Being assigned as an Imperial observer grants him a degree of protection from that. It would be taken as an insult that give the conservative imperials further ammunition against the Bai and raises tensions while the Bai are not yet ready for war.
Threads Of Destiny(Eastern Fantasy, Sequel to Forge of Destiny)
- Thread starter yrsillar
- Start date
- Original Users' Choice!
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
[X] Lao Keung, who seemed more down to earth.
A Bai's vengeance is inevitable.
EternalObserver
eYe Gaze baCk
- Location
- The Void
- Location
- UK
[X] Xia Anxi, since they had some shared interests.
I don't recall her "publicly swearing" such a thing. She said it privately to Ling Qi (and I guess Cui).
hmm, I'll have to go back and check but I'm fairly certain she did.
They were walking down a street talking, so in public but not some sort of dramatic declaration
Side story bait.
I'm onto you QM.
ElizatronicWarfa
Himejoshi Supreme
- Pronouns
- She/They
[X] Xia Anxi, since they had some shared interests.
Hey those side stories are already commissioned and waiting, its fair
That said delaying commission release till wednesday, busy weekend.
ElizatronicWarfa
Himejoshi Supreme
- Pronouns
- She/They
It's for meeee!
I've had that side story on order for a few months now. Should be coming out on Patreon in a few weeks, then out here some time after that.
notanautomaton
I've got 99 quests, I've finished one
[X] Lao Keung, who seemed more down to earth.
[X] Xia Anxi, since they had some shared interests.
In the Shadow of Xiangmen II
The turmoil of the earth sends the branches of heaven swaying, the leaves rustling as has not been seen since beasts last ruled the earth. Among the clouds and palaces, the thrones of the gods shake. At last the Lords of heaven, those liars most sublime, stir in their webs.
They see the roiling of the earth far below, and even now, they suspect. They pluck the threads of their plots, seeking out which one of them had brought this. Whose scheme had escaped their control. In heaven, the gods bicker as the world burns. But on the highest throne, the Dreaming King, Lord of Heaven, Master of Realities, Whose words create the truth, bearer of the word Dream, Patriarch of Liars, awakens.
He brings his kin to heel with a word, their worlds become his world. If the earth rejects the dream sublime, it shall have a nightmare instead. The artifacts of the Diviner, the fortifications of mighty Xiangmen ignite with power not seen in ten thousand years.
On earth, where the future marches, the world twists and breaks. The sky becomes the color of bruised flesh, and the earth tilts beneath their feet. Heaven grows dark with the wrath of the gods.
The veil between flesh and spirit rips like long rotted flesh, and Nightmare descends on the earth. From the the rips in the veil cruel dreams pour like rivers of tar, consuming the earth in their wake. Madness distorts the air, visions of hell, of kinstrife and betrayal fill every mind. The web spreads, and each man and woman stands alone surrounded by a sea of foes, smirking devils with familiar faces, but avarice in their eyes.
Nightmares whisper on the wind of failure, of punishment, of futility, of assassins in the dark, already punishing the kin of those who would dare to shake god's throne.
A web, vast and glittering consumes the bruised sky, and at its center, atop the crown of Xiangmen is the shadow of a vast spider, it's blade like legs stretching across the sky, it immense and bloated body titanic beyond all reason, its eight glittering eyes seeing all that is worth sight.
Futile. It declares this.
Worthless bloodshed. It accuses. They would cast down god, and for what? To bring chaos? To scrabble, betray, and be betrayed in the rubble of his throne?
Impudence. The beasts of the earth cannot master themselves, only be mastered by heaven. What madness to think that the order of the world might be defied!
What petulance, to reject the sublime dream of their masters, to interrupt their communion, to stain their canvas and ruin their songs! To drag them from the halls of enlightenment to deal with this tantrum!
Mercy! To the first who would see this madness put to right!
The warsongs die under the weight of the marchers sin. The rebels tremble, the fire which had burned in their hearts now so distant, wondering if the one beside them will be the first to turn, or if they themselves should take the first step.
A rose blooms; a throne, a pedestal, a stage. Light, colorless and radiant shines. An ideal answers the challenge of god.
They see the roiling of the earth far below, and even now, they suspect. They pluck the threads of their plots, seeking out which one of them had brought this. Whose scheme had escaped their control. In heaven, the gods bicker as the world burns. But on the highest throne, the Dreaming King, Lord of Heaven, Master of Realities, Whose words create the truth, bearer of the word Dream, Patriarch of Liars, awakens.
He brings his kin to heel with a word, their worlds become his world. If the earth rejects the dream sublime, it shall have a nightmare instead. The artifacts of the Diviner, the fortifications of mighty Xiangmen ignite with power not seen in ten thousand years.
On earth, where the future marches, the world twists and breaks. The sky becomes the color of bruised flesh, and the earth tilts beneath their feet. Heaven grows dark with the wrath of the gods.
The veil between flesh and spirit rips like long rotted flesh, and Nightmare descends on the earth. From the the rips in the veil cruel dreams pour like rivers of tar, consuming the earth in their wake. Madness distorts the air, visions of hell, of kinstrife and betrayal fill every mind. The web spreads, and each man and woman stands alone surrounded by a sea of foes, smirking devils with familiar faces, but avarice in their eyes.
Nightmares whisper on the wind of failure, of punishment, of futility, of assassins in the dark, already punishing the kin of those who would dare to shake god's throne.
A web, vast and glittering consumes the bruised sky, and at its center, atop the crown of Xiangmen is the shadow of a vast spider, it's blade like legs stretching across the sky, it immense and bloated body titanic beyond all reason, its eight glittering eyes seeing all that is worth sight.
Futile. It declares this.
Worthless bloodshed. It accuses. They would cast down god, and for what? To bring chaos? To scrabble, betray, and be betrayed in the rubble of his throne?
Impudence. The beasts of the earth cannot master themselves, only be mastered by heaven. What madness to think that the order of the world might be defied!
What petulance, to reject the sublime dream of their masters, to interrupt their communion, to stain their canvas and ruin their songs! To drag them from the halls of enlightenment to deal with this tantrum!
Mercy! To the first who would see this madness put to right!
The warsongs die under the weight of the marchers sin. The rebels tremble, the fire which had burned in their hearts now so distant, wondering if the one beside them will be the first to turn, or if they themselves should take the first step.
A rose blooms; a throne, a pedestal, a stage. Light, colorless and radiant shines. An ideal answers the challenge of god.
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