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CRIMSON SKIES


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"**** Canonizm- diz shit haz never done anythin' good fer OREN!" Eber would speak out. 

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A green monk wept "We are not one." He cried to the World. He rose up his arms in a bout of torment, knowing that he could never know God. 

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God, save your cattle.

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Owyn Leopold Helvets wept before the destruction, kneading a small gold rosary in his hands. It was not the first time such a calamity had befallen the City of Providence, then he was but a boy he gazed up and saw the towering inferno. Now he stood before the ruins of his father's own cathedral, praying for GOD to deliver swift retribution upon this foul Omen's provocateurs. 

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The church walls ache and churn for mercy, and none was granted.

 

A canonist wept, faux-tears for a godless land.

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"The clash was not real, but the massacre of the righteous is." murmured one monk to himself, contemplating the loss of his self after ages past. "How He grieves for us..."

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A man blinked as his sister passed him a missive she had discovered. Intrigue taking hold as he accepted it as they observed a lesson of the spirit and his eyes danced upon the page. Taking in the words. "Aye poetic spirit...aye poetic soul. Yet one that walks among the blood of cold, gripping dread and calls us mortal...which is very true, for all things should be." He voiced as he folded the missive and offered it back. "We shall see what this entity is, eventually. Aye am sure."
 

 

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Standing at the foot of the smoldering cathedral, the mali'ker Andromeda Vandi'ir stood in silent contemplation. Though she had missed the initial calamity, the elfess had been present for the succeeding spectacle that garnered the attention of what many had thought to be an aengul, sent from the valah-Creator himself. She had her doubts of the being's true intentions, a thumb rubbing over the bronze medallion that hung about her neck.

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A wretch sits in the silence of an Abbey, praying upon his sword for the salvation of man through the further seeking of what resides beyond the veil of human ignorance. 

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A Elder-Hieromonk would look upon the rain before muttering “It has begun” 

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Thrush looks to the gate with a desire-stricken smile.

So it begin… Ruin.

 

Edited by satinkira
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