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𝙻𝚞𝚟 XO

Creative Wizard
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About 𝙻𝚞𝚟 XO

  • Rank
    "Strimoza hvan vu rikult nhit e’dakir-uhd’karth.”
  • Birthday 11/16/1999

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    xoluvvy
  • Minecraft Username
    Wiccapedia
  • Website
    https://www.planetminecraft.com/member/luv_xo/

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  • Gender
    Female
  • Location
    In the 90210-Oh
  • Location
    Bucks County Corrections

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  1. A black-robed woman with ivory skin and raven hair made her way through the very area where the final battle took place. Her presence was unsettling, a stark contrast to the devastation around her. The moonlight filtered through the shattered remnants of stained glass windows, casting eerie, fragmented patterns on the ground. Her dark robes seemed to absorb the light, creating an aura of shadow around her as she moved with an unsettling grace. She entered the stained chapel, the last vestige of sanctuary now fallen to ruin. Her fingers, pale and delicate, trailed along the sides of the splintered pews, feeling the deep grooves and scratches etched into the wood by desperate hands. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of incense, a reminder of prayers that went unanswered. As she walked, her voice began to rise in a soft, haunting melody. The song was ancient, its words lost to time but imbued with a sorrow and foreboding that transcended language. The notes echoed off the crumbling walls, filling the hollow space with an eerie resonance that sent shivers down the spine. Her song seemed to stir the very air, causing the remnants of the battle to shift and clatter as if in response to her lament. Each step she took was deliberate, reverent, as though she walked upon hallowed ground. Her eyes, dark blue and penetrating, took in the scene with a mixture of sadness and something darker, a satisfaction that hinted at a deeper purpose. Outside the chapel, the wind began to howl, a mournful wail that seemed to carry the voices of the dead. The trees, twisted and gnarled, swayed in a macabre dance, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The fog thickened, rolling in waves across the ground, obscuring the path ahead and creating an otherworldly landscape where shadows seemed to move with a life of their own. As her song continued, the temperature dropped, and a chill permeated the air. Frost began to creep along the edges of the pews, climbing up the walls and encasing the carpet in a crystalline sheen. The once sacred space now felt like the heart of an icy tomb, a place where the living dared not tread. Her voice, now rising in a mournful crescendo, seemed to draw the very essence of despair from the surroundings, amplifying it until it was almost palpable. The darkness deepened, the shadows growing longer and more oppressive, as if responding to her call. There was a power in her song, an ancient magic that awakened the spirits of the fallen, their restless souls stirred by her mournful lament. The black-robed woman paused before the end of the isle, her song fading into the silence. She raised her hands, and for a moment, the world held its breath. Her presence here was no mere accident; it was a harbinger of things to come, a dark omen that this place, once a battlefield, was now consecrated to something far more sinister. Her fingers, still lingering on the wood, seemed to draw strength from the ancient structure, connecting her to the past and the malevolent force that now claimed dominion over these haunted ruins. In the distance, a lone wolf howled, its cry cutting through the stillness and echoing the sorrow and foreboding that hung heavy in the air. The woman’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling blue light as she turned and walked back into the shadows, the Prince’s mission complete. The chapel stood silent once more, but the memory of her presence lingered, a chilling reminder that the darkness had only just begun to spread.
  2. “Oh, great Beast, spirit of hunger and frost, Hear my plea beneath the moon's pale glow. From the shadows of the forest deep, I call upon your ancient might. Grant me the strength of the endless winter, The unyielding hunger that knows no bounds. Let your icy breath fill my lungs, And your relentless desire guide my soul. In your name, I embrace the darkness, In your name, I forsake the warmth. Oh, great Beast, heed my prayer, And bestow upon me your terrible power. For in the cold and in the night, Your will shall be my guide, And through your hunger, I shall rise, Bound forever to your eternal ice.” The outskirts of Haense were tainted with unspeakable horrors this night. Echoes of men screaming in sheer agony pierced the air, their desperate attempts to flee rendered futile. The darkened forest bore witness to their discarded remains, grotesquely strung about the trees like macabre ornaments. Thick mist and choking fog seeped from two vile monoliths hidden deep within the woods. These monoliths were adorned with decaying decor and feasted-on carcasses, reeking of death and despair. One monolith seemed to corrupt the very rock upon which it stood, a blight that spread like a disease. The other coiled around the trunk of an ancient tree, its twisted form reaching out as if to grasp the moon above, casting a sinister shadow over the cursed land. Beneath the ghastly light of the moon, the forest itself seemed to writhe and shudder. The air grew thick with the stench of rot and the palpable sense of dread. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves, seemed amplified, echoing the terror that now haunted Haense. That night, the land was no longer its own; it had been claimed by the sisterhood of frost. The monuments seemed to release faint whispers and echoes, the same things on repeat: "THE BANSHEE QUEEN" "THE BEAST BENEATH" À̴̡̧͉̦̺͚̣̼̼͉̳̼̘̳̺̪̖̑ͣ͆̏̾ͤ̃̌̅͠ͅp̵̶̢̭̦̦̟̈̃̓̀̄̃ͬ́t͓͇̥͒ͨͮ́ͣ̾̕͝ͅͅŗ͚̞͈ͬ̌ͣͦ̒̽ͧͅg̦͔͕̫̞̗̹̱͖͕̻̳̺̩̼͔͕̍ͪ̏ͬ̍̈͒ͦ̏̾ͯ̇ͅͅ_̧͈͈̳̣̫̀̏ǫ̸̻͈̘͍̘͉̗̳̇̋́ͦ̈́͐ͮͫ̾̀ͨ͒ͥͣ͡_̷̡͔̪̓̃̇͢n̨̨̳̞͓͔̻͎̟̳̔ͯ̑̃̿ͦ̓͆̀ͬ̉ͦ̂_͚̕ģ̶̷̡̛̘̬̙̻̾ͧ̔̉́̕̕͡͝u̵̡͇̦͕̱ͮ͗̇ͣ͡͞-̶̶̧̣̞͍̠͍͓̤͙̗͉̪̻̭̼̥͛ͮ̄ͥ̓ͮ́̒ͣ̿ͥͧ̾͌ͩ͛ͦ̽͑̽̓̿͘͡͝Ma͔̬̩_̨̠̙̰̠̻̙̯ͣ̑̀͐͗̆͑ͦ́͘͟͡ð̨̯̤̜̭̪͇̳̺̬̝͉̓ͭ̒͑̾ͯ̓͛́̐͛͌̉̽ͭͤ̓ͧ͘͝͞͝͠r̶̡̲̺̫̙̻͎̪̃̓ͥ͊ͬͧ͂̍ͣ͗̇̕̕
  3. brrrr, is it getting cold in here?

