[Prophecy] From Ruination

[Morigung-oog 5697]

 

...

[Music to set the mood...]

 

 This is a vision that only those able to view prophecies can see. This includes shamans with farsight, Mystics with Hexing, Seers, Naztherak and Naz-touched who have been inscribed with the boon that allows one to view prophecy. For more information on prophecies, click here.

 

 

In the prelude to your enlightenment, the reasons for viewing that which lies ahead are entirely your own. Whether you seek to scry upon the death of Xan, seeking answers in a crystal ball or simply decide to head for bed for the day, you find yourself pulled from the realm of consciousness quite abruptly, your body reeling as your mind leaves it behind, your vision starts to swirl and churn sickeningly and the surroundings you’d placed yourself in fading from sight.

...

It begins with not darkness, nor the flames of the hells, or even cryptic warnings of damnation. Instead, your vision is entirely overcome by a light so powerful, it may as well have been the only light in the world. True radiant, beautiful, stifling light in its purest, most captivating form. It starts off soothing, comforting, banishing the shadows that once dwelled within the corners of your vision, almost akin to a warm embrace, shielding your feeble frame from horrors innumerous.

 

A wave of unease washes over you, one that the light seems to register. This is not right, this is not your own calm. That once welcoming light grows more intense, and you feel your eyes begin to sting. That calming sensation, or rather the effort to impart it is doubled, no, tripled, yet all you feel is a growing sense of dread trying to pull you away from the siren’s song of tranquility. All too quickly, it becomes obvious. It is forcing you to like it, whatever the source may be, that once benevolent presence turning all too quickly to a controlling one. You fight, you struggle with every ounce of your being, yet it was not enough. While you are truly alone, it will never be enough..

 

You may fight for minutes, or hours, though eventually, you come to the harrowing realization that you are only prolonging the inevitable.

It will claim you.

Your breath catches, and whether you brace, or beg for mercy, it draws nearer. 

You await your fate.

 

It never arrives.

 

 

That burning light is consumed not by flame, but by darkness.

...

The shadows once creeping at the corner of your spotted vision do not seem so quite so menacing now. After enduring the shackles of light, the dark comforts you, or rather tries to. Once more, your emotions are your own. For better or for worse, they are in your control. You examine your new surroundings, in a brief scan; this is not true darkness, you ascertain, for off in the distance, an impossible distance, lies an even greater darkness. This one, like the light, unnerves you whether you'd like it or not.

 

Standing to the side of the far less threatening dark you find yourself in, which feels more akin to a cooling shade beneath a tree in a desert, is a figure, their head dipped ever so slightly, not in worship or reverence, but true unfettered, untarnished respect  to a peculiar construct. A rift not to the void, nor the Ebrietaes, the hells, or even the planes of gods, but to somewhere else entirely, one of partly mortal creation and one that lingers beyond immortal reach in the Material Plane towers before them much like the figure does over you. 

 

"The Sunlit Lord lies dead.

Those shackled by his will lie defeated, their resolve shattered.

Like many before them, their god has abandoned them."

A choral, cacophonous voice emanating seemingly from that figure rang out through the chamber, everywhere at the same time, all could hear, this was undeniable. It spoke with no malevolence, though still made no effort at sounding comforting, lingering somewhere between. Neutrality, balance, with that, a wish to impart truth. Your eyes well with tears, the light had hurt, burned and seared, yet in time, you were recovering. 

 

You know not why, but your attention veers off to the side, and there you see it; a mass, limp and lifeless. Its radiant glow had dimmed, and further flickered. The light it once blindingly emitted seemed to dull, the searing heat you once felt, undoubtedly inflicted by this creature, dying out. Upon closer examination, you ascertain that this is a predator, a lion with a shimmering, sun kissed complexion. Once able to prowl without fear of being preyed upon, it now lies dead, its fur singed with a flame that never truly extinguished and the imprint of a draconic army scorched along its body, a tapestry of its demise.

 

"A half-truth revealed.

His mortal followers not villains…

But victims to the whims of the divine.

Their godly influence imbues them with ignorance.

They feared their own liberation."

