[First Light] Dark Tremors

[Pallodium 3775]

 

D ᴀ ʀ ᴋ   T ʀ ᴇ ᴍ ᴏ ʀ ꜱ

 

 

[!] As the pure and pristine are met with the prose of the divine, the viler beings of the waking world feel the tremors of the archaic resonate in their souls. No crevice or vestige of Azuras was left spared from a rumbling tremor; decay begins to splinter the orchards and groves of the continent, fruit plummets from the crowns into rotten growths, before too deteriorating into mouldered dust.

 

The following prophecy is available to all practitioners of dark magic, current and former, and all individuals possessing [Prophecy].

This is either received in a dream, a walking vision, or a stupified trance when you view this post.

 

It has been no more than a half-moon since the inglorious visions of the abyss sweltered over your minds. Dregs of that scene echo in your mind, even as you lapse into another trance- flashes of stagnated miasma, of oil-seas and blackened debris, all dredging to the foreview of your cognizance. A voice resonates- yet it is not of the chorus familiar to you. It is harsh, bitter, vile, deafening- ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱɢʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴇᴍᴏɴɪᴄ ᴍᴀɴᴛʀᴀ.

 

A chant of the archaic, a chant invoked by a plurality of beings- each cobbled together by a vehement effigy from the beyond, diffusing and bidding the impure choristers to incant forth. A foul, epicine voice rumbles like a mountain, gravelling grim, sacrosanct verses at an arrhythmic tempo. 

 

ƬȪ ƳȬŲ, ƑÍṞṦȾ ḾÕṪȊȎŅ ÕḞ ǞḸꝈ ȾĤĮŅƓṨ,

ṪĦȺƮ ẄĦĮƇĦ ɃƗṆḌŠ ḄȄꞒǬṀȊŅḠŚ ṪǾ ƊÊĆӐỲ;

 

ṰӨ ƑÖŖḈɆ ĄṊḌ ȾØ ŜǙḄṦṮǺŅĆĒ,

ȾÕ ḨÛǸĜȆŖ ǞṈƊ ṪŎ ḞǾŘṀ–

 

– ŦǾ ȒƯꞨṰ.

 

ṬŌ ƳȬŲ, ǍɌÍⱾĔ. ṖĄĿĔ ƑÍȐĖṦ ƊṜİḞṮ,

ȦŜ ŜÔÚĽ ÃŇḐ ƁŎÑĔ ḂȆĆȪṀȆ ÕƝĚ.

 

ɌȖŞṰ ĚȒÒƉĘŚ ṪḦȄ ṂÝṦṰĬČ ŞⱲǑɌƊ,

ȮƑ ṮĦĖ ḞĀǏȚĦƑȖŁ ӐƝƉ ȚĤÉ ƉǏṼĮƝȆ.

 

ṬÒ ÝȮƯ, ŬḾꝒḼÚḾĔḌ. ŢĤĒ ĦȰĽḶÔŴ,

ṬḨɆ ĘṂṖĪɌɆ ȔǸƑȰǕṆĐ. ȚÖ ỶǬɄ, ÀȒƗŚÉ.

 

ṰḢÉ ṨƘȲ ṘĔṂȄṀḆȨȐṨ ŦḨȨ ḄḶƟẂ ḄËḞǾꞦȄ ƗŢ İṤ ṦṬȐŬĈḲ,

ḞǪṞ ɆꝞĖṄ ḢÈÁṼĖŇ ȻǠꞨŦṠ Ⱥ ꞨḨȺƉÖŴ ⱲꞪȨŅ ǏŤ ḞꝈÌÑĊḤȨⱾ.

 

ƮӪ ƳÓÛ, ḤɆ ẄḨƟ ǑŃĊĔ ẂÃȽꝂĚḎ ӒⱾ ṚȄĬꝄȆƝØṘ,

ĄꞨ ĽĪĢḤƬŠ ȽȬÕŠÊÑĚĐ ḞṚȬṂ ƮⱧĒȊṘ ƇƟǛŖⱾĚŜ;

 

ÅꞨ ḤÊÏĞḦƮṢ ṚÈⱠĚÃṨÊ ƮḨĘÎŔ ӒĮḾḸÊṢṢ ĤȰṤṮꞨ,

ÅꞤḐ ŢȞɆ ƑǏṜṂÅṂÈꞐƮ’Ꞩ ŘǞỴŜ ẂȺṊĒ ӒṤɄṆḌÊŘ.

 

ɃÊⱾǏȨǦĒ ṪḦȆ ẆȌŖĽḎ ȮṆĈĘḾǑṘĚ, 

ÚŇŁǏṼÏŅĞ ŔȄİĠṈ ṬȮ ḈꞦǓḾḄḺȨ ȦƤǠȒŤ;

 

ƮȞĖ ḆŔÏǤⱧṬÊṚ ƬĤÈ ĹÎĞḤṮ,

ŦⱧɆ ƊÈÉꝒËŖ ŢḪÉ ŚĦÃƉŎⱲ.

