A Circle's Condemnation

[sonofthestars]

[ AMBIANCE ]

The following missive is found anywhere and everywhere, copied neatly onto gold-edged stationary, written in sharp, slanted script.

--- <> ---
​

Greetings, Regalia.

Some may remember who I am. Who I was. Some may remember the night of the Twin Flames, the crimes of my mentor, Mirabella the Desprincess, the atrocities committed by my late brother, Qal'hata Dzekh'aar. Some will recall that I was once a proud soldier of these treasonous warlords. The right hand of the Lodestar. The heir of Athanasia's Scion. I was hunted and imprisoned, and where I went, scorn, violence, and hatred followed.

But most, now, believe me to be saved.

I was taken in by the kindness of the Hexenblood Circle, and made right. Bent back into shape. Now, I am no threat to the good of the world, no terrorist to be jailed and taunted—just an eccentric Mage whose projects get the better of him. One of the shining members of the Empire's least dangerous group of Occult powers—neutered and neutralized, fit once again for the public. And that is how it goes. The heroes prevail, and the villains are saved from the jaws of sin and treachery.

This is all a front.

I lay these charges against the heroes of Regalia, the public defenders—the Hexenblood Circle who has housed me and held me for the span of a year and a half, in whose halls I have wandered, listened, and seen the truth. They are not your heroes. They are not to be trusted. They are not to be believed. They are frail, selfish people, like the rest of the world, and the rest of the world deserves to witness their wicked ways.

Let me begin with the Adherents:

NAAJI
Naaji was once a Vampire of Haqet's line, and he had to be held down to prevent him from running straight back. Personally, I invite him to try again. He was a very loyal soldier to us, anyways; far more loyal than he pretends to be to the Circle.

YAREHUANI
Yarehuani is a walking monstrosity of technology who mauled their own body to augment it in the interest of power, and worse still, they want to do the same to other people. They were a Kathar, and then a Maquixtl, and then a Manathar, and really, their connection and loyalty to any sort of culture is as hollow as their body. Is it wrong to put down someone who is only 10% human? I don't think it is.

PIPA PIPA
Of all the people on this list, Pipa Pipa is the least likely to harm anyone, which speaks half to her character and half to the absolute disgrace she is to the ideals of the Void. Eloblina may appreciate her, but there is no place in the Ancient's designs for a thirty-year old woman who acts like a child set free in the woods during recess. Had she not unleashed a poisonous infection so potent and dangerous it can kill via breath onto the Circle's old estate, rendering it uninhabitable, I might've dared say she was harmless.

AILRED
Ailred was once a fellow soldier of Mirabella the Scion-princess. He lit Petalcourt afire with zeal and gusto. His anger has never faded, not since I have known him, and I have no doubt that he would do it again, if asked. Beware, all those who reside in Floralcourt: Ailred, the Crooked Huntsman, wants to hurt you. He wants to hurt you very, very badly.

MEDEA
How ironic that the ex-minister of Conservation would be so tied to death. Do not forget, everyone, who wielded the Ravenlord's blade first: it was Medea, and she once confided to me how much she still thinks of those days. They say those artifacts leave whispers in the minds of their wielders, even long after the weapon changes hands…

ARGO
I would have more to say here, but the man recently posted a notice that spoke to all of his flaws better than I ever could. Where does Argo belong? Is it in Solleria? Is it in Regalia? Which gods does he love? What does he stand for? Does anyone know? Does Argo? The man replaced his own spine with the doldrums of centrism, and anything he says, he says to appeal to the listener, not to express his own perspective. Can you even feel safe around a man whose need for compromise stretches so far he would watch you be impaled in the street and remark on how really, both sides are at fault?

And now onto the Magisters, the rarefied leaders of the Circle as a whole:

AMIR
Amir Razavi is a lapdog who has never had an opinion differing from Anathema's once in his life. In all their schemes, he is a constant accomplice; in all our meetings, all he ever did was echo the sentiments of others around him—perfectly malleable, perfectly oblique. Or is he? The most neutral face in all of the Circle, so uniquely poised to carry out some of their most insidious plans, all with an armory of highly advanced and dangerous technology at his disposal. Do not trust Amir Razavi. He has every means to haunt you like your own shadow.

