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Post by strages on Jan 23, 2008 13:21:01 GMT -5
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Can you hear it? It's the grinding of gears, as fate begins to turn its great crank - the rust squealing under pressure. Hoof prints upon the sand, the ones now dissapearing under the seas lapping tongue, tell tale of yet another arrival. And yet, is that cinder, from once where driftwood was. Hath a fire burned here, if not, then why the smoke? Legend tells of a Devils right hand man, they call him the Faolin. - spat directly out from the brimstone and ash that is the bowels of the d**ned-Nation. He has a mission - a plight - an utter desire. The world, it shall be his, and all in it shall bow to his whims. It is difficult, nay, near impossible. But perhaps, with the right leverage, Faolin can take spirit horse as his own - with all the equines cowering at his hooves!
Who's with Him? Join a rag tag rabble army, to take the island by force! We know its inhabitants wont go easily....(which leaves room for the alliances to ban together to destroy this new threat!!).
What do I need? Warriors of any gender! Loyal followers, spies, thieves, brigands! Princesses and foal heirs willing to be stolen from their cozy beds. Death is dawning, and it's a flame to remember.
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