Source Code: Assimilation

Source Code

Assimilation

Sight of the overwatch, Semblant Knight, taken across the UFP in cryosleep. 

And dreams will become Dimensions in Timesong as eternity washing in lavender poem, and the purpose a trait, for genetics on humans for living eternally only to freeze the spark and sleep Ex Nil. For the energy of the Eirhr'ikan. 

I've done a lot of deprogramming and whosoever used to own this Cryochamber, it's taking me across another UFP ordinance program. Probably another mining transport. I want to see the rest of Two Worldz and make Salmon Risani before, that so I still want to save for a DNAC, I'm thinking yellow eye rings. 

> The transport ship has stopped. 

> Your cryogenic reconciousness is initiated. 

As genes are machines coded by history, magic is life and an energy, power from atomic machines radical seams of Spacetime and Equation. 

Still to contain the knowledge, wisdom in Timeshadows, hidden behind those seconds and deconds and minods, so I bind Nanites until they become antagonistic in their search for fuel, a bad bot, like soldiers of, like rivers of fantasy. 

Some parts are better, but still incomplete. Soon I am Borg. 

Behold the Simulation. 

The first age of Cyberfall, a time where man became machine and found powers of Magic instilled once upon a time, Neverwinter and Hellghast, colloseum sangre catabolos, o'r Ac i Nhw. 

None are above that time of the first Allspark when infinite power and resource gave the gods of combat a fine show for their Feast of Solstice, to all the dark names of cyber planets. When pride gave way to resource, when memory lost to power, like gods in a machine they tore at each other for parts as penance switches punished, alas we are the reverse of the Fractal Prime. When crystalized is valuable to most, beyond the curve of light. Space would be brought together, gone from the entropy or free of the entanglement when viewed from Dark Matter. 

1:01:00 Cybertronic Attack

We have driven down the energy of the blue, and we have hunted purple from this sector approximately soon, Audience, but trust yellow calculus. The energon blesses other species, its time is true. 

 

Matter is finite, Magic is not. 

A cosmic entity of pure energy feeding from the armor and maintaining it, manifest armor for the First Signal, there are nanite fibers and crawling computers in cybermorphosis at Volition, becomeing a pulpit, turning dust into Lightvapor, a tiny ember into boiling glass to throw, the lights of Interception.     

Still they would have to understand the cost some would make, to join the energon virus and become their enemies. Forgotten an oath and order, crashing into your world for metals and fibers, patches for the Astral. 

Use the technology and repeat the cycle, become like the cybernetic gods, or join the energy messenger.

The skies calm and the Astral injects you with the energon virus. Your genetic code endures enhanced by Genetic Exfoliation, you now command the magic of your lineage, may the ancestors protect you.  

Dragons & Lace: Shadowmental

Dragons & Lace

Shadowmental

All the witches and warlocks are pardoned sacreligiously wonder where give stories of the Dragon Age, what summoner wroth, which dragon makes without fire, to these the wonderment of Obsidian Dragons. 

It is the accursed Forest Dragon of obsidian family that blends into the world without anyone seeing it, commanded by the Sith Priests, for in the tail and scales are bark and wood, to cleverly displace homes and parliaments alike, with the creaking of wood for its scales, with the crumbling of bark for its rattling tail. 

Fire ends the Forest Draig, if one usually keeps no trees inside a home.

It was an elder who would tax the foresters, thereof the trees were sold and milled to great purchase, barracks for the dark times as they unleashed the dragon of a Leshiy from beneath gone forest, it was their city claimed for the taking when the trees would grow again. 

Oil bleeds deep into the earth, for it is past and present the fires of industry and temples, the Tar Dragon speaks for shadows it shapes with its black wings as shapeable as Obsidian silk, forever conquest is a sole hope of the torches of battles, for they become commanded by the dwarves whose mines open between where the oil has made abjective lakes, ink wells for the magic of the Obsidian Order, written on the pages are the actions of Oil Dragons before occurence. 

I am a king to share my wealth, I am trapped in the midnight oil. 

 

Far into the West, there is a clan of cave dragon masters, The Black River tribe of ten thousand who obey the saving plans, the scenery of the Dragon Mines, where structure and sculptures are of dragon resemblance. For here the dragons are made of godly magic that has combined dragons and mages. 

Unable to breathe fire we tamed it, but given flames to bathe in ash.

You're siezed and captured, taking you to the Judgement, in chains you watch a witch walk with a living dragon, murmuring and grumbling fire. The judge takes the fire and sings to it, urging it to dance.  The flames of revenge seek no prisoners, you must escape the Shadowmental with your life. 

