MHALDOR NEWS #3210                                      (11/22/2014 at 23:27)
From   : Herenicus Coldraven
To     : Everyone
Subject: A debate with the Targossan, Aodfionn
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Exalted West, Mhaldor, the Magnificent,

On the 23rd of Sarapin, your Missionaries of Malevolence traversed the frozen north to pierce the
swelling Targossan pustule, Aodfionn Wintermourne, and lop off his gangrenous faith. Having
previously shrunk from debate, shy Aodfionn obliged a handful of your servants to meet on the icy
shores he considers home: a wilderness as empty and blustery as the troll, himself.

Know thine enemy. The principle runs as deep as the foundations of the earth and deeper, summoning
brave warriors and scholars to look upon and study weakness, even as it gazes back. This and other
accounts of the foemen beyond our walls will prepare your heart and guide your hand in culling a
diseased and the weak spirit where it clings to strong bones.

What follows is a redacted account of a cold exchange, it fails to reflect telepathic assistance
rendered through our party. I am indebted to our esteemed comrades, Orzaansyn, Taraus, and Xinna,
and thank them for their patient strength. It remains true: No man maketh solely communion unholy.

But make no mistake: though the face of weakness has been trammeled since the first Mhaldorian wore
the first boot, the heretics have already returned to preaching pleasant prevarications. It falls on
us to meet them, inoculating the world with Truth and banishing these mosquitoes back to the fever
swamps from whence they came. Now and forevermore,

In service,

Herenicus Coldraven
Abaddon's Whisper
The Missionaries of Malevolence


Tundra.
Composed of vast, empty reaches, the tundra supports only limited lichen and scrub growth in the
best of times. A war horse stands here, stamping impatiently. There are 3 guardian angels here.
Miniature hands clasped patiently, a diminutive homunculus stands here, its features bearing an
uncanny resemblance to Draqoom.  Eminent Master Draqoom Van Helsing, Iron Fist is here. His face is
partially concealed beneath a raised hood. He wields a Shield of Absorption bearing the arms of
Draqoom in his right hand. Harbinger Halos Vorondil, Caefir Priest is here. Predicant Synest is here.
 He wields a spiritual mace in his left hand and a kite shield in his right. The Blue Dragon
Mithridates' imposing form looms. Drual Xanatov-Vorondil, Sentry of Cyrene is riding on a war horse.
She wields an Odyssean mace in her left hand and a Shield of Absorption in her right. Apostle
Aodfionn Wintermourne, Deacon of Celestia is here. He is rapidly swinging a sword above his head.
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, and northwest.

Mithridates Phyrros says, "If it were my choice, I'd say kill them all and get on with it."

Drual nods her head emphatically.

Orzaansyn performs a graceful curtsey towards all those in the room.

Herenicus makes a grim smile, raising his hand in greeting.

Synest flashes the victory sign at Aodfionn.

Minister Xinna, Crusher of Wills asks, "Kill who all, precisely?"

Aodfionn says to Mithridates with a thick trollish accent, "It is not your choice, in this instance."

Mithridates Phyrros says, "All of you lot."

Aodfionn says to Mithridates with a thick trollish accent, "Return to the Dawnspear, Sir."

Synest bows respectfully to Orzaansyn.

Herenicus' mouth pulls back in a mocking smile.

Synest bows respectfully to you.

Synest bows respectfully to Xinna.

Orzaansyn's mouth quirks up into an unsettling smile, which doesn't quite reach her disturbing
obsidian eyes.

Dusk steals silently over the horizon and crimson and ochre engulf the firmament, their seductive
tones beckoning the sun to its nightly repose.

His yellow eyes twinkling enchantingly, Aodfionn grunts and bows his head in respect.

Aodfionn smiles and says with a thick trollish accent, "Mhaldorians, greetings. Welcome to my humble
home."

Xinna cautiously nods her head at Aodfionn.

Herenicus casts an impassive glance over the frozen waste, pulling his cloak closer.

Orzaansyn inclines her head politely at Aodfionn.

Orzaansyn kneels on the floor and then settles back, sitting on her feet so that she can rest her
hands comfortably on her thighs.

You say to Aodfionn, "We have not come to exchange pleasantries, or admire this backwater from
whence your people crawled."

Predicant Synest says, "No need for insults."

