Vincent Winter
Xisdor Philip Crosen
Fedup Corn
Lionell Salem
Phoenyx Xadun
Winter pushes the door open and the feeling that crashes through the open door is a cold and malevolent chill, a sense of utter darkness overwhelming and endless, not a void, not nothing, the clear and presence awareness of the very tangible and real sense of darkness itself a manifest thing in truth. The shadows are to deep, the stretch to far something that could only really be appreciated once it is experienced. Into this spartan space of the opposite of light they go. Winter, Corn, Philip and Salem.
Philip spends several seconds aiming the spell, as he allows the fates to eddy and flux around him seeking the calm in the chaos, the pattern in the indiscernible, and casts out a prophecy into the supernal winds of arcadia. He wants to know what must come to pass to prevent the text messages compromising the mages who sent them. He sees the image of satellite dishes spanning the city attached to buildings, of red bleeping lights picking up and redirecting the near infinite stream of information high way of reams and reams of computer data storing itself into logs processing and picking out key words in dark rooms, the room goes fully dark, silent and still, all lights and all electronics dead, that is what he must achieve to safeguard his device.
Phoenyx unseen an silent has run of the compound the nearest building has a what looks like a dead body outside it wit ha group clustered around, workers run pipes out of the middle building in a buzz of activity and the furthest building is still without power.