  4. On the fringes of Hohkmat, the night was pierced by a bone-chilling sound. The mournful cries reverberated through the streets, a relentless lamentation that seeped into the town's very essence, casting a pall of dread that smothered every corner. As darkness enveloped the town, its residents, ensnared in their terror, glimpsed shadowy figures draped in black robes gliding through the alleyways. These phantoms, their faces hidden, lurked in the shadows, dissolving into the darkness whenever a wary eye fell upon them, their presence more sensed than seen. The intrepid—or perhaps the damned—who dared to traverse the frigid, moonlit streets in pursuit of the source of these sinister occurrences might find themselves lured to a ghastly tableau. In a secluded glade, a grotesque monument of frozen horror awaited. This structure, an infernal fusion of ice and torment, stood drenched in blood and littered with bones. The ice seemed to pulsate with a malevolent vitality, its surface inscribed with intricate, arcane runes that whispered of ancient, forgotten rites. At the heart of the monument loomed a hideous sculpture—a writhing mass of countless faces, predominantly women, their features twisted in perpetual agony and despair. This ghastly vision was rendered even more nightmarish by the crimson streaks that marred its surface, evidence of recent, unspeakable atrocities. As the wind keened through the forsaken glade, carrying the murmurs of the damned, the runes seemed to flicker, casting a spectral glow that only intensified the overwhelming sense of dread. Those who stumbled upon this frozen nightmare would soon grasp that they had unearthed a dark secret, one that linked the town's recent horrors to an ancient malevolence lurking just beneath the surface. The monument stood as a stark testament and a dire warning, its bloodied ice narrating a tale of suffering, sacrifice, and the unseen forces that prowled the night in silence. À̴̡̧͉̦̺͚̣̼̼͉̳̼̘̳̺̪̖̑ͣ͆̏̾ͤ̃̌̅͠ͅp̵̶̢̭̦̦̟̈̃̓̀̄̃ͬ́t͓͇̥͒ͨͮ́ͣ̾̕͝ͅͅŗ͚̞͈ͬ̌ͣͦ̒̽ͧͅg̦͔͕̫̞̗̹̱͖͕̻̳̺̩̼͔͕̍ͪ̏ͬ̍̈͒ͦ̏̾ͯ̇ͅͅ_̧͈͈̳̣̫̀̏ǫ̸̻͈̘͍̘͉̗̳̇̋́ͦ̈́͐ͮͫ̾̀ͨ͒ͥͣ͡_̷̡͔̪̓̃̇͢n̨̨̳̞͓͔̻͎̟̳̔ͯ̑̃̿ͦ̓͆̀ͬ̉ͦ̂_͚̕ģ̶̷̡̛̘̬̙̻̾ͧ̔̉́̕̕͡͝u̵̡͇̦͕̱ͮ͗̇ͣ͡͞-̶̶̧̣̞͍̠͍͓̤͙̗͉̪̻̭̼̥͛ͮ̄ͥ̓ͮ́̒ͣ̿ͥͧ̾͌ͩ͛ͦ̽͑̽̓̿͘͡͝Ma͔̬̩_̨̠̙̰̠̻̙̯ͣ̑̀͐͗̆͑ͦ́͘͟͡ð̨̯̤̜̭̪͇̳̺̬̝͉̓ͭ̒͑̾ͯ̓͛́̐͛͌̉̽ͭͤ̓ͧ͘͝͞͝͠r̶̡̲̺̫̙̻͎̪̃̓ͥ͊ͬͧ͂̍ͣ͗̇̕̕
