Achaean News
Your plea
Written by: Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown
Date: Tuesday, February 27th, 2024
Addressed to: Archivist Halos Vorondil, Caefir Cleric
You pray for a diversion of my regard. Wise indeed is your plea to your gods for such clemency. There will be no salvation for you. Hope is the simplest flame to snuff. No, if any man wishes to divert my gaze from that upon which it rests, they will do so screaming.
You shriek that my devotion to Oblivion is not sufficient to garner your attention nor that of your Bloodsworn Liars. How must it feel to inscribe such desires while knowing they will forever remain unattainable? So ensnared in admiration of my blessed visage are you, my marionette of piety, and the small-fisted Mhaldorian, that you're reduced to squandering what modicum of talent you possess on composing say-it-aint-so's and erotic fanfiction of my person. It would seem my devotion is quite sufficient, indeed.
But what comprehension of devotion could you possible have? Devotion transcends the trifling gestures you perform within your dust-laden library. Nor is it expressed in your hollow rituals and the vain homage you pour upon your dieties. No, it is so much more. Your brother feigns ignorance of my identity, a privilege bestowed solely upon those who are both inconsequential and of tender years, but he possesses only one of those designations. For any who gaze upon my visage and succumb to the swirling maelstrom of my declarations discern it in the very marrow of their bones and the quivering chambers of their hearts: here stands a disciple of the God of Oblivion. This is devotion, puppet.
You aspire to part your lips in defiance. Allow me to share wisdom bestowed upon me by one wiser still: Defiant men bleed as freely as men without. Defiance in the face of the Inevitable is a fool's errand, for to be defiant is to assert defeat is a potential resolution. There is no defiance. There is only victory, and Oblivion.
Know this, little Halos of Targossas: you are yesterday. That is the entirety of your existence, and wail and whine and stomp your feet as much as you want; that is all you'll ever be.
[X] Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown
[A small octagon encircles a raised "II" here, inscribed in thick, amethyst ink]
Penned by my hand on the 12th of Miraman, in the year 940 AF.
Your plea
Written by: Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown
Date: Tuesday, February 27th, 2024
Addressed to: Archivist Halos Vorondil, Caefir Cleric
You pray for a diversion of my regard. Wise indeed is your plea to your gods for such clemency. There will be no salvation for you. Hope is the simplest flame to snuff. No, if any man wishes to divert my gaze from that upon which it rests, they will do so screaming.
You shriek that my devotion to Oblivion is not sufficient to garner your attention nor that of your Bloodsworn Liars. How must it feel to inscribe such desires while knowing they will forever remain unattainable? So ensnared in admiration of my blessed visage are you, my marionette of piety, and the small-fisted Mhaldorian, that you're reduced to squandering what modicum of talent you possess on composing say-it-aint-so's and erotic fanfiction of my person. It would seem my devotion is quite sufficient, indeed.
But what comprehension of devotion could you possible have? Devotion transcends the trifling gestures you perform within your dust-laden library. Nor is it expressed in your hollow rituals and the vain homage you pour upon your dieties. No, it is so much more. Your brother feigns ignorance of my identity, a privilege bestowed solely upon those who are both inconsequential and of tender years, but he possesses only one of those designations. For any who gaze upon my visage and succumb to the swirling maelstrom of my declarations discern it in the very marrow of their bones and the quivering chambers of their hearts: here stands a disciple of the God of Oblivion. This is devotion, puppet.
You aspire to part your lips in defiance. Allow me to share wisdom bestowed upon me by one wiser still: Defiant men bleed as freely as men without. Defiance in the face of the Inevitable is a fool's errand, for to be defiant is to assert defeat is a potential resolution. There is no defiance. There is only victory, and Oblivion.
Know this, little Halos of Targossas: you are yesterday. That is the entirety of your existence, and wail and whine and stomp your feet as much as you want; that is all you'll ever be.
[X] Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown
[A small octagon encircles a raised "II" here, inscribed in thick, amethyst ink]
Penned by my hand on the 12th of Miraman, in the year 940 AF.