Mithridates Phyrros says to you, "I'd choose your words carefully."

You say to Mithridates, "If you will be looking for reasons to exercise the brain you keep in your
bicep, perhaps this isn't the place for you after all."

Halos bows his head politely. The eyes of his guardian angel burn silently like embers.

Orzaansyn inclines her head politely at Halos.

Aodfionn says firmly with a thick trollish accent, "Enough. Both of you. Tongues will be removed and
sent to our respective Divine, if we cannot even manage to keep civil long enough to speak."

Mithridates Phyrros says, "Right. If you all start fighting, let me know beforehand so I can get a
bite off Herenicus' arse."

Aodfionn says curtly to Mithridates with a thick trollish accent, "Duly noted."

The great form of Mithridates grows still and his eyes glaze over as the world blurs and then
sharpens.

With a flap of his majestic blue wings, Mithridates enters a tear in the fabric of reality, and is
gone.

Drual snickers softly to herself.

The vibrant and floral scent of roses surrounds Orzaansyn in a fragrant cloud.

Aodfionn says with a thick trollish accent, "Now then."

Aodfionn says to you with a thick trollish accent, "In this case, age and beauty would come before
the troll, but if you are uncertain as to what you prefer, we could flip a coin."

Herenicus paces slowly across the wind-packed snow, hands clasped behind him as he considers.

You say to Aodfionn, "You called the tune, and you are surrounded by all the dubious comforts of
home. Begin when ready."

Splashed with the reflected radiance of the stars, Achaea's outermost ring glitters ghostly pale
against the night sky.

His yellow eyes twinkling in the reflections of the fading sun, Aodfionn grunts and nods at you.

Taraus manages an ungraceful, tripping step in, mumbling under her breath about snow.

Synest raises his hand in greeting to Taraus and says "Hi!"

Minister Xinna, Crusher of Wills whispers to Taraus, "If only you had a carapace to keep you warm."

Orzaansyn inclines her head politely at Taraus.

Taraus says formally in Mhaldorian with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Mhaldor."

Taraus lowers her head respectfully.

Taraus whispers aside to Xinna with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Perhaps I'll see if I can't prise
one from an unworthy."

Synest rubs his hands together in prayer, and you feel healing energy begin to emanate into your
surroundings.

Herenicus favours Taraus with a glance as he turns, marking another few paces in snow.

Aodfionn says with a thick trollish accent, "Lord Sartan and His preachers have been given free
reign to misconstrue their work and spread honeyed lies of plainly evident shortcomings inherent
within the logical structure and commandments of Evil."

Orzaansyn laces her fingers together contemplatively.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Over the many centuries, this has manifested itself in a
variety of ways - but the one I wish to address first comes from the first true, the definition of
Evil from the Lord."

Aodfionn smiles and says in a loud, resonant voice, "The advancement of sentient life. A noble goal,
from the sounds of it - for what do the Bloodsworn teach, if not that Creation must be allowed to
seek sustainable growth?"

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Unfortunately, that is all it is - a stated goal. By every
measure of their own words, Mhaldor succeeds in this. By ever measure of Lord Sartan and His actions,
 however, this notion is disprove."

Herenicus presses his lips into a firm line, crowned where snowflakes linger in his dark hair.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Consider His ever-evolving stances, throughout the ages,
on forces that would entirely destroy or inhibit the advancement of sentient life."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "When Mhaldor was faced with the Worldreaver, the response
was a resounding silence and one of complete inaction. "Why save a world, if it cannot defend itself,
" one could imagine Congregants whispering to each other."

Orzaansyn laces her fingers together contemplatively.

The vibrant and floral scent of roses surrounds Orzaansyn in a fragrant cloud.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "In the face of Chaos and Oblivion, according to your
fellow Viceroy Zii, the former school of thought was the same 'if Creation cannot survive without
aid, it is not worth saving.'"

A feeling of disgust wracks your being as you reach out in search of Devotional presences around you.
 A dark miasma engulfs your body as you close your eyes and focus your consciousness outward.

The darkness about you rushes outward as you snap your head up in triumph, severing a rite of
revitalisation from the location.