ASHENVARYA
Have you ever been in a circus' house of mirrors? Have you ever stared at your own reflection and seen something warped and twisted looking back at you, frightening, unfamiliar, and bizarre? This is how Ashenvarya left me when they brought me to their world of lies and forced me to confront the waking nightmares of my own doubts in one of their wicked mirrors—and I have seen them do it before. Ashenvarya has the power to twist your deepest secrets into a weapon and hold them to your neck. They are dangerous, not because they would rampage and murder, but because not a single person dares to hold them accountable for the atrocities they have committed. What a grand hypocrisy they create by advocating for 'safer use of magic.' Of all the Mages in this city, it is perhaps Ashenvarya you have the most reason to fear.

GEHRMAN
Never have I met a man so concerningly insecure for the amount of power he holds. Gehrman is one of the Circle's Magisters—people thought competent enough to make quick decisions during times of strife, with the charisma to lead and the strength to resist opposition. Gehrman is none of these things. Gehrman once fell sobbing at my feet because he could not contain the amount of self-hate that he carries in his addled, death-diseased soul. I advise you to stay away from him, because his tantrums are legendary, and his trigger finger is lax.

XAELLA
The grand Necromancer of the Helvalt Church, Xaella Mailaan. Recently, she established a death-cult slash sweatshop in Solleria that grinds through the shades of the deceased to produce war munitions for the Empire. How many Tenpenny soldier's souls are being put through the mill? How quickly would she sell yours, just for profit and another glass of fine wine? I daresay you can't name a number low enough for the amount of seconds it would take for her to do just that. To color her moral standings as 'gray' is a disservice to the color itself; to name them 'black' is more accurate, but almost too on the nose. This woman raises the dead, sells their labor, and gets away with it. She should be reviled as much as Haqet, if not more.

ANATHEMA
Finally, the beating heart of this whole affair—the greatest deceiver among the whole sorry lot: Anathema, the nameless, the mysterious. Level-headed, able-bodied, fearless—the city of Regalia knows Anathema as this, the unfettered leader of the Hexenblood Circle, they who walk the straight line between Occult power and a hero's duty. However, I know a different Anathema. I know a severe, exhausted, angry superweapon whose true motives are hidden, even from us, whose origins are murky and whose intentions are even more so. I have watched Anathema do things so unnatural they turn even my stomach—I have seen them rip off pieces of their body and grow them to the size of buildings; I watched them puppeteer the corpses of thousands for the purpose of war. Around this Isle lay ponds of festering flesh and rot from which I have watched perfect copies of Anathema emerge, outfitted for war, and I have only seen the ones they reveal to the Circle. They have turned on people faster than a dime stops, and their vindication is as swift as it is deadly. They have been kind to me, but how long will it be until they snap? How much more can they take? And when that day comes—when Anathema is unleashed onto the Empire, is there anyone alive who can stop them?

And lastly, a personal grievance:

ALBAN
Why have you abandoned me? You used to be the strongest warrior I knew, under Cal. He taught us both to fight. He taught you never to bow a knee—and yet, here you are, laboring under the same chains that I freed myself from. You are ignoring your very nature by holding that wretched sword, and it saddens me that you would throw away everything that made you beautiful in some quest for holy 'forgiveness.'

I loved the version of you that smiled when you threw the first torch into Petalcourt.

I will kill the new Alban without mercy or regret.

In conclusion..

This world is full of sin and treachery, and there is not a lick of evidence to convince me that such a thing as 'selflessness' exists. You are all self-serving, vice-having, lie-telling sinners, and the sooner we all accept that, the sooner this world may evolve from the stagnancy it has wallowed in since the Everwatcher set its oppressive eye onto Aloria. I am tired of pretending to be a hero.

Hunt me down. Prove me right. Kill or be killed.

Regards,

Ex-Desprince of the Ashen Host and Last Heir of the Lodestar
​

Spoiler: ooc

and cecil is a fugly cow. tags: @PuffyPigeon @Naramm @Patsie @War_pig @Lutowski @SuperKamiWarlock @WaterDruppel @Bellarmina @TheWonderOfYou @Finlaggan @Birdsfoot_Violet @notjayp

 

[notjayp]

Alban stares at the notice for a few minutes, confusion riddled over his face. He glances over his shoulder, golden eyes wandering across the crowd, before levelling with the ground. He takes in a breath-- finding himself sniffling, only to meekly murmur to nobody but himself as tears started to trace down his cheeks, "Did I just get broken up with?.."

 

[bwmwags3]

A letter passes hands to a certain home in the Daendroc.

"Is this not the Organization, De Acozzida put such faith in?", came the calls from the assembled. As the notice passed to the Patriarch.

"Miguel," spoke the man laying his Cigar down.

