Thy Kingdom Come

[CupcakeMomo]

The Sun peaked at its brightest in the early morning. Before a crowd near Aphros - the Radiant of the Sainted Church engaged Valerie Hemwick, Eranath and lastly, Xarxes

Blight, and darkness torn asunder, the Light eliminating the corruption, and any device of Moros - Despair would not have its day on Pylae's First Breath. Rumors state that a stunning battle took place, and by the end of it?

Stood a Radiant that carried the Sun, victorious against the mechanisms of the dark.

The recently coronated Queen of Crimson was lost, and found herself soaring too close to the sun, retreating away through the shadows.

The Nethrademon, Lord of Fel Garden was crushed into nothingness, removed by the full might of the Light. There was no hesitation nor compassion for the lost and damned.

The Nephairy of Time was defeated in a clash of ideologies; If it is he who carried Time and Death, then it would be Hope that prevailed, and overcame against all odds. There is only god, and one truth, and it is the victorious Pylae.

Why is it that such fallible, futile mistakes of creation believe to stand on the same footing as Humanity? Why is it that you all traverse the realms as if you are not in any danger?

Do you believe yourself to be free during the day of our LORD?

What is it that makes you all so confident?

When you are so godless.

And so imminent upon the doorsteps of the End.

I've been keeping my oath.

And so it shall, by Pylae.

Evil shall be vanquished, just as Pylae rose his golden spear, slaying Moros.
You, Ilk of the Morosian shadows, and despair shall soon follow.

The sunlight will be your fear.

I will rid you all just as I rid Eranath from his own nightmare.

The Sainted Church has been seen mobilizing small squads of warriors to begin assailing wandering Demons, Undead and those touched by the Fel. Only when the Sun holds dominion over the sky is when those of the Sainted Church is expected to flock, and descend upon the forces of Evil.

The Dawn is not safe for their kind.

Xarxes, Na'ria, Ustrea, Sheol and Skarnfel will not find rest until the Sun falls.





A crusade is brewing...

[Nerdlord57]

Brilliance was always prone to cast shadow, even in triumphant victory. No light, no blaze brought forth by any of mortality, could prevent casting such darkness into the world. In those casted shadows, pairs of eyes would look out into the world..

Foul wings taking flight upon distorted bodies, impish feathered creatures with aspects of an owl moving just as the summoned beasts of Zel'Ria did. Horrible croaking hoots followed in the wake of their deteriorating forms as another voice called out, not of these conjured occult beasts- but of their summoner. As the voice of the Prophet spoke forth, a putrid and false-gold ichor began to spill down from the eyes of the assorted Imps. The message was always the same..

"Speak out the name of your false divinity, pray to their name and pray for -hope-, for a BETTER TOMORROW! Feed, that which festers with Change. Arise from your period of stagnancy and strive all you wish to slay evil and make your lands better than you left it.

Change, little mortal. Set upon our most blessed hides the vitriol and the holy radiance you wish to call to bring us to ruin. Bring forth agony! Bring forth strife!

The Apostles of Change will be all the stronger for it, you have decided to take up action far- far too late.

The will of the Most High has been made manifest and all of Meranthe shall partake in this Era of Change. Sing praises and give your thanks unto the most hallow name of Na'Ria, for it is the Ascendant that has given unto you these reasons to fight. To adapt.

Let  not the words of mortals harry you or strike fear into your hears, kin, kindred, and Aspirants alike. Rejoice in the bloodshed and pain to come- and bask in the opportunity to become more than you ever thought possible. Tear the limitations set forth by the false divinities asunder and answer the call to Change.

ASCENSION AWAITS, BENEATH THE GAZE OF TRUE DIVINITY!

Pandemonium regnat Na'Riai vitae."

Of course after such a message was given, that false-gold ichor would rupture forth from tears in the vessel of each impish owl-thing. Such temporary and occultic things erupting in a foul explosion as many magi have seen on battlefields before. Who would likely give much weight to the words of a raving madman anyhow?