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[Event] The Final Strike


ScreamingDingo
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A certain Nephilim spoke a prayer for its dead brethren now made into a vile weapon.

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“Cursed ******* dragon.” Ledicort would mumble before searching for the King to discuss the matter @Shmeepicus

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A chubby, overweight teen adorned in the familiar yellow and black stripes of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl armor clatters on the sight in the skies, terrified of the onslaught surely to come. Heart pounding, and duty-bound,

"Zhere iz no courage without fear. GOD zave us poor souls." 

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A Knight awakens from his dark dream. Eyes shot open in darkness, starring up to the ceiling above. Quiet breathing out of the old mans mouth before looking around. "... The swamp..?" The Haenseni man mumbles out. Standing up out of his bed shortly after, setting out on a expedition in own land as soon as possible...

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Yvian stands on his knees, bowing his head and clasping together his hands he recites a prayer. "Saint Edmond, model of all knights, possess me not with fear; grant me peace and strength in the hour of battle..." The knight would continue, finishing his prayer he signs the lorraine and prepares for battle.

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The shield vigil awake, as she tussled around looking for a source of light to engulf the dark corners of her quarters in the Keep. She looked rather disturbed, confused even. Her face and being covered in sweat as she tried to piece the heavy dream. 

 

“The swamps…haense?” She thinks, unsure if the structures there are of any true meaning or if there were more than one swamp. She cares not as she arose and got geared up. Hopefully she wasn’t the only one having such dream.

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Alkhayin skulked the hallways of Petra Turis; its hollow ribcage clattered at the sound of tapping beneath the walls. It stared at the heart of the Cloudbreaker, as its jaw hung low in maddening. "Add more!" The lich blared with a swinging cleave, as undead minions carried rocks and corpses on their shoulder at the command of their master. 

 

 

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As the shaman awoken from such a horrid dream, he sat up upon his bed, his gaze off towards the attunland. Yet only a frown had formed from his face. The small bits of memories of aiding the swamp trolls and defeating the plague that ravaged that land with the expeditionary force. He worried for the swamp there, and the trolls that harbored it. As he soon got up, getting dressed into the black ferrum armor he spoke."Those accursed spawn of Undead and Ibless taint that place with their magic? To make it their home. I'll be damned if they make that place their sanctum for that vile dragons heart." As the shaman spoke this, the small room he was in visibly rumbled almost, was it rage knowing the peaceful trolls have had their land defiled? Maybe it was it the flood of horrid memories when facing against the dark creatures. Whatever the case. The shaman got even more ready for what was to come and birds to send out.

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A decorated Gravelord spattered and hissed instruction to an ensemble of bone-clad servants animated from hoof-to-head. They totted rocks, rusted tools and innumerable cadavers; Gashadokuro, in the depths of the Petra Turis prepared, knowing what's to come.

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A high elf brought her hand to her throat as she  sat up from her bed in a cold sweat, feeling as if she'd forgotten how to breathe. The world came back to her once more; the rain of the Barrow Marches still yet pours, pattering against her window pane. She rose from the bed as she moved towards the mirror, inspecting herself for injury or the vile sludge. Contented with the lack of either, she moves from her room to prepare a warm drink and to settle elsewhere in the home until her nerves settled.

 

The waters had already begun to rise.

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An orcish warrior-shaman, his skin dark like the sky above his head, awoke from the horrible dream. Covered in sweat, he stepped down to the closest stream away from his camp, washing his face, he grabbed his tools of war and began to prepare for the siege.

"KAAL AKAAL."

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Gaius Rosius var Ruthern immediately opened his eyes with a gasp. He sat up upon his bed, staring towards the window that showcased his beloved city of Atrus at dawn. “Strange…yet real…” he murmured to himself as he then got up from his bed. He was fully awake now. 

 

 

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Kazimierz Pulaski awoke with a start following the conclusion of the nightmare. Seeing the first light of dawn poke over the tops of the Arentanian Alps, the Lechian man went to begin his day, a look of grim determination on his normally jovial face.

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Princess Mariya of Balian felt that familiar suffocating feeling of a paralyzing dream overcoming her. She let those images come, took in those details - the simple feat she learned some years ago allowed her a more lucid approach. To remember smaller things even when she did finally awake sometime later, sitting now ramrod straight in bed and writing in her dream journal.

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