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.