"Isn't that the name of the man you mentioned. The Mage?"

Miguel was silent, before a trembling voice echoed, "Yes..Uncle but we hadn't looked into him yet. I had no idea he was this vile, I apolo-"

"Save it," He huffed, "His claims are many, superfluous though least for our concerns. I advise you best watch these people…and for Elen's sake. Never EVER offer the name of such a abomination to the Everwatcher as a possible business partner again."

Miguel nods, "Anything else?"

The large daendroque blew out a smoke ring, "Make a decision for using this to further our interest and perhaps the Empire's as well."

 

[Starliate]

Emile's eyes feverishly scan the notice as they mumbled every word. It was recited through stutters, stumbles of words that they just couldn't put together. Anathema's, Alban's, and most importantly, Xaella's passages would stick out like knives sticking out over thorns in one's back.
Some could see them staring, blank-faced and wide eyed at the notice with their hands braced against the wall. After re-reading the notice multiple times, they could only recite Xaella's without mistake.

"How many... T-Tenpenny soldier's souls are being put through the mill? How quickly.. would she sell your soul, just for profit and another glass of fine.. wine?" Each time they read it, the louder their soft spoken voice became and the more murmurs of Kriv broke through their recital.

The anger that motivated them could do no more than cloud their vision. Those surrounding the notice could witness the Deathseer run through multiple publishing's of this paper crossing out Cecil's title.

CECIL S̶I̶R̶E̶I̶L̶L̶I̶A̶N̶ ̶

E̶x̶-̶D̶e̶s̶p̶r̶i̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶A̶s̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶H̶o̶s̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶L̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶H̶e̶i̶r̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶L̶o̶d̶e̶s̶t̶a̶r̶
They continued to tear through each notice and re-write Cecil's title. Emile disregarded trying to vandalize the actual notice, only naming Cecil by his proper title in red and black ink. They lacked the ease of mind to write a proper response, anything to combat such rumors about their precious teacher and members of the Circle alike. Their mind, however, could only dance with anger without reason's interference, leaving the notice board stamped with mindless sticky-notes of the same word over and over again.

​

 

[PresentMediator]

The notice angled out of view of a mirror, lowered by a hand of onyx. It offered it towards Kuralang perched beside it. "Naaji." Said the being of mirrored faces. At the sound of the name, the reflection of Naaji's face perfumed into view, wielding burning glowing eyes with an icy glare.

"Naaji." It repeated to Kuralang.

@BluKnight10

 

[bahmboozled]

Ivory claws at its face(s), barken hide splitting occasionally to reveal a network of glowing veins. It pulses blue, and with each statement it read, it vents out an even brighter light.

"Falling back to their own ways. Yet, if this eccentric mage is hunted down— the circle only endeavours to prove their points made. They are full of atrocities."

 

[Lizehrd]

A Songaskian held a copy of the condemnation with two bandaged hands, one flayed and one punctured. His golden eyes scanned through the names, quietly reciting the allegations one by one beneath his breath, until he stopped at the name of Xaella, at the crimes writ against them.

And as he read, his voice became a little bit less quiet, a little bit stronger, filled primal disdain and sturdiness. By the end, stirred, he let the paper fall from his grasp and said, "To think how many of the people I fought beside… so many of their souls sundered to a war machine. Oh how many have been wronged by the hands of a twisted monster?"

The Songaskian turned away, moving with more vigor and haste, a new energy in his step. "Come what death may send. This defilement must end." And he let his voice carry, strong as the waves of his birth, fiery as the sun that was kindled by his ancestors' spirits. There was work to be done.

 

[SneakyLinguine]

Under the canopy of Floral Court's Great Tree, bathed in the soft glow of its many lanterns, a pair of Maquixtl read over the notice.

"I do love a nourishing meal of spilt beans and hot tea," quipped the Silven. The leaves above shifted, and a shadow befell features usually bright. "At least they were kind enough to give us notice, this time."

The other was not so light-hearted. "Vampirism has corrupted you," was all he uttered as a hand found the pommel of his sword, resolute.

@ShipIt

 

[War_pig]

Ailred took one of the notices into his hand, scanning it over, his eyes flicking across the words faster as he continued to read. By the time he reached the end, a huff of practically steam was emitted from the Wyvernoid's nostrils. Crumpling up the notice and tossing it to the ground, he spun the great-axe resting upon his shoulder.

