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About hotbox_monk

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  • Birthday 09/14/1999

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    1017 Deeproad Ave.

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Draakopf Doomforged
  • Character Race
    Darkest Dwarf

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  1. A thing laments; It then shudders with a shriek for no apparent reason after brekkkie.
  2. Marcian of The Mud grumbled thereafter downing the contents of whatever wretched brew that was in the tankard. He offered a slight nod in regards to that of the mustache’d man beside him @KBR. “Where is the solace?” He said with a scoff followed up by a sharp inhale as his gaze bounced to and fro from his tankard to the exit unto the depths of the sewers. “S’pose I’ll take watch tonight river-side.”
  3. Moriarty Moray, a cousin to the Douglas brothers, remained seated alongside Leanan. A few certain grumbles and low howls escapes his ginger maw “DAELAND!” He exclaimed before his noggen soon met the countertop, thus finally succumbing to his intoxication.
  4. A son of Sola would ruminate on this matter within his forlorn cottage within the lands of Savoy. He would take to the side of this Philip who lay claim to the seat most high. “The Weak Should Fear The Strong.” He said to himself whilst he prepared for travel to San Luciano. Such words hadn’t been spoken since the days of Dour Watch.
  5. Ukita traversed the dunes adorned in sanguine garments. Such a feat he had seen through time and time again in a land where East Meets West. His pale gaze kept to the sands beneath his sandals. Each print left by every step washing away with the breeze that accompanied. What he said was incomprehensible, but if one were to listen close they might here chimes of song. It was in this land where Man was not meant to tread that he would find those he would suffer with.
  6. Rhaezaiil Doomforged pondered for a short while about glory, Brath and gold. War is Coming.
  7. A youthful son of Sola would wake from his slumber upon the sound of the nanny knocking on his door. Thereafter, a single slip of parchment found its way underneath the frame. He tiredly rubbed at his eyes and yawned as he gathered himself to go retrieve the invitation. The boy stared with a certain iridescence in betwixt his gaze and a nuanced offset of their hue. One blue and the other green. Batting to and fro they did before he rucked the parchment within his adolescent grasp and lit it aflame with the nearby candle.
  8. A certain forerunner of East-Meets-West shook his head feverishly as he tore the page to shreds and lit the remnants aflame in the fire. “It seems there are some vermin afoot. . . Tread lightly, ‘Would-Be’ Heralds of The Arch-Wyrm.” The voice suddenly abated itself alongside any sign of his being there. Soon, the tide would roll in high and with it, it would carry the ashes back into the Sea.
  9. “Took them long enough.” Mumbled a wearisome figure as he skimmed through the missive.
  10. Within the depths of a dank cellar was a shadow cast against its walls. Footsteps approached the The Magi’s carcass that lay breathless in a finite state of rot and decay. It’s forehead marked with that of a black tree and roots that dug deep throughout its flesh. Soon a voice sounded. “Within you I could have sown. . .” As the candlelight casted an incandescent illumination upon the side of his visage, it would give revelation to a pale gaze staring down the parchment. A corner was offered to the candle’s flame and soon the missive was set ablaze within his cold grasp. A figure clad in sanguine robes emerged from the cellar and just behind him a quaint homestead burned to ash. As the light of Ebriaetes shown down, so too did Ukita’s silhouette wane from sight into the stygian wood. He would await, Him.
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