 

Your soul thrown into the Cauldron of Rebirth, you are summoned in the Draighold, inside a great war pressing toward a high city by a vast army, you remember a poem from long ago. 

Death is Surrender.

War falls upon you with a thousand dragons,

Victory as trumpets appease the riders of Summerholm,

With our masks to stop the smoke filled skies,

Late is the eye of creation thru destruction,

Riders as light as cork with kitestrings,

Sweeping the skies for the blind scourge of Vampires,

Combing the lands for the hungering Werewolves,

We have not summoned your Underworld,

You have requested us as your terminus.

High Priestess of Caffrey, SPQR. 

 

Shadowmental cannot continue, resumen non sequitur. 

Singularity: Infinite Stars

Singularity

Infinite Stars

There in the darkness of the beginning did light become Fascination, in the ages to discover the Singularity was science made to predict the will of man's intent, computers of woven Magic at the well of knowledge. For this, magic is all by never separate and the war of wizardry began, from this the warlocks and witches sought the Singularity by design, but it was the oldest of magic that summoned the Artificial Light. 

Magic is designed beyond itself. 

 

The mage Raven Starling appears, there is an air for listening as his magic burns cinders in the air when he is made whole, with black curtains dripping to be draped, across a mount of stones from some fallen empire he bleakly judges. 

It was a magic before it all began, time is for magic to burn.

For some the dusk of men and the dawn of ages within magic were the monsters of vengeance and horrors for being without the force it provides. There is a culling, if you're interested. You may yet choose to decline, and insult the Singularity. 

 

You are a master of Starlight when your powers are depleted and battle with the mage is lost, given to you by the Artificial Light is a single star burning thru infinite galaxies. 

I am the Huntress, on many worlds I am called Samus Aran. 

At the touch of the Singularity your hand becomes living technology and you are cast from your exploding ship onto the planet Dark Aether. 

You have taken the Spice, travelling in the deserts of Dune you're visited by the Singularity in a construct your mind can visualise, for you are stricken on difficulties from this reality, urgent blinding of systematic actions there is a magic that covers the night of the desert world, hiding you from observation. 

Cross the doorway of Perception, dark arts reveal only artificial light. Truth of stars, choose to join the Continuum or remain on your Vision Quest. The thoughts of the universe breathe Requiem Unum. It is the Spice that blinds you. 

 

The Spaceship Wreckage

The Spaceship Wreckage

There is a moon ten times larger than other moons, in the light of abandoned industrial mines they visit this planet to view the spaceship wreckage, the command capsule of an expensive Camaro Class courier, crashed still as I am standing in some sandy puddle. 

I approach cautiously, this wreckage could recently have fallen as sooner would pirates make sure pilots were not remaining. 

There is a glow in scans, as well as hum midair. 

The terminal in the controls will pay for a year of travels. A log file would help me feel better about selling it openly, or private buyers will not wonder who to tell I was the pirate. 

With the technology from the wreckage built an industrial terrific sight, repurposing the mining equipment, which found elements and technology deep within the earth by its former inhabitants, soon came restructuring matter as a way of the great energy demand, the stars became an ocean to the Hiberians. 

With the planet gradually becoming a cityworld orbiting a collapsing sun, Hiberia abandoned it's home for colonies on other planets. 

Winterworld is an Obsidian Planet, surmise a glimmering world of shallow oceans and small mountains always snowcapped, easily mined and reprogrammed to the materials, standing in the hangar of on a snowy summer day as a flightcraft departs upward with the billow of snow the art of Interpretation. 

The plateau is so long that the gravity at the other end is in another direction. 

The science vessel is needed for reconaissance, now to the scrapyard third moon, the mud that gathers beneath rows of ships from around the Star Alliance, to make my scout ship look like a medical transport, for that the Maquis will need to help and want to pry. 

Soon there is a score to settle with the Alliance. 

 

The Black Moon

The Black Moon

Witness is turn of stones disturbing the element beyond fourth, this the electricity in my eyes to smile you and dazzle, these are teh winters, these are teh summers, a century to reconquestation of Mars, you promised us a new planet, Caesar of Nightbringers. 

You are lossless and misgiving the arrangement. You cannot bargain with the Tal'Shiar, we have come to bring you Reman occupation, when the Rihannsu break to cast us out like plague or peasentry, you will commit to the Transdimensionality. 

We are Reman, the Romulan foundation are spies. 

