♫♪ High up in the desolate skies where Dreadfort Demetrius concealed the sun, stood a veiled figure at the edge of it. There was this uncertain chokehold of the air and for a time the future halted its inevitable march - until a foreboding swarm of ravens shot up from behind them like wings of rage, each bird carrying a piece of its Lord’s message that fluttered down throughout the city’s windy streets like a diseased snowfall of papers. Within its passages was inked psalms of mockery. You underestimated me. You underestimated me, undervalued me, disregarded me, discarded me. You did all this and more. Tough in crowds, but easy to fold when you’re alone. Only a month ago - I was just a seamstress to you. And now, my name alone is enough to spell change. Lament and bleat that ‘we care, we always cared for you’ all you wish, but when was that care when I was around? My beloved friends who watched me fade and were all the quicker to forget - that sweet seamstress you’ve all walked over - she’s not coming back. But it’s okay, because although no amount of regret can stitch back the wounds you’ve torn open, I’ll make sure you won’t forget me this time. We, the degraded, have been offered as sacrifices to your altar of luxuries and social conquers for too long. Where we took the brunt of your failures, you basked in the successes that should’ve been ours. Your neglect for your lesser men took us down, and it was only the Divine Desprince Xilthruum that has broken my fall where the Everwatcher failed. My God walks with me, while yours sit and watch your failures in content silence. This is by no means our fault. You taught us this hatred, you taught us to play by your rules, and most importantly, you taught us to overcome you. We did the same that you've done to us. Your privilege to cry about it has long expired. This garden of decadence is now ours to raze, and from its soil we will grow a new Everwatch. We aren’t sick, we are mad. My existence is the divine intervention that will help you see things for what they really are. Allow me the honors to welcome you to a new Regalia rinsed anew in blood by the hands of our God, where there are no Emperors, and the Everwatcher stays blind to your punishment. O Regalia, join hands with me and let us sing a choir of our hatred to you, for this city isn’t lovely and neither are its people. Glory be to the Solifugae, and to our Divine Desprince Xilthruum
Carried up Ravens of black within the bounds of the Imperial Bastion a Celate’s ears rise to this song. He smiles taking up his guitar, once more giving his heart to holy song as music began to ring. The light of remembrance, the dark of failure Hand in hand all souls remember Through all acts of mercy, violence, or failure We look to our kin, our servants, our neighbors Though many have lost, let us remember Afterlife is waiting but do not condemn us We live for our Empire, our Faith, our Peoples united Let us remember this City divided Shall restore itself in bright, blinding action The minds of the Ravens, the Biters, the Taken Shall be liberated by light, ever shining The Everwatcher’s gaze watches us all Divinity of truth and Justice for all Let all pretenders of dark and night Face true light and bow before it Lest flame and truth prove their dark weakness For divinity is pure, free of such demons No lich or lost can claim true light Faith shall prevail through darkest night” The young asha breathed out a simple prayer, “Let God Empress Ness hear the plight of this fallen Raven. Torn from our flocks by demons, twisted by this false god, this pretender of Nobility this Lich. May the Everwatcher weigh their heart as it is a mortal unionist without the twisting of their curse. By all the God Emperor, Empresses, The Everwatcher, and his Imperial Holiness. We shall restore this city.”
Notices would be fluttered on the streets, each one hand-crafted and torn from a journal, multiple copies handwritten. Clearly, whoever wrote it, wanted to get their message out there. Despite it being days since the seamstress' notice was posted. I know how you feel. I used to be a lovely, kind halfling who idealized the greater good, who truly, truly wanted to help other people. I was Aloranthae Cosranthae. I was Aurienne Colleen. I still am, shockingly, and I know there's a piece of the old you still inside, as much as you probably hate to deny it. I know there is for me. But, despite seeing similarities, I'm not going to reason with you, despite knowing the circumstances you've found yourself in. I know how the blood curse is. We are alike and nothing more; our ideals formerly intertwined and I once felt like you. Sometimes I still do, sometimes there's an urge to go back. To give up all what I've worked for, all my progress and to succumb to the curse. But I won't. Not like I can, anyway. I guess I should cut to the chase. We both seem to be alike, judging by this notice, letter, whatever you call it. And I can make a reasonable deduction that I know who you are, seamstress. Point is: I'm challenging you to a fight, one on one, alone. No buddies, no allies, nothing. Pick a time and place. We'll discuss terms either here or privately. I'm leaving it up to you. Omaberos Wynn Spoiler: OOC @Lutowski Gonna say rn: If you don't want a curing, then I'm not gonna force it on u. Will discuss more in Discord dms! @Qoll#1750 I just think on an OOC level this would be a very interesting fight. <3
