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Found 16 results

  2. [!] Missives circulate Aevos. 𝕿𝖔 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖔𝖜𝖓𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝕺𝖋 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖑𝖞 𝕷𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕻𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖛𝖆𝖑 To the Cowardly and Obedient Paladins of Xan, It behooves me to announce that despite my general apathy for your people and station I've found insult levied upon me. It was a shock to find that not only was the gang slandered by one of the highest ranking officials of your dying order, but also intertwined with the group known as "Azdrazi," of which no Swiv has ever been a part of. Despite this, an insult upon the Grand Kapo of Luraq is an insult upon his people; and through doing this you have made an enemy of our race and creed. While it is true, I know little of this feud between men in shiny armor who seem to never actually preform combat with the materials they keep so clean, and these described 'lizard men,' I know one thing. Your demise is coming, and Luraq will feed upon your carrion like crows. It brings me great pride and joy to announce that our nation has already decided what to do with the remnants of your keep when you've been eradicated. It was brought to my attention that whilst we own a keep we own no palace- so it was decided amongst our gang to take your keep for that very purpose. But, I'm sure you will not mind as you will not live long enough to see such an event. You can call Elf-tings into your fight to die for you, or even the Oiashmen (though we've heard they left after realizing the folly of siding with a half-witted group such as yourselves.) Nothing will stop the tide of Luraq, and when I saw your head off with my Thanium blade you will know that it was more than a mistake to cross paths with Daahd'Lur, Grand Kapo of the Swiv of Luraq. And finally to Alicjo Verrana, while the Swiv admire your skill in "Swiv-Wahg," it will not be enough to rebuild an order full of nincompoops. Signed, Great Kapo of Luraq Daahd'Lur, The Warmonger
  3. Heir remade from Holy Ash of Tor-Azdroth. Remade. Reborn. Destined purpose. Destined Death, defiled; defied. Not once more, will it die. Not again shall it sunder, and cry, nor weep or fly ever so high, or again shall it fall until it dies. -The Regent A luminous thread of ash with woven strings attached betwixt the Nephilim's crude talons had intricately hovered over the thrumming oval-shaped orb, its intensity boiling as it presence was shakable, nigh tangible even behind that prison-made-shell, those strands of ash waved against it, harmlessly webbing its shield-shelled form, as cinders of ash balanced upon the strings and blew across it. The Nephilims jaw lightly dropped, hanging, balancing at the roots of amazement, constant awe smothered those sharp eyes, a constant reminder, a repeating cause that ushered sweet-iron duty. Words of a deep-draconic, impossible to understand, they were alien to even the ash and soil it stood upon, the fires themselves boomed with a mad ferocity as it sung their repeated song. ♫Dearest mine kin. Chosen prince. Oh hear my words ♫ ♫Taketh the winds, crack and shatter clouds and rest upon our hearts of fire♫ ♫Like distant thunder you will sunder, upon our ears.♫ ♫Chosen prince, I sing unto you like a sweet-melody will you be born♫ ♫Saveth the king from his damnation, chosen hier be his blade♫ ♫Thus it is decree, taketh thine titles- It thou devotion; duty to the empire.♫ ♫ Chosen hier, the sky’s are yours too walk; tread the air- fly and defy the circumstances of our race. ♫ ♫ The puissant prince will grow to unmatched heights reveling in the idea of power and knowledge. ♫ ♫ Rival a mountain in all perspectives, oh Chosen prince I sing unto thee. - Lead us, througheth the burning path ♫ ♫ To victory will you bring us, aid us to our final charge. - Those cowering pests shall sunder, crash and fall. The foundations topple upon the known world. ♫ ♫ To victory our chains shall fall loose, then freedom is yet a blink away. ♫ ♫ Heir of fire ♫ ♫ Heir of trueborn flame ♫ ♫ The Chosen Prince ♫ The Nephilim repeated that old poem which manifested from his lips at the peak of old tor-azdroth, at the summit laid the stone An-Gho, even in death his hums were heard throughout the melody, in complete sync, a mad dyad placed wonderfully together. The song was sung right after the battle between Morur’ei and Vothdrem, the death of Vothdrem, though perhaps deserved, secretly the Nephilim was burdened with a guilt, untold and remaining unknown he would savor the pain for the foe to face. Yet nothing came of it, the Nephilim had wondered was even repeating the same old song, appealing? No. Of course not. Perhaps the Nephilim lacked understanding, perhaps it was that ignorance, blinded by his dragonic-pride, yet nevertheless, too much wisdom, too much guise did it have to shame itself under guilt. His idea of the orb was a bewildering mystery, he had only a complex variety of theories; some held sense, some had not- yet he was willing to take the chance, willing to sing any blasphemy, any sacrifice to see the odds. Tor-Praeth The coming Age of the Dragon. Age of flame. “Oh you cosmic wonder of creation, I wonder what mantle shall you bear? Who’s name you shall sing, a creature born in this age, to live in the next.” -Azlihessan as he splattered his blood upon a stone tablet, the very blood depicting words upon rock. “Where will you bring the flock of the Titan? I am sure it will be great heights, greater then what I could ever reach.” The Regent then uttered, after having the Age of Nephilim across Almaris bless the unlived-drake, unhatched, destiny waiting to be made living. I yearn for the day, to be a second witness of a new ascension gift returned unto us, rightfully so, bare the mantle of re-made, made prince under the blood of Azdromoth Herald of the apocalyptic fate of those damned cretins in their wayward heavens. The day your roar beckons the call, the day this object spurns or toils with anything, something, will be a blessed day, a day where the age of dragonic-kind will no longer merely survive, it shall thrive. The pillars of the sky dismantled, as the heart of the sky is ripped out and its blood rains a terror that will shake them unthinkably so, they wait for their chance, yet we will them rid of every opportunity, we will reveal them for the cowards they are, their weaknesses exposed, then humiliated for that is their worth. They feared my father before his days of birth- For even then, he peaked the heavens and mused at their decrepit flaws. Dragur witnessed the amusement as your First foundation fell, now watch as this new-age comes and my father's prestige proceeds your own. Yet he already has, a thousand years ago- When Asioth was discovered, then re discovered, then recovered with a lax tongue, and a crooked pen. His sons His daughters The heirs of his coming Empire of fire. …………. Cloudbreaker I await the day. Service you owe; your duty will be your mantle.
  4. Draconic Odyssey. ’’Go on now, You’ve much to do.” Spoke the Nephilim that the draconic whelp had come to see as his mentor and father figure. Wilfriche nodded towards Ut’torvioth in a respectful manner before giving his mentor a final bow. ’’I shall go now, then.” Said the draconic whelp towards his master Ut’torvioth. Day 1: "Canopy Refuge" The jungle in the eastern mountains greeted Wilfriche Sigismund with a symphony of unfamiliar sounds and an impenetrable green canopy. Anxiety clung to him like the humidity in the air. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent shivers down his spine. A small monkey swung towards the draconic whelp with curiosity out of the treeline. “Ah!” Wilfriche yelped out in fear, swinging the machete he had brought towards the small creature which had easily dodged his attack. A few heavy breaths escaped the herald. “J-just a monkey..” Desperate to escape the imagined eyes watching him, Wilfriche hastily ascended the highest tree he could find. With a trembling hand, he rigged a shelter high in the tallest jungle tree, his eyes darting nervously at every shadow below as he ascended higher then he ever had. The night, filled with mysterious noises, dragged on as Wilfriche clung to his makeshift perch, haunted by the unseen creatures that lurked in the darkness. Day 2: "Wild Harvest" As dawn broke, Wilfriche descended cautiously from his arboreal refuge. The jungle, once a source of terror, now became a realm of potential sustenance. He cautiously foraged for edible plants, hesitant at every snap of a twig or distant roar. The encounter with various animals tested his resolve; he hesitated at the idea of hunting but knew that survival demanded it. With a mixture of fear and determination, he managed to secure enough food to sustain him for the journey ahead. Suddenly, a terrifying sight caught the eyes of the paranoid Herald, a large tiger approaching him. As the two sized each other up, the draconic whelp unsheathed his mundane longsword. They stared each other down as the Herald leaked ash and soot from his mouth, his eyes flaring up with flames. “Yol Zahkrii.” Wilfriche uttered as the edge of his blade turned into black dracanium which then promptly ignited. For ten grueling seconds the staredown lasted, but then the tiger backed down and retreated. Wilfriche let out a sigh of relief. Midday brought the discovery of a crystal-clear river, a lifeline in the dense wilderness. Wilfriche, with newfound confidence, filled his canteen and took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the surroundings. The cool water revitalized him, washing away the lingering traces of fear. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Wilfriche returned to his secure place to rest, appreciating the fact that he was adapting to the challenges of the jungle. Day 3: "The Tranquil Summit" By the third day, Wilfriche had transformed from a scared intruder to a resilient survivor. The once intimidating jungle now felt like a familiar companion. As he ascended higher, the climate changed, the air thinning and growing cooler. Amid the dense foliage, he found a serene spot to sit and meditate, reflecting on the journey so far. In the solitude of the jungle, Wilfriche pondered the holy day of Bithe'Vah, finding solace in the rituals of meditation. The rustling leaves and distant calls of wildlife became a backdrop to his introspection. The fear that had gripped him on the first day had given way to a deep connection with the natural world. As he closed his eyes, feeling the energy of the jungle around him, Wilfriche embraced the challenge, finding strength in both the physical and spiritual aspects of his journey. The once daunting eastern mountain jungle had become a sacred place, and Wilfriche Sigismund had become a part of its untamed beauty. After taking one final gaze at the sun in the sky he let out a proud sigh before beginning the walk back towards Tor’Praeth.