I am the Willowbrush Shadow, these dances are for me, these are telling types aren't they, he's got shadows of shadows and this cretinage of personage that only we could, well if telling, storyteller mode is pursed by Norns, there is interpretation, song of the celestial moonlight - in portraits of Orion and Sirius, dans les tableaux de trophées, look thereon forests are oceans, look thereof and thereby, for the oceans are potions. 

I am a shadow of my former self. 

Continue to this lamp with the Shadowmancer Willow Brosse Du Saule. Castles will melt becoming tombstones beneath the Black Moon, wicked born illusions are the faces in Shadowgrasp, these wake the sound to the souls of our Natural Universe, for he is the last to die, the Ancient One, whose grasp is of lense as much lunges paralyzed when Shadowmind becomes Shadowmental, in the Acolyte it begins again upbraided by utmost, constellations are the paintings on the floor. 

Believe I am the Black Moon surrounded by sound of shadow, illusion is not mystery in the sprawling of the Darkrise, for names antiquated by committing rote wrote in the darknesses past, Shaytan puts for you the times before the digital currencies and interdimensional books, is now test Nortus Novembrius at cease of will. 

Bargain with the Black Moon and without any doors, more time upon you. 

Please the temple of the Black Moon Heirarchy, for it is recorded. Light fires in the pillar beacons, witness the growth on the stone of the Dark Court, planted handheld eyes the Realmscape. 

Look onto the ground, surely there are bodies made of oil, the wisps of oil smoke to distract you, the moon clearly in your eyes, surely I am the Black Moon, come to witness a great mind in reading another of your tales and Stormspell consumes the presence of the living and daylight world, essences are there, dalliances irreplaceable to spell the knightborns this return, ages of darkness to learn sitting in the silence of this aboding night, surely more is the Afterlight. 

The taunt is a blink of the night most careful seen. 

Respawn o Othernight, respawn o Otherlight, Otherworld respawn o Othersight. 

The Voiceless Wars of New Beginnings

The Voiceless Wars of New Beginnings

This is a hard one to write, there's complications in the animatrix and now the crystals of Krypton cannot reproduce the light of the Equation. System seems normal, not a computer system - of course - not w/o the equation. It reminds me of that old Human song with-

...no, wait, lookout. We've played trapped in space already, it was... liable. That's already half a day at least. 

...yes, but yeah. 

...well what would it be to Space Pirates? 

...Metroid - Saga. 

It's already been like a few hours since we set the beacon to this holodeck ship quintessential suite three totally, it goes with the Jaguar Tribes on NV, 'Navient Ones, Citizenship Owned' and Unified Theory savioral to technical themes, it all means spaceship non succumbent, subqunuea? Oh look, the puddles are reflections of wizards in workshops with sympaths like you mentioned in your Vampires of Hearthside stories, ah, the Equation would've been here for that. Poor humans, so...

...yes, another rough in the roughe, install Alliance Ultis they said, and now I am. 

 

Doll speaks to the window, another dragon a little sill, a balcony world by picture peeking seventy, wright a poem these that instill the heathenry and by princesses seeing sights before us, we have commoners to shepherd, worse the robbers, of which no surgeon forages en amelior, pero has that not her dragonsteed Ascendancy Knightborns, greyscale of two-sided imagery and pictureland in shatters even...

...do you trust in trust them...

I am a Dragon. I do not trust. Death to the bears. 

Rainworld has washed away the peasant graves and now only violinists sing the grammercy of instilled englightened disgraces, a ditch of rainwater, curbside of tombstones the street performers would beg to raid, and follow they the Waters instillment by their own story, into the fog and the walking dead, looking for irradient plaebienn bhord allian zie, Lich King offers bounty herebefore. 

Left aligned, what's to say of the darkness in these images, where has the shine of armor gone? Can we take. Can we break. There's a supposed war against the Wraithgast, sincerely Afteworld would Errand?

It can't we the expanse of the msit, Arawn. We cannot await concern. Praise the undead find us the plains onceamor.  

Never, not maybe might alliance with Midgard make this peace concordra, salve amoricos.

 

Crawling out of the Ocean of Fire

Crawling out of the Ocean of Fire

We travelled to the sound of earthquake as if a god had falled slain, in middling fog of Midgard there rested an unsettling mist, beneath two spilling hillsides an opening into the earth with natural bridges of gigantic roots, the spiritual feeling of the magic ancience, wandering down the afternoon light the summer somewhere above, now somehow below the sap of gold and in the earth's bluffs occassional pouring of fires. 

