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Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Aug 31 16:33:40 2026
Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Aug 31 16:33:55 2026
Writer: Tsacherus
Date Tue Sep 1 07:39:44 2026
Writer: Geirhart
Date Tue Sep 1 16:52:00 2026
To All Kingdom Clan ( Imm Religion Raije Nadrik Austinian )
Subject Pilgrimage: Cold Winds, Cold Hearts, the End Nears
'Out of the way human. ' snorted a large red furred Minotaur
as he walked northwards to the Keep of Ganth.
Other minotaurs filed north and south rocking the old man too and fro. Some
did not even look in his direction as they went about their business. Then
a wagon passed nearly running him over as he fell into a muddy puddle on the
side of the road.
He was tired, cold, and while the Empress had welcomed them into the
kingdom, the Minotaurs looked upon the other races with little interest. As
he laid in the muck for a moment, a large furry hand came into view offering
him help to stand again.
'Let me help you up, elder. You seem to have fallen. The streets
are not friendly to those smaller than our younglings. ' offered the black
furred minotaur.
'Most kind of you, sir. I am Geirhart of Althainia making my way
to the Chapel of Nadrik to the north. Might you help me on my way? I
believe I won't be jostled so much in your company. ' smiled the old man.
They walked a bit in silence, the large form of the Minotaur kept the others
at bay so that he had a hole in the crowd he could move through. Soon they
came upon the High Temple of Ganth.
'This is where I must leave you, Elder. May Nadrik and the monks
within see to your needs. There are some of us that welcome the pilgrims
and wish them to learn about our people. '
With that, the unnamed minotaur walked out into the sea of other Ganthians.
Geirhart turned and began wiping some of the mud and snow from his robes.
He passed by a small group of elvish pilgrims that nodded to him as they
went about their business. He walked down the hallway towards the Chapel of
Nadrik and its custodian the White Cleric.
Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 1 21:40:46 2026
Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 1 21:41:02 2026
Writer: Tsacherus
Date Wed Sep 2 06:07:56 2026
Writer: Melchaleve
Date Wed Sep 2 09:39:45 2026
Writer: Crelius
Date Wed Sep 2 19:42:24 2026
To All Chaos Malachive ( Imm RP )
Subject Of Blood and Purpose - Stormheart
Atop a cliff on the outskirts of the Vallenwood, overlooking the perilous
northern seas, rose a solitary pillar. An obelisk hewn from the vengeful
breath of a goddess scorned. It was a place of power, sacred to the
ministers of the wood, whose faith had evolved from protective isolation
into something altogether more retributive. Like the deity they worshipped,
their stewardship of the natural order had been galvanized by the stormborn
wrath of a newly awakened domain.
A congregation had commenced beneath the obelisk, led by a druid-priestess,
an elven Stormseer whose exhortations tempered the uncertain hearts of the
gathered worshippers. Her sharp, aquiline features were cut in stern piety
beneath a weathered hood. Her words seemed to mingle with the wet, biting
wind that savaged the seaward cliff, carrying across those assembled before
her.
Those who had come were hardened souls of no singular creed or race, a
departure from the purist doctrine so often observed by the clergy of
Zandreya. It was a sparse gathering of humans, elves, and the wayward
bloodlines between. But a common thread bound them. Through each ran the
cold salt of the seafarer. They had come seeking the goddess's blessing and
safe passage across the tenebrous seas in these perilous times.
The tenor of the procession was broken by the rising sound of a thousand
voices crying out in torment. The source of that terrible lament drew the
immediate attention of the holy cadre before the pillar.
The air itself began to tear and rend apart, as if reality were being flayed
alive. A thin vertical line formed, extending from both ends like a scalpel
slicing through sinew. Their edges crackled with the coruscating false
light of the warp, the fabric of the material world fraying and distorting
around it. The line splayed open, widening into a gaping, circular gateway.
The portal resembled a profane vanity, roiling with raw, entropic force.
Its circumference pulsating and mutating, manifesting eight aberrant points
from the billowing non-matter.
A being emerged, cloaked in shadow and ruin. An armored boot planted upon
the sodden earth, its touch a pox upon the ground, seeding a decrepit
blackness as if the very realm rejected the figures intrusion. Its form
materialized further through the wailing portal, armor figured and wreathed
in an aura of tangible malignancy. Tendrils of fleshy roots invaded blue
dragonscale plates, interwoven like oily ropes and fused into a horrific and
symbiotic raiment. The growth began at his throat and crept upward,
gripping the pallid flesh of his face like an inverted crown. His single
baleful eye glared across those gathered, fixed upon the minister as he
advanced.
The gathered worshippers looked on in horror and parted before him, while
the priestess behind the pulpit raised a hand in defiance, clutching a crude
holy symbol of the storm goddess in her fist. The hood of her cloak was
thrown back by the rising gale as her gaze met the interloper. She wasted
no breath on admonishment or condemnation. Instead, she called upon the
tumultuous heavens, and they answered with the ire of a vengeful god.
Argent bolts of cerulean lightning tore down upon the advancing warrior,
engulfing him in a blinding concussion of thunder.
Writer: Crelius
Date Wed Sep 2 19:52:34 2026
To All Chaos Malachive ( Imm RP )
Subject Of Blood and Purpose - Stormheart (continued)
Dismay wracked the druidess countenance as she watched the summoned
lightning ground itself harmlessly against the remnants of his blue-scaled
armor. As he reached the obelisk, a figure broke suddenly from the crowd.
Cloaked and otherwise unremarkable, the flash of metal and a blur of
startling alacrity swiftly dispelled that fallacy.
The stranger struck with adder like speed, twin blades dancing with
unnatural grace as they plunged into the knights back in rapid succession.
Blackened fluid spurted from the wounds, spattering the rocky ground, where
it hissed and smoldered like spilled acid.
As the assailant swept in for another strike, something unexpected occurred.
The diseased fronds entwined about the warriors armor writhed suddenly to
life. Through some profane amalgamation, flesh and armor transmogrified
together, twisting into the semblance of a grotesque aegis wrought from
fused metal, sinew, and corrupted flesh. The knight wheeled and brought the
flesh forged shield crashing against his attacker. The impact shattered one
of the strangers blades and carried through with brutal force, striking the
cloaked warrior hard enough to hurl them sprawling into the mud, senseless.