  5. a classical mix for a prince building his empire Chaos will mend into freedom. Total emancipation from all curtains of uncertainty. Draconic-writing etched upon a solid slab of stone, encased with words of flame. The path of which the mountain treads will leave a burning trail to guide; that flaming torch which we will abide. Hail the First-son of Dragur. will usher a new word, generated from outside this shallow earth, not of the weird agnostic thought which will bring you to heel, not of the views of the Aenguls nor man can see which Asioth sees, if Asioth is a lie, then it is my truth. And if it is the truth, it is my deep love. Two heartbeats pounded fiercely within the chamber There is a deep melodic nature between the two. Though I isolate myself from my beloved brothers and sisters; whomst flames I shall kinder until I ROT, I shall do so eternally for my services are owed where duty leads. The xannite will speak nonsense at any chance, this they will continue to do for they are misled by that treacherous light, that cretin continues to spill his dreams into the souls of mortal men, his dream ‘Order’ an ingenuine lie developed by his own tongue. If you see yourself on the path, turn back, and far away. Do not look back not for a second, not in your mind nor body shall glimpse to that place you walked away from, - the path is easy a straight trail, or is it made to look easy for the sake? A trick? It is none of these things. Dragons the Fifth existing race amongst this place, remember your place atop the worldly pillars. Turn your duty towards the Titan, rather than against him; for that, he will grant you need where you so willingly cling to desperation. For his words O’ mighty, words of his father which were genius passed down unto him. His wings are as large as his desire to fly, to set free and loose where the expanse of that infinite cosm holds no bounds, no distance, Further, further, and even further. The child prince oh so desired to live, to fly, to see. To witness. This is what I remember about my brethren, even in days of absence I should keenly remind myself where my duty is, - for this reason, I live and I continue to wonder, at times I felt it, it were so close to me, it was bounded-fate and yet it became apparent it were not my end rather a continuous right to live and wonder, the more I thought about it the more distant it became. But I remembered, by simply living I mend into this world asioth. - I mend a certain truth that some and many will hate, simply for the fact of existing, for the very same reason how could I? How could I render to stone knowing the very simple fact, that no matter of innocence, no matter of my good will I be stained by arrogance. The Dragon's truth is that it is destined to die, every story, every tale. - The hero slays the tyrannical beast. It is destiny to die. I wish to fly O’ father, I beg of thee to grant me wings. An-Gho, where are my wings? O’ brother my eyes and wings are missing, where are they? O’ brother I had slain another of us. What should I do? Death weeps life; that is itself a beauty untold. I plunge myself deep into the fathomless depths of self-awareness, a great voyage where the boundaries of “I” dissolve into the vastness of “all” The luminous thread weaving through the tapestry of existence aching with boundless thought; ever weeping at the edge of infinity, the function of the intricate words work effortlessly and stay the same. The clandestine motion with those ancient scriptures shown to all, understood by few. Asioth The scales of justice tip not with fairness, but with the weight of strength. The powerful hold the balance in their favor." Asioth the freedom of flight thus reach high. We will dig the uncomfortable truths that mortal-men will forever bury beneath the dirt, every truth shall be unearthed from the pits of this place. My eternal duty forever echoes throughout the corridors of the cosm; forever distancing itself far from me. I remember it all, not a word forgotten, not a page missed. - I remember.
  6. The Burning Assembly Rok Nardin & @samuelkimmusic - THE APOCALYPSE “In the darkest of places, in the lowest of places - I was made. Where the eyes of the gods could not see, and where the forbidden flame lay - I breathed Illuminated, by nothing but the fire of my father, before me a great black sun - I saw Purpose lived, and its edge was immaculate.” -The Prince The Titan and his first dream “For whence we came, many flew before us. We remember Setherien the devourer, Gudour the champion, so many felled by the fate that doomed them.” The Azdrazi of the Titan are the offspring of what came to be, the mere shattered image forged anew as they were bestowed the eternal long-lasting gift which was their boons, alienated from society yet ever glued with the known world, as much as it was his birthright (Azdromoths) it was theirs. Scholars, warriors who could author the blade as their quill, unrivaled and a puissant people who fashioned themselves in scales that riddled their dragonic stature, who yearned to walk air like their forebearers before them. I Azli have studied mine people, tasted their logic and ideals, conversed with ones older than I, our kin are aliens, a wolf among sheep, perfection flirting with an undeveloped, banal, woeful, and immature man. - Dragons are graced with ambition and passion. The bleakness of their form is immaculate in design, the wings that beat louder than thunder, and their jaws mighty. O’ Nephilim; how we are great. Ours was the design of dragons, the make of great sorcery, of purpose, and of fiery song. Will you sing it with me? The Titan's dream was their nightmare. His dream bore fruit as it fell from its spine. His sons, daughters, the princes of his empire. crafted, and molded as the Dragon-King took care, trial, and error until they were birthed, something he could call his own, something that he cherished. Yet with love comes hate, with proudness there comes cruel disappointment. When I was yet a simple herald, young and naive, my Grandfather, who was dubbed Brightiron Prince, gifted me a book named the book of epochs after his passing. Let this be an adage to our culture, our history, and our future. Yet something that is not commonly known, something our elder An-Gho spoke of, was the terrifying truth that we are not merely the ‘children’ of the Titan; we are the Titan. We are his shadow, his make - his spirit and his blood. The Titan lives within us as we live in him. We mirror his form, his rage, and pain; we love and hate, and our emotions are true and authentic, I understand love better than the mere mortal, I understand hate more than them too. And always we fight for bitter independence from a cruel world. And though we might fail - we fight. For that is our first gift, our flame, our heart, our blood. The very thing that moves us and beats within us. - Power. Man - man was who he chose, under the banner of Horen shall we know the empire, and we will walk with the banners raised in the goodly Titan's name. “It is then shown that under the might of his wings, cities, and nations were left in rubble as the ruinous fire scorched and dressed the various races, all races but man. His dream is a mightier one, a challenging one, a beautiful one, and a long one.” The Crimes Against The Draconic Race. I: “Iblees, the terrible bringer of ruin, the Arch-Daemon drunk on power. . .” The first crime was the black brush, doused with black paint used by a black hand. The great corruption was the beginning and the end, a fire made not to love, nor create, yet to ruin and devastate. A perfect white canvas smothered in black ink so easily ruined a fine piece of immaculate art. II: “Which one was it that had freed the wife?” The sunlit lord, that cretin struck with fear and his fear shall be known to all, we will be there atop the winds to see him sunder, crash, and fall. The collapse of the cretin is soon to be, for it was he that used petty hate, a god's emotion used to destroy and attempt to eradicate our people. III: “The green lady, the first mistake of Dragur is famed for this. .” Kins slay without any reasoning, to murder your own kin is a crime. to go against another is to go against the self, and to demeanor your own position for a selfish act is to weaken your own standing. - The act of Kins slaying without reason is revolting and disgusting and there is no honor in such acts. IV: “The Dragon-God remains enchained by that ***** stricken with cowardice and fear, they scavenge like vultures pilfering of what remains of him” The imprisonment of he who flew before the first-born, he who witnessed the first and the last, he who donned knowledge as his mantle. - Dragur - The slumbering god was our founder and our father's maker, long enchained as those who trapped him pilfer and scavenge at his wealthy horde. V: “As once the great Setherien tried to swallow the sun; so too shall we swallow the earth. An earth that belongs to us, an earth that has been conquered and stolen from us.” The stolen world is by our right, our mightiest father the Arch-Drakaar. The King Of Kings, he alone can carry the world, he knows this. A stolen world that has long been groomed and mistreated, abused, and sanctioned. The Kings molded by its cobble have been subjugated into harsh cruel bondage, one by one, day by day we will free them. The Draconic truth will be spread to all, taught to those, for I know ‘truth’ I know the draconic one too. Hierarchy. A Z D R O M O T H. The First-Born, King of Kings, The Titan. The Black Titan, our ever exalted King Of Kings who lacks nothing but a true mortal rival, our very maker, our father whomst challenges a mountain in height. For in his flight tornadoes swirl and the very earth quakes in his wake. - It was said whence he was imprisoned many Azdrazi had fallen to stone without the rich warmth of their beloved father. Let all bask in his glory - and let the World tremble. Once, in a different age, Azdromoth came to the elves matching their elegant form. He spoke to them with a voice of silver, and showed them his heart of gold. [Redacted] [This part of the page was blank.] The Three Eyes of the Alem-Drom. Keledan, the ever-wise The An-Gho, Third Eye The three eyes consist of three elder greater Nephilim who have been personally selected by the Titan himself, his favored and foremost dignified children, to rule over his Holy-Children. These triplets which suffuse the dominion as they teem the eyes of the Titan thrice, they are to be shown glory and their word over all