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TO THE FALL OF DRAGONKIN


Goon
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From somewhere in southern Almaris, Brother Wildfire throws his head back with a wild cackle. "That city made me sick! Literally! We should be thanking those, erh.." he'd wave a hand about, snapping his fingers a few times, "... Lizardkin for what they've done! I do, at least! Death to all voidal mages." 

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9 hours ago, Goon said:

The Men and Women of the Canonist Church

The Qualasheen Followers of Allah,
Worshippers of The Aspects and The Spirits,
The Forgotten Templars of Malchediael,
and to all other wrongfully-defined ‘Laymen’ of Descendants;

A Snow Elf grows thankful that the Vigilants of Wyrvun were not called into the mix, and continues to tend his wayshrines.

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Harsh lapses of wind ruffled the forests of a Southern mountain, as the glow of daybreak permeated the canopy. Within sat two shrouded figures surrounding a small fire, donning their own crimson plates in deep recourse of meditation. Soon enough, a small courier delivered this missive, interrupting their long penance.

 

"The atrocities of these Jannists truly baffles me at times, Zahkriikyzer. Our very own Nephilim have rid this realm of this voidal disaster, and in turn, it has become a piece of propaganda. But, it is no matter. These Jannists will assume a mere weak confederacy at best. "

 

Qahnaarin rose, dusting his garments as he collected his items.

 

"Their forces will dwindle as they attempt to march upon us. There is no unmatched wrath than that of an awoken tiger, one that has been continuously pestered. St. Edmond of Lachsin will bless us and St. Humbert will fuel our campaign, Zeymah, as we slaughter them, their families, and their children. Their khesm will be admonished."

 

He lent a hand to the Dragonkin, beckoning him forth.

 

"Come, it is time to return home."

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Alisa Camian read over the letter with a quiet hum. "I seem to recall having this conversation fifty years ago. The Dragonkin have always been a problem. Not exactly news," She said in her usual displeased, elderly woman sort of tone, setting the missive aside to return her focus to her writing. "But they seem to not want our hands in the pot, so to speak. So I suppose I will just keep my counsel to myself."

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“Three hundred years, I have fought you.” Boasted a Drakonid, pride lacing every word. “Three hundred more, by the titan it shall be so.”

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"You cannot purge.....WHAT IS ALREADY PURGED!" said no one in particular as Caliban Ithelanen wisped through the voidal oblivion, knowing no peace for the sins committed that day or his years prior.

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