We've all heard the stories of her, but her name must forever remain unspoken. There she stood, the High Priestess of Hell. They tell that to know her is to suffer the full tortures of Hell for eternity. She spoke to me, whispered, to look into her eyes. And as I did so, I saw the underworld ocean, black, under a sunless sky, with fumes rising from the surface were no water vapour; instead they curled and eddied with a silvery-white luminescence. Whisps danced closer. In her eyes, a fire that didn't consume, it just kept on licking coldly.

The witch priestess is a glimpse of death.
Her body pierced my eyes with sorrow. Her sexy curvaceous figure brought pain to it's knees. Her eyes resembled winter at it's coldest moments. She stood in a puddle of blood, the blood dripped down her fingers and rolled off her cheeks down her chin, onto the floor. Her blades were sharper than razors. She was barely clothed, when I looked into her eyes, I saw my life flash before me. She could kill you with her words. She was a creature of lust, denizen of men. Her touch made me shiver.

This was harder than I thought it would be, Great comp. :)

Magik keeps himself pretty well occupied, for the most part, time to time. When he's not engaging in underground activities, he like to relax in a seculded place, he calls home. Far from the city and society. Home is where the heart is, and he keeps the mind at rest. The gettaway he calls home, is where he spends most of his free time. He gets most of his rest by day, pondering deep dark thoughts at night. Sheltered from sunlight, hidden in society. With an entrance to the city not far away, he longs for the shadows.

Magik prefers Winters over Summers, it is the cold air at Winter, when he is most comfortable. It is the long nights and short days, that he enjoys the most. Accompanied by his women, is when he is mist relaxed. She eases his mind and sooths his body. Days go by, business takes it's toll , but it is at night when he plays.

A poem from the antiquity of Seraph:

Diamonds glistening in the sky
Stars in a field of black above
Silence makes the terror amplify
Civilization, this land is void of

Eyes glinting coldly
We stalk our prey boldly
Prowling with my pack
Fangs of steel
We attack with zeal
howling we attack

A Viking War song from the Old Ages of Northern Seguk.

A great and wondrous land
From tree to earth to sand
Many come together as one band
For those who call it an old or new land

This land of ours, what a wondrous place
Full of grandeur and free, open space
Unseen by almost nary a sentient face
Arise like a Phoenix should be the case

A place that we now can make our bed
Our people as one will need to be fed
New animals and plants we will have bred
A gentle reminder of all of our war dead

From the ashes will no longer be hollow
Scholae will now be the one to follow