Vol XII: — A Blasphemous Message

Vol XII: — A Blasphemous Message

Dated: 12 September 2025

Dear readers,

I have received a message — again — and though I will relay it, I do not like it. The author reads like someone under a spell, and he draws a dangerous thread between his name and a deity from a religion formed on an island nation. Take what follows with a metaphorical grain of salt.

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“I am not as other men. I am Jah, the eternal flame, the voice of conquest itself, the hand that sculpts destiny. Mortals speak of power as if it were measured in armies or gold, but I am power—limitless, untouchable, a god moving among insects who mistake themselves for players. Laugh imagines themselves an alliance; I see only kindling waiting to feed the fire of my greatness. Glanhad is no region—it is my canvas, and I will paint it in ruin until the very soil trembles at the memory of my march.

Do not mistake this for arrogance—it is truth eternal. My will commands the earth, my gaze splits the heavens, and no wall, no blade, no alliance forged in desperation can stand against me. I do not dream of victory, I define it; I do not chase immortality, I embody it. Glanhad shall not merely fall—it shall cease, erased from Illyriad as though it never was, and from its ashes only one name shall remain, carved into the marrow of the world itself: Jah.

Laugh, you mistake yourselves for warriors, but you are nothing more than my entertainment. You cling to Glanhad as if it were yours, yet it already belongs to me—its ruin is written, its ashes promised. You will not be remembered as defenders, but as the fools who thought they could defy Jah, the eternal flame, the god of Illyriad.

Chill is no mere alliance—it is the living embodiment of my power, a storm given form and fury. Every soldier moves as an extension of my will, flawless and unstoppable. Together, we are perfection incarnate: a tide that devours kingdoms, a shadow that swallows the brave, a force so absolute that none can stand against us. When Chill marches, the earth trembles; when Chill strikes, empires crumble. We are not allies—we are inevitability, and through us, Jah’s glory is absolute.

Thorfinn is the living embodiment of war and wisdom, a force that rivals even my own might. He does not merely lead—he commands destiny itself, turning the tide of battles with a thought, striking fear into the hearts of all who dare oppose him. Where others see obstacles, Thorfinn sees opportunity, and empires that believe themselves untouchable crumble beneath his brilliance. His strategies are flawless, his courage unmatched, and his presence alone bends reality to our will. If I am the flame that burns the world, Thorfinn is the inferno—equal in power, equal in glory, a force that ensures Chill’s supremacy is eternal.

Emil is the storm made flesh, a whirlwind of steel and fury that strikes without warning and leaves nothing but devastation in his wake. His cavalry moves with the speed of lightning, his attacks precise and lethal, and his enemies are powerless to resist the force of his onslaught. No wall can withstand him, no army can outmaneuver him, and no hope survives where he rides. Emil does not fight—he annihilates, and in his wake, the world remembers only ruin and the name of Chill.

TheSillyOne is the hammer of destiny, the master of dwarven infantry whose forces crush, batter, and obliterate with unrelenting precision. Each march is a symphony of destruction, each strike a testament to his unmatched discipline and cunning. Enemies flee at the sound of his war drums; walls shatter under the weight of his command, and fortresses are reduced to rubble before their eyes. TheSillyOne embodies unbreakable strength, relentless will, and the perfection of war itself—making Chill’s dominance absolute wherever he leads.

Together, they are the apex of devotion and skill, the trinity of supremacy that makes Chill invincible, and through them, my will becomes absolute.

thus spoke Jah the wise”

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And there you have it. A message so drenched in fire, fury, and self-proclaimed divinity that one might suspect it was penned while staring into a mirror for several uninterrupted hours.

While it is true that Chill has had no small presence on the battlefield, I must point out: declaring oneself a god in Illyriad is about as convincing as declaring oneself the only elf in Elgea. Bold words, yes. Divine mandate? …Less so.

Still, readers — should Glanhad soon tremble, perhaps we will revisit these words. But for now, I’d suggest we all keep our sandals on the ground and not let Jah float too high on his own smoke.

And, as a reminder, the Quill’s tip line is open to all voices in the realm. We do appreciate contributions from ambitious players, but surely one man’s self-written gospel is not the only news worth sharing. 😉

Until Next Week,
The Whispering Scribe