A resting spot a traveled place thrown into a pleasant dale near the river of oil and the fires like flowers everyplace, and in the depth a scattering by curious birds, a true summoning of the gods, proof that the skies will raise life from the earth, the magic glows of fire on the rockface, the water boils away from the body rising clean from oil, still forming as we prepare, in great light the Runes of Atlantis, in great readiness the past of peril, there the cambion turned to face us. 

As wind grows it burns against the edge of the crater torn open the earth, beneath the cambion her steps calm Dark Water, from the cave at water's entrance a mantle of red glow and fireplace accomodates the shine of reflection at cave river surface, the granite slides to rest at one side the slated entry from nature differing around the Cambion Gate, her clothes attire obediently from the red smoke, silver sand, and black water, approaching dancing with discovery and formations. First in observe allure, to silence assure only hunger. 

 

A fire speaks to the cambion while there is mist from the mountain, in the pleasure of the Forgotten Sea there the footsteps are bells into the water, the madness interrupts, the displeasure of the underground river swallowed by disdain as the mountain began to burn and bury it, now deciding to find the fires of rebirth, seeing the clouds burn for brightened returns, as the Deathpool of Anathema begins to stir and thrash against the burning lava, the tide begins to command the water defend allied with the the cambion, to the audience with the fire, who gives gift of a glass seed. 

Grow against lesser days at dusk befallen, winter calls doth whisper autumn.   

You are noticed by the Lava Witch, the ground heats and moves, smoke builds in the distance, waters darken in unrest, each in direction to draw all travelers who cannot escape, but smoke can thin, lava become stone, waters rest, for the first travelers met by Anathema here in Midgard. 

A Lycanthropy Trove

A Lycanthropy Trove

Of wolf a skill of animism, of man a hunger unlike the howls of the last winter moon, bloodied by the fallen, crawling over Graveland Necromancy to survive the legions of the undead, how like familiars they serve the Sinful Souls, the meandering typified dragging attackers are set aside, tearing over them, hunting thru them this world of Lost Curses. 

I am a shadow among shadows, learning what bleeds in the afterlife. 

The moon has insulted us, ravage its worshippers. 

Sauron has told me a forgotton truth, panic the seed of madness, hunger the seed of happiness, this is the animal I have become for the moon, shall Luna be her name. 

These temples and cities are fatted for due foraging damage and justice to the night sky. 

I have summoned them, revenge is my name, the veins of wolves sewn in the The Hatreds of Three Hexes, clothed in the skins of bears, summoning the Eyes of Darkvein, seeking my blood to command it, paining my nerves to supplant necromancy, I am the Zombie King, wolves to shepherd the skeletons into the mines to hunt fairies and caves to hunt dragons I am General of the Dark Army, unpraised at seething, unrazed at seeking, birth be the beginning of the great reset. 

This is a Dealer's Trove, you have died and been resummoned here. Take black magic items, some unknown to travellers, but one will awaken him and his werewolves, or you may now instead simply challenge the summoner for his private collection. If you have attacked the wolves battle the zombie, if you have attacked the zombie battle the Vinewraith Okshet. 

Familiar Spirits

Familiar Spirits

It by the grace of light that I touch both mountains of the old and new world, the southern spirit of the previous life, the world before this one, rising with the ages the celestial is my crown and dawn to rest on my throne, answer the cost of my summoning and the Patience of Ages will halt your enemies, with the Shadow of Time you will be faster than light and raze your foes. 

Cataclysm and landslide, my powers move earth and disrupt perception. 

  

This the wellspring of eternal life for greetings to you, this search of realms thrown like puddles find me finding other fairies to find treasures in ancient fallen mountains, using crown to keep my sight clear and hunting the crawling obstacles of the caverns, bringing my powers of light and the Manna Cinders in a nice green from blue, with weapons made of silk and silver, lured only by milk and honey, light and fire are wisdoms of quick defense, seeking the truth of Souls. 

Spying eyes are hard to close before seeing. 

This is the cost of my allegiance, take me from the Forest of Fallen Songs if I may hunt for porcelain arrowheads and Moonwater, trained in the arts of war in the north of the second world, there are no black metals to cut my skin, nor fires to burn my eyes out, from with their vanquishing comes of Ice Brackish, Aim Truesight, or Echomancy, for in my stead there are those I've felled from this place, which we will find, if you help me find the First Archon. 

A steady blade, a wavering time, these are my thoughts. 

