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[ 10 posts ] |
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Dark Immolation
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Posted: Sun, Nov 26 2017, 21:12 PM |
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Tester
Joined: 20 Apr 2008 Location: The downeaster "Alexa"
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_________________ You think Magic is your ally... but you merely adopted the Art. He was born in it. Molded by it. Sometimes, an angel is simply a devil with better intentions.
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Dark Immolation
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Posted: Thu, Dec 07 2017, 3:38 AM |
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Tester
Joined: 20 Apr 2008 Location: The downeaster "Alexa"
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In darkness dreaming, a man lies waiting.
_________________ You think Magic is your ally... but you merely adopted the Art. He was born in it. Molded by it. Sometimes, an angel is simply a devil with better intentions.
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Dunecat
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Posted: Thu, Dec 07 2017, 19:45 PM |
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Player
Joined: 18 Aug 2012 Location: +3 GMT
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He is not alone; grey silhouette looms around the building. Where he lingers, echoes of light remain.
_________________
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Lutra
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Posted: Thu, Jan 11 2018, 17:28 PM |
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Player
Joined: 12 Feb 2008
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It appears that the dead and the undead servants of Tarkuul do not seem to bother with the presence of the drow and his friends in the empty building. However, after a while a few shadow mage, begin to observe the process...if they are actually observing anything. The slim and shady shape of their cloaks are rather appearing as the echo of the doings of the drow, nothing more for now. Regardless, their dealings have attracted some attention.
_________________ Lord Hector Sylgerand Glendil Fettian, the black bard
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Dunecat
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Posted: Sat, Jan 13 2018, 19:01 PM |
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Player
Joined: 18 Aug 2012 Location: +3 GMT
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For over a month by now, on a semi-weekly basis, the lights were lit in the once-darkened temple.
_________________
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Dark Immolation
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Posted: Mon, Jan 15 2018, 8:21 AM |
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Tester
Joined: 20 Apr 2008 Location: The downeaster "Alexa"
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A CRY WITHIN THE SHADOWS: THERE ARE NONE TO HEAR IT. THE BLOODY HAND RAISED, A VAINGLORIOUS MOTION FOLLOWS. SWIFT—A PROFANE KISS!—THE ICHOR PRESSED TO TREMBLING LIPS. HEART LEAPS WITHIN ITS CHEST, DRUM AND MARCHER TO MADDENING CADENCE. BEGORED DIGITS OUTSTRETCHED AND DRIPPING RED, A MAN SPEAKS. Come. Look.
NONE COME. NONE SEE.
E̯̘̒̂ͬ̀v̭͙͊͐e̞̫͎̙̖͖͇n̦͇̹̻͖͋ͭͦ̋͑͐ ̜̝͍s͓̬̈́̈́́̑̑o̜̣͇̲͔̦͖ͫ̏̊̈́,̩ͥ ͖͛W̥̘̳̯̟̄e̠̲̰̞̥̔ͅ ̝͎̬̪̜͗̍̑ͩ͑̚ä̘̩͎͖́ͮͅͅb̤ͤ͛͆̓̿͂id̫͔͇̱̜̅ͪ̉ͅͅȇ͈̲̬̗̦ͮ.̩̗͎̼͋́.͕̠̟̃̐ STRENGTH FADING, A BLACKENED WORLD BLACKENS STILL. THE ARM FALLS. THE CRY FADES. BUT THERE, OVERHEAD— LO! WHAT SPARK NOW BURNS ABOVE? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For a day, the doors of the temple would be barred. Thereafter, they are opened again.
"Maintenance."
No further explanation is given.
_________________ You think Magic is your ally... but you merely adopted the Art. He was born in it. Molded by it. Sometimes, an angel is simply a devil with better intentions.
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Dark Immolation
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Posted: Thu, Jan 18 2018, 3:34 AM |
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Tester
Joined: 20 Apr 2008 Location: The downeaster "Alexa"
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By word of mouth, it is spread that a gathering at the newly reclaimed temple is to take place in a few days. For what and for whom, it is not yet known.
//~7PM EST, Friday the 19th
_________________ You think Magic is your ally... but you merely adopted the Art. He was born in it. Molded by it. Sometimes, an angel is simply a devil with better intentions.
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Dark Immolation
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Posted: Sat, Jan 20 2018, 2:30 AM |
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Tester
Joined: 20 Apr 2008 Location: The downeaster "Alexa"
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FROM THE DARKNESS, THREE STEP FORWARD.
FROM THE DARKNESS, THREE ARE BLESSED.
VERINA, THE FIRST ARTO, THE SECOND PAURIS, THE THIRD
A MESSAGE DECREED, A PATH CHARTED.
FROM THE DEPTHS, AN ENCLAVE STIRS AND CASTS ITS GAZE SKYWARD.
_________________ You think Magic is your ally... but you merely adopted the Art. He was born in it. Molded by it. Sometimes, an angel is simply a devil with better intentions.
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Dark Immolation
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Posted: Tue, May 22 2018, 3:10 AM |
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Tester
Joined: 20 Apr 2008 Location: The downeaster "Alexa"
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In the dead of night, as oft he did, a man sat in a quiet and darkened sanctum. Counting the moments between one fevered vision and the next, he gazed into an orb of scrying.
The crescent moon above, freshly born from the blackened new moon, hung overhead in a silence that mirrored the calm below.
Until, like a bolt thrown from the heavens, something caught the eye of the watcher. Real or imagined, it fixated him. Staring warily into the aether, he rose and inched closer til at last he came face to face with his own distorted visage on the sphere's surface. What he saw there none might say, for there was no one to tell and no one to listen. In an instant, Elohim, the ardent blade bound to his own body, flew up to his chest, primed to pierce his heart as it did so many years ago. He stayed so, standing and unblinking into the wee hours of the morning.
The next day passes as any other would. The sun rises, though its rays barely pierce the enclave's shroud of shadows. Workers set about their routes. Priests enter into their respective houses of worship and calls to prayer ride on the salt-laden sea winds. Those that might patronize the newly established sanctum would find the seat at its head empty. Though this is nothing out of the normal. Surely, he who sat there could not always be there and had other matters to attend to. The hours pass, and so too the businesses of all as usual into a new night.
A second day follows the suite of the first.
Then a third.
Then, eventually, a tenday and more.
Messages go unanswered. As do efforts of Sending. Scrying, if not outright rebuffed, seems to miss its target or fail completely. Though there are many ways to explain such things, it might seem strange that one would go to such lengths so quickly and so thoroughly when they departed seemingly under no duress and without clear destination. But departed he has. The enclave, the Isle, maybe even these Realms, for what time and what purpose none are told. Perhaps he has met with grim death or some worse end somewhere along his sudden fugue. That scenario could create as many questions as it would answer, however. Eventually, a handful of messages make their way to but a few individuals, whenever and if ever they use the storage facilities. And even then, the words are as cryptic and brief as the disappearance itself.
Ultimately, it appears that he has left Tarkuul as he had found it: belonging to the dead, owing much to the living, and in mystery, now, as ever it had been.
_________________ You think Magic is your ally... but you merely adopted the Art. He was born in it. Molded by it. Sometimes, an angel is simply a devil with better intentions.
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Dunecat
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Posted: Sat, May 26 2018, 17:55 PM |
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Player
Joined: 18 Aug 2012 Location: +3 GMT
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And once again, the lights were lit; the traveller resumed his vigil.
_________________
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