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Of Mana and Sulfur (An Ill-Omen to Hohkmat)


_Leyd
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The White Cat, favored Oracle of Calamity, and zealot, licks blood from a scarlet-stained wrist, as her handiwork emblazons the sky.

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"Did you think my words had expired after all this time, self-proclaimed Prince of the Hells?"

 

Lanre Cerusil, veritable evil mage and outsider of Hohkmat, prepares to kill some demons?!

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The Grand Magister is accosted by the omen looming over the city. "We are beset by Enemies once more! Summon the Magisters, prepare to defend the city. We will greet this fight as we meet all challenges, with staff in hand and a well prepared spell"

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An Azulyte bearing the banner of the LEGION OF IBLEES stands in a towering castle. At her back, the burning eye of the First Born. Of the world shaker, Azdromoth. When news came trinkling in from Azulyan agents in the magi city. A delightful smile resting on her face. 

"The book, Solomon. Divided does little. Together, the world shall tremble in fear." She comments to herself, at the Udax beside her. 

 

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The Fallen Angel, favored to the one of Dread; lingers in the shadows, watching the fear and dread around him spread with a devilish smile resting 'pon his visage.

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An elephantine figure gazed upwards. The skies weren't blue. The clouds weren't clear. The five pillars gleamed as the figure's head slowly swiveled, their small beady eyes scanning past each and every one. And no sooner than it began to gaze upon this occurrence, it merely left. The steady thumping of its feet filled echoed across the streets- as the gleaming red light shone down from the cracks below the ashen mists.

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"Not again..." Jazonas grasped about old documents and shuffled them into a bag to set off, his necrosis ridden leg a grim reminder of the Fifth Adventists power.

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"Much as I love the goth atmosphere, I will ******* murder EVERYONE responsible!" Came the reply of a very pissed off elf.

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The Lord-Magister of Paradox, for once in his ill-fortuned life, ponders if his silent pleas for a more shady day to grant those star-drowned eyes of his a rest have been heard. 

 

As he beckons his Yisar to a stop, a interlude before he continues his ever-failing search, he can only stare upward, in awe and concern.

 

"Ask no one to save you-" Haus bids to the creature, in a grief-laden voice

 

"They wont; Save yourselves." 

 

The Yisar pays him no mind. Onwards he rides, to another corner of the world - his search is not complete, and so he cannot return. 

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Rothok spent a great deal of time thinking and pondering over the implications, connotations and associations to be made with this new development. Thinking, for Rothok, was a tough task, and one that he therefore seldom did. However, the conclusion the little imp came to was undeniable:

 

"want more chili tamalas"

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“The Ibleesian legacy is one of failure,” the elf says, sweeping away atronach blueprints from her desk as she stands up. She produces a joint as she rides the lift to the main floor of the Chamber of Fire

 

“Their Archdaemon has tried, and he has been beaten, his essence scattered. They have built no cities. They are hated the realm-over by enemies who would gladly unite against them.” 

 

She leaves the Chamber, lighting the joint with a snap of her fingers, before she manifests atop the roof of the building in a flood of black smoke. Faeryel takes a drag. 

 

“They skulk in the shadows. They leave threatening little messages. They rub their hands together inside of their hidden crevices, thinking themselves terrible and powerful. And then, time and time again, they throw themselves against us, and they are broken.” 

 

She exhales the grass-smoke, before a sword explodes into existence in her hand. She aims it skyward, the joint clenched in her teeth. 

 

“They’ve gotten overconfident again. We’ll put them in their place.” 

 

Silhouetted against the ash-choked sky, burning violet tinged with black, hover eleven enormous flame-hewn letters. 

 

COME

GET

SOME

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Cecilia Riddle frowns as she looks at the changed city before her, the ashen sky a heavy contrast to the normally lit city. "Oh this won't do..." She mutters to herself. She steps forward and starts walking forward to the city. "Looks like we all have some work cut out for us..."

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Renilde squints hard to try and decipher the dark-on-dark lettering of the missive before her. To no avail, she tried and tried, straining those aged peepers until she gave up with a huff and handed the letter to the Hostarius to read. “What does this say?” She grumbled. 
 

@HurferDurfer1

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Belie gives the missive a cursory look over before confidently turning to the crone Renilde and stating,"Its something to do with some variety of wizard party, I'm quite sure of it. I will need to get your best event attire freshly laundered for this, polish the shoes, it'll be a grand time I'm sure." @tilly

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