[Prophecy] The Clawing Abyss

[ScreamingDingo 20568]

 

 

This is a prophetic vision accessible to seers, naztherak, farseer shamans, vivification clairvoyants, and mystics with hexing per Prophecy lore.
This vision is also bestowed upon characters that go to sleep after interacting with the event-site that this link appears on.

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

A whisper, as the dark room shrouds itself in the shadows of its centrepiece. The candle in the heart of nothingness burns ever so slightly as the shadows dance and attempt to extinguish the light. The tendrils never reach, and the embers bring light to where once the endless darkness took hold. Not a wind or a shudder follows the expanse, as you watch the light twist and turn against the encroaching non-existence of its flame. The absence of light, aiming to join it all in its endless struggle. Yet the flicker of flame remained, and the darkness was kept at bay, it could not fight against it, and it could not stop it.

 

 

 

Your body slowly aches as you come to the realisation of your new vessel, the slow bearing muscles that stretch upon your form, they bite into your bone and carry it akin to a puppet. The room that surrounds you is a decaying remnant of a castle, where its furniture had been torn away by the elements of decay and absence. A few tables are strewn with a few belongings, a few pieces of black rock and an ever presence darkness that lingers in the windows.

Thoughts rush through your head, many in words that you cannot fathom or understand their meaning, an alien language felt to gnaw inside your consciousness. Yet a few were remembered, utterances about worry and fear of incoming raids that have plagued the nearby villages. Many have been slaughtered by these strange creatures that lurk within the darkness, and their ferocity was something that stressed you to your very core. 

There had been messages of the impending attack where an envoy was sent to warn them to vacate their village. But you did not wish to leave your home, you wished to serve your King, one of Radiance. Your eyes carry themselves to another area as the decaying painting hangs, a regal reflection of the unknown figure. Their armour was emblazoned in a white tabard, with a black cross that ran across the bearing weight of the soldier. A crown of gold rested within its hand, as the faded paint of red and orange cast a veil of darkness beyond its head. The word “Phoenix” is deciphered, before your body pulls you towards the cupboard within the room. 

The deep toll of a bell chimes thrice, as the sounds of chaos and screaming thunder across the village. The scent of sulphur and blood quickly emerging from the windows as the howls of the horrors beneath exploded in such ferocity. The exchange of steel and fire harrowing, as you shook, your body froze at this emotion, pondering as many of these thoughts fell outside your grasp.

Uncertainty, unknowing, what laid beneath them? 

The clashing of steel continued as the screams for help and retreat echoed across the village, plumes of sapphire and black flame surged over its inhabitants as the legion marched forth. The fields were decayed and destroyed, decimated by forces unknown as the veil of night loomed above them. The buildings within the village were standing upon almost only their foundations, where time and stagnancy had consumed their walls and shelters. You peer outside the walls and see the omnibus force of destruction, obscured in armour made of Mordring’s ilk. The blackened, sharpened steel glinting in the flames that surged onwards. The crossbows of flame scorched across the fleeing figures, a sickening crunch following every shot that buried itself within those who ran. 

Creatures were rounded up, and orders were barked in a tongue that felt harsh for your ears. It stung, the words carried weight which buried itself into your eardrums. You surged to a nearby broken table to search for a weapon, discarded and scavenged equipment did not prepare you for this legion. A few blades were scattered in the piles, where the elements of their plane had shattered metal that once was found on the surface. 

A booming ‘crack’ is heard behind you, as two figures burst into the room. Their gauntlets extend beyond their wrists, trailing towards their elbows with twisted extensions of metal snaking to the heavens. Sapphire and gold scars illuminated themselves from the cracks in the metal, as they charge forth and slam maces wrought of the irons of the depths. Your hands aim to grasp, yet the sickening crack felt within your gullet causes your vessel to collapse. Your eyes hold heavy as the figures drag you through the castle that you burrowed in. Like a rat, the smallest crevice of this abandoned tower was inhabited by many like you, servants of the Radiant One, where he was so pre-occupied with other matters to not see the devastation within his kingdom. 

The doors open to the outside as the ebon-black heavens blanket overhead. You see the rounded up creatures, tied in chains of aurum or imprisoned in makeshift barriers of light, their screams ever piercing as the evil energy envelopes their forms. Their anchored bodies lie here, trying to escape the endless call of the heavens to stay within their home. Your legs tear upon the ground, the Aegisean foundations tearing at the makeshift armour you wore. Looted from a passerby that was sent to make audience with the King, you tore their skin off and made your form. A bitter understanding of what was to come embedded itself in your mind, for there was nothing after death. It was just silence.

You are placed in front of a small gathering of warriors, where a central figure carries itself with a poise of a commander. Its form was different to the others, where the grotesque armour appeared to have melded into their very form. Their right gauntlet was pure gold, with tinges of the black steel that many wore, as a giant blade of extreme proportions was lofted easily upon their shoulder. Its grotesque form had no refinement, where the blade had many jagged edges and lashings of glass that carried the souls of many. The commander then turned towards you, a helmet of a roaring lion facing your form, featureless from what laid within. A sinking, ever crawling feeling buries itself in your throat, you gasp for air, yet you do not even need it. Your heart pumps, yet it is phantom, it does not exist. The figure then lowers itself, revealing the mummified head embedded at the centre of their chest plate, a decaying skull of a woman whose face was contorted in an ever present scowl. Etchings of draconic sigils and tattoos were added post-mortem, as your gaze lies upon the white eyes of the fallen head. 

A single remark is exchanged between the group, before your body is cleaved in two. The searing pain, the sickening ferocity of mortality, the horrors of life, felt within your bones for a mere moment. The cleaved body, hewed from the sheer strength of the one ahead, as blackened bile and bone pour from your innards. A glint of sapphire is seen within the eyes of the helmet of the Lion, an ever present reminder of the struggles of this Kingdom. Peace could not be achieved, until one was dead.

Your body lurches as the warmth and intense heat of your wounds consumes your form. A glimmer of the roaring sun was found within the darkness as your eyes now look upon the flickering candle at the centre of the room. It does not waver, it does not stop.

It is there, always there.