Deepest Stygian night steals over the land as the symbolic hourglass empties and turns, ready to
begin a new day.
It is now the 23rd of Sarapin, 670 years after the fall of the Seleucarian Empire.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "These might be completely in line with the latter truths
and the greater aspect of Mhaldorian theology, I give you that. But in no way, shape, sense or form,
does the continued weakness and inaction of Mhaldor do anything to advance sentient life in a
lasting, meaningful way. The words you utter speak of saving the world - yet your actions show that
the primary concern of Evil is not the advancement of sentient life as is claimed, but the
advancement of Lord Sartan and His will."

Aodfionn tilts his head curiously at you.

Herenicus stops amidst his grey and looping footprints, lifting his eyes to the assembly.

Xinna turns her head to you, her multifaceted eyes gazing with interest.

You say loudly, "It is false to separate the ambitions and vision of Lord Sartan, the Generous, who
aligns Himself with the advancement of all sentient life, and we who would realise that vision of a
stronger, better world."

You say, "Mhaldorians are bound together by a profound and exhilarating belief in boundless
potential, in themselves and this world, and in the continuing responsibility of each person to
realise this potential through discipline and pain."

You inquiringly ask, "And what is Evil?"

Orzaansyn laces her fingers together contemplatively.

You say clearly, "It is not a prim package of slogans to comfort and confine. It is continuing
revelation, which starts each believer on a journey which is life-long. Evil is a treasure that must
be sought after and found by each man for himself."

You say clearly, "No one is allowed to get it second-hand by accepting the blandishments of Goodness
and Light. Evil points to a path up the mountain and demands we climb, and gives us the power to
ascend through the clouds like gods below."

You ask, "We have not come to debate the lessons of Bal'met, except to say that His discovery
confirms that ancient and unknown threats lie just beyond our ken, over horizons we may never reach.
The lesson is preparation. The message is strength. Without these, what hope have we to survive the
next doom that befalls our world?"

You say, "You have charged us with honeyed lies, but offer no examples. You have painted us as
butchers, but eat the same meat. What our colleague spoke is true: The world deserves saving to the
extent we will save it. Evil recognizes that in this struggle for our very lives, there can be no
respite, no surcease, and no mercy."

You say, "What Goddess dies wishing She were but more Good?"

Stretching in a fiery arc that embraces the world, the triune rings of Achaea blaze in response to
the first kiss of dawn.

You say to Aodfionn, "Strength everlasting existed before thy prissy insistence on purity, and will
outlive it."

Herenicus gives a curt nod towards Aodfionn, squaring his jaw in defiance.

Aodfionn grunts smiles warmly, though his kindly features are somewhat lessened by a murderous glint
in his eyes.

The vibrant and floral scent of roses surrounds Orzaansyn in a fragrant cloud.

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "On the contrary, Coldraven, I offered several
examples. Your eloquent speech will not distract from these. Strength is a noble goal, to be sure,
but what is strength without purpose?"

Aodfionn raises an eyebrow inquisitively as he turns to face the audience directly.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "What damn point is having a fine scimitar, if one leaves
it in a case?"

A wry smile flits across Drual's lips.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "That is ultimately what the -actions- of Mhaldor have
shown their Lord to desire. And as we all know, actions speak far louder than words."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "In the series of events surrounding the Worldreaver, all
of the supposed strength that my opponent claims was for naught - it went unused, the armies of the
West not mobilized until the threat had long since been apparent. Not until Mhaldor itself began to
suffer were the forces of Evil made useful in the fight."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Strength is useless without purpose - it is like a fruit,
left on a tree out of the grasp of any mortal or animal seeking to pick it. It will simply wither in
time."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "The Bloodsworn demand their servants seek strength, so
that when Creation or our world are threatened in ways such as the Worldreaver or Oblivion, we are
ready to act in a moments notice - that we know what to do immediately, and will follow the course
demanded to best defend our world. That is known as Righteousness, the realm of our Lord."

Aodfionn grunts noncommittally.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Strength without that noble purpose is wasted - doubly so
when inaction is the course taken."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Speaking of Oblivion, however..."

Drual nods her head at Aodfionn, showing her acceptance.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Let us each here ponder this for a moment - my opponent
stated that Evil seeks strength, and that the will of his Lord and his people are one in all things."

