The Illuminus Obscura

In those High Elven Lands, a fallen rampart litters the countryside. Three dead men lay around it, fallen upon its spikes and cackles. The Usurper stares, he found that position fabulously well. It was perfect. He was tired, and there was more work to be done. This was just the beginning. Outside the city there was a man with his throat slit and a smile upon his face, inside its walls one of their own was being flayed and searched and experimented on, perhaps even tortured. It was worth it. GLORIA DOE OBSCURI!

((Still active.))

Time was on their side. Time was always on their side. It's very existence was an aid. The Userper looked off toward the open sea, a piece of flesh turned into calcium as such with natron was plain there as, cradled in his hand. As concentration was lost, flesh returned to the small crab. It went on like this, until he finally crushed it, the hours of continual dislocation and re-connection to the void seemingly wasted, and he threw the remains back into the ocean. It was only a matter of waiting now. Just so, and as the days passed into weeks, and into months, and maybe months into years. It was coming. It was cyclical nihilism. It had to come.

A small crow perches itself unto the pilars in the cloud refuge, it drops a note by the mans feet. It reads in sterling writing. "Accepted. Meet me at Babuylon." ((Happy to help out a newer player, and we met IG.))