[Prophecy] RETRIBUTION

[scoobi 124]

P R E F A C E

 

Spoiler

[This is a post visible to all Seers, Naztherak, Clairvoyants, Veilwatchers, Shamans, Nephilim, and all others with prophetic abilities per Prophecy lore.]

 

 

[OOC]

 

Hiya! I wanted to give a little preface– I did not write this alone. The epic and amazing @Travisty not only helped with the writing itself, but also listened to my rambles about the content (a very crucial step). Besides them, I also appreciate all who allowed me to bounce ideas off of them and listened to my various crash-outs and lock-ins.

 

R E T R I B U T I O N

HE WHO WAS SCORNED SHALL NOT LIFT HIS SWORD IN HASTE

 

In the respite of the night, the contentment of slumber, a presence moved, something began to stir. Thoughts slithered in unseen patterns, rationality ceasing as whispers stirred the minds of many. A subtle hand poked and prodded, guiding the crowd unnoticed— distorting LOYALTY into DOUBT, TRUST into SUSPICION. Few perceived it, fewer still understood, yet the course of their hearts shifted all the same. They strayed from those who once guarded them, following their False Prophet like LAMB to a slaughter.

∝╬══→

When eyes opened, a city stretched before them, neither fully remembered nor entirely unknown. Narrow streets connected buildings, towering shops loomed over bustling squares, and fountains splashing into courtyard conversations. In the midst, a figure hovered. Golden-eyed, hair akin to the hue of rising dawn, faint wings brushing the air. The figure stood apart, yet prominent, a presence both distant, yet alluring. The townsfolk moved around the gilded being, each step foggier than before, leading the people further from reason.  The streets were plagued with laughter, but the feeling was impossible to shake. The figure called for attention suddenly, and idle wings fluttered. A mouth moved, but no sound escaped. Where sound failed, actions began to fill.

 

LIBERTY SPIRIT  JUSTICE FREEDOM GOSPEL LAW POWER AUSPICE THRONE VIRTUE ORDER PEACE

 

CANTICLE FAITH CHARITY TEMPERANCE PATIENCE DILIGENCE HUMILITY FIDELITY GENESIS EPISTLE

 

THUS SAITH THE LORD:

🝐 I. PALEGUS SANGUINIS |  THE BLOODIED DEEP   “THE WATERS CRIED BLOOD, ENSLAVED BY THE MACHINATIONS OF THEIR VESSEL.” The fountain sputtered a death croak, the water transforming into a deep, arterial red. Thick and heavy upon the tongue, a metallic tang coated the mouth, blood seeping from the crevices of the city. From every basin, gutter, stream, and faucet, the crimson tide flowed without end, coating cobblestone in its sanguine reflection. Beneath the surface, shapes writhed. They were neither fish nor shadow, instead an ever-restless thing, waiting for the call of its MASTER.   🝐 II. CARMEN PESTILENTIAE | THE HYMN OF PESTILENCE   "ITS HYMN RATTLED THE LAND, HARBINGING THE DECAY TO COME." The farmlands grew still beneath an air swollen with hum and hiss. From burrows and hollows poured forth the crawling host. Its grotesque wings shimmer. Before it, the world trembled with ceaseless motion. Clothed in chitin and whispering their endless courses did its children emerge, their wings like drums of war– the song of pestilence to a fever pitch. Livestock collapsed beneath the ground, and the soil of farmland heaved, crops riddled through with ROT.    🝐 III. NATUS DOLORIS | BORN OF SUFFERING   “THE ROT FESTERING WITHIN HAS NO CHOICE BUT TO FLEE OUTWARDLY.” A cacophony of bodily clarity, overrun by newfound heat from within, growing unbearable. The BODY rebelled against the SOUL. Cries rose from behind barred doors, echoing down hollow streets. The sounds descended, festering until they could no longer be heard; those who sought relief in prayer were met only with SILENCE.    🝐 IV. SOL OBSCURA | THE BLACK SUN    “THE LIGHT GREW ASHAMED, AND HID ITS FACE FROM THE LIVING.” Where once the light had crowned the fields, it now recoiled. The HEAVENS dimmed to a bruise of shadow. A sun choked in its cradle, eclipsed, the world unmade beneath its dying glow. The fountains ran black, the sky wept, and faces turned heavenward only to find their own damned reflections staring back.    🝐 V. CADENTIS FILII | OF THE FALLING SON “AND THE FIRST WHO ROSE WOULD BE THE FIRST FELLED.” The flashes continued, but no longer did the legions trample the now-scorched lands. For what felt like eternity, silence followed, brief intermissions of screams, hundreds compiled into one. The gaze awoke once more, an enveloped figure kneeling before it. Finally, hands clawed onto the figure, a tear ripping through their very vessel, before darkness followed suit. High above, the False Prophet watched. Golden eyes gleamed like those of molten suns, and a smile, devoid of the previous false compassion, fueled instead with pride for which he struck the FAITHFUL. From his lips came the absence of pity, replaced with laughter, as the FIRST BORN reaped the damnation he sowed.