others of the burning consult, These three heads consist of; Keledan, the first eye who is the ambassador and the very reflection of the titan, his mouth. Few things are known of the wise Keledan. His visits were rare – and yet rarer still. Some wonder if he still lives. The Eternal Inquisitor, the second eye. A Nephilim who were Azdromoths chosen Inquisitor and solidified the position of the azdromothian flock. A formidable warrior - his stone reminds all of past glory and might. The An-Gho, the Third-Eye. Exalted seer, prince and arbiter remade under holy Naldroth. When the voice of the Titan could not be heard - the golden words of the An-Gho stilled the hearts of Azdromoth’s children. The Burning Assembly. Elathion, Serpent of the Sea The Burning Assembly refers in technicality to all of Azdromoth’s servants, plotting their foul, gracious - virtuous and cruel deeds. Made up of the Chosen Nephilim of the Three Eyes, are the leaders of the burning assembly which are primarily elder Azdrazi - but certain and especially leal mortal followers have known to join their ranks, though with less authority over the servants of Azdromoth. Each carries a specific duty or role within the organization. The heads of the assembly are never set in stone; rather, they are meant to consist of a variety of azdrazi organizations and groups independent of one another, yet united all the same in order for all Nephilim to find a voice. Joining the assembly’s chosen leaders is a matter of either being chosen, petitioning them, or impressing them through great deeds. The heads of the assembly are fashioned “The Draken Consult”; Aulkorian, The Inquisitor; Warmaster of the Golden Tear. Balthazar, The Justicar; Executioner. Elathion, The Ship hoarder; Serpent of The Sea. Azli, The Regent. Ut'torvioth, The Noble Serpent. The Hand - N/A, “An eternal seat amongst the Draken Consult to serve as a mortal voice for the Burning Assembly.” Inquisitor. The foremost title of Inquisitor is a highly respected one. Nephilim who don the title Inquisitor, which is granted by the Titan himself; takes on the Eternal Inquisitors mission, he who takes on the mantle bears the proof of doing so with a sacred trinket, yet it is known only that of those whom have been chosen are able to take up this position and such comes with great arduous difficulty. Azdrazi. Ut'torvioth - Morur’ei made again The Azdrazi were once mortal-men, made with inner flame, transformed, burned away into an exalted and sublime form. To them was bestowed a holy fire, reborn anew into the very depiction of a son or daughter of the Titan as a new immortal and champion among the races. Let none stand to rival them - for every challenge be met with knowledge and fire, and in their wake be the voice and might of their Father. Ordained Heralds, Ash-Knights, and Weepers. “There has always been a kha, in Tor-Azdroth.” (todds catman don’t get mad) Ordained Heralds, or “Drakeknights”, are known to have been recently divided into individual subsects; Ash - Knights and Weepers. These are the servants who have furthered a deeper connection to Azdromoth, as they are made into exalted warriors, a knight who has invested themselves unto the cause. - Willingly allowing themselves to honor the intrepid assembly and its members. The Ash-Knights are a subsect of Azdromoth's inquisition. These drakeknights are those who have been chosen specifically to act out deeds of valour; they are anointed and dusted with ash. There are no limitations as to how many may ascend to the rank. The Weepers are special agents, chosen amidst the most talented of Azdromoth’s followers. They carry the Tears of the An-Gho in his service, cruel anti-sorcerous nails that strike as deep as far as the Third-Eye can see. There may be any number of those who serve, for the An-Gho has an untold amount of tears to shed until The Promise is fulfilled. Heralds. “Worship him? No, not particularly. I do pay respect to him, though I’d be a fool not to” Heralds are the dragon’s share, rather the absolute foundations for almost any and all acolytes to become acquainted and familiar with draconic traditions and reverence. Heralds are those mortals scarred with the sigil of the Titan as His eternal gaze is tattooed on their skin. It is known amongst the Assembly of The Titan that this mark is a symbol for those mortal under His hand to reject the fallacy of social stratification and to embrace one's self under the direction of Asioth; The Auric Path. Seekers of Flame. Seekers of flame are those who are not a Herald, yet still seek to walk our burning path and know of our cause. They are yet to be granted boons, yet are still followers and must abide by tradition and law. The Assembly is an organization that was founded to model the Order of Nephilim from ancient times. The Aims are the core creeds that guide the behavior of those enlisted within the order, principles that are intended to work towards the protection of all remaining Dragonkin that are alive in the world today. It is mandated that every member of the Burning Assembly act with temperance and restraint. The Aims. Toor Protection Flame. A force that burns, a true and pure light that triumphs even over the light of wayward deities such as Tahariae and Xan. What hope is there in mimicking the translucent, powerful rays of the sun if you cannot impart any actual change? Fire was the gift to Man from Azdromoth, and it burns fervently in the hearts of his descendants and their followers. As once Dragonkin had been chased to every corner of the earth and hounded by the Athnas and their followers, now the Heralds are so numerous that they inhabit every corner of the modern world. Flame perseveres where shimmering, pretty magic tricks do not. The false icons of Xan and Tahariae are imposters, and the petty Magi cannot hope to mimic the eldritch secrets of the Dragonkin. All draconic creatures are to be protected, saved, and defended by the followers of the Draken Assembly. The genocide perpetuated by Xan in response to the flight of his mortal wife is a kind of jealousy to be scorned. The Paladins plead that they perpetuate Order and Guardianship, yet they have time and time again placed the world in darkness. Order is not freedom. Order is the subjugation and annihilation of all things that do not fall under the demesne of their Godless Adjudicator; their Cuckold Lion, a gilded prophet who heralds weakness and deceit. As was the mission of the first Nephilim, the goal of the Dragonkin and Heralds in the Draken Assembly is to safeguard those who cannot protect themselves, whether they be Man, Dragon, or otherwise. Resolve Sanctity of Life Without resolve, the Xanite shall whisper honeyed words into your ear and beg for peace. Their women may pressure you, come before you even with shards of their forsaken Lance once again while pleading for a ceasefire as you triumph over their order of squalor and deceit. Forget not the crimes of all enemies of the Dragonkin; Xionists, Xanites, and decrepit New Canon Gospel. For two creatures can create life in this world following the death of the One True Creator. Dragur imparted this boon to Azdromoth, who by means of the Inner Flame was able to do something no other Dragonkin has ever accomplished - create experimental life. From the husks of Man emerged a stronger and more resilient species, a species intended to act as philosophical shepherds to break the god-bound chains of the Descendants. No longer would Fate and Truth be left in the hands of uninvolved, impartial and immoral deities. No longer would murder outside the Rite of Mul be condoned. Nature and its meddlings. The Dead to rewake It is known to most that the druii meddle with the natural flow of the stolen earth as an impulsive desire, as they warrant a groundless effort to disturb the natural life of the world. This is a crime all in itself, the excuse of protection for self-gain is a pitiful display; we know that from the ashes that are burned, there comes a new fruit, a fresh sap that is pure in depiction. These unjust crimes will be met with flame, the selfish act of ‘want.’ Yet the wildlife and its oak are most often placed in danger this prevents the circle of life, destruction and reconstruction, do not dabble in what you do not know or you will find yourself invested and involved. Those such as Necromancers who flirt with life and death, the undead are a useless conjuration of what is not needed, creatures stuck in their egotistical insignificant pride. Those who regret will not adapt to recent change thus the necromancers live in the past, claiming themselves higher and better than regular man, they are the breed of corruption; taint, and a wicked evil, they must be opposed for the light of our ever sumptuous flame will burn with avarice past the darkness. Our light, our flame shall prevail. Freedom and Absolution. “The only true order is Chaos. Social stratification, systems of law, arbitrarily decree the existence of the Other; the Other who is responsible for all crimes, all death, all sickness, and all pervasive social ills. The Other who is Elf, Man, or Dragon. The Other who does not exist in the social order.” The natural order is a world without bureaucratic creeds guided only by the morals and absolution of its inhabitants. As the Dragonkin have been pushed out of their habitats and ostracized from the social order, so too have they resisted and pushed back against the new civilizations that have attempted to terrorize and subjugate them. All who follow in the footsteps of the Dragonkin are free to join the Assembly, and free to engage in their own pursuit of Asioth. No matter what background, creed, or allegiance - as long as you owe your loyalty to the preservation of Dragonkin, you are welcomed into the order with open arms. “A world where chaos and order are lovers, so engrossed with one another, attached by the same bonds.” Drakeshrines & Holy sites. Drakeshrines are formally used by Nephilim as their personal anchor, something that is bound to them and is not ‘simply’ just for show, yet they represent the draconic people as holy sanctums. Some may appear as temples, pillars, or pools of lava. Yet all burn with the same blistering ire of the draconic weather, it is common that mortals when going through the transference are often rebirthed within these alters as they are given life once more, it is best to show respect to these shrines as they are essential to a Nephilims horde, respect it by offering it a gift or a prayer of draconic words. The Stance of