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Strange Tidings


Valannor
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The storm that had come to grace the southern shores of Almaris churned and roared - a near constant drone of the tempest assailing the oceans, perhaps to the dismay of the vinland nations. Any boat that dared sail those waters would seldom be seen again, those surviving few vessels and their crews speaking of unfathomable squalls and crashing waves that splintered wooden hulls like twigs ‘twixt a sailor’s hand. The sea was hungry, mayhaps-

 

And oh, would it feed again…

 

The Druidic Circles, august and sheltered within nature’s cradles, would be “gifted” a deep unease to wash over their vaunted sanctuaries of worship and service to the Balance, a constant anxiety that ‘crept long the spine and sent hairs to stand on end - for nature was worried, deeply so by whatever strange maelstrom of malefic birth had so afflicted the land and tides alike.

 

And for the cities of the land? Strange figures clad in frayed and tattered cloaks darted to and ‘fro, ‘tween the darkened alleys and misty docks - bearing tidings of a crimson fellowship, and the goods of a land so foreign that it begot wondrous and terrible thoughts of grandeur and esoteric cultural practice alike. ‘Pon the chapped, dry lips of these fellows would be a damned shanty, yet so strangely alluring as to inspire the most profound of curiosities;

 

“A blackened tide, a deceitful sea,

Accepting of all that there is and will be-

Come, ye dogs, to take this land;

And ye shall become a part o’ it instead!”

 

Spoiler

[!] The following vision is only known to slotted Seers of Vaasek

 


 

Paranoia- an ever constant within the mind of a seer, left them wracked with anxiety in the coming days. The constant sound of rain pattering and wind blowing, rushing through their ears even when neither were present- that they could at least see. Stricken, two haunting scenarios would play through their head- once, and never again. Yet certain was the knowledge that there was something terribly wrong.

 

The first image came through a ruined city, larger than any they had ever witnessed, or even thought to witness- pale stone structures crumbling, piercing the grey stormy sky as a certain air of dread perforated the foreign place. The background was the limit of their vision, fuzzy shadows akin to a static which numbed the eyes. The city was crowded, people feeling every possible place- every crevice, every inch of street, every window and every doorway, the dull alabaster colour of the city in webs akin to the drab colour of the people's apparel. Yet standing between them, the only figures seen moving- blazing, shrouded men and women in cloaks coloured a deep black. With their passing throughout the city, did many of that white crowd turn a violent orange in their passing- never fading, as these figures swept through the crowds.

 

The second image came through a ship upon waves, a blazing figure stood upon it's bowsprit, arms spread as that flaming messiah did not waiver in the face of the storm, the lightning which struck by, the water which sought to douse it's flame. The embers of the flame had never wane, yet the ship continued to tear apart on the sundering sea storm which persisted- the sense of time warped The Seer, feeling as if minutes, days, months, years would pass by in all but moments as they observed this ship and it's ablaze herald. Time did take it's toll, and the figure aged- weathering and withering, it's flame everbright as it continued through that tumultuous tempest.

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Evar'tir Oranor ponders 'pon the unease of the continent, deciding not to write it off as just a stress migraine.

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Someone looked upon the ruined city behind a set of.. Regifted goggles, gold-lined glasses clutched in one hand, Diddyfunkle herbs in the other. She could not help but watch the odd things going on in Freeport as she did her rounds, shuffling through the ruins and vines which held the place together.

 

"What do the Knowledge-Seekers want..?"

That woman wondered beneath her ragged breaths, gloved fingers running along that odd necklace of hers.

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Nutmeg is still trying to find someone to read her the esoteric tome given by one of these robed figures. She had hoped to get plushies instead, and does not find much use in a book if she cannot read! Alas, she needs to wait before finding someone willing and able to read her what she presumed was a bedtime story.

 

It definitely wasn't a bedtime story, though.

 

@bobbox @wan

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43 minutes ago, Carson said:

Nutmeg is still trying to find someone to read her the esoteric tome given by one of these robed figures. She had hoped to get plushies instead, and didn't find much use in a book if she could not read! Alas, she needs to wait before finding someone willing and able to read her what she presumed was a bedtime story.

Brother of East-Meets-West enjoys reading the various tombs that he hands out before going to sleep.

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvNRQPkgHTM

 

FROM the precipice of the sea-girt peninsula that was FREEPORT, one lord of old retired himself to a seat astride a threadbare crate. For however his age, that thane's taut of flesh was nigh unfurling; his age undone; and, wanton pleats and creases folding to and 'twixt, and across his temples, vacuous jowls blanched with an unseemly pallor — a token of his pestilence. He ruminated pedantically, the odd ringlet of his hoar, crepuscular locks twining 'round his moribund, bedizened digits, nails unseaming from his own fingers in ceaseless torpor.

 

HIS watchful, stolid cataracts laid bestead upon the wear and tear of one argosy ship's tatter-spangled, steepled sails, thrashing with the nigh tossing tempests and tides. Vistas of entropy and disorder opened up before him, languishing down the docks, whose stilts stood the tests of time, albeit begrimed and girded by the verdant sea's tongues of kelp and weeds.

 

AND, he murmured only in a delirium's bout, to none but the sycophant, leaden wind:

 

"WHAT SOLUTION DO YOU SEE FIT, SHEPHERD?"

 

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