A rictus grin crept across the knights deathmask features as he uttered a
single word, rising from his throat like tar bubbling from a pit, "Kyorl.
"
After the briefest moment of satisfaction, he returned his gaze to the
obelisk where the priestess had stood. In that same instant, she crossed
the distance between them with feline stealth, driving a dagger deep into
the mans abdomen. Before she could withdraw, a metallic fist clamped around
her wrist. The knight wrenched her close and brought the hammer of his
gauntlet down against her temple. She crumpled to the earth beside her
would be protector, bereft of consciousness.
The storm raged overhead as the Knight of Ruin gripped both elves by their
scalps and dragged their still forms across the rocks and mud. Trails of
red and black blood followed in his wake, mingling with the rainwater
pooling beneath his feet. Lightning flashed, throwing his pale features
into stark relief. The mutilated hollow of his missing eye stood plainly
revealed to those who remained. The flesh carved into an eight-pointed star
where the eye had once resided.
He hauled his captives into the wailing portal, paying little heed to those
who still dared remain. Then the warp rift folded shut behind him, and he
was gone, leaving only bloody tracks in his passing.
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 2 20:03:05 2026
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 2 21:31:53 2026
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 2 21:57:15 2026
Writer: Justian
Date Thu Sep 3 23:38:07 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: The First Blood I
The fountains low whisper carried through the quiet hall. Nearby, the
tree made of horn stood beneath Malachives golden image. Light scarred its
bloody bark. The pale wounds crossed the horn where blood had long seeped
from within, and the stone bowl at its roots waited to receive each slow
drop.
Waaaghs declaration said the tree had begun to grow again. Blood of any
kind might feed it, though blood carrying potent energies was to be sought
above All others.
Justian came before the tree alone.
He did not immediately draw his athame. His attention remained upon the
injuries left by Light and the blood that continued to ooze around them.
The light-colored scars across the tree briefly darkened, as though the horn
beneath them were healing. Justian watched the marks closely. He had seen
them change before, but whether the wounded horn was truly mending he could
not say.
A faint warmth radiated from the tree, then vanished before he could be
certain it had been there.
He remained where he was, pondering the feeling. One hand rose slightly
before settling again at his side. For a while he did nothing.
Eventually, his thoughts returned to Waaaghs declaration and the blood he
had come to give. Before calling others to the work, he would measure his
own part in it against the Verities.
"First: Suffering exists."
Light had passed across the horn and left injury behind. The brief
darkening of the scars did not erase the blood still seeping from the bark.
Justian drew his veined hornwood-arcanium athameand placed its edge against
his palm.
"No one who calls another to bleed should place himself beyond the wound."
The blade crossed his flesh.
(continued)
Writer: Justian
Date Thu Sep 3 23:42:18 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: The First Blood II
Blood welled from the cut and ran between his fingers. Justian pressed
his opened palm against the bloody bark. Fresh blood spread beneath his
hand and mingled with what already flowed down the horn.
"Second: Suffering has a cause. The false gods and the order they have
made." Justian kept his hand against the tree.
"Their order calls submission peace. Whatever refuses its place must be
corrected, cleansed, or destroyed."
His gaze followed the injuries across the horn.
"Light touched you and left this behind. Here is the truth beneath their
promise of order."
To Justian, feeding the tree made of horn was a way to sustain what their
order had sought to destroy. He could not yet know what would come. He
knew why he wished to help it continue.
"Third: The End is their death."
Blood continued to gather beneath his palm.
"The shedding of blood is not the End. Neither is your growth. The
strength gathered here must be turned against those who bound this world
beneath them."
Justian withdrew his hand. His blood remained upon the tree, slowly joining
what already flowed down the horned bark.
The creatures dwelling around the Red Moons impact would be his first
quarry. Waaagh had called for blood bearing potent energies. Justian would
seek it among the things that inhabited that ruin. He would hunt them,
gather their blood, and return it to the tree made of horn.
Others within Chaos would be called to join the work. He would explain
where he intended to hunt and why he believed the offerings would further
their purpose. Each would choose whether to take up this hunt or their own.
"Fourth: The Path is Chaos."
"The Path begins when truth demands action. Today, I give what is mine.
Soon, we shall bring the wound of the Red Moon."
Justian tightly gripped his slashed palm and stepped back. His gaze
returned to the light-colored scars. Their brief darkening and the
uncertain warmth remained in his thoughts, but he claimed neither as an
answer to the offering he had made afterward.
The stone bowl received the mingled blood at its roots.
The tree bled first.
Justian answered.
Writer: Geirhart
Date Fri Sep 4 12:41:14 2026
To All Kingdom Clan ( Imm Religion Raije Nadrik Austinian )
Subject Pilgrimage: Cold Winds, Cold Hearts, the End Nears ( 2 )
'Have some tea, Abbott. It looks like you had quite the time in the
streets of the Empire. ' offered the White Cleric as Geirhart entered the
spartan office of the minotaur.
'Thank you, Elder. Your hospitality is very kind. ' smiled the old priest.
Geirhart takes a seat in a chair built for a minotaur and holds the tea with
both hands. Sitting in silence, the White Cleric begins to speak.
'Icewall has not been without loss while the other continents continued
their wars. After the War of the Black Moon, many mourned the loss of
Mencius while also rejoicing at the return of Nadrik. Was there any other
kingdom or clan that could claim such a division of faith?
When Nadrik ascended the stair, I was hopeful. Yet a third of our trinity
remained dead. Where was the hope for the Mencians? Their Rage had no
place to go. Then, recently when Raije was hurt, the faith of our people
was wounded once more. It has been a battle and a loss that no Minotaur
knows how to deal with. '
The old man listens, his grey eyes warm and compassionate as he blows softly
on his drink allowing the White Cleric to speak more.
