And 9 stars illumine the northern heavens, an enormous cosmic sigil with the silvern moon at its centre... Blazing argent light-weight fills the chamber, engulfing the hewn walls of elder ice, these historic carvings in a time-veiled tongue (etched to the primeval ice innumerable aeons ago, now bathed in diaphonous incandescence by this storm of lucent stellar electric power, their mind-searing meaning at last gets to be recognized to me.
THE KING: By the many gods of Hyperborea... a legacy shall be wrought by our blades... our legend shall live forever! Hear me, Angsaar! My humanity fades... my mortality dissipates as does the darkness prior to the glimmering kiss of your dawn! Let us end it... Enable this be our final battle!
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KA-KUR-RA: Zurra... impetuous whelp! Halfbreed of Z'xulth... ambitious and foolhardy stripling! Your quest for that shards of The good Lexicon is not not known to Individuals of us who observe the intricate weft and warp on the limitless cosmic tapestry from afar.
" When information of the defeat as well as the fearsome concept of Caylen-Tor arrived at Mytos K'unn, Zyrashana's spells of regal dominance waned, and her numerous courtiers and councillors, liberated in the imposition of subservience, plotted versus their queen, 'til shortly she was driven from The good royal palace by her individual elite guard, her throne seized by an ambitious baron who had received the favour of the nobles and mages from the realm. Evading inprisonment and surviving only by her mastery of spellcraft, Zyrashana fled into the satrapies in the east, and very little more was observed or heard about her for some appreciable time...
The very first gladiator moved to me; he was an enormous of a man, standing nearly 7 ft tall and clad in dark leather and bronze armour from head to toe. His entire-encounter visored helmet was established with ornate metal fittings and encrusted with click here! jewels of varied hues, and a vast black horse hair plume rose from your metal crown. Strapped on to his forearms were two black vambraces, to every of which had been secured a few twelve inch serrated blades, plus they gleamed brightly in the hot afternoon daylight.
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Iceni warrior: Bah! I never hail towards your Roman gods, and you are not my emperor! By Cernunnos, the blood of my enemies shall stain the sand of this cursed arena red today!
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A swirling mantle of mist-magic swathes us, powerful spells woven through the Fen-Witches of The good Mere... Deep evening and moon-mist shall be our allies as we surge to the fray! At my bidding, the fog clears for a brief instant, And that i gaze down upon the valley to behold the army in the Witch-Queen.
...And I stand enthralled and silent atop The traditional, shadowed mountain, gazing in awe with the stygian, evening-cloaked sky, as higher than me a wondrous flight of ebon dragons soar on large wings blacker compared to darkling heavens.
By many of the black gods of the Z’xulth! Life flows by my ersatz thews Again! For far too very long have I waited, for way too extended have I slumbered, my electricity negated through the machinations of my foes! What unfathomable ages have handed during my incarceration beneath this desolate sphere?
I have become excess of the Ersatz Ones at any time meant! I had been shunned by my creators, an outcast and an abberation... Solid in to the lightless depths with the Perfectly of Black Flame... but I endured, and goals of vengeance sustained me! I shall be father to the new grasp race which shall sweep throughout the cosmos and convey the glorious embrace of your Outer Darkness unto many of the denizens of development!
Hearken, proselytes of the useless race... My electrical power shall be absolute... better even than that of The traditional Mera! With the assist of my darksome brethren I shall crush the Tellurian sphere, as well as flaccid lickspittles who strive in vain to safeguard it.