She called upon daemons, and vampires, and hoes. She called upon elves, and werewolves and her selves, she called upon lightning, and darkness, and hells. Flames of the damned spewed forth from her soul. But that's not what she wanted, no, she needed a coal. She produced one from her bag, and looked around aplenty. She lit all the lanterns, and set up a chimney. She looked about the gloom, and soaked up all the doom. Here in the void, Muramasia had much room. She toiled and bubbled, and sang creepy songs. If anyone was watching, they might see her thongs. Her clothes were quite scrace, traveling lightly for training. With any luck, she supposed, it might even start raining. Her glyphs shone bright purple, and she called upon the dark. She brought forth magic grimoires, and summoned a lark. A lark made of darkness, it shot forth like a rocket. It went to the lanterns, and swallowed them to pocket. The lark was of black, and dark purple too. It's purpose? To drown light. What else would it do?
She moved her hand swiftly, and found it quite knifty. Her spell was going well, so she found it quite thrifty. She shot it forth now, moving it to the next light. In dark wight's sanguine light, she brought the lamp's blight. An ominous wind, she moved it about. First north, then west, then south, then east no doubt. She moved her hands about, and caused the lark to turn. With every turn, it extinguished a burn. Flames in the lanterns were snuffed into darkness. Replaced by shade fire, an encroaching hardness. The lamps were extinguished, yet still cast out a glow. For Muramasia, this was just the beginning to show. Her brain had much knowledge, yet she'd been robbed of her powers. No matter, she supposed. She'd call forth dark showers. Her hands moved on again, and the lark moved quite quickly. The lanterns were lit, but the light came off eerie. Should anyone watch, she would explain if they asked, but otherwise, she too, would continue to be masked.