#fnip

Do not attempt to master these magics alone. There is only one dark lord in this universe, and he will crush you underfoot. Do not fall victim to your arrogance. Combat it with education.

Pure fel--It smelled like sulfur and choking smoke. While Cesta Rosewood touted her ability to endure a variety of environments, she couldn’t help but cough every time she came back here.

She loathed coming to Dreadscar Rift, but she knew she was at least safe. There was no killing on these grounds. Anyone who broke this rule was promptly strapped to a post, incinerated, and their soul thrust into a gem where it would serve as the defecating grounds of the nearest imp swarm for all shitty eternity.

Her surroundings were bright. No need to use her imitated echolocation and no need to see through Voz’s eyes. She stepped confidently and briskly through the charred grounds and into the center of an intricate-looking runic circle. Only one display of power was needed to activate it. The elf snapped her fingers, green fire sparking from the fingertips. The ground disappeared beneath her, sucking her in. And a mere fraction of a second later, she was spit out straight onto her feet on one of the adjacent rocky islands.

“Fnipper Folkor Zookenheimersteinbergbaum. I have a request.”