An invitation

[Ashclout]

"Hey motherfucker, it is time you fucking come out..."

A few letters are sent in the direction of the Dreadwoods.
Addressed to the Tyrant, the intent is clear...

"One of your goons crippled me, and I heard you got your shit kicked in by our favorite rat?

Look at us, ain't we pathetic?

We've started a war because we couldn't stand each other.

I couldn't care less about your destroying your coven and your fucked up kids..

What I want-- is you.

Let's face it, this conflict we've started was only an excuse.

You're a fucking monster drunk on blood.

But I've learned I'm just the same...

So let's fucking fight.

To the death, of course..."

SETTING : DEADLY
CAP : ???

[CurledSpiral]

The letters receive no response for a while. Probably longer than would have been thought polite or courteous. 
It took quite a while for someone to decide to finally bring the letter to Nanzo.
Perhaps they feared punishment?

An answer was given, written in the lovely stylings of the Sheng.

"You bark loudly, don't you? 

A disgraced soldier, unable to handle the rigors of command. Yes, Mikhail came to me trying to lay the blame upon you. Silly boy  thought that was enough to cease what has begun.

 

 

You're no monster, you're merely a cripple whose lost their will to lead their people. Whose failed them, as a diplomat and a commander.

 

However, I respect your decision to seek death at my hands. It shows that you possess some measure of bravery.

You won't find what you seek though.

When I have crushed you into the dirt?

 

 

Mortyl's will not be the blessing you receive. Only mine, only the chains of servitude await you.

SETTING : DEADLY

CAP : 3

Date: 2/23 @3 PM.

[Ashclout]

Several letters bound with a red ribbon are sent towards the Dreadwoods.
The outcome of the duel... made public... much to the Demon's dismay.
Nothing better than rubbing a hot knife on a still, open wound, mhh?

"Ten feet of pure muscle and destruction couldn't handle five.

I would ask if you think you'll be able to stomach this defeat, but that would be awful of me, considering I have your organ in the palm of my hand.

You passed me for a cripple, a woman lost their will to live, to fight for their beliefs. You saw me as a pathetic little human, someone with no deities to rely upon, no assets, no resources... someone with nothing but a fuck ton of troubles and her fists. 

Life is a bitch, isn't she?

The Empire of Men will never succumb to the circus you are. We will burn your precious home to the ground. And I... will... finish what I started...

No deity nor any divine intervention will be enough to save you. The clock is ticking Nanzo.

Enjoy what's left of your life while it lasts."

[CurledSpiral]

A proclamation is given, carried through work of mouth to the southlands. Carried on the tongues of heralds of all manner.

A response to the written word, one that was unique to each listener but the thread remained.

A thread of bull-headed tenacity.

 

And the ringing of a bell, in homage to the end of life.

"Keep the stomach, you can have the left-overs within it as a parting gift.

 

The bell, could you hear the ringing of the bell? No, of course not. You're but a mortal, a flicker, a spec in the grand scheme of things.

 

But you don't grasp something, life is not the ringer of that bell that honor is Mortyls and her eyes remain ever fixated upon me. Gazing upon that which cannot die, that which has survived the end of life.

 

Again.

And.

Again.

If she can not claim me.

What hope do you have?

 

You've done something though, defeating me is a task worthy of adulation. Enjoy it while you can little mortal, because while you wither to dust. While your people die to the blades of light and to the claws of my Legion.

While your name is consigned to the footnotes of my legend like so many others.

I am eternal.

I am inevitable.

 

And I will see you and all you hold dear ground to dust."