up to stuff into her overflowing mailbox.

A mad Prophet danced around a pyre of black flame, herb bundles smouldering around her and smoke drifting high into the sky. "Fools, fools, fools!" The fire sparked and surged upwards, eating at the trees above. "You all are fodder! In undeath you become enemies to your friends, your family!" The branches slumped and eventually broke off, feeding onto the blaze. "But that is in their virtue. They're disposable, but in death they find true purpose."

Some deranged Councilwoman climbs out of his wall. "No, this is propaganda," she spoke, and then promptly weasels back into the drywall.

A pious Prophet was finally finished spreading the prophecy of DÚR-FÁN-AGURTH; their mission accomplished. That figure sat themselves before an altar, uttering some Arcane word to the candle they held and then left there, its flame dwindling. "The Lich-Dragon's incursion is nigh!"

An old Orenian count, senile in his old years, pens a reply to the 'Emperor'. "HAIL, Leopold I Francis. @Islamadon I am an ornanite Orenian patriot: surely one of the last left! I was once the Count of . . . Ah, I've forgotten my County's name . . ." A bit further down in darker ink, denoting it was written days later. "VALLES! It was Valles, and Patriarch of Othaman. However, those times are long gone. I am old in my prime but slowly withering. The Empire is gone, but I trust you to bring it back! I am willing to be . . . Is sacrificed a term for something else? Whatever it is, willing to do that! Thank yOu, Viathan Aleksandr Othaman, Count of Valles, TrUE Orenian Patriot." The letter is written on the back of an old Novellen Tavern advertisement.

A wandering Dame, having been running throughout the Kingdom asking about the recently vacant Court Alchemist position, began to scribe a letter to the new Queen-Consort!

dies of death

Viktoriya gave the paper a thoughtful read, only stopping as she reached the list of 'well known Halstaigs'. Her face scrunched up, muttering under her breath - "Anastasia was merely an adopted human, formerly a Norlander, I think. Lass literally tried assassinating me -- and then I found her doing shite vith my HUSBAND! Well-known Adunian my arse."

A certain Dame squinted at the missive, as a Conjuration beside her hauled a dead elk over its shoulder. "AND I have to give them somet'ing of sentimental value!?!"

"Nit-wits, all of them. The author drew an inferi, yet calls them Azdrazi! Worse, they even said it used Malflame," a Knight scoffed, hacking up a wad of phlegm to spit on the leaflet. "The Heartlands should educate their people properly!"

An ancient Orenian Dame squinted at the paper, breaking into a cold sweat as she read. "T'es best not be some reformation of Oren. Let it lie dead."

"They didn't believe me!" A prophet ambled through the ruins of old Vienne, her lips twisted into a crooked grin as she read it over. And then again. And once again. Lugging a bodybag behind her, she tossed the shovel she held aside and shook the dirt from her boots, a grave now desecrated. "Ruin is nigh, vy pompous pricks!"

I would never put that much effort into a post

god, very true Wish there were rules abt the extent of nuggeting ppl, or at the very least Something in turn that makes death a worse punishment, but I doubt it'll ever happen

A Dame stares wide eyed at the flier. "CULT!?! In my city? No thanks!"