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- Dec 14, 2015
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As I sit in my chamber, I find myself humored immensely by the boldness of the few displayed onto me. There is an expression among the Regalians I find to be quite poignant despite frequent usage to the point of parody of the meaning, though I find it apt to use it here. The notion of making one's bed and lying in it. Such is the fate of the beastly few, these Cahal and up jumped slaves of the Dorkarthi kingdom, or certainly of any sanguine society. Those meant to toil in the fields beneath the boot heals of their benevolent overlords who gave them a choice to survive or to be put down like the cattle of the sacrificial slaughter.
And like our forefathers and those who offer up their prayers to the good graces of the Archdemon on high I am left with the same decision. Do I let these cattle exist or do I put them down in holy sacrifice to the blackness of the Void that has given us our glorified purpose in this cursed land? As I look to my garden, I do not see the furred back of the beast, nor do I see him bathing in the river nearby like the cattle he is. No, rather I hear of a temple, a shrine to bastard gods in the wilderness. I frequent the ghettos of New Crookback and do I see these creatures tending to the labors of the day? I do not. Do I see them in the shops as menial workers to Void-aligned overseers? I do not. So to what am I to speak to when they so brazenly speak of the hardships of their kind. What hardships do you have for your insolence? To hide amongst the dung of the stags, of the rats and the squirrels?
Perhaps I give to much thought to this. Friday the eighteenth. I look at the day longingly. The day that I might stamp out this disease to my existence. To my people and our way of life. Bring your best, beastman, and I will build a pyre of their bones. For of all the labors they could perform truly their greatest use is to keep this slum warm at night.
Erebus Crowley
Desprince of the Crimson Dawn
@bahmGe
And should any find themselves cute as to respond to this, politely take your quill and shove it into your eyeballs at your earliest convenience. The men are speaking now. And our positions have been made clear.
And like our forefathers and those who offer up their prayers to the good graces of the Archdemon on high I am left with the same decision. Do I let these cattle exist or do I put them down in holy sacrifice to the blackness of the Void that has given us our glorified purpose in this cursed land? As I look to my garden, I do not see the furred back of the beast, nor do I see him bathing in the river nearby like the cattle he is. No, rather I hear of a temple, a shrine to bastard gods in the wilderness. I frequent the ghettos of New Crookback and do I see these creatures tending to the labors of the day? I do not. Do I see them in the shops as menial workers to Void-aligned overseers? I do not. So to what am I to speak to when they so brazenly speak of the hardships of their kind. What hardships do you have for your insolence? To hide amongst the dung of the stags, of the rats and the squirrels?
Perhaps I give to much thought to this. Friday the eighteenth. I look at the day longingly. The day that I might stamp out this disease to my existence. To my people and our way of life. Bring your best, beastman, and I will build a pyre of their bones. For of all the labors they could perform truly their greatest use is to keep this slum warm at night.
Erebus Crowley
Desprince of the Crimson Dawn
@bahmGe
And should any find themselves cute as to respond to this, politely take your quill and shove it into your eyeballs at your earliest convenience. The men are speaking now. And our positions have been made clear.
