[Colored Conclave] Metamorphosis, and a Plea

[Johann 2498]

 

 

Metamorphosis, and a Plea

 

        

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Sedating chains of abjuring energy fray in a silent corner of the world as a beast from beyond rouses from its lucid slumber. The Veilscribe’s intervention had brought the Descendants respite, enough to recuperate yet far from any lasting solace. As the Chromaweave burgeoned in its first foothold upon the world, one desire dominated all else: Hunger. The crepuscular spine of its garish, insectoid exterior gapes open like a yawning abyss. A shrilling cry follows as the surrounding world is reduced to drab monotony and sapped of its spirit. At this desecration, the stars weep, and the skies above the Chromaweave’s stronghold dull and blur as their mourning cries were smothered. 

 

Saturated and dripping now with pigments of stolen color, the weave of hues begins Metamorphosis.

 

Swish, swash. The strokes of an appendaged brush made its first impressions on the world as its arachnid artisan rendered living nightmares manifest. The eerie blackness of the once-crystalline bedlam of corruption transposes into a psychedelic maelstrom of colors, swirling and shifting as memories of Aevos are smeared into mistranslated imaginings. 

 

As its rippling, prismatic tapestry was woven into half-being, a distant hand plants a greater yearning within the Chromaweave - dissatisfaction, and desire for inspiration. Four appendages reach into the space between stars then arrive at far reaches of the world. Mages across the realm sense erratic, yet fleeting ripples of arcana from point to point, immersing itself within every crevice of ornate architecture, chivalrous statues and functional clinics.

 

What was once patchworks of madness then transmute themselves into imitations, uncanny facsimiles of creation as that straddled the limits of the disorderly psyche of the beast. The ground churns itself into a botched tapestry of the firmament as a palette to its craft while the skies, its canvas. Amidst a babelling storm of material, essence and thoughts actualized fragments of reality as the final touch, its magnum opuses that emerged as spitting recreations of places familiar to few and many. 

 

To the mundane, the Metamorphosis is unheard and veiled in ignorance of the arcane, but to any attuned to Voidal magic it manifests as fleeting yet foreboding anomalies: distorted premonitions and discolored reflections that remind you of a lurking Terror of the Dreamer’s Marsh.

 

Spoiler

 

 

Credits to @Calise11for this insane build :>

        

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The following message is only available to those deeply attuned to the Void and only accessible by tier 5 mages and atronachs. 

 

 

[!] Years of silence from the Veilscribe breaks on an unremarkable day. Familiar bands of energy weave itself into the form of a second message in your hand; the construct’s calligraphy carries with signs of a subtle weariness in each pen stroke, and the message reads thus:

 

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“Mages of the World,

 

The Veil frays deeper under the Chromaweave’s chaos. 

 

The time for preparations is now,

 

and I bring thee the means of its unraveling.

 

In the halls of the Mages Guild we shall assemble.

 

Fortify yourselves and come ready,

 

for the Chromaweave shall not stand idly by.”

 

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Spoiler

OOC note:

 

Howdy! The next event of the Colored Conclave eventline is being scheduled in the event discord and is set to take place as a siege-type event at the Mages’ Guild. Interim events and interactions related to this eventline will happen sporadically leading up to this event so be sure to join the discord for any updates and stay tuned! B)

 

A reminder that participating in this eventline is HARD-PK, meaning your character will be permanently killed if your only means of revival is by the monks.

 

Event Discord Link

[PrimnyaQuorum 4001]

Atop a tree, now devoid of the colors of life, the Pale-Elf sits and waits. 

 

He does not stir much when a familiar paper weaves itself upon his hand, but he does recline back.

 

The gemstone in his pocket blares a quiet fanfare; foreboding.