The blazing light of the sun passes briefly behind the triune rings of Achaea, speckling the sky
first in obsidian, then silver, then pearly white.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Consider that, for a long, hard moment - the Malevolent
One and each of His servants, is perfectly content to allow Chaos to be toyed with. The records show
that Lord Babel had at least one follower within the ranks of Mhaldor at some point - that means
that the Lord of Evil was content to allow someone bent on seeing His own destruction to serve in
His city, all in the name of seeking what the Malevolent One calls strength."

Aodfionn's mouth turns up as his face breaks into a smile.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Imagine that. I mean, strength is important, but when
Oblivion encroaches, Lord Sartan and Evil do naught to try and fight it. They, with their singular
will, deem that the temporary strength of inaction is better than seeking any semblance of purity
and actually fighting to defend Creation."

Herenicus lifts his weary eyes to heaven in a silent prayer for patience.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Actions speak louder than words. And actions say that Lord
Sartan would rather see Creation destroyed and strength itself eradicated, all because the temporary
benefits of doing nothing are more beneficial in some way."

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "How do you reconcile the examples, Father?"

Orzaansyn kneels on the floor and then settles back, sitting on her feet so that she can rest her
hands comfortably on her thighs.

You plainly ask Aodfionn, "If I hear you correctly, you would distinguish our responses on the basis
of a mouldering, snap decision concerning Bal'met, judged in hindsight, and from this 'example
cobble together some unsupported strike at the purpose of Evil?"

Aodfionn's eyes sparkle with amusement at you.

Poised at the very peak of the firmament, the fiery sun casts its radiant gaze across the land.

You say irritatingly, "No mortal and no god beneath the power of Ayar-made-Sarapis holds themselves
out as at all times infallible, perfectly versed in both future and past. This is a small nail upon
which to crucify a body, Aodfionn. Take it from me."

You say, "Yet your would-be sally against the purpose of Evil must be met, beaten until your
pointing fingers are broken."

The vibrant and floral scent of roses surrounds Orzaansyn in a fragrant cloud.

You say, "We might begin at a commonplace, something upon which both our feets might stand: the
concept of time."

You say, "Time is the most precious coin in our mortal possession; how we spend it defines us as men
and women. Evil recognizes the possibilities of choice and its pitfalls, both. Sartan, the
Magnificent, knows His purpose as we know ours: a world reborn in pain and discipline, forever
charting the bounds of potential."

You say to Aodfionn, "And if charting the boundaries of mortal potential is, as we believe, the
highest goal and deepest desire of our faith then we must not expect it will not require agonies and
pain, that it might be reached along the lines of least resistance. There is no strength without
suffering, there is no power without pain, there is no life without death."

You say to Aodfionn, "And where you are too blind or too stubborn to reach these well-springs of
power, Mhaldor will drive you to them, whether in life or death."

Herenicus nods over to Aodfionn, signaling his end as he resumes a slow, back-and-forth tread.

Aodfionn smiles softly.

Silver sparks dance across the heavens as the dazzling orb of the sun rushes past Achaea's three
rings, the second brilliantly coruscating at its passing.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "I admittedly hold a soft-spot for that logical line of
thinking, Father, though only because the notion of 'noble intentions' counted a for a good deal
among the trollish race for many generations."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Unfortunately, even if your intentions are just as you
claim - to live what little time we have in this world in the pursuit of what you understand as
strength - then you do so in vainful pursuit of it."

Herenicus dismisses the sentiment with a flippant wave of his hand as he continues pacing, chin down,
 thinking.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Whether or not the embodiment of Evil meant well when He
made a mistake in regards to the Worldreaver counted for little as Divine and mortal met their final
ends at the hands of Bal'met."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "And frankly, the fact that He continues to make that same
mistake of claiming 'strength' through inaction - or self-defeating purpose such as toying with
Chaos - it gives cause for concern that His judgment is not particularly all that sound, when it
comes to living in a world whose existence is not guaranteed through apathy."

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "You keep glossing over the example of Oblivion - I
would like to highlight this, because it is arguably even more terrifying of a contradiction."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Bal'met nearly destroyed our world. Chaos threatens the
entirety of Creation. And yet, Mhaldor has not struck back in the name of Creation in any meaningful
way. The will of the Malevolent One has, for reasons beyond my understanding, deemed that the
strength of His people is to be wasted upon striking against nature and Targossas, while the threat
of Oblivion destroys worlds on the outer planes dairly."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Either Sartan has made yet another grievous error of
judgment, or He believes that the destruction of Creation is entirely worth short-term strength.

