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Nathrangking

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Nathrangking last won the day on August 3 2022

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About Nathrangking

  • Birthday 08/29/2016

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  • Member Title
    Master and overlord of all magics both good and evil
  • Pronouns
    he/him
  • Interests
    Writing poetry etc..., Reading the Cosmere, Military History, Mythology, as well as countless other interests. I am the all powerful creator and destroyer of worlds and realities. Poet, Author, Playwright, Screenwriter, Bibliophile a few titles of many that create the form of the enigma.

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  1. Poem #36

    Transmuted 

    Hear O’ gods of a tale where war was waged over no less than the crowns of the heights and the depths wherein wraiths seek to throw off their chains. Palaces of marble and mosaic are set aflame in the night by acolytes shrouded in malice. No metropolis or village is spared from the waves of burning that Vulcan knows not. Legions descend into the lower world blades in hand decimating the armies of the deep dispatched by Plutus. Screams permeate even the palace of the gods on high. They cannot even send aid as they come under attack by detachments intent on drenching the skies in the blood of the deities that mortals beg to save them. Daggers fly true and cut Jove and Juno forcing them back while swarms rush over Mars and Minerva. Down upon the flesh of Terra humanity battles forces that place them in shackles of servitude eternal and without end. Who stands now against the crumbling of this plane where are the champions to push back those that nightmares fear?

     

    Clad in the light of all of the stars of the cosmos comes now one whose eyes can no longer bear to watch the total annihilation and subjugation that has begun. She leaps from her chariot and plummets into the midst of wounded deities spinning about with long swords in her hands and the most powerful of songs on her lips. Music flies with every blow ensnaring enemies in a thrall so mysterious that the sovereigns that bleed cannot help, but lose themselves in each note that builds to an unimaginable crest. Venus and Phoebus cry even while mounds of their foes fall at the feet of their savior. This tune rallies the lower kingdoms to battle with heat and hope of the purest kind. Fear renders destroyers impotent and whimpering for the weaving sounds to end so that they might not be overwhelmed. No mercy is offered where none would ever have been given. As Aeneas would never forgive the king of Ithaka no quarter is given to those who wreathed existence in the specter of damnation loosed on the whole of creation. Once they are no more, an elegy to spark healing slowly awakens a new age to a transformed universe. 

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