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A Call to Xionists- The Black Crusade


exanimated
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Here he was once again... so far from the call of battle, yet ever drawn to it when he least expected it. As the darkness churned about him, misshapen 'people' jittering as they struggled to walk by him, the Herald stood, making his way back to his dressing room. Donning his brother's armor once again did he leave home again - into the night.

 

Meanwhile, but a few miles northeast, did one 'ame polish his newly acquired surgical tools. Though not thoroughly trained in their use, it was possible the time for him to use them would come soon.

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Trapped in the skull of a mustache twirling devil, Kozilek weeps. Woe be us. Ill-begotten fates.

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A mere Butcher was able to gain a copy of the missive and as they shattered the meat, or rather their work with a old-fashioned cleaver; They mused with their eyebrow risen. "Finally, someone taking action. Boredom was becoming my worst enemy. Let's see how this crusade may end. For sure the others will be interested..." Albeit, as they slammed the weapon back down- a pensive frown lingered upon her lips; They didn't know If this conflict was needed or profitable. Regardless, They knew their comrades would join the horn of war thus she would follow too! Alas, with some doubts.

 

Spoiler

Hope everyone will enjoy this conflict. Both sides of course!

 

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25 minutes ago, Junoix said:

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

 

A father, unaware of the troubles boiling around the home of his once master, now friend.. Circled townships neighboring the Urguan border in search of his precious child.

 

Though should the rumor fall upon his ears, one could only hope that their first meeting since his ascension into a free mind..

 

Would not be on opposing sides of battle.

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A lowlife among the dead, perhaps one better off inside of a tomb then a tower overlooking darkness, was enjoying his latest findings on the High Elves and their two-faced ways.  

 

Among his numerous literary findings; lo and behold there perched was a bird of the undead, the shrivelled and rotten armor clinking and clanking at the fellow moved with haste and vehemence.

 

"Another damnable mention of that war I presume...?"

 

His simple disengagement in the topic was thrown sideways to where the dust was firmly settled, as, to the surprise of one whom already had a second chance, was the death of someone or something he found pleasant.

 

The notice containing the words of common dictating the wallowing lurkers of the Druii was of the last things he expected.  And as his undulating eyes pressed further into the wet scroll, taken away from his attempts at writing Xionist scripture to begin his wandering quest, the name of the Frog King also appeared as the spectral red lifted himself from his chair.

 

"Wrought out in the sun for too long, preaching to trees I could easily burn down, and now they play games with the lives of The Creator's makings?  Wretched fools, to think I would be brought to such infuriated somber from a FROG of all things... I find myself in NO emotions similar, yet as the last of his kind, perhaps I should spare pity."

 

Tears... They fell like a waterfall for the fallen Wonk, though the Mercatorii knew not what it was like to go extinct, he only wished he could have prevented the Wonk from never knowing the same.  And so he cried.  

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Flesh and sinew tore open from a mangled mouth, fangs jagged and cruel piercing through those lips as the beast smiled, a luminescent gaze of crimson peering across the missive with such delight.

"I believe it's time for a change of pace.."

It rasped out in a cackle, for it was to prepare for a war long awaited. A war that shall thrive throughout history.

"Radiant is the Black Sun."

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Deep below the earth in some unhallowed Barrow did the master of the dead come to read upon such a missive. An amused laugh escaping their maw in some discordant melody that echoed about the cavernous space. 

"Short Sighted." at this, the missive was burned and the Barrowlord went back to their musings, their mind turning to other more important matters.

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A void mage serving the dragon points at his TV as the news passes by.

 

"Hey! I've seen this one before" he mutters, remembering the draconic crusade against the druii.

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A Paladin, upon seeing so many creatures of darkness get riled up for something, simply stands like this:

cover4.jpg

And says "What are they doing over there?" Were she aware of the wonk's death... perhaps she would have joined them in their crusade. Alas, she was oblivious, and so the 'Thill kept traveling, dismissing their excitement as something mundane. 

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The Tyrant of Sorrow read upon the missive that was held tight within wet stoney hands, both heads muttering to each other before finally speaking in unison "They wish to....march for a Wonk?....if it bleeds the druii, perhaps it is worthwhile...though to think the death of such a lowly thing could warrant war for Xion? Pitiful."

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An antiquated magi whispered in the midst of hushed contemplations as the world continued to pace in his absence:

 

"Cycles of revenge perpetuated, the black fires of hate burn ever so fervently as they so often do, and in the heat of passions...

 

The wheel turns oncemore."

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