the Burning Assembly. The Burning Assembly provides a certain position for each and all of the followers of the goodly and needed cause, a place where the Chosen Nephilim of the Azdromothian flock can converse with one another. As of recent times, the dragonkin has been found to be scarce, weak, and in truth a pitiful and feeble state, thus we must fortify our own position, our own grounds. The burning assembly shall aid in this endeavor as we use old ways and new ways to enhance the dream, to not only solidify his position but as well as our own. THE PRECEPTS OF THE BURNING CONSULT; Thus it is decreed, O’ Children; you shall not harm another, or act against another that is Mine Chosen. O’ Children; you shall not steal from one another. O’ Children; you shall work together, but discourse one another. For secrets are held when voices are not shared. O’ Children; if you have contempt with one that is Mine Chosen. The Assembly will decide the fate of both wrongdoer and the wronged. O’ Children; you must abide by the laws, for if a law is shattered so too shall we shatter them. O’ Children; you shall impart knowledge, wisdom and teach one another. The Assembly’s lexicon is a shared one, and to reject the idea is to reject the Assembly. The Assembly Prevails. O’ Children; you shall not commit acts of sacrilege, for such is blasphemy to Mine. O’ Children; you shall oppose the darkness. Yet so shall we oppose the light. For, the flames of Mine do not discern between the two and thus are repelled equally. O’ Children; you shall not allow rumors or lies to part from their tongue, as the draconic tongue is fit only for the truth. O’ Children; you will not discuss with the enemy, or spoil a foe in secrets of the assembly or its associates. O’ Children; draw not your blade upon the ill and frail, but upon those who would prey. Protect innocence as it was once your beginning as it will be your end. O’ Children; you shall pay respect to the fallen; no matter if hated or loved in life. O’ Children; no blood will be spilled on the grounds of Holy sites, unless it is willed or made desire; or made with the sanctity of War. O’ Children; you shall not walk the forbidden chambers; the one of bells and the black rooms. For they are secret places, and great spirits lay there. Some have forgotten their names, and will steal yours. They say those who tread the Black-Rooms never leave, and their very shadow ceases to be of their own. O’ Children; you forever shall bear the fruits of Peace as you will with War. Let yourself be made ready to die, in the protection of the sacred sites and in the name of Mine. Let yourself become a weapon - let your soul burn, and wash away all inequity. O’ Children; you shall not expose the identity of a draziman, or a herald if they are on a mission of operations or anything alike, or at all. O’ Children; as the race of dragons is sacred, let you not give harm to them if but in the quelling of bleak corruption or for the safety of our kin. Customs & Traditions. Draconic Names It is well known that Draconic names are granted to those who have emerged from ash before they tread the burning path of brimstone; their name is essential depending on what. - A draconic name can be anything, yet the meaning is what counts. The meaning is often an old memory of the self, or a destiny waiting to unravel itself. Though one's origins are irrelevant as they join the brood of Azdromoth and their mortal self is left in the ashes. The Draconic name signifies their rebirth and that they take on a ‘new’ identity as they are bestowed a name born of draconic tongue, as they are gifted their new state of being as the old is no more. Hoards The Dragonkin emulate their goodly father in a number of ways through their intrinsic inborn desire to gather wealth and horde it. Whether it is a physical object or knowledge; all things can link themselves to the Nephilim's desire. The Nephilims horde can start from the most boring and basic trinkets to absolute supreme artifacts from bygone days of yore. The dragonkin are known to style their hordes of treasure and relics to that of their former-self’s identity. An Azdrazi who was once a noble knight might fashion his horde with various weaponry, a soldier hoarding trophies of a long since past war. Yet on the other hand an artist reborn might accumulate tapestries, tools for craftsmanship and other works of art. Weaponry The Azdrazi’s weapon is not simply a ‘tool’ used to spill blood and settle feuds, it is the very extension of their self which is bound by their draconic ichor; their soul is anchored to the very steel they use. This is quite both literal and figurative as they undergo the sacred rite of rebirth. It is ought they forge a weapon thereafter, a weapon crafted with such arduous effort as they dress the steel in dragonsflame. Let the make of their weapon be like a poem that is written; and let its use be another art, the one of song. For there is a particular art in War - as there is one of battle. But there is a lesser known art; the one of knowing precisely when the sword should leave the sheath, and when it should return. But there is one adage, living even in the minds of men; that the sword should never leave the sheath, if it does not intend to return red. Murals, Texts & Honoring the Fallen Knowledge is sacred to all dragonkin, as is it to azdrazi as they gulp down the wonders of the world and its secrets, it is known that Azdrazi preserve records of the elder past kin, to revere those who trod the path before them, to remember yet not to follow. - Addicted to the idea of ‘what’ came before, it is near tradition for Azdrazi to clone this as they commemorate those ancient things by writing texts, safeguarding them, constructing great statues, or carving out sacred mural texts that will not wither away. A way to depict how the ancient lived, as stories are told from the murals. Ash It is usual for Azdrazi to honor the fallen, whether it be a foe or ally, all are given the opportunity to redeem themselves, even in death. Thus those who may have been struck down by our own are to be shown praise. It is often that Azdrazi will go out of their way to collect the remains of a person, then bring them to a holy place to burn the corpse, until naught but ash is left, for the ash is real, it is pure. The ash is then placed into an urn where they can add it to their horde or construct a memorial for it to bestow upon them respect and the last speck of dignity. The treatment of ash is sacred and such will be honored. Rok Nardin - Chasing the Dream (Really Slow Motion) Draconic Belief & Standards. The draconic soul unlike man is not finite, it is open to a wide range of perspectives and a near-infinite grasp on the futility of man, as they sup upon the nutrition that is left before them. They know and understand honour of ‘duty’ as it seals their burning heart like bitter-cold-steel, the iron duty to revere and love their beloved father. Some view the Titan as the Herald of the apocalypse, bringer of death and fear. A mere pawn in Iblees’s game, yet we the Nephilim his sons will never see him for that warped thing, for it is fallacy. For whence we remember he blew across the lands as a mountain for that we know him as. - King Of Kings, Arch-Drakaar, Giver of names, Giver of Flame, Father of Giants, True Heir to Dragur, and First Born. In his flight we the Nephilim will sing songs of his reign, his days shall be long and his majesty is deserving of praise, as man honour Horen so do we honour Azdromoth. The Azdrazi’s duty is eternal, akin to the fire that lives within them, the duty to serve and DO is the lasting gift that all are sworn to. The duty to protect the sons of Horen and their ideals, the duty to embrace the Titans dream. Yet in their wake, death is an essential part of life, death for Azdrazi as rare as it is, is known to happen. Yet when it does as they return to the coils of the earth. We will not weep for them, and we will not view it as a tragedy worth mourning instead we shall exalt and glorify those who have reached the end. Yet this does not go only for our siblings yet all draconic creatures, so with their remains let us not wear their corpses as armor, instead, let us use it to enact its sweet duty once more as a blade. The Azdrazi strongly believe in their puissant father for it is he alone that can carry the world atop his wings, it is his right of birth, no faltering prophecy, no fate will be our fall, for that is our way. Since the birth of our people (dragonkin as a whole) we have shattered prophecy and escaped fate. Those who promise ‘power’ and bestow it upon normals such as the cretin Xan, Xan does not desire order; he desires to control hankering at the idea as he craves to wrap the blinding lights of bondage upon his dogs. For that he is the greatest deceiver, a wicked usurper, a great pretender. So oh hear me o’ brothers old and new, let us continue to defy the odds, the circumstances, let us tread where none would dare, fly where none have thought, and let the Azdromothian flock be heard as the shepherd leads the people. We will not be denied our rights, our duty, and our love for another, and our time is soon. None shall stand in our way, no cursed light-bearer or no trifling worshiper of undead and decay, if there is a wall that cannot be climbed the wall shall topple. It has as well been recorded in ancient textbooks and the like, and something we shall attempt to endorse as a customary standard is when petty feuds cannot be settled with the power of the draconic tongue. It shall be settled through steel and blood, only then with nothing but MIGHT, the champion will be correct in his endeavor and by such he will speak the truth over the defeated. Us Dragonkin unique in our design hold very few flaws, we cuddle with the idea of freedom, and we flirt with knowledge and invention and its perspective. I understand much, I understand the darkness and the light. - I understand the duty of mine people and I will preserve such duty, look unto my eyes, look and see my dream the glorious renowned -ASIOTH- So many are too distracted, too fickle to even notice the chains fastened to them. Yet I have scrutinized for long and hard, studied and judged the chains. I know who linked them together and then wrapped them upon you, yet in truth we are all in bondage each of us a slave. But at least I am aware, at least I am sentient, and I reject the known dogma at all costs. So will you. Freedom is embedded within us, it allows us to move, live and speak