A Vision of Chaos | THE GREAT OWL

[Werew0lf 12005]

A VISION OF CHAOS

The Great Owl

محاكمة الجن

 

The oracle dread and some hideous owl sat within the confines of a small hut. A covenant of hooded cultists encircled a lectern with a singular candle. With a swift gesture of its flaring wings, the diabolical owl extinguished the burning taper. All candles on the wall sconce began to simmer out, engulfing the cave into a darkness touched by the abyss.

 

A looming shadow of sprawling arms shot out and began to clamber across the terrain. It would reach the Fortress of Caros Anor and would seep through the doorway of the first house, designated nearest to the lift. Upon clawing its way across the stone, the mysterious silhouette lay plastered across the wall of the renowned Keeper; Alatariel of Itnan. 

 

For this night would be known as the Starting of Ruin, as the paladin would soon find out. The horrendous stick-like claws of the shadow would sprawl outwards, before it would plunge itself towards the bedside of the sleeping lightbearer. 

 

The nightmare began.

 

 

@Valannor

 

[!] This vision would be in the first-person perspective of a human peasant. 

 

You run across the field of burning wheat and plumes of soot. It is as warm as the scorching sun, and you can feel your skin scathing. The nascent screams of men and women fill the area. 

 

In the distance, you can see burning houses covered in raging flames. They are not of normal composition, being violet in hue and covered in gentle sparks of electricity. As you are forced to approach it by your fearful body, a great hand clenches at your foot.

 

It is a dying child, pleading for a saviour. The gasps of the child end fruitlessly, now laying still with dull and lifeless eyes.

 

As you continue past the shield of ebon-black smoke, you come across a large opening filled with a blinding flame. It is a mountainside where a river once existed, running through the town. However, this river no longer sat, now left evaporating with a rivulet of stone and fleshy bone upon its bed.

 

On top of the mountainside, a crimson longsword lay struck in the depths. You see people run by and flee, but you are too focused on the sword. It has eyes that read of the past, the present and the future. 

 

You glimpse into the longsword, but find that it is not the old memories of Alatariel, but that of the peasant in which you share this vision with. 

 

It then comes. A beating that was reminiscent of a heart thrice the size of any great beast. However, this did not come from a heart, but from something more. You see large wings flaring seismic waves across the air, ripples that topple the forest trees and open a clearing.

 

This boney amalgamation spewed viscera upon the mountainside. It was a foe unmatched by any. You look down at your hands, and they ache in fear. 

 

You turn to flee, running back towards the unknown human town. It does not seem to remind you of any other town in the continent of Almaris, for it was too scarred to be recognized. 

 

As you look back to glance, two skeletal figures sit upon thrones carried by necrotic thralls and imps. One lay in rich clothes, He who is known as Gashadokuro. The other stared emptily at the town, disregarding it as nothing of great importance, for the Lord Adramelehk knew it was a part of the design set out for them.

 

RUMBLE.

 

Something begins to quake upon the earth. You stare back once again, only to be met by the great lich-dragon storming a hideous miasma of electricity within its maw. The thunderbolt spewed out from its maw, and headed towards you.

 

[!] Before the violet bolt hits the peasant, Alatariel would awaken in cold sweat, if she could sweat. She would momentarily see the reflection of the Great Owl upon the panes of her window and those shadows that lurked. They disappeared afterwards, never to reappear. 

 

[Valannor 6345]

Alarmed, the Keeper awoke. Sweat ran thick upon her brow, her breaths labored and frantic as she caught sight of the Owl's silhouette upon her windows, illuminated by the crack of lightning which streaked across the sky in the midst of a storm. A trembling hand fell to a familiar gauntlet kept by her bedside, as she looked on for hours to the night sky beyond - until the stars wheeled overhead, and dusk turned to dawn. 

 

"This fate shall not be allowed to come to pass- this... petty destiny shall not manifest. It can not..."