Dusk steals silently over the horizon and crimson and ochre engulf the firmament, their seductive
tones beckoning the sun to its nightly repose.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "For all of the eloquent words and the theories on
suffering and oppression, actions speak far louder than words. Again I say that the actions of Evil
prove that Lord Sartan cares nothing for the self-stated goal of the advancement of sentient life,
but instead seeks only to advance His own goals in the short term regardless of the consequence to
life in Creation."

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "Care to change my mind, Father?"

The argent radiance of the moon seeps into the sky, waking the stars as darkness descends over the
land.

Taraus chuffs softly, popping her collar to ward off the chill.

Halos conceals a smile behind a slender hand.

You say icily to Aodfionn, "Generously assuming you've one to change, the Sixth Truth of Evil will
aid me in changing it. And if it takes pain to drive wisdom trough your trollish skull, we shall
bear the hammer."

Finding an empty patch amongst the ice-tinged scrub, Halos gathers his robes and seats himself upon
the bare earth.

Orzaansyn smiles softly at Halos.

The vibrant and floral scent of roses surrounds Orzaansyn in a fragrant cloud.

Splashed with the reflected radiance of the stars, Achaea's outermost ring glitters ghostly pale
against the night sky.

You say loudly, "Chaos! Oblivion! A voice raised in strength need never tremble at the words!
Mhaldor was deep within the filth-ridden warrens of Ashtan, destroying her shrines and banishing her
warriors by our bravery and convictions. We did not see you there, Targossas!"

You say, "Your ignorance of a fact does not make it false, though every ignoramus might wish it so.
When the practitioners of Chaos were bound beneath the yoke of Evil, they served Him dutifully. When
their falsity was made known, they were swiftly struck down. Whatever weakness gathers unto itself,
by whatever banner, the result speaks the same: Mhaldor treads them down."

You say to Aodfionn, "If your mind would open, you must learn to embrace the Sixth Truth of Sartan,
the Great: "The mind may be made stronger through the elimination of conscience. One does this by
inflicting pain on others.""

You say, "The baying bitch of conscience has been leashed in Mhaldor: no barking in our ears, no
piss upon our carpets. And yet the Targossan invites this flea-bitten concept to bed. Can there be
any doubt as to why your people are forever itching for a strength that lies just beyond reach?"

Herenicus' lips curve in a cruel smile as he turns on his heels, settling his inquiring gaze on
Aodfionn.

Aodfionn grunts and smiles warmly at you.

Deepest Stygian night steals over the land as the symbolic hourglass empties and turns, ready to
begin a new day.
It is now the 24th of Sarapin, 670 years after the fall of the Seleucarian Empire.

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "As I trust you are not implying that we raid Ashtan
alongside Mhaldor, it would seem then that you note that Evil fights Chaos by... ah, by breaking
windows and spraying graffiti in the streets of the Bastion."

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "Now, if that is the criterion by which we measure
strength - the ability to remove shrines and smash a building or two - then Mhaldor itself has some
odd questions to answer about its first century of existence and the late 500s, when the Ordos
Incencus Arboris helped ensure that the boot of both Ashtan and Eleusis managed to crush skulls. But,
 because you are a learned man, I know that you surely would not measure strength in such a fleeting
way. The only logical conclusion, then, is that you seem to confuse fighting Ashtan with striking
against Chaos."

Aodfionn's mouth turns up as his face breaks into a smile.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Now, that is an interesting thought - certainly, the
Occultists house themselves in the Bastion, and Lord Babel has served as Patron. But as I - and your
companion here..."

Aodfionn grunts and inclines his head towards Taraus.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "...both know, Chaos and Ashtan are not one in the same,
just in the same way that harming Hashan does not harm Darkness itself."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "You pose the question of why you do not see Targossians in
Ashtani streets."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Similarly, I ask why your Lord is not out fighting Lord
Babel in the outer planes, some of which inhabited by the daemonic hordes, while the Righteous Fire
is out there proving to be the only one powerful enough to fight back Chaos itself?"