'We are a warrior people, we face our problems with steel and grit. We yell
our war cries to our enemies to make them fear us. Yet who do we yell at to
heal a god? Who do we battle to let him know we are here? The Empire has
no reaction to being impotent. It has no method with which to react. So
our people grow closed, hardened, and I have seen in their eyes the very
shadow of defeat. With the ascent of our Empress, I am hopeful that a woman
of faith can find that way forward. '
Geirhart nods slightly taking a sip he responds, 'The Light has been much
the same. We grasp at ideas to help us move forward unsure if this is the
right way. We know we should be doing more but we walk in circles. I think
we have more in common perhaps than we think. '
The White Cleric grasps a cub and lifts it in his large hand, 'To shared
loss and shared confusion then, Abbott. '
Geirhart lifts his mug of tea in response and then, both sipping, they sit
in the warmth of the room silent and thoughtful.
Writer: Patrovio
Date Fri Sep 4 22:27:50 2026
Writer: Patrovio
Date Sat Sep 5 02:44:19 2026
Writer: Patrovio
Date Sat Sep 5 09:54:34 2026
Writer: Qinrathaz
Date Sun Sep 6 11:37:46 2026
Writer: Qinrathaz
Date Sun Sep 6 11:45:23 2026
Writer: Aothien
Date Mon Sep 7 13:19:11 2026
To Geirhart Shadow Verminasia All ( RP Imm Drakkara )
Subject The passing of flyers ( Pilgrimage )
Aothien sat in his chair, rocking back and forth. His heavy dragonscale
helmet sat in front of him, the umbral lenses staring into his pupilless
white eyes. If All was going according to plan, everything should be
happening right now, he thought. This plan was not as flashy as the last,
and probably not as impactful, but the seeds of fear and doubt must continue
to grow. A cold smirk slowly formed on Aothiens face as he brought his
hands together.
On the continent of Icewall, things were bustling. The Pilgrims had
gathered about as Ganth prepared to receive them. Four half elves, dressed
in ragged clothing spread out, each holding a rather large stack of papers.
They jumped up and down, speaking with fiery passion as they tried to hand
the papers to any and All that would talk and receive them. They moved like
flashfire through the crowds, darting in and out of various groups,
attaching the papers to poles, buildings, anything they could. And within
minutes, perhaps 5.. At most 15, they were gone. Flyers seen everywhere,
from the trash on the ground to the peoples hands and plastered on wells.
Aothien opened his eyes after picturing what had happened, and picked up his
own copy of the flyer.
"Tired of spending days and nights in the cold? Eating gruel while the
priests, knights and lords eat hot beef and drink hot wine? Are you done
suffering being a tool for the gains of others while you struggle to stay
warm?"
"This is not Love, this is not Honor or Goodness. This is just
exploitation, as it's always been. Do not listen to the lies."
Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Sep 7 14:12:47 2026
To Geirhart Shadow Knighthood All ( RP Imm Religion Nadrik )
Subject The passing of flyers ( Pilgrimage )
Aliera noticed the papers first because there had not been papers before.
One had been fastened crookedly to a post near the well. Another had
already found its way beneath someone's boot, muddied into the snow. More
were moving hand to hand through the Pilgrims, and somewhere beyond them a
half-elven figure disappeared between bodies before she could make out more
than ragged clothing.
Her hand rose, "Let them go. " The words were meant for the nearest Knights
before anyone could decide pursuit was required.
Aliera stepped to the post and pulled the paper free. She read it quietly,
all of it. Her expression changed very little at the first lines.
*Tired of spending days and nights in the cold? Eating gruel while the
priests, knights and lords eat hot beef and drink hot wine? *
Her eyes lifted from the page, not toward where the half-elves had gone,
toward the Pilgrims. Some were reading, some talking... One paper had
already been crumpled, another was being passed between several hands. She
glanced back to the parchment in her hands.
*This is not Love, this is not Honor or Goodness. This is just
exploitation, as it's always been. Do not listen to the lies. *
For several seconds, she said nothing. Then she folded the paper once and
tucked it beneath her belt. "Do not take them from anyone. " Her gaze
moved among the Knights nearby. "And do not tell anyone they may not read
them. "
There were enough scattered over this portion of Icewall by now, that the
order would hardly contain them regardless. More importantly, trying would
accomplish precisely what whoever had sent them wanted. Aliera turned
toward the nearest gathering of Pilgrims. She had walked among them, stood
watch over them, seen their fires burn low in the night and watched tired
bodies rise again in the morning.
They -were- cold. They -were- tired. That was what made the thing clever.
A lie built entirely from lies was easy to destroy. One wrapped around
something true could be carried much farther. Her attention shifted toward
the fires, the provisions, the places where Knights and clergy had taken
their meals. "Find out what was served today, " she said quietly. "To
everyone. Pilgrims, priests, Knights and nobility. And where everyone
slept last night. "
A beat passed, and she clarified. "I want facts. Not assurances. " She
looked again toward the Pilgrims. There would be questions. Perhaps
accusations. Perhaps only glances that had not been there an hour before.
Let them come.
Tonight she had intended to speak to them of grief, of Mencius, of Raije
lying wounded, of Nadrik returned from torment with Wrath burning hotter
within Him than before. Of what happened when pain became anger, and what
happened when anger was permitted to choose its own direction. Someone had
walked into Ganth carrying tinder and discovered a people already hurting.
Aliera's fingers settled briefly against the folded paper at her belt. No,
not discovered, counted upon.
"Keep the watches as they were, " she ordered. "No one treats these people
differently because they have read a piece of paper. " Then, quieter: "And
if any of what it says is true, I want to know before I stand before them
tonight. "
She left the flyers where they were.
Writer: Mercerion
Date Mon Sep 7 15:17:22 2026
Writer: Geirhart
Date Tue Sep 8 19:59:58 2026
To All Aothien Aliera ( RP Imm Drakkara Rhelic Austinian )
Subject Pilgrimage: The Passing of Paper Judgement
WORDS
To the old man, the parchment was but words. Ink placed upon some vellum,
their importance as transitory as the wind. Yet to others this was a
challenge. The words could divide people, it could incite people, and it
would tarnish what was being done.
Geirhart pondered things silently.