“THEY WILL STILL CALL UPON ME, THOUGH I NO LONGER ANSWER”

 

 

Edited November 11, 2025 by scoobi
gospel

[Cheese 8883]

In the middle of the night, a woman awoke, and she bolted upright. She never dreamt—not on purpose. No, this meant something. Her breathing quickened as she replayed the prophecy; the blood, the famine, the death. A hand was placed to her temple as she considered its possibilities.

Her mind was made up quick. A glance was spared to her husband. Whether or not he was still asleep wasn’t entirely known to her, but she made no effort to stir him. Rather, as quickly and as stealthily as she could, the woman made out of bed and the room. She held no care for even putting on shoes. No. Rather, she sprinted to the aviary with the moon as her only guide. Letters were written in a panic, and just as hastily sent off. This prophecy was no far-off future, and she knew. Its realization would be imminent.

 

[Navigator 4260]

 

 

And rarely did they bring any manner of satisfaction. Gleaming meaning from them had become second-nature to the Archprince, a notion that wriggled itself within his brain ever since the Pontiff declared him prophet and given meaning to the madness that plagued his mind. Insanity was the commencement of wisdom, and recently, these infernal dreams, sycophancies of the Hells, had become all too common. Though he attributed most of it to the Dread Mother’s influence in his mind, this time, he could tell it was not her. No. It was intoxicating, to the point that it was almost sickening to be within such a dream. Noxious in a way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He listened, he saw, he absorbed, and this dream - like any other - would have its meaning gleaned and interpreted. But he felt such an intrinsic pull to it.

 

 

He did not possess the capacity to divinate, yet he felt like he had seen all of this before, or at least, envisioned this through words of another. As he woke - the first time he’d slept in a good while, his palms came up to cover the eyeless sockets, rubbing idly at the scarring on his face. Would this prove difficult? He didn’t know. But there was far more that needed to be put in place than sit and ponder. One final thought plagued his mind, and it kept repeating the same sentence over and over;

 

 

[xo31 3979]

BONE COLD. SUN DEAD. UNLIFE ETERNAL. PALE, O', SO PALE.

 

 

A HORRIBLE THING, WRACKED WITH PAIN AND MISERY AND GRIEF, SCREECHED TOWARDS THE WALLS OF THE CAVE IT FOUND ITSELF IN UNTIL THE VERY STONE CRACKED. IT WAS ANGERED. SUCH A POWERFUL BEING, AND YET, IT WAS WEAK, FOR IT STILL FEARED.

IT WAS WEAK, SO IT WAS DENIED ACCESS TO THE CLIMB.

IT WAS WEAK, AND SO IT FOUGHT THE HORDE.

IT WAS WEAK, AND SO IT FOUGHT THE BLACK CHURCH.

IT WAS WEAK, AND SO IT FOUGHT ƎNO⅄ɹƎΛƎ.

 

DESPITE THIS ALL, THE CHOIR STILL SUNG. EVERYONE WHO HAD CROSSED IT COULD HEAR THE SONG IN THEIR MOMENTS MOST VULNERABLE. IN THEIR NIGHTMARES, IT CAME FOR THEM. IT WAS POSSESSING EVERYONE AROUND THEM. IT WAS THEIR DOG. IT WAS THEIR CAT. IT WAS THEIR WIFE. IT WAS THEIR HUSBAND. IT WAS THEIR SISTER. IT WAS THEIR BROTHER. IT WAS THEIR DAUGHTER. IT WAS THEIR SON. IT WAS THEM.

[Morigung-oog 5697]

2 hours ago, scoobi said:

P R E F A C E

 

  Hide contents

[This is a post visible to all Seers, Naztherak, Clairvoyants, Veilwatchers, Shamans, Nephilim, and all others with prophetic abilities per Prophecy lore.]

 

 

[OOC]

 

Hiya! I wanted to give a little preface– I did not write this alone. The epic and amazing @Travisty not only helped with the writing itself, but also listened to my rambles about the content (a very crucial step). Besides them, I also appreciate all who allowed me to bounce ideas off of them and listened to my various crash-outs and lock-ins.

 

R E T R I B U T I O N

HE WHO WAS SCORNED SHALL NOT LIFT HIS SWORD IN HASTE

 

In the respite of the night, the contentment of slumber, a presence moved, something began to stir. Thoughts slithered in unseen patterns, rationality ceasing as whispers stirred the minds of many. A subtle hand poked and prodded, guiding the crowd unnoticed— distorting LOYALTY into DOUBT, TRUST into SUSPICION. Few perceived it, fewer still understood, yet the course of their hearts shifted all the same. They strayed from those who once guarded them, following their False Prophet like LAMB to a slaughter.