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, my opponent seeks to claim a lack of
Targossian raiding as the result of our failings - yet would he ignore how much more brutally
trampled underfoot his own city was, for over a century after their formation? I think not."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Furthermore, as my opponent is a well-regarded scholar, I
know that he understands the difference between mortal blades and forces beyond the scope of our
beings."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Evil does not strike upon Chaos, yet Evil claims to be the
strongest while Good actually makes progress. Evil claims bravery, and yet His history shows only
inaction and apathy until it is too little, too late."

Taraus says to Aodfionn with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Yes, you -do- know as well as I what the
breeding ground of Ashtan both fosters and harbours; pretending otherwise is folly, so let's not,
hmmn?"

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "If we are here to discuss the 'noble goals' of Evil, then
we may do so - but I am of the opinion that results and action say far more than flowery words or
base insults."

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "If we are to judge based upon results, upon track
record, your Lord is found wanting, and the strength of your city rendered moot."

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "Again I ask you, Herenicus - how do you reconcile
the notion that Chaos will destroy strength and your Lord, while knowing that He has proven time and
again that He is either unable or unwilling to stop it?"

You say, "It would seem you cannot be satisfied, Aodfionn. You plead for actions and when given the
same, your voice rumbles for more with the very words you criticize. You scour the receding past as
a cherry farmer, picking what looks pleasant. Are you truly going to flip through history, pointing
to past weakness as evidence that we are not strong? Is every man weak for having been born a babe?
These fallacies are paper-thin, beneath even you."

Stretching in a fiery arc that embraces the world, the triune rings of Achaea blaze in response to
the first kiss of dawn.

Aodfionn's mouth turns up as his face breaks into a smile.

You say angrily to Aodfionn, "The Lord of Evil, Sartan, the Malevolent, has never flinched from the
sacred work of advancing Sapience. Your ignorant calumny sees neither His deeds nor ours, and yet
you would sling slander like an excited simian."

You say, "History may be our judge. Every force that has arisen or revealed itself to argue with,
impede, or otherwise undermine the will of Sartan, the Exalted has been laid low. As far as the East
is from the West, so will the forces of Evil stretch to meet the foes of progress."

You say to Aodfionn, "We have not the time to explore your baseless assertions that Good or Light or
Warm Feelings have progressed against Chaos with greater efficacy than you have fought us here.
Rhetorical onanism, speaking past an opponent - these techniques only serve to muddy the waters of
them that would see more clearly."

You say, "I would close by reminding you that it is Targossas, not Mhaldor, with something to prove.
What progress has Good made, other than a lot of posturing? A faltering, fledgling city that has yet
to prove itself, or do anything of real note upon the world's stage? Does 'progress' consist of
regularly mourning fallen comrades, of monthly-held funeral processions? Of revising again and again
a set of religious scriptures that shift and change like sands in the..."

Herenicus lifts his hand into the stiff breeze.

You say to Aodfionn, "Wind."

Herenicus lowers his eyes with solemnity, murmuring a prayer beneath the merciless, frozen air.

Aodfionn smiles softly.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "I like that sentiment, Father - may history judge us, each
and all, for what we have done."

Poised at the very peak of the firmament, the fiery sun casts its radiant gaze across the land.

Aodfionn smiles and says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "I welcome the closing of this event, as
it seems you are beginning to display more sermonizing than rational argument, speaking as you do."

Herenicus' pale eyes flash with subdued anger and he grits his teeth.

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "Though, if we wish to ask, "What has the East done,
" I think we would find some interesting answers."

Aodfionn smiles and says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "After all, it was the East that
thoroughly shattered the wills of Mhaldor, in the events that followed the defeat of Bal'met.
Targossas won that war, while you consoled yourself by slapping the forestals."

Aodfionn smiles and says in a loud, resonant voice, "Though, to speak of Bal'met, once again we are
reminded that it was the Lightbringer and the sword of Dunamis that slew the Worldreaver, while Lord
Sartan was the one engaging in masturbatory practices by cozying up to Bal'met."

Herenicus gives his head a mild shake of disbelief, smiling patiently over to the Mhaldorian
assemblege.

Taraus says incredulously with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Targossas won that wa--."

Taraus blinks confoundedly before quietly uttering, "What."