'If these words divide us, then it shows the pilgrimage has no faith in
itself or it's allies. After more than four months, are our bonds broken so
easily? '
The Abbott thought of the vampire issues that the General had warned him
about. The attacks appeared right around the deaths of the pilgrims.
Clearly the Executioner of Abaddon, now in the Horde, was in league with the
Inquisitor of Storm Keep. It was very evident that All these issues were
just works of the Darkness to take resources away from the Pilgrimage and
divide it. The Knights were already split now, some factions hunting
vampires while some on Icewall. Then there was the emotional division of
these letters. It was clearly a concerted effort.
'So what do I do? The Cardinal has already spoken. If we give it more
attention then we raise it ever higher. Therefore I shall treat it as a
test. I fear no judgement of my peers, of the pilgrims, or of the Darkness.
If there are those who have not given to the poor, that is their shame to
bear. If there are those who have not held tight to their oaths, they shall
be judged by the divine. '
Summoning holy fire, the parchment burns and blackens as it is consumed.
A messenger arrived at the Temple of Ganth, his cheeks a bit red from the
cold and the vapor of his breath causing a bit of mist as he spoke.
'Abbott, the wagons are preparing for our journey in a couple of days. Did
you want to look over the list of provisions and make sure All was prepared'
asked the messenger.
Geirhart nodded, 'Lead the way to Tolbrand. I'm sure he's got things well
underway and my oversight is merely a formality. '
The messenger lead the way while the old priest hobbled behind him wrapped
in his robes.
ACTIONS SPEAK THE LOUDER
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 9 00:47:44 2026
Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 9 01:35:49 2026
Writer: Erlestoke
Date Wed Sep 9 17:17:30 2026
To All Althainia Knighthood Geirhart ( Imm RP Rhelic )
Subject Pilgrimage: On the March and in reflection
An unusual temperate gentle breeze blew in from the west on the road from
Ganth, nearly overshadowing the sound of soft boots landing on the path.
Here and there along the order of the march quiet voices spoke amongst the
Pilgrims. Though tired and weary from their long journeys they still
carried on, the end so near at hand.
Erlestoke varied his pace as he moved with the pilgrims, sometimes slowing
down and letting more of the column overtake him, at other times walking at
double time to move closer to the head of these pilgrims. Vigilant, perhaps
hypervigilant, his eyes roamed over the pilgrims and sides of the road
looking for irregularities or trouble. But it wasn't violence or mischief
that finally pulled his full attention, but the clatter of wood on stone
followed by a soft thud as one of the pilgrims collapsed and let go of his
walking stick.
With a slight headshake to remind himself Erlestoke muttered softly to
himself as he moved to help, "Remember, this is not a military endeavor, not
all threats are from violence, these pilgrims also suffer the travails of
the road. "
"Let's get you on your feet" he said as he helped the pilgrim up. "Come
now, just a little further lets get you dusted off and refreshed for the
last leg of the journey. "
Erlestoke uttered the word "candusima" hoping he could remove at least some
of the pilgrim's weariness as the column trudged onward. Rewarded with a
tired smile as the pilgrim once again carried on with the column and leaning
heavily on his walking stick, Erlestoke resumed his pace beside the column.
Privately, Erlestoke's mind drifted back to the sermons he heard in the
temple of Ganth as he walked. Many words on duty and honor, of discipline
and fraternity, he had much to reflect on for the first time in a long
while.
Writer: Naevera
Date Thu Sep 10 05:09:37 2026
To All Dragon Dragoth RP IMM
Subject Lurking {nPurpose
That scent..
Cloying, sickly, a swampy mold. Carrying a touch of despair, terror, a
dangerous expectancy in its purpose. Something yet to be.
Venomous black eyes opened, focused and then narrowed, a breath of sickly
green chlorine slipping out from between long sharp teeth. The cloud wafted
down along the length of her broad scaled form, her tail lifting and
settling in brief agitation at her side.
That unique scent of decay was powerful and it found her where she rested,
through obscuring layers of rotted and decaying vegetation. Found her and
roused her fully.
Vicious irritation descended but as she drew in deeper of the scent, hunger
followed and a low, reverberating growl trickled through the cavern with
ominous purpose.
A sound followed. Something familiar enough that she pushed herself up,
breaking the thick vines that had woven over her wings, to sit. Pungent
slime had gathered beneath her, flowing freely over claw and scale as she
sat among it, and searched for the source of the sound. The slime, she also
recognized.
There.
A slow grin pulled at her snout, her teeth snapping wickedly.
It wriggled through her ancient chamber, visiting the stagnant pools,
consuming the slime that it used to pull its bulk along.
The larvae was not so small anymore. What she had pulled from the basin in
Dragoth's Temple, or something akin to it, crawled through the muck toward
her and she let it. When it grazed her, as if a feline rubbing along a
favored fellow, she caressed its bulk with the backs of her talons and
rumbled softly, moved again with protective urge.
It had come a long way from its pustulent chrysalis but she sensed this was
merely a visit. It had further yet to go for the lurking God's purpose.
It rounded her massive form, consuming the diseased vegetation as well as
the slime, and then it scaled the wall as if it were not a vertical feat,
and disappeared into a hole she might not have thought it could fit into
with an exultant screech that reverberated through cavern and earth.
Naevera needed no further reminder that Dragoth's purposes roamed beneath
the feet of all, that distance and time was no factor. The pestilent and
diseased hand of the Lurking God could, and would, reach all.
Digging slow rents into the ground beneath her, the cruel Green began to
consider how best to use this reminder even as the prospect of food
scrabbled at the entry of her cavern.
Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Sep 10 13:03:00 2026
Writer: Agu
Date Thu Sep 10 21:55:13 2026
To All Arkane Leonine Zandrya RP Imm
Subject The Rescue of Agu
It was early in the morning when the vessel came.
The Arkane Ship had just seen the signs of Warp operations along the shore.
Cannon fire strafed along the borders of the Chaos encampment, and the
followers of Malachive were torn asunder. It was only by the quick work of
the crew, and the boarding parties that went ashore that the tiny little
stronghold was destroyed with few casualties. It was after the battle that
they discovered the dungeon. Filled with prisoners of All races. They wore
shackles which drained mana, meaning that no magic could be used by any of
them. An assortment of folk filled the dungeon, and most of them looked to
the new soldiers in fear. Except for one, who recognized the symbol of
Arkane.