∝╬══→

When eyes opened, a city stretched before them, neither fully remembered nor entirely unknown. Narrow streets connected buildings, towering shops loomed over bustling squares, and fountains splashing into courtyard conversations. In the midst, a figure hovered. Golden-eyed, hair akin to the hue of rising dawn, faint wings brushing the air. The figure stood apart, yet prominent, a presence both distant, yet alluring. The townsfolk moved around the gilded being, each step foggier than before, leading the people further from reason.  The streets were plagued with laughter, but the feeling was impossible to shake. The figure called for attention suddenly, and idle wings fluttered. A mouth moved, but no sound escaped. Where sound failed, actions began to fill.

 

LIBERTY SPIRIT  JUSTICE FREEDOM GOSPEL LAW POWER AUSPICE THRONE VIRTUE ORDER PEACE

 

CANTICLE FAITH CHARITY TEMPERANCE PATIENCE DILIGENCE HUMILITY FIDELITY GENESIS EPISTLE

 

THUS SAITH THE LORD:

🝐 I. PALEGUS SANGUINIS |  THE BLOODIED DEEP   “THE WATERS CRIED BLOOD, ENSLAVED BY THE MACHINATIONS OF THEIR VESSEL.” The fountain sputtered a death croak, the water transforming into a deep, arterial red. Thick and heavy upon the tongue, a metallic tang coated the mouth, blood seeping from the crevices of the city. From every basin, gutter, stream, and faucet, the crimson tide flowed without end, coating cobblestone in its sanguine reflection. Beneath the surface, shapes writhed. They were neither fish nor shadow, instead an ever-restless thing, waiting for the call of its MASTER.   🝐 II. CARMEN PESTILENTIAE | THE HYMN OF PESTILENCE   "ITS HYMN RATTLED THE LAND, HARBINGING THE DECAY TO COME." The farmlands grew still beneath an air swollen with hum and hiss. From burrows and hollows poured forth the crawling host. Its grotesque wings shimmer. Before it, the world trembled with ceaseless motion. Clothed in chitin and whispering their endless courses did its children emerge, their wings like drums of war– the song of pestilence to a fever pitch. Livestock collapsed beneath the ground, and the soil of farmland heaved, crops riddled through with ROT.    🝐 III. NATUS DOLORIS | BORN OF SUFFERING   “THE ROT FESTERING WITHIN HAS NO CHOICE BUT TO FLEE OUTWARDLY.” A cacophony of bodily clarity, overrun by newfound heat from within, growing unbearable. The BODY rebelled against the SOUL. Cries rose from behind barred doors, echoing down hollow streets. The sounds descended, festering until they could no longer be heard; those who sought relief in prayer were met only with SILENCE.    🝐 IV. SOL OBSCURA | THE BLACK SUN    “THE LIGHT GREW ASHAMED, AND HID ITS FACE FROM THE LIVING.” Where once the light had crowned the fields, it now recoiled. The HEAVENS dimmed to a bruise of shadow. A sun choked in its cradle, eclipsed, the world unmade beneath its dying glow. The fountains ran black, the sky wept, and faces turned heavenward only to find their own damned reflections staring back.    🝐 V. CADENTIS FILII | OF THE FALLING SON “AND THE FIRST WHO ROSE WOULD BE THE FIRST FELLED.” The flashes continued, but no longer did the legions trample the now-scorched lands. For what felt like eternity, silence followed, brief intermissions of screams, hundreds compiled into one. The gaze awoke once more, an enveloped figure kneeling before it. Finally, hands clawed onto the figure, a tear ripping through their very vessel, before darkness followed suit. High above, the False Prophet watched. Golden eyes gleamed like those of molten suns, and a smile, devoid of the previous false compassion, fueled instead with pride for which he struck the FAITHFUL. From his lips came the absence of pity, replaced with laughter, as the FIRST BORN reaped the damnation he sowed.

“THEY WILL STILL CALL UPON ME, THOUGH I NO LONGER ANSWER”

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

Small heads up. Veilwatchers don't get to view prophecy posts outside of voidal tear and horror related ones 

 

[PrimnyaQuorum 4003]

1 hour ago, Morigung-oog said:

 

 

  Hide contents

Small heads up. Veilwatchers don't get to view prophecy posts outside of voidal tear and horror related ones 

 

Spoiler

we're all palloposting. 

 

[Moumins 378]

 

•• ━━━ ••⬡•• ━━━ ••   A LONG EYE WAS ACCOSTED  IN MEDITATION,   𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚁𝚄𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙳 The One-who-Loves, ꫀ᥅ꫀꪑꪊꪀ, spent the rest of that afternoon at the forge. A hammer dismantled many chains that day.  •• ━━━ ••𒋝•• ━━━ ••