  5. On the outskirts of Celia’nor, an unsettling sound began to dominate the night. The eerie cries echoed through the streets, an unrelenting wail that seeped into the very fabric of the town, leaving an air of dread that clung to every corner. As night fell, the citizens of Celia’nor, cloaked in their fear, noticed shadowy figures clad in black robes moving through the alleys. These figures, their faces obscured, skulked in the darkness, vanishing into the shadows whenever a curious eye fell upon them, their presence more felt than seen. Those brave—or perhaps foolish—enough to venture out into the cold, moonlit streets in search of the source of these disquieting events might find themselves drawn to an eerie spectacle. In a secluded clearing, a bizarre monument of frozen dread awaited. This structure, an unholy amalgamation of ice and agony, stood covered in blood and scattered with bones. The ice itself seemed alive, pulsating with a dark energy, each facet etched with intricate, arcane runes that hinted at ancient, forgotten rituals. The monument's centerpiece was a grotesque sculpture—a fusion of countless faces, predominantly women, their expressions contorted in eternal screams and tears. This chilling sight was made even more macabre by the crimson stains that marred its surface, suggesting recent, unspeakable acts of violence. As the wind howled through the desolate clearing, carrying the whispers of the dead, the runes seemed to shimmer, casting an otherworldly glow that only deepened the sense of foreboding. For those who stumbled upon this frozen horror, the realization would soon dawn that they had uncovered a dark secret, one that connected the town's recent disturbances with an ancient evil lurking just beneath the surface. The monument stood as a grim reminder and a dire warning, its blood-soaked ice telling a story of pain, sacrifice, and the unseen forces that moved silently through the night. À̴̡̧͉̦̺͚̣̼̼͉̳̼̘̳̺̪̖̑ͣ͆̏̾ͤ̃̌̅͠ͅp̵̶̢̭̦̦̟̈̃̓̀̄̃ͬ́t͓͇̥͒ͨͮ́ͣ̾̕͝ͅͅŗ͚̞͈ͬ̌ͣͦ̒̽ͧͅg̦͔͕̫̞̗̹̱͖͕̻̳̺̩̼͔͕̍ͪ̏ͬ̍̈͒ͦ̏̾ͯ̇ͅͅ_̧͈͈̳̣̫̀̏ǫ̸̻͈̘͍̘͉̗̳̇̋́ͦ̈́͐ͮͫ̾̀ͨ͒ͥͣ͡_̷̡͔̪̓̃̇͢n̨̨̳̞͓͔̻͎̟̳̔ͯ̑̃̿ͦ̓͆̀ͬ̉ͦ̂_͚̕ģ̶̷̡̛̘̬̙̻̾ͧ̔̉́̕̕͡͝u̵̡͇̦͕̱ͮ͗̇ͣ͡͞-̶̶̧̣̞͍̠͍͓̤͙̗͉̪̻̭̼̥͛ͮ̄ͥ̓ͮ́̒ͣ̿ͥͧ̾͌ͩ͛ͦ̽͑̽̓̿͘͡͝Ma͔̬̩_̨̠̙̰̠̻̙̯ͣ̑̀͐͗̆͑ͦ́͘͟͡ð̨̯̤̜̭̪͇̳̺̬̝͉̓ͭ̒͑̾ͯ̓͛́̐͛͌̉̽ͭͤ̓ͧ͘͝͞͝͠r̶̡̲̺̫̙̻͎̪̃̓ͥ͊ͬͧ͂̍ͣ͗̇̕̕
  6. where are the violence in velour dark mage girlies!? WHERE ARE THE GIGGLING MANIC PIXIE WAR CRIMINAL GIRLIES!?!