"It is I, Commander Agu Embermane, Of the Homeguard of Arkane. " Came the
weakened voice when they unshackled the wemic.
Some of the crewmembers knew of Commander Agu, absent many moons past. But
none of them reognized him. When his identity was confirmed, he was taken
aboard the ship. The whole area was godsforsaken because of Warp heresy,
but when they were finally able to set sail, it was then that a mage
appeared aboard the ship, wearing the University emblem, and brought the
shell of the former Commander Agu back to Arkane by portal. After reporting
his situation to the Queen, he stayed in the infirmary for a few days.
What was to come next, he did not know. He was excited to be home, but
equally afraid that people would see him in this state. What would the
coming days bring? Would his beloved family and friends stll be around, or
even alive? Only time would tell.
Writer: Mercerion
Date Fri Sep 11 20:14:27 2026
Writer: Kafis
Date Sun Sep 13 12:36:34 2026
To All ( Imm RP Kwainin )
Subject The Pull I Cannot Explain
Kafis woke before the temple bells reached for dawn, the way he had every
morning for the better part of three months now, staring up at ceiling beams
he knew better than his own hands and still, for one disoriented breath,
expecting red gates instead of grey stone rafters.
He lay there a while and let the dream fade the way smoke does when you stop
chasing it. It never fully left. It hadn't, not once, since the first
night it came to him: a shoreline he had never walked, stone worn smooth by
a tide he'd never felt, red gates standing half swallowed by fog, and
somewhere behind All of it, bells. Not the Serpents Eye bells. Different.
Lower. Older, in a way he had no business recognizing.
He rose anyway, because the sun did not care what a man dreamed, and there
was work in the yard before first meal.
A hooded monk found him there some time later, wringing water from the
training wraps at the well, and did not bother pretending he hadn't noticed.
"You've the look again," he said, in the flat, unbothered way he said most
things. "Same one as always?"
"Same one."
"And?"
Kafis wrung the last of the water out before he answered, watching it darken
the packed earth at his feet. "And nothing. It doesn't fade this time. It
hasn't faded in weeks." He didn't say the rest of it: that it wasn't
fading, it was sharpening, the way a half remembered word sharpens into a
real one the longer you turn it over. That he could, if he closed his eyes
even now, count the gates in the fog. That there were five of them, and he
did not know how he knew that.
The monk in a simple cloak considered him for a moment with the particular
patience of a man twenty years further along the Path than his student, then
went back to hanging wraps on the line. "There are names for what you're
describing, you know. None of them comfortable."
"I know."
"And you've made up your mind regardless." It wasn't a question.
Kafis didn't answer that one at all, which was answer enough.
It was not a small thing, what he was turning over. He had no family east
of anywhere. No teacher, no order, no debt of blood or oath that reached
toward that part of the map. He had checked quietly, carefully, in the
handful of texts in the temple archive old enough to even acknowledge an
island called Shokono existed, and found nothing that explained why a place
he had never seen should feel, some mornings, more real to him than the
ground under his own feet. Every account agreed on one strange point at
least: no gate reached it. No nexus, no door, no shortcut a mage or a
priest could open.
Whatever pulled at him, it did not intend to make the answer easy. Only a
ship, or a swimmer with more courage than sense, would ever set foot on that
shore.
He thought of the question again as he walked the yard's perimeter
afterward, turning it over less as doubt now than as a kind of grim
amusement. Made up his mind. As if there had been much choosing in it at
all. The pull did not ask permission and did not explain itself; it simply
sat behind his ribs some mornings like a held breath he could not release,
and had, in three months, gone from curiosity to certainty to something
closer to hunger.
He did not know yet what waited on that shore, or why it seemed to know his
name before he had ever spoken it aloud in its direction. But he intended
to find out, whatever it cost him to cross a sea that, by every account he
could find, could not be reached by any gate, any nexus, any door but a hull
and the will to point it east.
If anyone in these lands has sailed those waters and returned, or knows
someone who claims to have, he would hear of it. Price is no object.
Answers are.
Writer: Ezrianne
Date Sun Sep 13 14:21:33 2026
Writer: Thasgerd
Date Sun Sep 13 17:54:19 2026
To Knighthood All ( IMM RP Religion Austinian Croatoan )
Subject Peace of Cake
Who was in need? What could he do for someone? Who's burdens and weight
could he help shoulder? Who needed him to be what they needed at the time?
Was anybody hungry, cold, hot, thirsty, or tired? Did the kids and folks
who were hungry in the cities and kingdoms get enough food? Should he get
more? Why couldn't he save Izha? Where was his family? Why can't he
sleep? Why was he so tired and sore All the time? Questions after
questions, followed by more questions of who this, how that, why then, what
now, where to start raced through his noggin. Those questions always,
always were in it.
Then his brow furrowed and his brain stopped with the questions and instead
focused on the sound of heavy breathing. He looked over to his right and
saw Buttercup rustling through a duffle bag then lifting her head up with a
large chocolate chip muffin in her lips. "Reallaey? " Buttercup stared at
him then bit the top off the muffin and let the bottom fall back into the
bag. "Ya's insuff'rable so'etimes. " Buttercup stared at Thasgerd again
then huffed in his direction.
He shook his head and looked down at the paper in his gauntlet. The word
Peace was what his eyes were focused on. The context of this Peace and his
he thought, might be completely different, but maybe in looking for this
Peace, he'd find some of his own. He realized after a moment that the
breathing was still audible and he looked around again. It wasn't Buttercup
and the visitors and clerics were gone for the day. He caught a breath that
stopped his rising and falling chest. It was him breathing hard.
Thas pulled out some strips of jerky and tucked one into the corner of his
mouth. He bit down on it but didn't chew, he just kept it there. He lifted
a gauntlet to his right eye and gently tapped at the facet of golden flame
that surrounded it. He tapped it again, hoping it'd turn on, or he could
see something as Nadrik let him before. He looked up at the statue of
Taliena, Kadiya and Siccara and a small soft smile crossed his lips. He
nodded, knowing he wouldn't see anything.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 17:14:51 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: An Unexpected Answer pt. 1
The desert did not answer him.