Once more you turn, an action sparked by your gut, pure instinct. Confusion festers within your mind, yet eases in part when you see those clad in divine armor, shackled by golden chains to the corpse of that charred lion, the one king of beasts, emperor of order. Their wails, screams and pleas echo out as those chains shattered, causing agony, yet liberating them from their eternal servitude from one who had refused to release his grasp until his dying breath. Some accept the breaking of these shimmering shackles, leaving behind no connection to the scorched lion, though others fight. Their own chains remain, yet dull until they are naught but a faint outline of what they once were. Once stood in a patch illuminated by  golden mists and blinding light, they fall, one by one, landing not in the darkness you find yourself in, but out of sight, elsewhere entirely. 

 

"An Aengul lies dead, and the world is fractured.

The immortals refuse to come to our aid…

They abandon us in our time of need as they so often do.

Ignorant to the wounds of man, many of which they have inflicted.

Still, they ignore the pleas of their servants to save them.

 

Once more does it fall to mortalkind to repair the damage sown."

Your pulse races, and you blink. For a few, fleeting moments, you are not in that endless chamber, but among the streets of many towns at once, mirrors of their real counterparts. Some you recognise, some you do not, likely belonging to continents outside of Aevos. Panic reigns supreme, sometimes made more obvious through riots and meetings, other times kept quiet, seeking to downplay the events that had unfolded but a few weeks ago. You see it, though, in the backs of their minds, they are scared. You know why, it is clear. Divines seldom fall, yet now the sun himself has met his end. His peers refuse to act.

 

 What will follow? Who, if any, will seek to replace him? Will they be benevolent, or take order to its extremities in the form of tyranny? Will the Betrayer, seeing one of his greatest adversaries fall, seek to make a play of his own? With descendant-kind and beyond at eachothers’ throats, who will be the bulwark that shields the realm from true evil? Xan was not perfect, yet still, he fought. His soldiers fought.
 

"We warned you once, of the folly of aengudaemonica.

We do not blame you for not heeding us.

You did what you thought was right.

 

Our order knew what awaited, and we have been preparing,

Not to fight but to mend the wounds of the remnant man.

Perhaps you see it now, they care not for you.

They never truly did."

 

Once more, you sit in that chamber, now much closer to the figure. Off in the distance, true darkness seemed to draw away, repelled, and the end delayed. The being turned, its steel visage, a masked gaze hiding its true expression. Regardless of your path, your creed, it peers down upon you with a neutral kindness, understanding your struggles, your worries of the unraveling events, radiating a calm likely previously unseen amidst the struggle and fear. Their armor was tarnished and rusted from overuse, though carried still clearly upon its surface a number of murals. A withered tree, a broken sword, a shadowed flame, an obsidian sun. You realize it now, but the figure is not towering above you due to their height, you are instead on your knees, not in prayer, but forced unto such by the light that has now long since been repelled. The gauntleted hand of the priest extends down towards you, an offer to aid you to your feet.

 

"What has been broken will be repaired,

Not by the meddling of gods, but by remnant MAN

In a manner befitting of the scorned descendants.

 

Calor Mors shall not yet claim its dues.

Radiant is the Black Sun."

 

Whether you choose to accept the aid or not, you begin to pull yourself to your feet, choosing to rise in the face of adversity as mortalkind always did, regardless of the threat they faced.

Just as you near a full stand, you awaken from your vision, drenched in a cold sweat. You feel no forced dread, nor comfort, as though the one who had imparted the vision unto you had given you the true freedom of letting your heart decide for itself.

 

An offer had been extended, but the decision was yours and yours alone.

 

 

Spoiler

Xionists are cooking.

[Frisket 4538]

"****!"

 

 

"where am I- oh thank solaris....do I mean that?"

"does he still exist in us...?"

 

 

Ember awoke from her sleep, as the vision came to an end. What is happening, what is she to do?

---

[Battlemage_Class 45]

Feeling like he had woken up from a waking-dream Aenerion gave his surroundings a quick gaze. Finding that it was only him in a dimmly lit alley within Celia'nor's capital he would pull his poncho's hood over his head and began for the tavern, or to maybe pass out the gates to home. Drenched in sweat and fairly frantic from his first vision ever. 

 "I hope this isn't a daily occurance and more something I ate today."

[rathat 868]

"Happy Pride month."  Stated the Barrowlord.