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THE FALL OF ANDO ALUR


Werew0lf
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High Prince Evar'tir Oranor observes the distant catastrophic events on the Eastern seaboard from his balcony in Amaethea. The 'ker swirls liquor in his glass, leaning back in his seat. "Crazy bastard actually did it. The loon." He uttered, recalling his final conversation with the man, just hours prior.

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Edited by Bhased
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MARCHOSIAS writhed and frothed upon the floor, the last fragments of his mind deteriorating and breaking as the Voidal Creature skewered and battered him -- breaking his body onto oblivion. With a weak snarl, wisps of smoke trailing from his shattered maw, he thought of one last fleeting emotion as his body began to dissipate and burn away onto ash; that of a free world, unshackled by the ruinous ambitions of the dreaded void.

 

The flickering mind soon dispersed and burnt away,  remnants of ash and cinder drifting where once was a man. And the sigil that was burnt onto his mind was an everlasting mark that he'd come to cling onto -- that of a Three-Headed Drake.

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Azdor Morulson cries upon the death of his father in the distant land, for he is truly gone, never to be seen again...

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The fire of ambition burned brightly in the eyes of GAMLING ; child of Azdromoth. Victory had been wrestled against Void by those of Creation, and the nephillim rejoiced, as insignificant as that victory was. 

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     Dael'droch watched from a safe distance as the sun arose in the midst of a dark, moonlit night-- Quite an uncharacteristic occurrence, and he had known immediately what transpired as his teal gaze lingered upon the monumental explosion. Then, as he stood unwavering at the peak of the particularly warm mountain, furious arcs of wind streaked through his cascading silken locks, closely following the destruction of Alluria. His expression was one which was - at first - completely neutral in nature. His gaze remained dutiful as he stared upon the abhorrent fortress whilst it plummeted to the floor, and he spoke with unadulterated monotony, "Wrath is trait which bears no rightful place within any elf. I have purged myself of this characteristic: for it is one exclusively humane in nature.

     Behind his thin spectacles, his eyelids quivered ever slow slightly. His visage remained glazed numbly over the mortifying scene, one of utter destruction, and his single arm drew upward to clasp at his heart. It was at this point that his stoic, paled countenance faltered, and his jaw came to a clench, "It is a trait which I once thought myself to be devoid of. . ." Spake he as his lips began to tremble.

      "And yet,"

     He continued these utterings-- utterings which no ears but his own observed. He dropped to his knees, and tears welled up within the man's eyes, "I am irked by the thought that allowing this to occur, and facilitating the process, is a display of Wrath unlike any other. It is so potent, that it can be mistaken for malice."

     It was at this point that his typical apathetic facade shattered entirely. He doubled over, writhing upon the hardened terrain of the mountain top, and crying desperately out for help, and yet it was upon naught but the indifferent ears of nature-- Upon the all powerful Material which he had come to rely upon so heavily.

    The man wailed and wept for some time following this-- Even though the plan had been meticulously thought out, he could not shake the intrusive thought that he had lost more loved one's than he could count upon two hands. And yet, he had known all along that this would be the result. He stood silently by and allowed such a wretched plan to take action, and actually assisted in the execution of such. Could he truly call those that died his loved ones, bearing this in mind? "What is wrong with me?! How am I so far gone? At what point did I lose myself?!"

    His sporadic thrashing upon the ground slowly ceased after several minutes - even if they felt like hours - and he laid still, with tears pouring uncontested down his face. Challenging the likes of God is but one of the descendants' greatest sins-- And it is one with a toll nothing short of immeasurable. And despite the evidence being the destruction before his very eyes, the ignorant Droch could not come to accept it. He eventually came to reason that this pursuit was one borne of ambition-- And ambition is a selfish man's drug.

Edited by TheTri
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And so it had to be. Some crazed follower of GOD, thrice-risen, filled with delirium and ire in his heart knew only what it was he had to do. "Ando Alur, opulent, shining with brilliance is nothing but a festering abyss. And it has been purged, purified by rite of GOD!" These were the words of Saevel IV, and in turn, his supposed GOD; a war forever ignited against The World and all its subjects.

 

"The snake slays himself and brings himself to life."

 

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Edited by Nozoa
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Amalya Amador grinned to herself, cheeks reddened from intoxication. She truly didn't have friends and spent her eve getting drunk from spiced wine within the kitchen of her tower. Twirling her glass in hand she let the brew spill to the flooring, her laugh echoing through the tower as she called to no one in particular.

"My husband organizes terrorist attacks, DEMOLISHES  floating cities... what does YOURS do!?"

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"Calamity." the blind 'ker uttered under his breath as he heard of the news, continuing on his travel to elsewhere- far from the East.

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"Maybe these fuckers ain't so bad. I mean I cans appreciate that. New favorite group'a turs."

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An iron-clad magus fell to his knees 'afore the unravelling rift. A fleeting smile passed his visage before his own decimation.

 

"Glorious Purpose."

 

His plan had come to fruition, the deed done. What goes up must come down, and what is started must be finished, the Sword of Damocles fallen.

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In the distance, a Carrington frowns expectantly, waiting for some other news to arrive on the subject so he might add it to his documentation of events in the world of a mystical nature.

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Caliban Ithelanen is sent to the voidal oblivion as he's vaporized, the proud Gladewynn soldier who had slayed trade princesses and sohaers had his last fight.

 

An alchemist with butt worms convulses and ree's as magic pulses through Almaris, moonspeak piercing his ears until inevitably he passes out in a dark cave network underground.

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An aged warrior cackled with infernal delight as her form caught flame- the room burning around her under the lick of her divine spark. In those final moments, there was no true thought, only glimpses of that which had once been sane, yet every movement was calculated, methodical, structured to buy a second more. As the frame collapsed, and her companions were obliterated entirely the only thing that Midnetora could think was perhaps this was a splinter of Asioth.

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