THE WAY THE WIND WHISTLES THROUGH THE ARCANE FOREST, THE LEAVES RUSTLING IN THE BREEZE, THE TRUNKS OF THE TREES TWISTING INTO A POWERFUL DEITY THAT WATCHES OVER THE WOODS WITH A GAZE THAT COULD TURN PULSING BLOOD INTO BROKEN STONE. FOR THE WOODS WILL REIGN OVER THIS FORGOTTEN REALM AND NO MAN COULD EVER PENETRATE THIS EIDOLON OF LINGERING MAGIC THAT THRUMS TO BURST FREE.
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THE TREES WHISPER SECRETS THAT HAVE BEEN CONSIGNED TO OBLIVION WITH HUSHED VOICES THAT WHEN JOINED TOGETHER, COULD BRING THE END OF THIS DRIFTING ENDING. AND IT WILL NOT BE A FAIRYTALE. THE GODS WILL DESCEND UPON US WHEN HEARING THE CALL AND LIFT THEIR SHARPENED SWORDS FORGED WITH WILDERNESS AND CUT US DOWN LIKE WE WERE NOTHING BUT SPECTERS PRETENDING TO BE SOMETHING MORE.
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BUT FOR NOW THIS TWISTED FOREST OF POWER AND QUIET RAGE WILL SIT IN FOREBODING SILENCE, WITH THE INDISTINCT WORDS SOFTLY VOICED BY THE STILL WORLD. THE VENOM THAT SLOWLY TEARS AT THE VEIL IS EVER SO SLOW, BUT THEY CAN WAIT, FOR THAT IS WHAT THEY HAVE DONE. THE POISON WILL SPILL OVER THE EDGE AND THE DEITIES WILL EMERGE WITH THE SUN AT THEIR BACKS, SILHOUETTES OF POWER. THE WORLD WILL BEGIN ANEW, AND THE DESOLATE APOCALYPSE OF MADNESS WILL UNLEASH. BUT FOR NOW WE WAIT.
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