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "In closing, I would simply ask that each of us here to ask
ourselves - how will history judge us, when our souls meet the Endbringer for the final time? Will
our actions line up with our ideals?"

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Or will we, like Lord Sartan, be found contradictory and
wanting."

Aodfionn grunts noncommittally.

Taraus says off-handedly with a throaty, lyrical accent, "You'd think for one wanting to wield
history in the form of debate, a little more study into accuracy and fact would've gone into it."

Aodfionn says to Taraus in a loud, resonant voice, "Er, was it not the Lightbringer who slew Him? Or
am I mistaken?"

Taraus says quietly to Aodfionn with a throaty, lyrical accent, "A war is not one by a single battle,
 surely even you are not so foolish as to claim that, 'Fionn."

Halos' dark gaze darts towards Orzaansyn, a slim hand descending towards his mace lazily.

Taraus says to Aodfionn with a throaty, lyrical accent, "But, if you really wish to dwell on
singular facts, and not larger pictures -- if you'd really want to discredit the innumerous
sacrifices made by Divine and mortal a like to see his end, if you -really- want to insist he was
wrought down by the singular act of the wielding of Dunamis..."

Herenicus folds one arm over another, staring into the Targossan crowd with open derision.

Taraus asks Aodfionn with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Who did put that legend in Her hand?"

Taraus says to Aodfionn with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Before you claim the victory Hers, you must
also credit that which made Her victory possible."

Aodfionn looks sceptical and says to Taraus in a loud, resonant voice, "The Sword of Dunamis, the
weapon forged from a plane of Order so pure that it itself repels Chaos and impurity?"

Harbinger Halos Vorondil, Caefir Priest says, "Dunamis, assuredly, by way of Babel for a short time.
"

Orzaansyn laces her fingers together contemplatively.

Halos gives a lazy half-shrug.

Taraus smirks at Halos.

Orzaansyn smiles softly at Halos.

Aodfionn says to Taraus in a loud, resonant voice, "As much as Mhaldorians wish to say 'I was
helpful too, folks!' history proves them to be johnny-come-lately in a fight of too dire importance
to remain apathetic towards."

Aodfionn grunts noncommittally.

Taraus asks Halos with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Are you, then, where he learned to argue? To
observe only singular facts, and not the entire picture? To respond to one claim, and not the
entirety?"

Silver sparks dance across the heavens as the dazzling orb of the sun rushes past Achaea's three
rings, the second brilliantly coruscating at its passing.

Aodfionn smiles and says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "Well, it looks like the leash came off.
Thank you for the experience, Father. I hope you enjoyed yourself."

Taraus says to Aodfionn with a throaty, lyrical accent, "You again and again make these claims of
inaction and apathy -- what? I don't even know how to /contend/ such a blatant falsity, and --."

Halos stands up.

Taraus gives a trillingly melodic laugh.

Halos grins benignly, the northern sun glinting off of his bald pate.

Taraus says with a throaty, lyrical accent, "And an argument ending in insult: how appropriate."

Aodfionn says to Taraus in a loud, resonant voice, "You and I were both Northerners at the time, I
daresay we can hardly claim much more than Mhaldor if we are speaking personally."

Aodfionn tilts his head curiously.

Aodfionn says in a loud, resonant voice, "Insult? Herenicus told me, and I quote, that his "hounds
would remain leashed." If you dislike being compared to dogs, take it up with your friend."

The vibrant and floral scent of roses surrounds Orzaansyn in a fragrant cloud.

Aodfionn grunts and inclines his head towards Herenicus.

Aodfionn smiles and says in a loud, resonant voice, "I am not the one who spent half this time
demeaning his race or intelligence. Such a thing would be beneath Their servants."

You say lazily, "I never referred to anyone as being mine, and spoke only to our collective courtesy.
"

Aodfionn smiles and says in a loud, resonant voice, "Thank you all for attending. May the Light
guide, and the Fire burn."

Aodfionn's eyes sparkle with amusement at you.

Taraus says amenably with a throaty, lyrical accent, "Something will burn, all right."

Aodfionn says to you in a loud, resonant voice, "You are so much more interesting one on one, and
less predictable."

Taraus flashes Aodfionn a wolfish smile.

Draqoom, Drual, Halos, and Synest leave, following Aodfionn to the south.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Daedalan, in the year 670 AF.