Mescaffier

The Novellen-borne Helena de Senna rubbed her hands together as she conspired with her fifty children, grandchildren, cousins, et cetera. It was simply in their nature, the Novellens ...

Legal Name: Helena Casimira de Senna ✠ Age: 74 ✠ Residence in Rotesberg: Grensewacht 1 ✠ I cast my vote in favor of…: ✠ Ezra Helenus de Senna

"SO GOOD!" Helena swept a tear from her eye. Then, she paused. "Democracy . . !? In our Household ..!? Our daughter is a ... a ... liberal ..." the woman hung her head, looking to her husband defeatedly. @cadazio

WHAT. So ******* goated get this person on a payroll????

Helena wiped the sweat from her brow, sitting back from the desk as she inspected her work on the coat of arms. "Not too shabby," the woman hummed, wringing her paint-stained hands out on a towel.

"HEH! I ain't reading all of that! I toss this missive into the flames ... pah! Pah!" spake Acolyte John in a nasaly voice, reading through the paragraphs with a roll of his eyes. " ... is what some people would say. The unemployed, I think."

Acolyte John studied with a renewed fervor, confined in the little hermits' place atop the hill of Lemons. Scattered tomes laid beside him, as he pondered on what he could possibly write a thesis on -- the choices! Perhaps the failed schismites could be his inspiration.

Would you adopt a senile woman with dementia !?!

You stir in an unfamiliar place, a cloudy chapel seeped in red light. The air smells strongly of incense – myrrh, frankincense, cardamom, and … rot. The walls tremble with the thrum of a mighty heartbeat, and move like shifting organs. It was damningly hot inside this church, and the moisture stuck to your skin, making it all the worse. You rise, attempting to leave, but the smoke grows thicker. From the smoke, impossibly many figures approach, waving censers or clasping their hands. A chorus of voices reach your ears ... “W h a t i s g o o d ? Everything that heightens the of power in man, the will to power - power itself, W h a t i s b a d ? Everything that is born of weakness. W h a t i s j o y ? The feeling that power is growing. Not contentedness but more power, not peace but war; not virtue but fitness.” It would seem that you had interrupted a sermon of some kind … Their words were inspiring, or perhaps they invoked dread in you. Regardless, a blistering rage made your nerves burn. It was akin to the thrill of a predator catching sight of its prey. You could see it – but it was not yet in your talons, your teeth, your grasp. There was something more. You were on the edge of greatness but teetering above a chasm of ruin. “T h e w e a k a n d t h e f a i l u r e s s h a l l p e r i s h . The first principle of man. O r d e r is Tyranny. P e a c e is Complacence. J u s t i c e is Revenge. There is only the Self, and its needs. L a w , F a i t h a n d H o n o u r . These are the Three Pillars which uphold a shattered sky.” A figure approaches now, clad in ruined priestly robes and spattered in blood. They hold a beating heart in hands that are not human – one is chitinous and scaled, demonic and skeletal. It exudes a horrible, horrible energy that makes it feel as though your very soul is being crushed between tongue and tooth. “F o r H i s r u n e I give my blood. F o r H i s w a r I give my bones. F o r H i s w o r l d I give my soul. F o r M y s e l f I seize the universe. N o - o n e w i l l s a v e y o u. You must save yourself.” They offer out the heart, the tolling of a bell resounding throughout the room. No matter which way you look, their face is obscured – if they have one at all. Is it even a person, or an avatar? An effigy? “O u r f a t h e r , w h o a r t i n h e l l, Hollowed be thy name. I f r e e y o u , and set loose war, I f r e e t h e m, and set loose their shackles.” It sits in the scaled hand, hovering in the space between the two of you. It syncs with your own heartbeat, and becomes quicker. “Know his name, Know our lord, G A S H A D O K UR O. We, H I S H A N D, We, H I S B L A D E, We will set you free, But first, you must free yourself.” You wake with a start. Was it real? Or just a morbid dream? The stench sticks to your hair and your heart beats madly, as though it desires an escape from your ribs. It yearns for something you do not entirely know – toward the east.

BHǍAL stood beside their leal brethren, as they delved into some hellish crypt. The brand upon them burned with a great ferocity, from when they had invoked their lord, Gashadokuro, back upon Mundus -- WAR would soon find the descendants, and the Horde would lavish in it.

"This is all Automaton-written," mumbled Acolyte John, who took the flier from his door and folded it neatly away. "GOD gave us the gift of intelligence, to write and ponder! Pah. He spits on it."

Helena, recently-fired Lord Justiciar, who had indeed written a great deal of the named laws, grimaced as she sipped on a non-alcholic piña colada (alcohol was suboptimal for healing brain injuries, she'd been told). "Were they really that draconian ..? It's the Empire of man, not the Empire of ... Malin ... eheh ..." she chuckled, shooting a weird & offputting smile to the figure beside her.

3 day blinding stew....

Read! ↓ The Lady Justiciar tossed and turned in her slumber, haunted, as she’d always been, by cruel dreams. In them, those that preceded her in their long line – King John, he-who founded the Kingdom of Balian – or King John II, he-who some credit in the Kingdom’s recent death – far back as Empress Anne, or even further to Emperor Aurelius – cheered her or cursed her, damned or venerated each action she took. So she poured her time into her study … and her findings were meagre. ‘Emperor’s Aurelius wrote about visions and whispers that plagued his dreams. Emperor Antonious too wrote of these …’ an understood and mutual suffering, with no end in sight. Well, there was one – ‘but later they seemed to consume him with rage, and often he wrote of his fever dreams ending with him being burned alive.’ It sounded about right. stood before she and three other de Senna’s – Leif, Lenora, Aurelia. It knew their names, it had been stalking them for years. And she had never noticed. Rage bubbled in her like a cauldron boiling over. The brand on her shoulder seared, and her mind was gone. All she cared for now was to beat the thing into the ground it stood on – how dare it, how dare it? Their pleas to bargain with the thing fell on deaf ears. . In her blinding, unthinking rage, her skull had been beaten in severely, nearly cleaved in two by the monstrous axe it wielded. Her senses came back all too late as she sank to the floor, watching with blurred vision as Aurelia, then Lenora, then Leif left her slumped there following the demon’s fleeing. She’d only wake after her skull had been picked apart and bandaged, without sight, and in terrible pain. A familiar face – Nerium – had thankfully given her swift treatment. Had he not been there, she likely would have died there on the floor. “Ledicort …? A-anyone …?” all she knew, it blistered in her veins, in her arteries, cloying at her mind, and that demon’s words echoed in her head as she faded in and out of consciousness, melding with her dreams that now only seemed to worsen. “ .”

One Helena Casimira squinted at the parchment found in some alley of the Empire, frowning at the words scrawled upon it. "Is this written by automaton intelligence? Bah, the schizophrenics are back!" she spat to the figure behind her, crumpling it and moving past to the next road.

iblees..

me when I cant be impervious to many weapons be 15 feet tall several armed wear armor and powergame how many hits it takes to kill me... SIGH.. frick my stupid baka life..... it's so hard out here..