For three weeks Tiberius Caine had given it ample opportunity.
He had come stripped of nearly everything that might distinguish a Knight
from a beggar. Gone were the blackened plates and dark trappings of the
Order. Gone were the banners, the ceremonies, the familiar stones of Storm
Keep. He carried an axe because even an ascetic need not be a fool, a
waterskin because faith did little to quench thirst, and airy cloth enough
to spare his flesh the worst of the Thalosian sun.
Everything else, he had left behind - including, he increasingly suspected,
his purpose.
By day the desert burned. By night it froze. Between those extremes
stretched an infinity of sand, in which a man might walk from sunrise until
sunset and still find no evidence that Creation had noticed his passage.
Tiberius had prayed at first. He prayed as his mother had taught him when
he was a boy. He prayed as the priests had instructed him. He prayed as a
soldier: plainly, directly, without poetry. Then he prayed angrily.
Finally, he stopped.
Lord Necrucifer was dead.
No revelation had descended to correct that fact. No whisper followed upon
the wind. No black miracle rose from beneath the sands. The Master of
Darkness was dead.
Tiberius crouched beneath the meager shade of a sandstone shelf and watched
heat dance across the horizon. "What becomes of an oath, " he asked aloud,
"when the one who received it is gone?"
The desert answered as it always did: with nothing.
Tiber laughed once beneath his breath, "Thought so." He drank sparingly
and continued south.
Near dusk he found the bones.
There was nothing remarkable about finding death in the Thalosian wastes.
He had passed the remnants of animals before, and twice those of men - these
belonged to the latter. Most of the skeleton had disappeared beneath
shifting sand. A portion of bleached ribcage remained exposed alongside one
arm, the skeletal fingers curled as though their owner had died clutching at
the earth.
Tiberius nearly walked past before something caught the dying sunlight - A
small point of crimson-black gleamed beneath the skeletal hand.
He stared at it for several moments before crouching. "Still coveting your
treasures, are you?" Tiber brushed the bones aside, revealing a dagger in
the sand.
It was an old weapon, though surprisingly untouched by rust. The blade was
narrow and darkened, its leather grip dry but intact. Set within the pommel
was a many-faceted stone, scarcely larger than the end of his thumb.
Tiberius turned it toward the light. Black at first glance, red beneath.
Something deeper still when the angle changed.
He frowned, "Ugly thing..."
I have been called worse.
Tiberius dropped the dagger. His axe was in his hands before the weapon
struck the sand. Nothing moved. The desert stretched empty around him.
"Show yourself!"
No answer. His midnight-blue eyes swept the rocks, the dunes, the shallow
depression through which he had approached... Nothing.
He waited. A minute passed, then another. Tiberius looked down at the
dagger and shook his head. "No."
Silence.
He nudged it with the edge of his sandal. Nothing. Slowly, he crouched and
reached for it. His calloused fingers closed around the grip.
Better.
Tiberius hurled it away.
Laughter entered his thoughts. Not loud laughter. Not mad laughter. A
low, rasping amusement entirely too pleased with itself.
Tiberius stared at the weapon lying several paces away. "What are you?"
Thirsty...
His expression hardened. "...So am I."
Then already, we possess something in common.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 17:31:10 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: An Unexpected Answer pt. 2
Tiberius did not retrieve the dagger. Instead he sat, resting his
forearms across his knees as the sun continued its descent behind him.
"Spirit?"
Perhaps.
"Demon?"
A pause.
Would that trouble you?
"No."
This time the laughter was unmistakable.
No... I suppose it wouldn't.
Tiberius's brow furrowed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
Nothing.
"You know something about me."
Several things.
"Such as?"
Your name is Tiberius Caine.
His hand drifted toward the axe. The voice chuckled again.
And you talk in your sleep.
Tiberius went still. "How long have you been listening?"
Longer than you have been listening to me.
The wind pushed a thin veil of sand across the blade. Tiberius rose,
crossed the intervening distance, and picked it up again. The presence
returned immediately. Not stronger, precisely, but clearer - a sensation
like another consciousness standing just beyond a door.
"You heard my prayers."
Some were difficult not to.
Tiber's jaw tightened. "Careful..."
You showed less restraint when addressing your dead god.
The fingers wrapped around the dagger tightened now, too.
"You will speak of Him with respect."
Silence followed. Then, without the earlier amusement:
Even now?
"Especially now."
Another pause.
Interesting.
Tiberius looked down at the jewel. "You've my name. What am I to call you?"
Anything you like.
"Your own name will do."
No.
"Why?"
Because names have power, Tiberius Caine.
"You have mine."
I do.
"And I don't have yours."
You are very observant.
Tiberius exhaled through his nose. "You're irritating."
So I have been told.
"Do you know why my prayers went unanswered?"
For the first time, the thing within the jewel did not answer immediately.
The last edge of the sun slipped beneath the horizon while Tiberius waited.
Yes.
One word. Tiberius's eyes narrowed upon the jewel. "Then tell me."
No.
"Why not?"
Because you already know.
Tiberius stared at the dagger. "...Necrucifer is dead."
Yes.
"That isn't what I meant."
I know.
His fingers tightened around the grip. "Then you are useless to me."
Tiberius cast the dagger back beside the bones and started walking. Ten
paces. Twenty. Thirty. He continued until darkness swallowed the corpse
behind him, then stopped and stood there for some time.
"Damn you," he spat beneath his breath.
He retraced his steps. The dagger remained where he had thrown it. When he
picked it up, the voice said nothing. That irritated him even more.
He tucked the weapon through the sash at his waist. "You will answer me eventually."
The presence seemed almost to smile.
Perhaps.
Tiberius resumed walking. Neither spoke for nearly an hour. Stars emerged
overhead by the thousands, indifferent and remote. At length the voice broke
the silence.
Where are you going?
"South."
I can see that.
The man glanced down at the dagger. "Then why ask?"