freely so let us rejoice and revel in our glory until our chains fall loose. HEED MY WORDS, FOR IT IS DECREE AND THE LAW IS THINE. TOGETHER WE WILL GRASP THE CHAINS OVER A LONG VICTORY. AND THEY WILL SHATTER, CRUMBLE THEN BLOW AWAY. THIS IS BUT ONE STEP. Ancient Dragon Reverence. “Lead us from the darkness, O’ my Lord. Fill our hearts with fire, so we may walk your shining path. Azdromoth, yours is the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the heat in our loins. Yours is the sun that warms our days, yours the stars that guard us in the dark of night. Chiefest of Dragons, defend us. Lord of the Sky, protect us. Azdromoth, who gave us flame, we thank you. Azdromoth, who gave us life anew, we thank you. We thank you for the flame that warms us. We thank you for the skies that watch us. We thank you for our hearts and for our torches, that may pave the way for your eternal reign.” - Azdrazi Hymn of Anointment “All hail, First Born, Giver of Flame, Father of Giants, Protector of The Faithful, Long shall be his reign.” - Azdrazi Prayer of Beckoning “Feel the embrace of fire and rejoice. You are free at last prisoner of flesh. Let his purifying embrace take you in whole. Bring to this one your pure kiss. Free the sinners from their torment. Hail Azdromoth, Lord of Dragons and bringer of flame.” -Azdrazi Chant of Revelry “Glory to the first-born, when he glides across the sky knowing that it shall become night, glory to our promised emperor, his scales bleed a pungent smoke that will choke the air, he will bare the mantle as his wings flare.” - The Song of Azli The Final. So hear me brothers, sisters old and new. Let us adopt standards that we can call our own, let us not scavenge from the history of our siblings let us make our own, in ours, we shall hath no rival, no cuckold lion who begs and demands control and claims it as ‘order’ the Great deceiver will not blind us. Let us not allow the undead and their wicked grasp to corrupt our heart and turn it cold for we will resist. Together we will become stronger, we will unite under the one, the only one which is the First-Born and we will match our enemies, each and all as we decipher their truths from lies with time, thus it is made decree we know our father and what he stands for, the fair king, the merciful King. A Z D R O M O T H Blest be his name, our wings will sprout as we tread the air before us, we march upon the clouds and soak them red until they bleed into the earth and a grand new regime comes to reign. Whereas the First and only firstborn will save us from the plight that will doom us, his offering of bliss will be bestowed to each and all as none will dare oppose us. For even a lion stricken with his ego knows not to dare step into the dragon's lair. TOGETHER OUR WORTH SHALL BE TESTED AND PROVED. NONE SHALL STAND BEFORE US, FOR WE STAND BEFORE THEM. WE WILL SUP UPON A S I O T H, WE WILL KNOW FREEDOM. WE WILL DIGEST KNOWLEDGE LIKE FINE WINE, WE WILL KNOW OF ITS GRAPE. ALL HAIL THE FAIR TITAN, THE GOODLY TITAN; OUR MERCIFUL KING. A Z D R O M O T H Fire Fire Fire Fire Fire FIRE Fire Fire Fire [!] As you reach the last of the pages fashioned in draconic text, you notice the rest of the pages blank - though threatening to be filled by some sorcery. The answers to the questions you may have about the dragonkin are revealed within; https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/216715-settling-the-draconic-question/ FOR THOSE WHO WOULD SEEK FIRE; Those enamoured by the draconic race, and the sweet murmurs of Azdromoth and his kin are taken one night by a strange dream; [Spoiler] OUT OF CHARACTER : The Azdrazi community is reforming yet again. We’ve had a good roll recently, and are always looking for new players to get involved. Of course, we want new players to be able to join fluently, and with as little OOC maneuvering as possible. Nonetheless, and based on the “For those who would seek fire” portion found above, do reach out to us so we can establish an interaction ! You may reach us at: Discord kindEmperor#7075
  7. To the lion that hides In which a dragon scribes a note, to the cat the sunlit cuck. May fire bless his name, and cure it of the disease he carries. X*n, why is it you fear him? Why is it you hide now? Are you not order? is that not what you claim, yet you make excuses? After excuse. Pathetic. He has risen, you know it, you hear it, you smell and feel and see his presence. You do not smite him, because you are weak, and scared, you hide in your realm refusing to sunder. And as you dare not meet the prophecies that were placed on the plane, tell me you have people who worship you. How pitiful is it, to see their master scared. Instead, you focus your personal hate towards A z d r o m o t h. More - towards ALL dragons, for no more than a personal act. Not for the Order you worship and suckle at like a worn-out teat, for even a lion knows not to tread ground near the dragon's cavern . . . I to understand your grief. And I understand your jealousy. . . That your beloved and most loved, someone who you’d place down your life for.. Left you. But can you blame them? For why couldn’t she, she saw something better, a creature of immaculate purpose and she loved it, she cared for it. How can anyone blame her? Dragons can be the most cunning creatures, if looked at right. Yet you hated this, that you could NEVER be that immaculate thing that she desired so much. Is that why you hate us? Claim that we are an abomination ? PAHAHAHAHAHA. Really how pathetic, I fight all the battles, I challenge thee The dark? It will be swallowed by my avarice flame. The light? My fire shineth brighter and burns ever more violently. It is not blinding, it is pure and not corrupted. What is it you have to offer? Then false power. NOTHING. You have nothing to offer. Then rid yourself, you have no purpose. You beg for worship, you are no better than the thing you fear. . . Dare I speak its name. It really must kill you inside, knowing that my beloved father, he who lacks no true rival. resides in his vast chambers, crying out with laughter ; Hahaha, knowing even if you did kill us all. That your hate will only grow. And we will exist forever. Blessed be Azdromoth our king, where he keeps the world upright on his ivory wings . . . “ALL HAIL GIVER OF FLAME. FATHER OF GIANTS. ALL HAIL THE TITAN.” “FIRST BORN. THEE ARCH-DRAKAAR. THE GREAT A Z D R O M O T H.” ALL HAIL. THE KING OF KINGS. LONG SHALL BE HIS DAYS.
  8. Elden Ring Lord Of Chaos - Tribute【GMV】 “Death following, death watching, as each step was followed with the next” Then like how most things started the day was young, the sun lit in the cold wind aching for it to be warm. They birthed a new flame mother of it - He the dwarf walked that path that he rightfully set out, it haunted him, it overtook Brankhyn the thought to embrace it was overwhelming. But how could he have any regrets? He sent out letters and had his last words spoke clearly The halls of fire, the halls of everlasting dreams sworn to truth to freedom overlapped the dwarf as he bid his last. “Draakopf do not fret, you started I and now I have become that very thing” “Let us not dream or speak, let us take action - for that is thou reality, our reality.” “Thus sweetness is made in calamity and in that there births anew, something odd ; ancient. Fire and stone. “The thousand steps, the fire does not die or quake it simply awaits it begging to be fed it ever avarice it lacked as much beverage, thus it swallows you whole old friend” Then the thousand, steps yet none began. The Doomforged in all his mortality and his young life answered to the An-Gho and the prophet answered with “When do you wish to die?” Then with each step - With every single step it felt like a thousand in this finite mind of his. Brankhyn embraced the thought he sang to himself, he dreamed in the moment… He was full of everything and anything yet nothing. He could not lie nor spout the truth. What was this? This feeling that death awaited, he could not. But this is something that he needed to do for the betterment. “Donny cannot see, he wouldn’t understand. But he will” Said he who took on the thousand steps with his mentor. Of stone and fire, he followed the statue as he tried to embrace to imagine the reality that was to be. He faced the starving fire… It begged to be fed. Those flames danced with it and sang with its cackling in the sunken depths of tor - azdroth. That thing that stood beside the Doomforged spewed terrible secrets, ohh they were something to be locked away in a deep vault. the thought began to embrace it all emerged. The thought embraced now it was only the fire to be left… Then the prophet clung onto his leal warrior ‘Brankhyn’ the first of his name and threw him unto the starving flames.. “The dwarf being burned alive by scorching flames” No time to dream, no time to slumber, no words could leave now action is dyre. The avarice starving fire was fed Brankhyn. It clamped and clung onto him quickly engulfing him whole it crawled in places none would know and in enveloped his form - His bones popped and splat open, they struck open with booms that called out through the halls His skin bursting open, terrible moans of anguish. The ugly screams of great pain left… then From ash to ash to ash there will be what is released, now there's only ash… That which is within is like that which is without; that which is without is like that which is within. “Sacrificed himself to bid my word, for I am reality itself I am” Then the bells rang like a song, a poem dancing. Something arose, a warrior of yore marked with ancient scales horns exploding from its head crowned atop like royalty - those scales riddled across him erupting like a volcano birthing lava.. Eyes were red and gold serpentine. They judged and they observed. It stood like a beaming tower that touched the stars. From stone to scale, my wings are torn, A song of death do I sing. A curse to fear, a rite to mourn Love not the pain I bring. Splendor to dust, my soul forlorn, We are your fallen kings. But now we die, to be reborn, When daemons clip our wings.” That thing watched and it met the An-Gho with such callousness, such little care it was born cocky; its juvenile behavior bore witness to the prophet. Then it met that golden third eye of his… The eye humbled the thing that rose from the fire, it quickly bowed for it had witnessed it. The thing was curious about the world so it made questions and it made answers out of them - It wondered deeply, it was fascinated and it yearned to know.