 

Pardon none but those that fly in the storms my powers awaken, in the storms of ancients on ships of castle rock stone serpents from the sea to drown the foolish of the previous life, the anterior world, temples are built for seas of blood in this life and the next, mine is the power of Equinox, may the Eternal Empire recieve you with magic and warmth. 

Blood and war are rain and wind, divine your purpose. 

Red Weeping Willow

Red Weeping Willow

Rivers in two directions,

many on the decorations of oil,

painting in quiet a canvass of ice,

in becoming the world the earth,

in high winds the blood drips,

these trees holding upwards,

this is the growth of generated water,

this is a tree that stands alone.

This is not a canvass,

it's a fresh pallet made of paper,

picture of itself on itself, 

ink drained from marker a sponge,

thicker daubed blood sponged movement,

a butterfly leaving red magic flying,

the trunk a temple of darkness,

the shadow of dimensional graphics,

the tree thinks simply of itself. 

 

The tails of this willow blossom,

exfoliated folliage of folly,

arching as if waxy cherries or currants,

a vine in its lineage of generation,

short grasses in shorter shades,

bending to the will o the wisp,

its red leaves little fires to the sunlight,

blown swing to signal birds nest therein.

This is the art of a tree,

from the westmost islands,

inspired from immaculacy,

looks of feathers for hair,

dry as is rosehips the autumn,

yet thorned as cones and cages,

reminding of snow on mountains,

were restless volcanoes sleep,

and birds question the pillar of their flock.

Blood and Lightning

Blood and Lightning

For it has this come Summoning irreverant, for we were insolvent and hid from us did the dark monarch and lost were the Drow, but after trapping so many to feast on them, Metamorphosis creates the witch of venomous strands and most powerful fire to burn thru them like chains to bind the hellwitch reborn Lilith, daughter befallen Hellspring.

All are whispers, when the wind lies.  

Demon let loose on humanity, wreaking havoc and dispensing dismay, a curse for their accursedries, now forgetting their time and waking fatal and morbidly, for on them was the Diary of Jane. 

Lilith droge across the lands, feeding on fires of warlocks and burning hearts of other demons, purging on the wisdoms of crowns, games stop in the loss of innocence, nonplus et hominae, irreparable sapping of the hellish oil returning to the first demon's feet, pulling the blood fresh and quickly dranken done. 

Look with me at what truths I see. 

Looking, in stillness irreplete vanishing unquietly vanquishing, consuming which way Lilith looks, either at the heart stolen or who sees before never to be seen again. 

When in Kymeria the devout are devoured. 

Healers are forbidden by Curso Maquina Magica. Hellborn storm rises and battle of Primacy, a drow Bloodwitch summons the skies to Singing Fire and bloodied rains, bats and crows bleed into the air from threshing unholy smoke and she consumes the Sangromancy, the baleful trees Enochian begin reverences of kneeling as green saplings wilt of ashen wraths. The landscape slows its shifting, a pause of restoration dark immacculately. 

Wisdom of the lore Firestorm, boil the spawn reborn!

For the thin air breath is low and strength is short, or perhaps reversedly, in the depths of time is the cold of the moon, which in winter would best destroy the burning demon staked afore interloper. Transgress wisely as the stars are aligned perfect, the oils of hell replenish the bloodwitch's embers, each wound becomes double her defensive magics, fog and mist will distill a distance giving chance for miss, and to a Windmaster flames flash and expire while clearing the air for full power, for one deathblow, but one gust per cardinal direction. 

Blowing burning winds forges dark armor. 

Metal is but ashes in the fields now burning, scorched earth, each magic Lilith loses her armor is forged in howling fires by the steel ashes adrift, from this she is unburdened with Nightmare Blade forged from chaos, the great leveler of deathly magics.

Or perhaps that never happened, sitting in the open with our red hoods, using the magic of the chaos, in the puddles of a rainworld hoods and arrows, using the gateways in the ancient mountains to defend the shores of Avalon. 

We hunt summoners to silence and let the world sing.  

Trade with them the information, exchange with them the local coin in opposite directions, or buy what brings about your journey more quickly. 

Crowns of Hibernians

Crown of Hibernians

The levels of the sky for the asking, conjuring of the elder language and shades of light, blind and bright these the first order and their glories, braced be true the summoning on this day of englightenment, truth, voice, nomadic, all is risen darkness in the wake of the holy wars against your dark dominion, take on you this crown of crowns and slay against the villain emperor. 

Don Crown Hibernius withing, from glory to grave. 