Because south is a direction, not a destination.
"I don't have one."
A pause.
Ah.
"What?"
Nothing.
Tiberius continued his aimless journey deeper into the desert.
The heavens remained silent.
The thing at his hip did not.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 20:35:10 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: A Question of Faith
The fourth morning began with an argument.
"I don't snore."
You do.
Tiber tightened the knot of his waterskin and continued south.
"I've shared barracks with enough men to know otherwise."
Perhaps they were being polite.
"Soldiers? Polite?"
A moment passed.
A fair point.
Four days had passed since Tiberius found the dagger among the bones.
Four days since solitude, which he had deliberately sought, became
considerably less solitary.
He had learned little about his new companion. The presence within the
jewel claimed no name, offered no origin, and answered questions concerning
its nature with an evasiveness that Tiber increasingly suspected was
deliberate. It spoke when it pleased and fell silent when pressed too
closely.
What it knew of him was another matter entirely.
"You've avoided my question since yesterday."
Which one?
"You know which one."
I know several you've asked since yesterday.
Tiber cast a dour glance toward the dagger tucked into his sash. "How much
did you hear before you decided to introduce yourself?"
Enough.
"Enough to know my name. Enough to know whom I served."
Serve.
His stride slowed. "What?"
You said 'served.'
He resumed walking. "He is dead."
We established that.
"Then past tense seems appropriate."
Does it?
The question followed him for several paces. He finally stopped.
"You enjoy this."
What?
"Answering questions with questions."
Only when the second is better than the first.
Tiber shook his head and continued on.
By midday, the heat had driven even the desert winds into submission. He
found shelter beneath a crooked shelf of stone and settled there to wait out
the worst of the sun. Sweat darkened the cloth between his shoulders. His
waterskin had grown troublingly light.
For some time, neither spoke. Then Tiber drew the dagger and held it before
him, turning the crimson-black jewel between thumb and forefinger.
"You know of Necrucifer."
Yes.
"More than His name?"
Yes.
Tiber waited. Nothing followed.
"And?"
You didn't ask another question.
His eyes narrowed.
You really must stop making that face. It has accomplished very little thus far.
A reluctant breath escaped Tiber's nose, something perilously near a laugh.
"What was He to you?"
For once, no answer came immediately. The stone rested dark and silent between his fingers.
Tiber waited.
That is a better question.
"Will you answer it?"
Another silence.
Not yet.
Tiber studied the jewel. "But there is an answer."
There is always an answer.
"You've spent four days proving otherwise."
No. I have spent four days declining to give them to you.
That nearly earned the dagger another flight into the sand.
Nearly.
Instead, Tiber returned it to his sash. "One day, I'm going to leave you where I found you."
No, you aren't.
The certainty of it made him look down. "You seem very sure of that."
You came into this desert seeking answers. I am the first thing you've found that possesses any.
Tiberius had no reply.
The presence, mercifully, did not laugh.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 21:13:18 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: What Endures pt. 1
By the seventh day, Tiberius had stopped throwing the dagger.
He had also stopped pretending he might.
"Water."
Yes.
Tiber lifted the waterskin and shook it beside his ear. The answer was
an unsatisfying slosh. "I'm running out."
I had noticed.
"And?"
And you are running out of water.
He stared down at the dagger.
There is that face again.
"For something so old, you're remarkably useless."
Silence.
Tiber's brow furrowed. "What?"
I don't recall telling you I was old.
That stopped him. The morning sun had only begun its climb, but heat
already shimmered above the dunes ahead. Tiber looked down at the
crimson-black stone set within the pommel.
"You didn't."
No.
"You sound old."
What does "old" sound like?
"You."
The presence laughed.
Tiber continued south. They had settled into something resembling a
routine. He walked when the heat permitted it, sheltered when it did not,
and slept when exhaustion finally overcame discomfort. The presence
accompanied All three with varying degrees of commentary.
It never slept. That much, Tiberius had determined. Whether it could not,
or simply chose not to remained another unanswered question.
"How old are you?"
Old enough.
"For what?"
Most things.
Tiberius snorted.
By midday he found the remnants of a dry wash cutting between two ridges of
sandstone. A withered tamarisk clung stubbornly to one bank, its roots
disappearing beneath cracked earth.
Tiber came to a halt. "There was water here."
Once.
He knelt beside the lowest point and scraped aside the surface with his
fingers. The earth beneath was darker. He began digging.
You have done this before.
"I've been thirsty before."
That wasn't what I meant.
His hands slowed. "Then say what you mean."
You endure discomfort remarkably well.
A humorless laugh escaped him. "Practice."
The presence went quiet. Tiber dug deeper and dampness eventually gathered
beneath his fingers. Not water, not yet, but enough promise to keep him
working.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 21:17:59 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: What Endures pt. 2
Tropica.
His hands stopped. For several seconds, the only sound was his breathing.
"What about it?"
You mentioned it in your sleep.
Tiber sat back upon his heels. "What did I say?"
Very little that made sense.
"Then forget it."
No.
He looked toward the dagger. "That wasn't a request."
I know.
His jaw worked once. "I spent two years there."
The presence said nothing.
"In chains."
Still nothing.
Perhaps it was the silence that made him continue.
"Chaos took me when I was seventeen. Put me to labor near the Warp.
When I wasn't working, sometimes they put me in a pit."
To fight?
"To entertain them."
A pause.
Did you?
"Did I what?"
Entertain them.
He stared at the damp earth between his knees. Then, despite himself, he chuckled.
"Occasionally."
The answering amusement was quieter than usual. Tiber returned to digging.
Yet afterward you became a soldier.
"I was a soldier before."
At seventeen?
"My father started earlier."
And that made it wise?
Tiber's fingers stopped again. "You ask too many questions."
So I have been told.
"By whom?"
Silence.
Again he paused to looked at the dagger. "Oh, now you have nothing to say."
I have many things to say. You simply aren't entitled to All of them.
"Convenient."
Very.
Tiberius shook his head and returned to the hole.
By late afternoon, a shallow pool of muddy water had seeped into its bottom.
He strained it through cloth, filled the waterskin, and drank only after
waiting long enough for the worst of the grit to settle. It tasted of
earth.
