[Prophecy] [Dark Tidings] - You Are (Not) Alone (?)

[squakhawk 14043]

 

 

Waters of the north churned as grey waters of The Bitter Sea twisted tumultuously. Winds stirred the brine in the air as stone coloured clouds overcast The Drowned Strand. As embattled rocks were smashed by wave and wind alike, there seemed no reprieve of sunlight as the skies hung with a dimly lit haze.

 

Spirits in the air seemed active as The Heavy Heart, that which bound spirits to apparate within the land spontaneously, seemed to be far more active than ever seen before. The apparitions more plentiful as many manifested only in part, whilst others were convincing enough to pass as human.

 

Dread hung over the air like a headsman's axe, a feeling of discomfort that made all along the northern coast feel as if something was missing. An untended flame in the house, a memento not present upon their person, a goodbye that they had forgot to say - what was it?

 

 

 

The following is only available to those able to witness [Prophecy].

 

Your mind settled on it; whether you had felt the dread of forgetfulness before or not, it came to you clearly almost as an intrusive thought. You spun your head to the side and suddenly you were elsewhere, as if you had blinked with your eyes wide open. Stranded in an open, endless ocean with a storm that stretched across the horizon one way as turbulent grey waters shoved and kicked you around. Perhaps your anxieties were reassured; magical event is not something foreign nor far from reality. Visions plagued your mind in the past, did they not? Surely this one will pass.

 

But then you felt like minutes began to creep by.

 

You were cold; chilled to the bone as so thoroughly you were soaked with brackish waters of The Bitter Sea, dizzying you as your senses felt further and further faint. The feelings that rooted deeper and deeper within you. You clung to hope, you prayed that if this were a vision, that it would yet end. Else, you prayed a ship would come to your rescue. You'd even settle for flotsam that you could at least rest upon as your aching muscles began to beckon for a reprieve.

 

You were alone, and nobody was coming to save you.

 

Your vision clouded as the overcast storm skies blotted out any hope of sunlight, any warmth of golden rays which seemed salvation in your suffering. Your muscles began to weaken as you felt them so heavy, as if they would turn to stone. Your kicking legs slowed further and further as your arms stiffened by cold no longer brushed, but paddled to keep you afloat. Minutes kept ticking by as your head began to turn under, willingly or not, it seemed this would be the end. Saltwater stung as it filled your nose, mouth, and lungs as you choked for your last breath of air you'd already let go. With what little strength you had you struggled against the dying, the fading overcast light of the seawater above almost seeming heavenly from the seagreen abyss you sunk further and further into, away from the light.

 

Your eyes darkened as you lost sense of up and down, continuing to sink until suddenly you felt your back come to surface. You breached the waters, eyes coming wide open. You breathed, yet for some reason you felt you didn't need to. Not anymore. Your eyes rose up as you looked over your body; you felt cold, yet it hadn't bothered you. You looked upward as you saw a shadowy figure, the light of reflections casting the most dim glow upon what seemed to you a cavern that stretched endlessly from one end to another. The figure, whos skin of milkglass and hollowed eyes of amethyst mist, merely stood as it waited for you on one end of it's small riverboat. Oar in hand, the waters rushed by despite the eerie stillness of it all.

 

You raised your hand to the boat, grasping at it's edge as the figure outstretched one hand toward you. It seemed soft and smooth, something like porcelain as it observed without judgement - nearly pity. Your hand raised upward to take it's own.

 

 

 

You awoke then, wherever it was you once were upon Aevos, soaked in brine and coldwater as you coughed up the ocean which you felt had nearly drowned you.

 

 

 

The following is only available to those with the [Palmreading] MA.

 

A rattling voice whispered upon the winds, aching chains rumbling among a hollow chamber as the hoarse voice, seemingly with more vigor, spoke to you once again. That which brought the cold wherever you went, a freezing wind brushing by as snowflakes danced upon it's drift.

"Trust not the twice-deceiving winged son. Those who have chosen this fate have done so of their own volition. Do not take them from the path of their own make. I will still be your guide." 

 

 

 

 

 

[KidKrinkles 2044]

 

༶❖⊱༶༺❖⊰❖⊱❖༻༶⊰❖༶

The fog that swirled him had coalesced upon the frozen pool, due west of the eminent Mountain. In the shadow of the stone that reach to the skies and broke the sun did he pull his first into an embrace of haze, and, taking their soul into his own, brought them back to the heights he himself had once climbed.

“Rest.” He assured her, his hand going to her shoulder, eyeing the exhausted form. Truly they were words meant for both of them. The man wandered to his stall, and laid his head upon a table. A short snooze.

 

---

 

Salt and death upon the tongue. Brine forced down my gullet. I choked upon some mockery of life’s waters; surrounded, suffering, and yet I survived: floating. 

Fear, anxiety, and the cold, dark depths had pierced me to my bones like hooks. The pressure insisted I simply give in, and sink as a stone. Or perhaps the way out was ever forward; to swim from these troubles. But I could not make myself move in terror’s grasp. Time simply moved forward…. seemingly without me.

I had shivered in those depths, weighted down by my clothes, and my armaments, and croaked a dry plea into the air that turned stagnant in my cheeks and rasped against the sea’s crashing. A silent reply, though, in kind.
 

 

 

Death comes in many forms; and we die many deaths before true death. But, in the Abyssinian waters a hand did beckon myself aboard: not death, not mercy, nor salvation. A crossroads. I know not what lies ahead.

I took the hand; unknowing, as I have taken many hands blindly. 

A fool indeed. 

 

---

 

My eye flickered and my head spun in the otherwise empty square. A wandering eye; that trailed past the dancing shadows and the beguiling lies of probability; shapes that threaten to be real, should the Tarotmancer permit them-- should he act upon them. A shiver ran through him… wet like a dog, in Vjardengrad’s square: with a warning in mind, icily etched upon the forefront of his mind from an alien, eminent hand he had only just departed from.

 

༶❖⊱༶༺❖⊰❖⊱❖༻༶⊰❖༶