Thank you for the many years you have given me to entertain you, and brought much entertainment to myself, through my character Minuvas. I remember when pretty much 4 other zones around Cear were the limit for exploration, and back when I used to oppress them all
. The community here has grown and vastly evolved, and I'm afraid I am a relic that was unable to grow with it. It was an honor to work with Jehannum, and take some side writing I did with the Church of Lochwar and watch it evolve into a major part of the story's many themes, background plots, and epic timelines. Creating the background for such a great faction, and turning it into something that other players have either worked against or within has been a true enjoyment to my creative artist inside.Through my own personal fault, it seems I cannot change the play style of my character and the way I roleplay. I have a unique boldness, and grandness in my roleplay , and that's just me. I know this has upset some of you, leading to numerous complaints about my character and the way I play resulting in unhappiness to players and the DM staff. My character is not one that meshes with the way the storyline of the players want to take the campaign. I do not wish to tarnish the character I love, nor take the enjoyment away from others. When IC gameplay becomes OOC stress for me and others, I must take this as the time to recall that this is a game and is meant for fun.
I foresee a future in this course only leading to me leaving on a low note, which I do not want. I'd rather take a graceful bow out.
Many of the original players I started with, I do not see and I wish I could thank them all for their time. For all the new acquaintances, I'm sorry if I did not live up to what you expected or 'had heard' about my character.
I am retiring my character Minuvas, once and for all. I do not believe I will be making a new character as I am a one trick pony haha. No one be a stranger in contacting me. Please enjoy my final entry.
IC:
As Minuvas opened the letter, he triumphantly beat his fist against his chest. Whatever plans he had for the immediate future, they would have to be put on hold. It would seem the communication he had been desperately trying to send to the battlefront in New Varana, and the Preferatus leading the war effort there, had finally gotten through. The letter was returned with only the wax seal of the Church of Lochwar on it, "Strength to the Strong! Death to the Heretics! Bring your mace brother. For Lochwar!". No signature, no formality - the desperation of the letter plainly obvious. Who even knows when it was finally sent, or who wrote the letter.
It was a warcall Minuvas had been hoping for a long time. One that no Princep had given him the honor to accept. No Vigilo had trusted the proud Priest to lead, and of a Varanite whose lengthy and loyal service as a Shepherd of the faith could now be fulfilled as a front-line warpriest. The years had been miserably cruel to Minuvas. Tending to the faith of Lochwar in the province of Dasaria had left him blinded in one eye, and aged many years. Once the Priest shaved his head out of discipline and devotion, now it seemed to not grow of its own accord. He once wielded a strong arm against would be enemies of the Empire, standing proud with his human Varanite compatriots in a visage of unity and strength. Now he found himself in open backstreet quarrels with vagabonds , and what he deemed 'lessers', all looking to grab a piece of power from the structure that once kept them in line.
No the years, had been most cruel to Father Minuvas. In customary law of the Lochwar faith, you never find old and withered Priests in the Church. They either willingly go to die in battle, or sparing ripe opportunity for death in combat against the enemies of the Empire, they are petrified by a basilisk in a pose befitting their character - their final words on their statue. He had remember seeing the many statues of the Red Bishops, entombed in stone amongst the Great Church. Had they been defiled now? Destroyed? Most of all he remembered his tutor as a young neophyte, Father Curtis. Who used to tell him stories of the blood oak and his wise saying, "He who stands without friends, stands only a short time." But it was the words etched onto the very same petrified remains of Father Certis the Red, which troubled him so many years during his time in Iryrod .. "The petrification of Father Certis the Red in the year 633 of the Glorious Empire. Last Words: Faith Above Empire" . Faith ABOVE Empire? He thought this impossible.
He had been a poor and crownless Missionary when he first came to Cear, with nothing to his name. Only through work and faith did he ascend through the ranks. Having the opportunity to see the great Church and make the trip to the Shrine of Canas had brought him much joy in those days. Loyal friends like Zadrithurn, and a friendship with the Commodore Torquil Lammond that could only be understood by men of Varana - where open argument and discourse was second to the respect of rank and station, and the real sign of respect amongst comrades. He had seen his friends die, held them in their final moments and granted them their final rites. Amongst them, his beloved Maidens of the Mace and his beloved Maiden Valeria, killed coldly. Women who were both a fearful thing, often sent by inquisitors to keep tabs on a Priest to prevent him from straying, but a boon to the ever devoted Minuvas who found them inspiring beacons of imperial culture and faith. Dozens have died by his name, killed at his request, or butchered by his own hand.
At times he had been cheered andloved by the citizens. Equally, the crowds had tried to take his life.
Finally, he was there when Thralls Gate was built, and when he drew the ire of the powerful Patriarch of Dasaria, Heticus and hisPromotion to Priest-Executioner that followed shortly after.
It had been a long road in this province for Father Minuvas, the Iron Fist. But the Priest was not so old, and not so tired....and the enemies were many.
He strapped on his armor, crimson and heavy. He grabbed his shield, and his infamous weapon - "Vengeance". He penned a brief letter for Father Ward Aylows, to explain where he was going.
The thudding footsteps departed Thralls Gate...
*Thud.*
*Thud.*
The rattling of the chain around his chest - made from the same chains they used to enslave the thralls.The mighty tome of Lochwar - a book from the very capital itself. He left the robes, useless garb to entertain the fools.
*Thud.*
*Thud.*
The iron clank of his boots as they moved through the hallways. The circlet he wore now replaced by a crude war helmet.
*Thud.*
*Thud*.
The Priest made one last look about the room, not the slightest sign of remorse or regret on his face. The Red glow emanating from his signet ring illuminating the door.
*Thud.*
*Thud.*
*CRACK*, the loud sound of the door to Thralls Gate being slammed shut as he moved through it.
The field of battle was awaiting. In the name of Lochwar and Varana!
