*A withered scroll written in inky, archaic scripture arrives at the decrepit gates of Sophanem. It is tied by a thin, crimson strip of fine silk from the utmost greatest silk worms to behold in the Eastern Lands. An aura of arcane energies envelopes you as your body nears the letter that seems to be from the Gods themselves. A strange, faint blue hue emanates from around the holy message - a spectacular sight that seemed as beautifully blinding to simple mortals as the runes of an Elder Scroll. Your gnarled, root-like fingers reach out in desperation to grasp this omnipotent message; this breathtaking parchment. A gasp escapes your chapped, broken lips. Sweat beads up in sparkling droplets on the crest of your forehead and trickles down your visage. The heat of the harsh Kharid is growing upon you. As time slows, it seems as if centuries pass before your disgusting, mottled hands grasp the ancient scroll with the tender touch that a (somewhat) venerable old fellow like yourself would possess. Your sunken in and aged grey eyes watch in awe as the brilliant message is brought within clear eyesight by your nauseating mittens. Tentatively and with such shaky grace that your hands are endowed with due to the influence of harsh deserts and time, you begin to unfurl the fine silk and withering parchment. Upon opening the tattered old slip of fading words, it sang out to you as if a libretto read by gods with golden voices..*
"Please allow for fifty to one-hundred pages of reserves."
"Oh, and please don't break my reserves! Thanks."
*The message that took so long to receive, that took so blistering long to view, and so unfathomably long to read .. concluded with a smiley-face and the three-toed, clawed print of some scaled beast.*
~ Kepesk :^)
Storm
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Kandarin
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Vekon
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USAF
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N
A
S
A
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.