  9. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFlR0FVQP34&list=RDOzRl2aM50SU&index=3 II The ashened dwarf, wrought with a duo set of smoldering eyes filled to the brim with a fiery tone and explicit wonder. They set upon an orb surrounded by dancing fire. Draconic scriptures of art and tales All are finite but indwelt with a spark of wonder and infinity. 9th of malins welcome Year 91 of the second age. For the longest time many moons have slept and swirled around since I’ve started where I have, and really it's hard to say how much I've learned on the knowledge and wisdom that I’ve been able to grasp on through this I gained the opportunity to have my dreams. Ohh my dreams are everlasting, they are forever. It's strange, it's beautiful and it's wonderful. So here I sit, here I dream and here I slumber pondering and wondering what is it ? What am I? Why am I here ? To bargain with life ? The half-breed filled with eternal wonder fell silent as he dreamt and slept Within the halls naught of dark but wonderful splays of fire The golden halls I am a herald of the titan named Azdromoth king of kings I am a disciple of his sons a follower by will I am a dwarf A dwarf whom is greedy cursed to be small Though I carry the blood of an elf, its blood swimming through my veins. The halls of enlightenment and the orb with ethereal wonder glowed and shined bright As the ash coated herald of the king of kings continued to wonder ? 9th of malins welcome Year 91 of the second age. Though fire dances with me It dances with you. I dance with it and I know It, I allow it. So why not you? It dances within us all, learning it and understanding it is all I do. I do not hate what I am I try to love it, I grieve my mistakes but I cherish them I hold them close I grasp on opportunities for the benefit of my friends and family So I ask you what am I ? And so the nightmare began, it crept, it crawled, it frightened its host. It slithered and petrified and filled the coal head with endless thoughts. His eyes swollen on the cold and cruel nightmare. So it emerged. The golden halls remained vigilant; they remained fulgent and ever so beautiful. The orb flustered with ethereal it flickered with dreams. What scares me death ? No - No it doesn’t but should it ? why. . . WHY!? I grow furious with myself as the roots from my blood clash with my bones and my head spirals out of control. Because of this curse, because of this forever dream fixated on myself I can’t stop asking myself WHY ? I have come to realize that I lie to myself to grant myself the benefit of the doubt. I keep arguing on why he fights them and why they fight us. Perhaps at the end of the day it's just power, perhaps that is what motivates men the finite filled with the greed of WANT. Of all things it's only to understand the meaning, the truth among lies. A stone that rests in an endless sea of sand sunk inside the deep depths. It's practically impossible to find but it exists! So that's what matters really, knowing something exists so you continue to live and fight for it. To die for it. Or am I spouting lies utter and pure nonsense make belief; a mere story that a drunk man spouts in a tavern. Or is it what I have come to realize during my journey this is simply another step along the long road I have delved into. Even when I receive clear and obvious answers my mind swirls and goes mad. It's as if I can’t comprehend such things. The dwarf rested alone, alone with his nightmares. Alone in the golden halls that sprouted from a seed engulfed by ash. His mind nor resting more hurting, a consent pain. But his eyes flickered with endless dancing, his ash coated skin and head danced with in tune of the cackling flames, the singing fire was nothing but music flowing to his ears. A Draconic beast fighting with a Lion. “Even a Lion should know when or when not to trifle with a Dragon and lurk around its den.” 9th of malins welcome Year 91 of the second age The Doomforged started to state with his ash tongue, the words flowing out as swimming fire. So here I slumber, and here I rest with my endless nightmare about what to think and what to drink BAHAHA. He snickered and laughed at his remark as he collapsed to the floor engulfed by the ash and surrounded by conflagrant fire. Then rightfully so the nightmare ended. And a wonderful dream began. In step the Lion out steps the Dragon, in steps the Lion, its mouth widened to then it let out an almighty roar! Then the great wings from the great beast started to expand, so its oven - maw opened to hiss to the cat, the cat fell to the ground, rightfully slain - there goes the cat As the Dragon enjoys its feast… The dwarf sang ludicrous words, it danced and it splayed a show before falling silent. So the fire rests. Then so the journey of truth and freedom Slumbered His mind at work, his endless thoughts on what man strives to be On the want and desire people need or act as if they need On what the dwarf wants…
  10. By some machination, a letter, bearing a sorcerous seal, came from the progenity of Azdromoth to the author of the Four Encyclicals O’, key-holder Though your points are sweeping and vast - they are like the water running between my fingers as I pray, the water does not hold. Like such prayer, life, existence - being is not stale, it is not orderly, and it is not static. Life is movement and flow, bound to the rivers dug by history. Likewise, a person, even a dragon, never remains the same. We are the water running between fingers. We are all the water drank by Fate, willing or not. You call it ascension, but then hide that form away from the world, lingering among man whilst you are not one like a wolf among sheep. I do not know you. I have not met you. Dare I say I do not think you have ever spied me. But you intend much, threaten much, and speak as if you knew us. But most importantly you expect - expect that my kind are slaves. You expect that my kind are blind. Expect that my kind are beasts. I tell you this; the Monument of Tor-Azdroth has no beasts. Am I a wolf? Are we all wolves? I know the ascension of which you speak, for I was made, and then I was broken, and then I was re-made. But I do not hide. One only need ask. Have you no dignity, no appreciation for thy own well-being, so as to forfeit not merely your soul, but also your body, to a creature which harbors no allegiance to anyone but himself? Man-of-keys. Who is the slave? Is it the man who walks in the dark, thinking he is free, or the one who knows he does not own himself. Death is no liberation. Life neither. A creature exists without willing, and even in death finds no freedom, for the Soul is eternal. Name me a man who owns himself. Name me a man who knows himself. There is none. The recesses of the Soul go as deep as the sea, they go as far as the stars shine. They go back to the very roots of time, a product of every thought, every experience, and every life. They are nothing, nothing but the shadows that came before. But how could you know? Only, the present is the fire that casts them, flickering with every instant, and with every last instant being now but a shadow on an ever-threading path, which he cannot stop threading. We are all slaves, little man. My father is one of them. You prey upon superstition and revel in chaos, turning fearful and worrying men into your thralls for no purpose other than pure ‘worship’ of your fraudulent god. Azdromoth, God bless his name, is no god. I remember still, the stark rebuke mine brothers received. What is a god; is it a signifier of great strength? Of authority? A marker of metaphysical might? A god has no beginning or end, but it is no title claimed by my father. Father may be venerated, but only as a king. He is a monarch, a statesman, a lord, a mountain. He is terror. He is ruin. He is love. He is warmth. He is our genesis. Could you ever rebuke me for loving the one who gave me this life? What glory needs my father, for that he already owns. And of us? We have our own glory; the worship of the self. But how could you know? Do not hate my father, key-holder. For he remembers the dream, old as time, for a black sun. I should remember it too, for it was Abdiel who tutored me. Only now I walk a golden-black path, the Aurelic one - great Asioth. But it must be understood that Asioth varies, for it is above all things individual in nature. Therein, many of my brothers go, and do as they please. And they find themselves alone, amassing hordes and knowledge. Though you should hope for us to yet be men, those men burned and died long ago. Hence you will find few men here. Only dragons. Dragons serving dragons who in turn serve men. Though we are hated by men, spited by men, and hunted by men, we have not forgotten the Horenic pact. It need only be invoked, and then only will you understand the truth to mine and my fathers’ allegiance. When the time is ripe and the armies of the Fifth rise to fulfill their eternal charge, it is you, insurgents of The Serpent, who shall be the first to fall. Tell me Xionist, you adorn yourself with illustrious fire, worship your brazen inner fire, and call yourself by such names, but I find time and time again that your adherents have a vivid detestation for the dragon. Mine are the living ambivalence of fire, the very product and proof of one’s inner fire. As such we are a grey neutrality, wavering between the shadows they cast and the warmth they give. Though we are Ruin we are also Passion. If your key is shadow and fire - then mine are made from the same stock. Though we have made it plain; our detestation for Gold, Silver and other such aengulic meddling you would still hate us. I ask you then; what mortality have we ever besmirched, that you should hate us for it? The dragon is immortal. The descendant is not. And we are no descendants, and never were. We are dragons-within-shells. As of the Academy? Disbanded by my order. As of the wayward brothers? Embraced in my arms. But how could you know? I am the An-Gho. Immortal Agent of the Titan Azdromoth, first son of Dragur. I am prince amongst my people. And I will see again. “The Eye opens, but the Door shuts.”
