Roronoa-Forte [2012-04-12 12:14:25 +0000 UTC]
And all while he rests in the pit where he skid to a halt on the floors of the cavernous realm of Deepholm, the Cult of Twilight swings its hammers ceaselessly, pounding in the stakes that hold the armor to the hide of the Aspect of Death. The plates are pressed glowing red-hot to his scales, and he screams in pain, thrashing and flailing, every movement swaying and heaving the earth above. Tidal waves obliterate shorelines with every beat of his ragged wings. His return to Azeroth is like that of a supervolcanic eruption, belching clouds of black smoke and miasma from the elemental plane and throwing the swirling Maelstrom into an even greater state of chaos, if that were even possible. His mere passing heralds ultimate destruction, everything he touches forever scarred.
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