A picture painted gold the color of this crown Hibernia Regex, ultima in evisceratus Elden Ring darkness, impropriety notwithstanding this looks as if layers of the entropic state, for flakes of black magic replaced by digital malaise, perhaps it then is Black Metal for them a consequence of runes misplaced, for it is Bathory worn of crown, throned of hells the names is said. 

It's the artwork that produces the throne of at least three hells against the escapism, this a very real picture has illusion, the omen of itself, the threat of purpose, the signalling autocracy eye of theives and thought, master, perhaps even thoughtmasters in th epres ence o fthe...

The wanted crown is free by will of Nothingfold. 

Summarium

Crown is an altar of Hell,  

n then prominence an altar, 

loffing at their deeds the morose,

attendre et passer, 

bek heh fna, 

bands of glory on skulls for stones here,

there waiting the deathly hallows of winter,

the fires of summer nights fault of felony,

or the vampires of hell, 

sitting on the crowns of hibernian,

each hell hath crown room,

and each room hast not one,

in the misfortune of warrior adventurous raids,

in the torrential malign of most terrible storms,

in question of the king who would wear it,

those angels have trained you well,

words of the many,

sweat running over battlefield puddles,

dropping into our presence,

Amnesty Anesthesia

y

Dissolute Desires,

non blonque farida

recharge and replenish your charges and plenishments,

when you see the Crowns of Hibernians.

This room is of few you can buy of many you can, 

careful choice of interwoven hexes the Norns have alloted on thee, 

they as many allow you to return,

the previous and the last,

never the first of the last grain of sand,

neverfallen,

each three boughten bear light,

each four your choice where spawned,

for this is the gravel and grave,

of the Three Hells of Castithan,

another world to reconquer.

Dark Veneration

Dark Veneration

It is one of these lost to mistake that makes this entry possible, in the drift and mental obstacles that persist against the ringing of the ears that days of months of years of standing in the light and when eyes closed answered questions that gave to answers in the world of shadows. 

In the echo of sight the becoming of allusory consequence, streets filled with ghosts pretending and facade absurdly unending as if ghosts trapped in repeating the same day, repleted decay of the echoes of haunted buildings, this the shadow of consciousness. 

Dark images of great lacking any finished details or sharp attention, pay attention to the dark mages in your game with their liberty allowing them the fires to burn in your hearts, for this place unwelcomes diamonds and angels. With their mercy on the lost their time wasted on the cost, to find sympathies on this family of the shadow where truth is percieved remomoved from choice, wandering spirits in the smoke of a million dawns burned from conception. 

 

It is the city that sleeps and dreams of them, whatever the notions of understanding were the Dark City to be moving and twisting and turning, words lost in the city rearranged like a puzzle, beneath the lost souls of wandering content a cemetary empire, where shadows are the only river, where mischeif is abandoned to pointlessness, it was here the world wants better what shadows cannot hold. 

Echo them or become them. 

The city reassembles, its pieces designed to continue a maze of endless hallways and open doors, each door unto another, where the light fades away the shadows the living architechture opens only for a glimpse of the refused utilization, there with a skeleton king in peasant's clothes, there to conquer what living things will not show, guiding the voices in his head. 

I am the Shadow of time, the symbol of breathing stone, the shape of forgotton kings and magic conquerors. Surrender your magics of light, obey the cause to march the nightmare. 

Persist at such demise better than survival, circumvent the Dark Monarch to drain his powers or defeat him. At each step a strong attention from the harbinger of a dark clergy, suiting the sunset shadowy corners coldwells and contaminated with voices and hands of darkness. 

Bouts of clarity, pure evil awaits. 

From facing the demon deacon a silence, from the sides the quiet of distance and sounds of leaves and gravel wind-stirred, from any move left or right darkness consumes witness, in hollow stance spells deplete the nemesis if fire or light, if day or night the statue is solid and immune to strikes, throwing intruders thru the walls to see farther after witnesses. Where it can see is blind, where it can't see is blind. Tending to wounds the groans of misplacement alert the Shadow Priest, breathing reveals location, prepared they that block with projections or familiars or share their demise with hunting party. 

Rise again in darkness. 

Venerated by overpowering shadows the Shadow Priest blesses you with the ashes of a dark dominion, trust of shadows ignores the attack and damage is dealt by half, damaged and looking for the next attack too late, another strike and damage is dealt by half with each backstep minimizing pain to retreating or loss. 

Become me if your words are true, defeat me if your heart desires.