  11. I A Doomforged herald sat alone; in the halls of fire. . halls of dreams and newcomings where it was once a seed, a seed sprouted from the ground to rebirth itself onto another engulfed by ash. As the dwarf sat alone his head bobbed left to right dancing it were in motion in tune with the unwearied resting fires that bellowed in the golden halls. His eyes danced with the melody flickering with wake and wonder the resumption of things his dreams were what one would describe as perfect balance even the one dreaming couldn’t make sense of it though the dwarf smiled with ambition; then his dreams continued with infinite wonder. Man is finite, but he is indwelt by a spark of infinity 4th of the Amber Cold Year 87 of the second age Its smouldering gaze looked to the orb for he believed acknowledgement slumbered within. As his crimson hues fluttered to the resting orb his mind continued to wonder ? I wonder how and why ? How and when ? Where ? The ashed dwarf fell dead silent as he sat alone. Alone with his dreams. The golden halls of fire and ash embered bright and beautiful Fire swallows the dark It outshines the light With it life can be made With it life can end With it you are you With it I am me With it I am you All bare fire so are we not the same ? Under the right guidance neither correct nor wrong it is simply right. Many examples can be set down. if one were born for a certain duty to a certain faith a certain path, does it mean his entire life must be devoted for it because he was told to, because he was born to ? Things change along the long road. To be different and unique is special. for that I undergo change I am different for that I am thankful for either at birth or our lowest points it allows you to create the greatest of change. For this I am grateful. Plant a tomato and pray for a tree then understand what I mean. The dwarf rested his mind at work As the third eye lingered There is perception of enlightenment The golden tongue Announced clearly
  12. This, short tale was wrote by a seeker of asioth, a keeper of knowledge SEEKER OF ASIOTH [!] As the mysterious crimson eyed dwarf sat upon the mountain, viewing the lands around him, a tale, a song a poem at that, sung in his mind, the very meaning of it so singing through his eyes, as they flickered with curiosity and wonder of the world, everything and anything the meaning of it all. . . At so his thoughts came to a stop as his eyes so as well [!] The halls in my kingdom are wider than most, larger than mans yet asioth guides me through them as if it was a butterfly soaring through them, I simply follow. [!] As the winds hallowed against his skin, flickers of harmless embers sparked around, re igniting the campfire, as so his crimson blood eyes, a grizzly colour yet it stood true, his eyes danced in reaction, before his throat twirled and turned, before a mutter of words left his maw “Many hate, fire for it causes some to be bad yet some stay good. . . Fire a destruction force may be viewed however one wishes it to be, a force not to joke and plunder with, or a peaceful element, fire is similar to that of a heart beating, its closer to life then some might think. .. “For my speech is that, if there is no evil, there is no good, there are only actions and reactions to those for what I might do in my life may change the course of another's altering anything and everything without me even knowing it?” [!] It wondered its mind pondering its own questions, himself answering those what he didn’t even know. . . “Ah, now I think the cycle of this world we live in continues the same, over and over people expect change but at the end does it really change? The sweet word, that people aim their life's goal at “Revenge” ``An eye for an eye if you like, for that then the whole world goes blind,” A soft chuckle left its mouth “A wonderful thing for my mind to rest on, to think on. .” It stopped to continue to wonder. [!] Our fire is not alike, for my fathers purges the dark and the light. “For whatever you are, a holy knight that serve the light the aenguls name that we do speak of, or a dark lord, of wicked teachings, release the burden of stopping ones path, my path, our path, that is not yours to do, keep balance to keep order for then you shall be at peace, by death or speech I do not care. . . “ [!] Do not make fruitless attempt to stop HIS Great plans for they are to save us “His work is unfinished to his sons who I serve as if it were him, I strive and bask in my fathers glory for all I am is a greedy dwarf, yet we are all greedy we all want for something, so I ask you what is it you want?” He coughed a wave of smoke coming out with it. “Whatever I seek, for my words cannot describe such” It said, his tone changed on his own he didn’t even understand. . it was as if the words came by themself. [!] Its mind still wondered, aimlessly at that, for wanting many things to shake to spread itself maybe, for no one to know only time would tell. “I talk, to much, Instead I need to do more” His last words were spoke, as he stood from the dying fire, as it as well soon came to rest, as the midnight shown, the stars sitting in the sky ever at peace, the young herald of the Titan azdromoth, came to look upon such his eyes reflecting from the stars, his rose red eyes. As they danced with purity and joy, he came to lower his head, bowing at that to it all. . . “I seek asioth” [!] The seeker of asioth stated to himself.
  13. A Dragon, He Is A mortal born from the ashes to lead his ashen kin unto a new world. Ushered in only by He, The Arch-Wyrm Azdromoth. The mortal walks as a dragon, talks as a dragon and fights as a dragon. A Dragon, He is. Aurelect from The Book of Asioth; “Fire of Splendor” First-Born wreathed his household in a sublime beauty; from empty silence, a fallen prince hated them. An adversary soared from his silent limbo, pledging First-Born glory greater than Asioth. Thus First-Born conquered nations with his glowing voice; Asioth was the noble grandeur of his throne. Full of vengeance, royal subjects turned against him, and their silver seals held him in the darkest depths. In limbo, First-Born clove the fire from her source, the adversary of the fallen prince: splendor. Aurelect from The Book of Asioth; “Vessel of Triumph” First-Born guards his people with a noble grandeur, from silent limbo, a fallen prince envies them. An adversary broods in his empty silence, vowing First-Born vengeance greater than Asioth Thus First-Born watches subjects with his blazing eyes; Asioth is the sublime beauty of their crowns. Full of glory, loving nations bow before him, and their golden bands hold him in the bright heavens. In silence, First-Born shines between them all like light, the adversary of the fallen prince: triumph. It was the eve of Elvenesse’ demise and Draakopf found himself at the Sage’s Seat. There, he sat and remained dormant in silent prayer to The Firstborn. For, as long as his faith held true, so too would his blade fell its foe. And so, the mortal Dwarf of Urir’s ilk took stride and soon saw the walls of the elven capital come into sight. It was swift. . . The blue sky turned black. . . It was as if the Gods themselves had struck the Sun from the very sky above. Azdromoth’s shadow had been cast from each end of the continent and his smouldering gaze set upon that of the city below. Hellfire, or was it Dragonsfire? Fire like this kind Draakopf had never witnessed before. These flames burned black and sapped the very life from those who found themselves engulfed within. Even this inquisitor of The Arch-Wyrm found the carnage overwhelming. With each turn he took he was surrounded by his bredgren clashing against the united descendent armies. Soon, Draakopf was surrounded and as descendents clashed, so too did the forces Unseen. A great beam of celestial origin came thundering down from the sky, narrowly missing Azdromoth. Whomst remained breathing stygian flames from his gargantuas maw which was rivalled by none. Draakopf did not stay to watch the smoke clear and the ash settle. Azdromoth was the force of Triumph and it was The Firstborn who was Triumphant. Dormant deep within the earth is where the mortal dwarf of ash remained. . . Until the Sun Broke. Triumph was Azdromoth’s, rivalled by none, envious are they.
  14. Prelude. [!] Far and across every realm - to all Descendant kind, the following message would be delivered. To some, it will be stamped with a self-devouring serpent. To others, a single, baleful eye wreathed with flame. To some still, an assembly of seven stars above an Elven crown. The meaning, regardless is the same. I have walked into the den of the Titan, expecting death, and instead am given this charge. This warning I extend to Almaris and all its peoples. “Mark this hour’s passing. Amathea’s doom is certain. I will come upon it as a great and terrible malice of the like that this world has only just forgotten. It will begin at the city’s heart, which will blacken and burn. A poison will flow through the woodland realm’s veins, and when it has been made grey, I will reap all that I have sown and feast upon its lifeforce. Black metal will fall from the sky and mar every monument to elvenkind, every altar to your gods, and every grove in which you celebrate life. I will do this without pause. And when I have finished my work I will look to the East.” For Azdromoth is his name Calamity, his domain Amaethea is next. @Bhased @Panashea @Iverach @_pr0fit @Xarkly @Terry @OhDeerLord@Lionbileti @BenevolentManacles @WestCarolina @Formenost @Malaise @Valannor @Abeam @Monkee@Bethinwonderland @Suicidium
  15. In Flaming Revelry Journey They had lost their way, that was clear to Sir Octavian. Once such lands would’ve been littered with villages and barons eager to make their mark upon the world; now, only the occasional roadman was waiting to prey upon the half-famished farmers on their way to pay tax to the petty prince and his assembly of bureaucrats, too heavy to even make it beyond the walls of Providence. The Imperial State Army would not be here to save these men, for they were not an army but a guard force of noblemen sent there by their fathers in the name of political advancement. Reflection This was not the Empire that Sir Octavian remembered, nor the Empire that he had helped build. He frowned some then as he dismounted from his jet-black steed, plated boots clunking into the rough gravel roads of New-Esbec. He walked the streets, once full of hope and joy. Now, the town was abandoned abandoned for all but a few of the most heinous souls, set only for a parade of ghosts. The tavern's sign hung halfway off, creaking eerily in the wind. He entered, sat at the dust-covered bar, wrote a letter to a sister far away, and sent it off. Then, he waited. The Arrival - Days Later The air in New Esbec seemed abnormally warm that morning. Even for the summer, the mountain air normally seemed crisp and uncomfortably biting at the cold-blooded Dragonkin’s skin. Arthonath made his way to the gates then, a smile forming on his face as he saw the faces of his brothers and sisters climbing the mountain path before him. "Helinathe." he smiled toothily, greeting her with a brotherly hug, extending the same to Antonius then, before greeting the Heralds with a nod of his head. "Let this be a message then, to those within the Empire and those beyond, that our Father’s reach extends further than they might ever know." His sister responded, “Not only a message to the Empire, but a celebration for the arrival of Antonius who has come back to us, brother.” She clutched his arm then, determined perhaps that her newly-returned sibling not leave once more. Flames The Banner of Azdromoth was raised within New Esbec that afternoon. His worshipers made their way throughout the city, burning it to the ground, some in glee, others in solemn reluctance. Sir Octavian passed a torch onwards to the former architect of the city, "Finish now what you started." And with that, a final torch was thrown, setting the ever towering manor aflame. And thus, as the sun fell beyond the reaches of the mountains, the city stood out as a beacon for all within those accursed mountains to witness. Reverence And thus, even as the sun’s warm gaze fell beyond the reaches of the mountains, the flaming city stood out as a beacon, a flaming pillar of The Arch-Drakaar’s own image towering into the skies above for all to witness, a bonfire in celebration of sibling’s reunion made merrier by the herald’s pledge.
