Whitespoor - The Ashen Muse


Iconoclasts, laugh, a funeral passes.
"Fly, you fools!" ~ Gandalf
Status: "Damn it! Does he never shut up?!?"
Race: Human
Height: 6'1"
I would estimate your indirect kill count to be around 0-5 NPCs.

Seemingly soft spoken and mystical. A tireless idealist.
Religious Inclinations: Various - Divinely Blessed Tier 1.
Alignment: True Chaotic

Live beyond good and evil, because all that is great belongs to beauty. ~ Renzo Novatore

I die, as I have lived, a free spirit, ... owing no allegiance to rulers, heavenly or earthly. ~ Voltairine de Cleyre

The urge to destory is also a creative urge. ~ Bakunin

Their morals, their code; it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. You'll see- I'll show you. When the chips are down these, uh, civilized people? They'll eat each other. See I'm not a monster, I'm just ahead of the curve. ~ The Joker
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Iconoclasts, laugh, a funeral passes.
+ Converts a room inside of a house into a dark shrine to Jishrim. First prayer to Jishrim. (Link)
+ Corrupts a Shallaherana shrine in Jishrims name.
+ Meets the Fool.
+ Begins research into the Ashen Blight Fungus and discovers a method of spore propagation.
+ Begins to culture the Ashen Blight Fungus.
+ Meets the Reverend.
+ Begins to build Fel Arach, a large shrine in Jishrim's name. He works in secrecy, not willing for the work to be uncovered.
+ Diligently poisons the swamp-lands with the Ashen Blight fungus in Jishrim's name. (Link) (Link)
+ Diligently poisons the city of the Moors with the Ashen Blight in Jishrim's name. (Link) (Link) (Link) (Link) (Link) (Link)
+ After a sleepless night, he awakens to the understanding that he is now counted among the blessed. (Link)
+ Fool's death.
+ Steals Linden's Holy Artifact that was given to him by Vermella, the Frost Rose. He plants it somewhere safe ([redacted]) and hopes to corrupt it.
+ Second prayer to Jishrim.
+ Writes The Dark Litany

The Cherished:
+ Jishrim​
+ Rev. Preotul Vârcolac: Damn blind old man. (Morbid)​
The Coveted:
+ The Fool: Fool in life, and a Fool in death. What an idiot. (Bartooliinii)​
The Indifferent:
+ Nid Arach​
The Abhorred:
+ Nobles​
+ Laws​
+ Jishrim​
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Iconoclasts, laugh, a funeral passes.
Silhouette Whitespoor.png
Whitespoor kneels on the gravel. He appears to be weary and tired from his time in the cell. He turns himself to face the dark corners of the cell hoping yet fearing any response. He is praying inside the [redacted] to deceive [redacted].

O Maker of All, thou art everlasting, beyond space and time and yet thine Unearthly Light is within All unknowingly. Thou transcendeth and pervadeth all things, manifesting thy glorious Will through thine ultimate Truth and hue of Glory. Thou art our Maker and our Redeemer, our help, our hope; praise and glory be to Thee now, ever and evermore, in this world until its End. Many arms are the rays of Thy Sun. Be there anything else so perfect? Thou seeth through the sorrows of the bedridden, the helplessness of the weak, the sighing of the prisoners and the failing powers of the aged, and with clarity and grace blesseth Thy servants and draweth near to all of those who art Worthy. Thy Light is Thy Voice, creating the symphony that entereth all hearts and ears, urging all to follow Thy commandments. Thou knowest my faults, my failings, my lapses, the dullness of mine judgment in my service to Thee. Forevermore I praise Thee and Thy many-faceted aspect.

Thanks be to Thee, for all that Thou hath provideth me. I hath home, lord, land, work and thy Blessing! Thanks be to Thy Word, teachings, inspiration, direction, and knowledge! Thanks be to Thine expression of Thy Will upon Altera, showing that thou hath not abandoned even the humble widow amongst us, thy believers true and faithful! Though neglecteth I be in practicing what I knoweth and visiting Thy temples, I beseech Thee to granteth me the strength to correct mine wanderings, repaireth the ravages I hath suffered and without fearing deceit or webs of duplicity, guideth me safely into Thy Luminescent Realm.

Manifesteth Thyself unto me, I beseech Thee! Showeth to Thine unbelievers Thy puissance power! Riseth like the Phoenix before me, and incorporateth Thy humble servant into Thy work!

Though I be humble in nature and miserable in Thy Sight, I offer Thee of mine labour blood, sweat and tears. Should Thou deign to rescueth Thy servant from gross servitude and the even grosser hospitality I suffereth, I will dedicateth to honour Thee: a measure of mine life, a great work of Monolithic proportions and faithful exultation of mine everlasting joy!

Whitespoor shifts, and waits for a long moment, waiting for an answer. Hearing none he scowls and continues.

Damn you. Amen! Amen to Thee!
Oh, come, come – come to me! Come!

Come and listen to the illuminating songs of my perverse, accursed lyre. Come and listen to the joyous melancholy of my heartstrings …
Come and listen to the glorious crescendo of my decadence and debauchery. Do you hear it soar over the highest of symbolic peaks? Come and listen to the whistling of the mysterious wind which caresses mine breast …

What are you afraid of? What are you afraid of?

Are you afraid of the roaring depths of my sulphurous hells where furious flames burn with abandon?
Are you afraid of the bitter and barren savannahs of my soul where I wander?
Are you afraid of the endless abundance of light and truth and the intensity of joy that falls, drop after drop, word after word – to the tempo of tender seduction?
Are you afraid of finding the grandest of sapphire gates, and a realm where unknown springs gush the coolest of drink?
Can’t you understand me? Don’t you understand me?
Couldn’t I be the false note in the divine concerto, the note that shakes and spins and whirls with a consuming irony?

Oh, come! Come!

My demons are in slumber today, and so are too my Crusades …

Come, Come!

I will show you the radiant flowers that grow in the human garden under the light of my tormented soul. See! How beautiful are they? They are tulips of pity and sorrow, and roses of blood and love; they are of shudders and an endless well of tears.
The tears of flesh and the shudders of the perfect – the symphonies of urgent life, flights of spirituality …
I will show you the suns many golden arms, and we will listen to the chords played by the oaks and pines. I will show you the worst of tragedies, and the strangest and deepest of mysteries. And we will soar …
I will show you the depths of love and together we will thirst for the infinite, falling headlong into the abyss with our hearts soaring towards the skies and our minds intoxicated by the stars. And we will dream …
I will show you the regret and remorse of martyrs, monsters full of fear and terror, the sower, the widowed virgin, the angel full of torments and sin … And we will see …
Come, touch the ecstasy of my hells and smell the infernos of my paradise.

Come, Come! It is time.

Let go of ancient regrets and torments that trouble your heart. Come and listen …

What are you afraid of …?

PLEASE DON'T POST HERE. Pm if you want a detailed relationship thing.
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