Description
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In the heart of an otherworldly glade, A conclave whispered, a mystical brigade. Wizards of old, with staves held high, Chanting incantations to the starlit sky.
Their beards, a cascade of ancient lore, With robes that tell of the battles yore. Eyes aglow with the arcane's flame, Guardians of secrets, none dare name.
A spirit stag of celestial light, Antlers sprawling with power so bright. It casts its gaze, wild and free, O'er the sentinels of the elder tree.
Their magic swirls, a vibrant thread, Weaving spells where the mortals tread. In unity, their forces combine, With the pulse of the universe, they align.
The Arcane Sentinels, wise and revered, Hold the wisdom that the darkness feared. In the conclave's circle, where powers flow, They stand as one against the shadowed foe.
Each spellcaster, a silhouette in the dance, Of energies that twist, turn and lance. In the "Conclave of the Arcane Sentinels" grand, Lies the safeguard of the mystical land.