It was magnificent.
You survived two years in chains.
Tiber lowered the skin. "Yes."
Then escaped them. Returned home. Swore yourself to your god. Lost Him.
And walked into a desert to discover what remained.
Tiber's expression slowly hardened. "You've been assembling me."
Naturally.
"...Why?"
For several moments, there was only the dry whisper of wind through the tamarisk.
I like to know what I am traveling with.
Tiber glanced at the dagger. "And what have you decided?"
The answer came without hesitation.
You are very difficult to kill.
Tiber barked a laugh. "That's your grand conclusion?"
Thus far.
He took another drink. "I've been called worse."
A pause, then the presence laughed in turn.
Tiberius realized why a moment later. "Oh... Damn you."
Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 21:41:29 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Other Pilgrim
On the ninth night, Tiberius caught the presence watching the stars.
At least, that is what he decided.
He lay beneath an outcropping with one arm folded behind his head, the
day's heat slowly bleeding from the stone beneath him. The dagger rested
upon his chest, its jewel reflecting nothing of the heavens overhead. For
nearly an hour, neither had spoken.
"You can see them, can't you?"
See what?
"The stars."
A pause.
Yes.
Tiber looked upward. "Through me?"
No.
That interested him. "Then you can see from the jewel."
In a manner of speaking.
"Can you hear without me holding it?"
Obviously.
"How far?"
Far enough.
Tiber smiled faintly. "You're doing it again..."
Doing what?
"Giving me the smallest answer you think will satisfy me."
And yet, you remain unsatisfied. A persistent flaw in the method.
"Maybe you're losing your touch."
The presence chuckled.
Tiber let the silence return. A thin, red moon and a half-full white one
hung low upon the horizon, while above them the stars shone in numbers
impossible to appreciate from beneath a city sky.
"Do you miss them?"
No answer.
Tiber waited.
Still nothing.
His smile returned, threatening a smirk. "That one landed somewhere."
You are becoming tiresome.
"I've had an excellent teacher."
A low rasp of amusement entered his thoughts.
"So you do."
Do what?
"Miss something."
The amusement disappeared.
The man turned the dagger between his fingers. "You know where I'm from.
You know who I served. You know where I've been... I know nothing about
you."
That arrangement has served me quite well.
"I'm sure it has."
He returned his gaze to the sky. "Were you always in this?"
The jewel remained silent.
"That's a no."
That is an assumption.
"You'd have said yes."
Another silence. Tiberius grinned.
Don't look so pleased with yourself.
"I finally got an answer."
You guessed.
"Correctly."
Perhaps.
"There you are again."
The presence gave something resembling a sigh.
For a while, Tiber was content to leave the victory there. The desert
cooled around him. Somewhere beyond the rocks came the faint skitter of
some nocturnal creature emerging to hunt.
Eventually, the voice spoke.
What do you believe I am?
Tiber considered the question. "Not a spirit."
Why?
"You would've told me."
Would I?
"You let me think demon was closer."
No answer.
"And you know too much."
About?
"Necrucifer. Me. Probably Shadow."
That silence was different. Tiberius noticed. "There it is."
There is what?
"You know the Order."
Many know of the Order of Shadow.
"Not what I said."
For once, the presence had no clever answer ready.
Tiber lifted the dagger above him, studying the dark jewel against the
stars. "Whatever you are, you've crossed Shadow's path before."
You sound very certain.
"I'm learning."
A long silence followed.
Yes.
He lowered the dagger slightly. It was the first thing the presence had given him freely.
"Friend or enemy?"
Must I have been only one?
Tiber considered that. "No."
Good.
"Which were you last?"
The presence laughed softly.
You were doing so well.
Tiberius shook his head, but there was little irritation in it now. "One day."
Perhaps.
The familiar answer drew a quiet snort from him.
He set the dagger beside his head and closed his eyes. "Good night, whatever you are."
Several moments passed.
Good night, Tiberius Caine.
His eyes opened. The presence said nothing more.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 22:22:02 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Chains Again
The tenth morning brought hoofbeats.
Tiberius heard them sometime after sunrise, distant enough at first to be
mistaken for the shifting complaint of sand beneath the wind.
He stopped in his tracks.
"Hear that?"
Yes.
Tiber climbed the nearest rise and crouched below its crest. The desert
stretched southward beneath him, broken by sandstone and scrub. Nothing
moved. The hoofbeats had stopped.
"How many?"
I couldn't say.
"Couldn't, or won't?"
Couldn't.
He frowned. The distinction did little to reassure him.
He remained there several minutes before descending the dune. His axe rode
loosely in one hand now.
"Travelers?"
Perhaps.
Tiberius snorted. "There's that answer again..."
I thought you might appreciate its versatility.
The man shook his head and continued south, though more slowly than before.
The sun climbed. No riders appeared behind him. An hour passed.
Then two.
By midday, Tiber had begun to wonder whether whoever traveled nearby had
simply turned elsewhere.
He found tracks shortly thereafter.
Several horses had crossed his trail before turning southward. Tiber knelt
beside the impressions, studying them. The edges were still sharp.
"Recent."
Very.
His gaze followed their course.
"They're circling around me."
No answer.
He rose. "You knew."
I suspected.
"And neglected to mention it?"
You had already noticed.
Tiberius muttered something unkind beneath his breath and changed course
toward a broken line of sandstone. Open ground favored horses - the rocks
did not. He had nearly reached them when the presence spoke:
Behind you.
He turned to witness a horseman cresting the dune at full gallop.
Tiber's axe came up as something unfolded through the air between them. A
weighted net struck him across the shoulders and chest. He staggered
beneath it, one weight whipping around his arm while another caught behind
his knee.
He hit the sand hard. More hoofbeats thundered from either side.
Tiberius rolled, dragging the net with him, and hacked at the cords. The
first strand parted beneath the axe.
A rider shouted. Another weight snapped tight around Tiber's ankle. He
twisted onto one knee and tore an arm free.
Something struck his neck. He slapped a hand against the sting and found a
short dart lodged beneath his jaw.
"Bastards..." |
