[Vision] Sycophancy

[Navigator 4260]

 

Spoiler

[ THIS IS A VISION ACCESSIBLE TO; Seers, Naztherak, and any others that may gleam Prophecies per approved Lore, as well as Inferi ]

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 RA’DRAKURZ RAHT ROKNOTH KUUL RA’VAZNAN AMOL TUL  𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

 

 

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 RA’DRAKURZ RAHT ROKNOTH KUUL RA’VAZNAN AMOL TUL  𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

 

You awake, but verily, you realise this is not life. It cannot be. For mere moments before you laid your head upon a cot, and closed your eyes in peace, opening your mind to the enlightenment of dreams. A biting cold lashed at your skin, clothes doing nary to provide comfort against the assail. As you gaze about the dreamscape you find yourself upon, your senses seem to finally speak to one another and synchronize, and you realise the cold upon your feet is liquid, and the river of blood between mounds of mud is evident.

 

On accursed crimson sky, clouds of bats, of the most varied sizes and demonic shapes, flew at terrifying speeds, guided by larger, more enlarged and grotesque creatures that you could not possibly classify as natural. The sheer presence of these creatures, alongside black clouds of smog, blocked the land ‘neath from its so needed sun. Where the blood had pooled beneath your feet, it remained current, though as you gaze and walk further down its crimson path, you realise you walk upon a battlefield, though you can make out very little of the nature of its fallen combatants. In the air, screeches and howling begin to fill your ears, echoing from the most diverse directions.
 

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 LIS XANDRAZA NOTUM ALZ LIS XANDRAZA NOTUM ALZ 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

 

A voice began to echo through the battlefield, resounding as if it was an amphitheater, clear and unmistakable. It resonated a chant, an infernal litany that repeated in the rhythm of a beating heart. From the skies, the clouds of bats echoed the sounds produced by the distant march, empowering that hellish march. To some, the words were screeching noises that made little sense, assaulting the ears and irking the brain. To others, the chant was clear and evident, a repeating declaration that burned itself into reality.

 

Metallic scents filled your nostrils, a mixture of iron, cadmium and sulfur, yet by some ironic mercy, your body was not made to violently react to the mixture of these metals. It was another layer upon the anxieties that already riddled your being; the ankle-high blood, the continuous auditory assault, and now, an olfactory mixture that threatened to tamper with your sense of reality. And so, the chant changed, another unmistakable message, echoed through the battlefield, bouncing off the iron on dead soldiers and rokodra on fallen inferi.
 

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 ZKRAMUTNA ZA’XANDRAZA, KROKUT ZA’XANDRAZA 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

 

A golden glint shines brighter than before upon a broken throne you’d somehow missed at the end of the flow of crimson that drenched your feet. As if drawn by some morbid curiosity that is evidently not your own, you command your body to move towards that decrepit seat, broken by both time and action, and as your feet sluggishly move through the thickness of the path, that golden glint grew brighter and brighter, its size hiding its magnitude, its allure.

 

It called and summoned you, beckoning, promising not great power nor great richness, or even eternal life. It merely offered peace, reprieve from the sensory overload that continuously pounded at your head, and would verily drive you to the edges of insanity if it continued. You felt the metallic odors begin to work their hallucinogenic magic, the continuous chant form a pounding migraine in your skull, and the incessant, unnatural way which the blood on your ankles flowed made you question the very laws that bound nature.

 

You reached a hand to that golden glint. Your fingers curl around the soft metallic surface of what turned out to be a ring, and as you pluck it from the snap of rotting stone, you slide it ‘pon your finger without a second thought, heeding the belief that it would bring about peace. As it settled upon your skin and its insidious influence spread, verily, it all stopped. The echoing sound of the marching chant, the feeling of discomfort from the continuous liquid flow, the hallucinations that boggled your mind. It all ceased, and was thus replaced by beauty; a choir of singing angels, visions of blessed men and women prospering, and a physical feeling of tranquility. Such uncanny peace, such complete stillness, abhors the chaotic mind that you have fostered, and it yearns once more for something. Something you cannot quite put your finger on. A final declaration, an insufficient ending, snaps at you in farewell.

 

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 NAKIT ROT TEKE NOTUM HIKHAR ROHN 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

You awake, sweat drenching your body, the state of your cot evidence of your thrashing. A battle, a herald, a relic, with far too many dots between them to be connected. In the dazed blur of this infernal nightmare, you cannot bring yourself to sleep once more.

[Xein000 264]

Spoiler

Who can see this vision?

Oh, I see now.