"You are not omitted from His Will, decrepit Void-spawn. At least you are correct that you are the LAST Heir of the Lodestar. I accept your challenge with glee, it is His Will, not my own that I face demons like you. FOR THE FIRELORD, WHOSE WRATH WILL CLEANSE THE WORLD WITH FIRE."

He yelled into the street to the concern of many Crookback locals. Immediately stopping off in a random direction, nostrils turned to the wind for there was a hunt to be had. Wrathful fury needed to be unleashed.

 

[Bellarmina]

Upon seeing the notice, Ashenvarya's expression would drop as they fully took it in."…How I treated others during Vampire Occupation is one of my greatest regrets, I'm sorry for the hurt I put you through during my time as a Cahal- I-I didn't know I..." Tears began to well up in their eyes as they quickly made their way home, rubbing at their eyes all the while.

 

[PuffyPigeon]

Naaji's eyes scan the page, arms crossed over his chest with a few fingers spared to scratch his beard.

"Hardley knew 'em. By the looks of it, neither did he me. The worst of the dirt he manages to scrouge up - and it's not even accurate," an easygoing voice comments, touched with temper though it might be. Soon after, he seeks Amir. A light-hearted jest: "What sins of yours, my friend."​

@WaterDruppel

 

[Birdsfoot_Violet]

They stop just at the middle of the stairs. Naturally, their eyes are drawn up to the lovingly rendered, and then mass-copied and produced, painting of the Emperor Alexander. They stare at it in absolute silence, flanked by two peculiar occult paintings. Their eyes close, recalling a close-held memory, and finally murmur to themselves. "...Maybe Sinvaal and Caan. Or perhaps the Imperial Prince and Elen..."


--

A letter is posted in response.
​

First of all, it would do well to dispel rumors and notions of a few things. We do not posit ourselves as Heroes. I never have. I never want to. That kind of moniker is not someone with any earnest heart gives to themselves, and my ego is not half as bloated as yours to want to be anything like a grand hero-- or grand villain.

Were you earnest, then? When you sat across from me, and begged to be allowed to be a 'double agent' against Haqet, since you were so proud of how the Circle had helped you, that you wanted to extend that same grace to them? Was it a lie? Was it the truth, now warped by what I can only assume is Sanguinism in your long extended absence from the Circle? Maybe it was neither. Maybe it doesn't matter if it was true, or if it was false, or whatever your intentions were at any given time. Maybe all that matters is right here. Whether or not you took advantage of my habit of pitying souls so pathetic, such as yours, is between yourself and whatever final judge has the misfortune of reviewing your life.

I am not a superweapon. I cannot do half the things you claim I can do. Nor do I want to be. You, and Haqet, because I know you are speaking Haqet's rhetoric, now, as is this is what they have said to me; you are so obsessed with me, so incensed at the fact that I choose to to use my magic how I do (see: not being an egomaniac about it). I do not like hurting people. I do not like people who take things so greedily from others. I make an active effort, to live, to live in an Empire that is at peace, no longer plagued by your ilk, whenever that day may come. And that drives you mad, doesn't it? That you see yourselves, in me. You see a mage. You see a mage with "power," as much as I fucking DESPISE that rhetoric, you see a mage with "power" who doesn't wantonly hurt people with it. And that seems so wrong, doesn't it? If you have power, you should do what you want with it. You should hurt people. You should take things. You should lay down and accept whatever 'benefits' may come from the bloated, pustule filled boons Haqet gains from their evils. Because they make you strong. Don't they? So strong you feel the need to say all of this. So strong you want so desperately for everyone to be afraid of us, to think of us like they think of you-- because, surely, there is something wrong with us, not you? Surely.

One could also mention, if they were particularly discerning, your quaint little "Enterprises" which I am sure, at this point, has done nothing but peddle demons and magic without care or consequence to any sad sod who must be burdened with listening to you. You haven't been a part of the Circle for months, Cecil. Why did you feel the need to say this now? Because of Alban? Of Sangria? Of some other scheme of Haqet's I'm sure we've all been tragically roped into? Was truly your own critique of Amir that he does not disagree with me? Of course he does. We disagree plenty. But unlike you, we keep that to the privacy of our home, rather than make grand, sweeping announcements letting our ex-spouse know we are very cross that they are no longer a mass-murderer. He has no more technology than the average studied engineer. We just have the money and resources to not leave him fiddling with scraps.

With all of that said: Enjoy your life, Cecil. Filled with Vampires, and Blood, and Power, and Magic, and all the secret occult things you could ever wish for.

Because it will no longer include me in it.

Goodbye,

Anathema​