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[Dealthagar]

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[Azunda]

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Azunda stood over the long table, delicately assorting a set of bones in an effort to make a humanoid construct. He grabbed a femur, then began to properly set it in the skeletal frame. He was interrupted; Azunda recognized the sound of mechanical wings. The grinding of their gears, the pump of their hydraulics. How he loathed the crude machinations of technomancy, spitting in the face of all the Order held dear. Azunda knew this would come, snatching the letter with his free hand he began to read.

Amusing, at best. Annoying at worst. Azunda began to pen a reply.


Dealthagar,

You will have to pardon my ignorance. In the short time I've known you, you've held several mantles that you've claimed as your own. Being an imperfect example of Oblivion's sons, a mortal, one can hardly expect me to keep up with your shifts of passion that change as quickly as your taste in women. My sincerest apologies for not being able to recognize you for what you are, and instead who you are. I've seen you hold the tome of a Necromancer, the enchanted gear of Technomancy, the cassock of a holy man, and now the pen of a bureaucrat. I'll be certain to send a forge and anvil for your next venture of choice. Perhaps a Crook of Humility for what may come after?

Far be it from me, Dealthagar, to deny my susceptibility to narcotics. However, I'd dare call you a fool regarding my cleanliness. Granted, I don't reek of the sweat and lustful liquid expelled by a drowess, a taskmistress, or even a temple initiate, but so few of us do. Fool that I am, my first love is for my studies. Mortal pleasures a very distant second.

Along with this letter you will be receiving a bag. Inside you will find a lesson in the workings of Entropy, the destruction of creation. Heed it well. If you still insist on speaking with me, we'll do so when Tyranthraxus is present. I'm imagining some colorful conversation.

~Azunda Thaumiel

"Pompous ass." Azunda spoke as he turned swiftly toward the Orthon, and pummeled it mercilessly with the femur. Well built, the Orthon did not break easily. But break it did, and found itself in several pieces in the bottom of an old bag.

Azunda motioned to a freshly animated corpse, sending it off to Dealthagar with the bag and the letter.
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[Dealthagar]

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Dealthagar stared at the contents of the bag for a few moments in silent rage. Perhaps it was time to remind those who felt it apporpriate to disrespect an Ancient of the concequences. Hate and Suffering were plentiful these days, but Obeyance seemed to be lacking. It was to be tolerated no longer.

[Azunda]

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Ancient,

Bravo, you've taught me despise. Your contributions to the Order are noted, and indeed praiseworthy. Fool that I am.. I forgot you were an ancient, as I only see you, an Ancient as you so dutifully highlighted for me, when fame and adoration is to be had.


I answer only to Izrem, Tyranthraxus, and the Lich Lord himself. Should any of the three feel I need to abandon my posts of merit, Third in Ezerak's line and Emissary to the Blackmarsh Empire, and he who aided the Lich Lord's duality for several years during his reign as Adrien Garnier, with glee I'd submit myself to the shackle once more. Rest assured, my pride did not bubble to the surface based on accolades lost to antiquity; I've been a dutiful servant in the darkest of times for Oblivion's children. I do not appear when glory shines down upon us, I've "suffered" through these trials. Where were you, Ancient?

As wise as you are, I'd have thought better of you than to turn a minor issue of tithing into a chance to force me to respect you. I am quite Obedient, Ancient, to those who deserve it.

Clinging to trivial thrones and accolades is most unfitting a proper servant of Oblivion. All things are for nothing, all things are Oblivion's.

Your letters, and my replies, will now be forwarded to the Lich Lord and my ancient, Izrem.

Rest assured, we will meet.

~Azunda Thaumiel
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