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In my opinion, the best ever magic, both in writing and in overall quality, experiences, roleplay, etc, was 3rd Generation Dark Shamanism. Modern magics, however, as in the ones we see and experience today, it's a tie between Naztherak (if you're willing to ignore the fact Malflame is deadass useless against 90% of opponents) and Templarism.

hopefully never

“FIVE POINTS TO THE STAR FIVE FINGERS TO HIS FIST SEVEN LINEAGES OF BLOOD TWELVE LORDS OF HAVOC AND RUIN HAIL IBLEES, OUR BLACK GOD.” THERE STANDS NO GREATER INSULT TO THE BLACK GOD THAN THE SUSPENSION OF TRUTH, THE DECEIVING OF THE MASSES. THERE STANDS NO GREATER AFFRONT TO THE BLACK GOD’S FLOCK AND ILK, THAN TO DEPRIVE A FREE MAN OF HIS FREEDOM. THERE IS ONLY ONE TRUTH THAT DICTATES THE EVERLASTING WHEEL OF MUNDUS; MIGHT IS RIGHT. THE REALMS OF MAN HAVE LEARNED THIS, AND THE MANDATE OF CONQUEST REAPS THROUGHOUT THE LAND. IT IS TIME FOR THE OUTCASTS TO LEARN THE LESSON, AND IT IS TIME FOR WEAKNESS TO BE OVERTHROWN. THIS IS NOT A REQUEST. THIS IS NOT A WARNING. THIS IS A DEMAND. IT IS THE DECREE AND MANDATE OF THE VIZIER OF HELL THAT THE ETERNAL CITY BE MADE MANIFEST UNTO MUNDUS, SO THAT THE LAND IS READY FOR THE RETURN OF THE BLACK GOD, SO THAT HIS FLOCK MAY PROSPER AND ENLIGHTEN THE MASSES. HARK, CHILDREN OF THE HELLS. HARK, WEAVERS OF FLESH AND SOUL. HARK, BLOOD-DRINKING BLESSED. THE CALL IS MADE. FOR THOSE WHO THOUGHT THE HALLS OF THE CHURCH TO ECHO WITH EMPTINESS, KNOW THAT YOU FIND YOURSELF TO BE SORELY MISTAKEN. A CRUSADE IS TO HAPPEN. A CLEANSING. AND AT ITS RESULT, THE ETERNAL CITY WILL BE BROUGHT FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE NETHER, AND PUT UPON THE LANDS FOR THE LOATHSOME SQUABBLERS OF THE HEAVENS TO GAWK IN TERROR. HARK! HARK! HARK! RALLY ‘NEATH THE BLACK GOD’S BANNER, SO THAT THE WHEEL MAY BE SHATTERED, AND TRUTH EMANCIPATE THE FREE PEOPLE. LET THEIR SEAS BOIL, LET THEIR CROPS WITHER AND DIE, LET THEIR VERY AIR INTOXICATE THEM. BRING DREAD. BRING VENOM. BRING FAMINE. BRING CALAMITY. BRING PESTILENCE. HERALD THE NEW AGE. MANIFEST THE ETERNAL CITY. WREAK PANDAEMONIUM. HEED THE CALL, OR BE CONSUMED BY THE HORDE. MIGHT IS RIGHT, MOTE IT BE.

The Vizier of Hell has been bested in the 'Who is the biggest backstabbing liar' competition. This cannot stand. He sets his sights upon Southspire. The Broodmother of Dread was overdue for a proper dedication of blood, terror and might.

disconnection hit hard

Auberon blinked. "That's important to maybe 3 people. Why did you bring me this?" He turned his gaze to the little shit of an imp at his feet, who cackled and ran away.

"They're vassals of the Empire, silly man." harked a peasant.

yeah, nvm, you lost me.

"I challenge you, freak." The Lord Exarch of the Cohort, Light-Incarnate, spoke!

five???

Auberon gazed upon the missive. He gave a slow nod. "The Golden Cohort will ride with the Sunlit Covenant. We will bring this abomination to heel."

"I give it a week." Auberon murmured, before slamming his trusty hammer down upon the skull of a Homunculus.

if?

The King turned to his nearest Inferi advisor, a hunchback Malda with a constant wheeze emanating from him, an informant. "Isn't he only a Herald, with barely any standing or trust in the Tor?" He asked, and the wheezing Malda nodded with assertiveness. "Does he have any reason to speak with this amount of bravado, this amount of stature?" He followed up, and the wheezing Malda shook his head with similar assertiveness. "Why does he continue to run his mouth, then, my dear Tarun'gagahtuk?" He concluded, and the wheezing Malda turned its bulging, constantly migrained head to its hulking demonic master, and uttered simply in reply: "Hee'ssa mortal, Dohl za Ruzlat. Tha'ss wha'theyss'a do!" The King and his Malda shared a laugh, then, and resumed their days.

Nafis squints a little bit.

Nafis was about the be impressed by something good coming out of the 'royal' house of 'Beleth'. Then he saw an edict that reprimanded and rectified the one he thought was aesthetically pleasing, and was quickly reminded of the nature of things. He showed them side-by-side to his bestest of friends, Anastasia, so they could have a giggle together.

A frequent passerby upon that village, the letter had found itself in his possession by change. The Demon King cracked a wide grin, and a chuckle soon followed, a choir of overlapped voices spewing from its glowing, flame-dripping maw. "How you prattle on, childer of fate... The Broodmother will see your insolence corrected, and will see to it that Fate and Ruin serve the correct master once more... Azdromoth may have forsaken his promise in exchange for penance and power, but we have not forgotten. Roza-Vhorazu."

second i don't have a question i just wanted to give u clout ily