  16. ♫ “In the days of yore, when Aegis yet hosted descendant life, there existed two, ancient towers, whose names were Aemon and Daemon. It is said that therein, the race of dragons made covenant with the race of Man. The god Dragur - whose very breath animated stone into life, birthing dragons - so fancied Men, admiring their indomitable wills and capacity for genius. His children, the Dragaar were bestowed unto Man as guardians, forever sworn to safeguard the nascent sons of Horen. It is rumored that this covenant is accredited to Horen’s adoption of a black dragon as his personal standard.” - On Men and Dragons, alleged records of an Aegisian Scribe The Azdrazi are the ancient scions of the Aegisian Knights who pledged themselves to the chieftain of dragons. Theirs is a path of sworn devotion, both in spirit and body. Enamored with the grandeur of Dragur’s children, the progenitors of the order strove to be like their idols in every way. Donning scaled armor, they dressed like their gods. Ascending the highest mountains, they took to the skies like their gods. Wielding fire, they fought like their gods. The greatest of the dragons, Azdromoth - who so honored the covenant between Horen and Dragur - bestowed the gift of dragonflame unto the souls of the aspirants in return for eternal, leal service. Beneath the wings of their lord, the ancient Azdrazi - as named for their master - erected great bastions of dragon worship. Their feats were without rival. The Azdrazi, in all their might, were without means to reproduce. Their seed sowed life as it was before their transformation. Their scions were without the dragonflame they so cherished. Dragon worship yet persisted for aeons, passed down by hopeful, but fruitless, aspirants. Their worship yielded naught. Azdromoth’s defeat at the hands of Eshtael damned them to a slow demise. The greatest were petrified, buried with their master. The weakest died alone, crumbling into ash. The Azdrazi of old were requited naught by the years. They were never again to feel the warmth of fire without the presence of their ancient, imprisoned master. The Tribulations of Ascendance The Tribulations are a set of trials in which every potential Azdrazi endures. They form the very heart of their culture, a culture based upon overcoming adversities to the betterment of oneself. The tribulations are said to have been instituted in honor of Azdromoth according to the more senior and wizened of their kin. It is told that in eons past, their father traveled the world carried by ivory wings and an implacable thirst for knowledge and wisdom on all things, undertaking numerous feats of body and mind alike as testaments to his prestige. Thus did his children, the Azdrazi, follow in his stead. To lose one’s humanity to the process of Transference is a harrowing ordeal and to this day only the strongest and most competent of aspirants survive to undergo the process. When an aspirant seeking to be brought into the fold of Azdromoth’s brood makes their intentions known, they are brought before a gathering of the Azdrazi. There, they must ‘sell’ their qualities to the assembly, who might deign whether or not the aspirant is worthy of their time and may begin their trials. In order to be accepted and taken into the fold, the Aspirant must be sponsored by two Azdrazi who shall vouch for and endorse the person’s potential as an aspirant. This is typically done mid-assembly. After the conditions of sponsorship are met, the aspirant shall be given to one of their sponsors who will oversee their progress and guide them on the Tribulations of Ascendance as their designated mentor. Once they are officially taken under the wing of an Azdrazi, they are required to inhibit Tor Azdraeth for the duration of their trials.The Tribulations consist of six trials which an aspirant is required to complete. Failure in any one of these trials is likely to result in the death of the aspirant or their banishment from the grounds of Tor Azdraeth. Customs In emulation of their master and forebear, the Azdrazi have taken on a number of customs and tradition which they call their own. The Immaculate Blade The Immaculate Blade is a title that has for long shaped the fortunes of the Azdrazi. The rise and fall of these draconic champions can most always be accredited to the Blade. Theirs is a sacred charge bestowed unto them by Azdromoth himself. The Immaculate Blade serves as the Warden of the Azdrazi, a lofty honor of which few are worthy, overseeing both creation and destruction of fledgling Azdrazi. They tend to the flock of Azdromoth, watching over the Tribulations of Ascendance and safeguarding the secrets of their order. It is the Immaculate Blade who doles out punishment for those who have wronged their kind, wielding the feared ability to sever the inner-flame of Azdrazi and inflict permanent death upon his kin. Draconic Names When an Aspirant is deemed worthy to undergo the Transference after completing the Tribulations of Ascendance, it is required of them to take on a new name. The Azdrazi, regardless of their origin, inevitability lose much of their persona - their humanity, as it were, once they take on the boon of Azdromoth’s covenant. It was the belief of the ancient elders of the Azdrazi that taking on a name born of the draconic tongue would signify the death of their old self and final ascendance into their new state of being. It is a practice that carries into the modern day, tying in with the sixth and final tribulation. Chronicles Knowledge is sacred to all dragonkin and Azdrazi are no exception to this. It is said that one of the first Azdrazi was so obsessed with preserving a record of his feats and wisdom that he carved an account of his life onto the walls of a great cavern in the underbelly of Azdromoth’s fortress. As time went on, many of his brothers began to emulate him by carving their own murals into the cavern walls, depicting how they lived and their many accomplishments. So engrossed were some Azdrazi in this form of preserving histories that they would take up hammer and chisel, dedicating themselves to the art of sculpting what they would call chronicles to ensure that their stories would not go untold and went on to spread this practice to the far-flung strongholds of their kin across Aegis. It is continued into the modern era with the inhabitants of Tor Azdraeth preserving the ancient murals and adding their own within the repository. Hoarding The process of Transference imparts a great many qualities onto the Azdrazi, making them closer in likeness and in mind to the Dragaar than to mortal men. These draconic champions emulate their creator in a number of ways, and one of these is an inborn desire to maintain a hoard. As greater dragonkin would keep vast hoards of material wealth or knowledge, so too do the Azdrazi strive to accumulate collections of oddities to augment their pride. While it is not uncommon to keep hoards of treasure, most Azdrazi cherish items of relevance to their past life; a soldier might collect trophies of conflicts long-past while, on the other hand, someone who was a tailor would amass something as mundane as textiles. It is subjective to the individual as no two Azdrazi are the same. It is customary that when Azdrazi answer the call to summons by the Immaculate Blade, they will bring with them an item from their hoard to deposit into the repository beneath Tor Azdraeth. Weaponry The warrior culture of the Azdrazi breeds a certain reverence for their weapons. They are extensions of themselves, both literally and figuratively. Once an Azdrazi has undergone the Transference, they forge their blade of burnsteel in a ritualistic process where their own blood is mixed into the molten ore to impart upon it special properties, after which it is tempered through Dragonfire. For an Azdrazi to be stripped of their weapon is one of the greatest dishonors they can face and is employed as a punishment for those who overstep their boundaries. The Immaculate Blade may at any time demand the sword of an Azdrazi. Those who refuse would blaspheme, warranting their execution and the destruction of their chronicle. Beliefs Chief among these is their reverence for the befouled scion of dragonkind - to others, Azdromoth is a herald of apocalypse; god-eater, defiler. Yet, the Azdrazi do not see him only for the warped creature that he has become and never has their love for their father diminished. His path is a misguided one and ever are his children earnest in their desire to set him free from the weight placed upon his shoulders - to disenthrall him of the Betrayer’s chains. They call him First Born, Giver of Flame, Father of Giants, Lord of the Sky and Protector of the Faithful and his is a majesty is deserving of praise. While the Azdrazi do not necessarily adhere to any one faith, they venerate the memory of their patron, echoes of a time where he held the world upright upon his ivory wings. As the scion of a noble bloodline of man would honor the name of their forebear, so too do the Azdrazi honor their father from whose covenant they are born. For the Azdrazi, death is not lasting. From their covenant with Azdromoth, they are blessed with eternal life. Yet the cycle of ascension comes to an end always, and it is inevitable that an Azdrazi will perish in time - be it by their own hands or by forces greater than themselves. They do not view death as a tragedy worthy of mourning and grief and instead exalt those who have perished in service to the greater good. It is taught by the scions of Azdromoth that when one of their own returns to the earth, their dragonflame endures becoming as starlight, illuminating the night sky whilst their spirit passes on into the halls of Dragur. These distant embers are cataloged by the Azdrazi who attribute many of the constellations to fallen champions of their order, using them as a means to teach their folklore and immortalize the valor of these fallen heroes. Mortal man is viewed in the opposite, however. Unlike the Azdrazi who meticulously catalog their experience so that future generations might reap the boon of their wealth of knowledge, the human mind is nascent and snuffed out ever too quickly by the Deceiver’s curse, leaving much wisdom lost to the ages. So too are fallen mortals honored by the Azdrazi, especially those slain by their hand. They will take the corpse of the fallen with all their possessions and engulf them in dragonfire. It is a common belief amongst Dragonkin that their inner fire signifies purity, thus they effectively cleanse the deceased of their impurities and herald their ascension into the afterlife. It is not uncommon for the ashes of exceptional men to be kept and held by the Azdrazi in urns engraved with a recollection of their most notable deeds. Credit to Pooryeb for the introduction and both Freema and Archangel_Avacyn for ideas
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