The Light of Our Ancestral Blade Slips Into The Base of your sandcan-darklands Skull

The Time of, The Reign of Terror by the sandcan djinn has reached its end.

Nature bound, taunt and celebrate, make it bleed in fear. Slit your throat in bind, oh, no, this reparation too kind.

Feel; White Hot Heat, The Purity, of Our Sacred Ancestral Northern Spirits Blade slip effortlessly into the base of your polluted, diseased, darklands savage skull.

Days of Old, Fertility of Our Sacred Ancestral Lands, Fields, Warriors Blood-n-Entrails did provide. Not so with you, Our Sacred Ancestral Lands, your diseased blood not worthy the Warrior kind, pollute Our Sacred Ancestral Lands with your diseased blood, will not do.

Piked heads on high, eyes of colour terror doth protrude for Our Sacred Ravens to feast! Bodies burning far below. Airborne ashes carried to the sky above, carried on Our Sacred Ancestral Northwinds, The Northwinds of War Doth Blow Cold upon the southwinds of savage darklands heat!

Splatter blood on your mantles, discover your fabular, sandcan-darklands djinn impotent, on your knees pleading to no avail; No Quarter Given!


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