    1. Show previous comments  1 more
    2. MunaZaldrizoti
    3. Apotolofo

      Apotolofo

      o/ RIGHT HERE 

    4. bumblefina

      bumblefina

      i am a maniac i am a war criminal no psych ward can contain me i am ungovernable i will live forever

  7. Music The Banshee Queen By; Unknown Trees bent in terror of her name, Living creatures ran in fear and shame. Screams can be heard, as the harsh wind blows You know she’s near, by the murder of crows It's said that those who wander into her domain, Are never seen again, not while she reigns. And those who cross her, her rage will snow A fate worse than death awaits them, they know The people of the north did quake and cower, Lest the witch would cast her wicked power. As the people searched for a way to be free, The witch's powers began to weaken and flee. She fled as she learned of her dying light Our courage and strength returned this night For the hunters could now lower their hoods, But they still remained afraid of the woods. Still heed this warning, still heed this tale That cannibal witch always returned without fail Women grew anxious, inside they could feel She would soon return for her next meal. Her wicked laugh still echoed in our minds The flesh of men, is what she dined Her wickedness stained all of our dreams The witch in the north, the Banshee Queen In the far northern reaches of Aevos, a violent winter storm clawed its way over the snow-capped mountain. The winds howled like lost souls, whipping snow and ice into a frenzied dance. A thunderous crack rent the air, and the sky split open in a brilliant, electric blue as a bolt of lightning struck the mountain's peak. The entire mountain groaned, a deep, unsettling sound that reverberated through the earth. Beneath its solid, ancient rock lay a labyrinth of caves and caverns, dark and secretive. In one of these hidden recesses stood a grotesque tree-like structure, crafted entirely from ghostly ice. At its base jutted a capsule of ice, a frozen tumor in the mountain's belly. As the mountain trembled, two deep blue lights began to glow from within the icy cocoon, casting eerie shadows in the subterranean gloom. Soon, a feminine grey hand wrenched itself free from the icy prison, the long, manicured nails clawing against the frost in a desperate bid for freedom. An intense exhale marked her emergence, her breath steaming in the frigid air. Her sleek, snow-white hair cascaded down either side of her face as the icy witch took a confident step forward, her eyes gleaming with a terrible knowledge. The cold air was sucked towards her in a swift, unnatural breath, as if the mountain itself was gasping in anticipation. Then she released a horrendous scream, a sound that tore through the chamber like a banshee's wail, causing the ice to contort and twist into grotesque shapes, writhing as if in agony. The mountain shuddered again, acknowledging the return of something ancient and malevolent. Eileen turned to gaze into a flat surface of ice, her lips curling into a grin at the sight of her own reflection. The witch's ascension was complete. She could feel the raw, crackling power coursing through her body, making her skin tingle and her eyes glow with a newfound intensity. Her body seemed to radiate with an otherworldly health, a vibrant glow that spoke of dark magic and ancient pacts fulfilled. She made her way through the empty corridors, her nails scraping against the walls with a slow, deliberate screech before she broke into a sudden, manic skip. The witch began to sing with wicked glee, her voice echoing eerily through the deserted halls. She twirled, her laughter sharp and unsettling. "Finally, oh Lumia, you'd be so proud..." she crooned, her words dripping with a twisted joy, each step and note a testament to her dark triumph. The witch emerged from the entrance of their hideout, arms outstretched to embrace the raging storm that tore through the night. The wind whipped her stark white hair into a frenzy, and she let out a hideous cackle that echoed into the darkness, mingling with the howls of the tempest. Her laughter was a blight upon the night, a chilling sound that promised chaos and ruin.
  8. what if they all just shut up entirely? never speak again!!
  9. Deep within a cave beneath a snow capped mountain, a large tree-like structure made entirely of a haunting stained ice was rooted within the stone of an open chamber. At the base of the altar stood a Fjarriagua adorn in a black hooded set of draping robes with her eyes shut harshly. The visions flashed through her head and she'd raise her stilleto'd nails to rake through her snowy hair, the intensity of the prophecy nearly causing her to loose her footing. She'd step forward, slapping her right hand against the trunk of the altar and her eyes shot open, releasing a haunting blue glow from her irises. Eileen, the Banshee Queen, began to shutter before drawing her attention back to the reflection of herself in the vile structure of magic before her. "What? This, this cannot be..."
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