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A Call to Xionists- The Black Crusade


exanimated
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In the infinite nothingness, Elmer Puddlefoot drifts alone. At least, though, he would never have to see what darkness had followed after his death. He would have never wanted this!

 

... but he would never know.

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A daughter reads over the letter with a curling smile, wiping her eyes with a stained sleeve as puss leaked from their waterlines.

 

“Voidal mages and druids? Feels funny to hunt both…oh well. Enemies of father are enemies of mine.”


The woman called for her sweet creature of a daughter then..

@Cally

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Some Occult Man did begin preparations, elixirs made, beings enslaved. Throughout his workspace echoed some ominous rattle - that of a beast unseen, lurking yet known to be present. Much less stealthily was some rat-like creature the flew overhead, its words sounding off the stone walls as it went. "Zd’kurav Zd’kurav"For such words, it was soon beaten - a lesson gained. "Am'kurav". Some man then spat at the flying being. "You do not join, we join. Oh how how I love untimed family gatherings, I can't wait to see some of my  friends once more." He paused for a mere moment as he finished drawing a line of blood upon the floor "Cry universe, scream. Hear the blackened call." - And with that the final line was drawn, a ritual began as preparations sparked true.

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Krokah decided to her own accord, the stupid bird couldn't decide much for herself; but thought this once. She swept off the dirt from her featherless body and equipped her jangly hat. Taking flight, she thwapped her wings against the foggy air for that Frogman in his honor. A subtle cerulean bubbled within her throat as her anger for the world grew.

An Eidolan of endless loyalty to the radiant Sun of Black, puffed a plume of deadly breath from its stone nostrils at the thought of a crusade of the Blackened Sons. As a daughter to the Barrow of the Fog, if the hulking beast could have grinned, somewhere it did. 

 

Readying its sword of alienistic power to reap, it churned the blade unto the waters below. Each rune took ablaze with the vigour of the black radiance. It readied the windswept glaive for the demise of a thousand Druidic souls to its innards.

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A stupid little monkey creature scurried about in a pool of viscera and blood, when he had heard of the frogman's fall he did not think much of it, he never thought much of anything, he never thought much. Still, an excuse to condemn the souls of the druids in eternal fire was a compelling offer, no matter the cause. Shaking free the gore from his coat he beat his wings into the air and took flight, for frogmen everywhere.

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A scrutinizing gaze fell over the missive left before her. A flicker of those infernal hues dotted the last word, and with such, a quiet rattle of a hiss loosed itself 'pon that room. Overlapping tones of laughter cracked deep into the once silent area, Daija's maw splitting into an uncanny smile, one that beckoned the thrill of what was to come. Soon too, would her own black banners be flown. 

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A woman stood in her room, reading the letter, her brow wrinkled in perplexity, how could someone be so cruel to such an innocent creature? It struck a chord in her heart, and she knew what she had to do. The woman then took her tawny hands, shredding the letter, and tossed it into the flames. She then turned her dazzling gaze to the armor in the corner of her chamber, which she hadn't worn in years. "Avenge the fallen," she said quietly.

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Cold was hand upon heart of stone, for within forlorn crypts an aged relic of infernal war roused from his slumber. The myriad souls within his being raged and writhed, but a grumble of elder speech brought them to heel - for on the wind was this call to arms heard for the Shore Walker, he who bore within him the being of the Lord of the Shore; and with a rasped croak befitting of the dead whom he held dominion over, he made known the decree of Covenant. 

 

"We fight. We die. We rise. The pearly white sands of our blessed Shore await these tyrants of the Widu's domain..."

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An unkempt man chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes trailing over to the woman whom sat across the table “This shall be exciting.”

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"Druids. Psh," chucked an Adunian from his seat, legs kicked up on the table, a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he sprung his deck of cards between his hands. "Dey gon' regret dis, vraiment." With that, the man squared his cards, putting them away in a pocket, and jumped to his feet. He went to kick up his staff, catching it in a free hand. "Let's light dis candle."

Edited by Dymase
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The Battle Chef finds the missive to the Xionists. He was nothing of the sort. He followed his own gods and religion, but this...he would join this cause. Hellish beast or otherwise, he would subjugate the druids of the Vale. For Elmer.

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Beneath the surface of Almaris, a decrepit devout of Xion reached for a worn ferrum blade. 

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A pool of black sludge rests in the mistlands' catacombs, a spectral vulture swooping in before dropping the missive into the gunk. It sinks in, delivering only silence in response.

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