09-12-2023, 04:20 AM
All eyes were upon the Sainted Enclave, now.
The fel forces of the once-Deep Hold have become more active, but their eyes were not further than the immediate target at their doorstep.
Skarnfel would be worryingly silent after the Fel Garden was claimed in their name.
Even though there was but a promise that the Enclave would burn by their whims, and the wings of the Avincus stripped by the Demon King itself...
There was no response. Not a single fel creature, be it man or otherwise, would march upon the dunes.
Not even a whisper, not even a word from the Lord of Knowledge.
The Era of Change did not extend to just the demons, witches, and fel-aligned wreaking havoc across the stained countryside of the Shadowlands, and all around it.
This was to be expected. Welcomed, in fact.
Man against man, even in these dire times, when demons were at the door, and the power of the Marquis, even the sealed, were reaching a pinnacle unseen before.
The Demon King would not have it any other way.
There was, of course, the ever-present feeling of the gaze of thousands upon thousands of eyes.
After all, all eyes were upon the Sainted Enclave, now.
Perhaps it was an air of admiration or respect for the movements of one it has been idly tracking throughout the years.
Maybe it was the simple wonder of watching the massive animunculi ravage the dunes, marching to the trumpets of mechanized war thrums.
Or even the idea that the Enclave would resist such a monumental war effort, and possibly behold the death of some of its enemies.
Whatever the case, the silence was cold.
![[Image: image.png]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/715205660244967526/1151003330542317668/image.png)
And the stare was colder.
The fel forces of the once-Deep Hold have become more active, but their eyes were not further than the immediate target at their doorstep.
Skarnfel would be worryingly silent after the Fel Garden was claimed in their name.
Even though there was but a promise that the Enclave would burn by their whims, and the wings of the Avincus stripped by the Demon King itself...
There was no response. Not a single fel creature, be it man or otherwise, would march upon the dunes.
Not even a whisper, not even a word from the Lord of Knowledge.
The Era of Change did not extend to just the demons, witches, and fel-aligned wreaking havoc across the stained countryside of the Shadowlands, and all around it.
This was to be expected. Welcomed, in fact.
Man against man, even in these dire times, when demons were at the door, and the power of the Marquis, even the sealed, were reaching a pinnacle unseen before.
The Demon King would not have it any other way.
There was, of course, the ever-present feeling of the gaze of thousands upon thousands of eyes.
After all, all eyes were upon the Sainted Enclave, now.
Perhaps it was an air of admiration or respect for the movements of one it has been idly tracking throughout the years.
Maybe it was the simple wonder of watching the massive animunculi ravage the dunes, marching to the trumpets of mechanized war thrums.
Or even the idea that the Enclave would resist such a monumental war effort, and possibly behold the death of some of its enemies.
Whatever the case, the silence was cold.
And the stare was colder.