 

Ä ẆƠⱤḺƊ ӦḞ ƬȞȆ ƉȆĄḌ,

ƗṨ Ӑ ẄȌⱤḸƉ ǑƑ ⱣĒȀƇÊ.

 

[⊛] Hɪɢʜᴇʀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ; a fissure of entropy sunders a blackstone monolith in a primeval crypt, splintering fragments of blackened stone upon the glossied floor. A seeping flow of miasma begins to exhale from the stone’s core, flooding the antechamber with dark energies. It gloams with the energies of soul and bone in twain, melded and fissured with something calamitous.

 

The crypt of yore begins to crumble, as skeletal palms puncture the debris, erupting with coils of entropic lifeforce lashing about its form. Fleshless limbs splayed to the ruinous skies, it howls in vengeant fervour, crimson-eyes blazing with bloodlust.

 

Spoiler

 

[Johann 2498]

 

[✴] At this most grievous impurity, within alabaster halls of an empyrean Court the Lord-Purifier, Eternal Arbiter, Vehement Judge, Aengul of Purity and Justice delivers His decree to a heavenly tribunal.

 

Order had fallen, and for it, the world had darkened, marching its deathmarch to ruin - in every vestige there now festered corruption, the Anathema, consumption . . .

 

“Apostasy.” 

 

The Staglord avers, auguring the blackened heart of this foul felony.

 

And the world would soon know Purity.

[Hawkeye_Gough 624]

As with the False-Abyss, so too with the true Scar of Aegis. The Pale Lord of Hands was shown this light, this promise of his soul-mastery conjoined with the nascent lords of bone, gore, and miasma.

 

"So mote it be," he promised, in acceptance of his calling. "I do not yet walk, and so you will be my Voice. Go." The booming echo of his voice, spoken at once in Al'tahrn Durngo and also in Moonspeech, faded then. He was left alone, the Barrowlord of Less departing to raze Azuras in undeath's name. Only one thing could hear him, now.

 

"I will offer you," the long-lost soul of a mere mortal began, "ten times my previous offer. Ten times it, if when you return I can leave free." He knew what the response would be before it came. It was silence, for one who acts unfaithfully will never reap the rewards of his toil. "You do not understand," Zu'e pleaded -- no, Onyx -- Glassblower -- Asharak -- even he did not remember further. . . "My flock needs me."

[Navigator 4260]

 

ᴛʜᴇ ᴢᴀʀ'ᴀᴋᴀʟ ʀᴀᴠᴇᴅ. Its body contorted in manic rage, talons slamming repeatedly against the ground. Surrounded by blood and gore, plagued by yet another augury, yet this time, it was bliss. Not the piercing rays of heaven that had infected its mind prior, no. A blissful mantra of the Daemonic, a harking of the Kin of the Black God. It raved, raved, raved. It roared, roared, roared. Though it was wholly unaware of the other side of the coin, those pure rays of light, it had gleamed enough. It had heard enough. It had seen enough.   ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏ ɪᴛ ꜱᴛᴏᴏᴅ, and with rage, hatred, and sheer malice, it walked upon those pure, silver-topped trees of the Silverwoods. Its talons dug into the body of an Azuran Silverstag, the beautiful, royal creature bellowing in pain, calling to its pack, calling to its kin. The Zar’akal ravaged that body, consuming wholly - flesh, bone, sinew and soul. Once done, it spread its arms out, peering to the skies and roaring sinful promises. . .   ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴇᴀʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴀꜱᴜɴᴅᴇʀ. ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀɪᴘ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʟᴇᴅɢᴇᴅ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ. ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅʀᴇɴᴄʜ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴ. ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴀᴠᴀɢᴇ, ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʟᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ʟᴀɴᴅ.   ᴍᴏɴɢᴏᴏꜱᴇ, ꜱᴛᴀɢ, ᴀxᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ. ʙᴀᴛ, ᴠɪᴘᴇʀ, ɢᴏᴀᴛ, ᴄʀᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴛ. ꜰɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀ. . . ꜰɪᴠᴇ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ꜰɪꜱᴛ. . .   ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴏᴜʟ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ, ʟᴏᴀᴛʜꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ! ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ʜᴇ ꜰᴇᴀꜱᴛꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇꜱꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇ!

 

 

[PolarLoLs 984]

 

The choirs of scourge churn through the head, bones hollow

Rattling along as flesh sunk and shivered.  Another vision, seems it must be fate?

“I see… i understand my call now”

Said the lost Soothsayer

[Morigung-oog 5697]

Somewhere, a mystic trying to better her life and use her powers for good sits conflicted and utterly broken. She never wished to be wicked. Perhaps it was not too late to turn back to the light...

[DizzyGrey 1229]

A hulking, bat-like inferi rumbles in derision at the voices that dared to plague its waking mind within the cave system it called home, hellish blade scraping against stone as Draz-Vorzuth prowled this world.

"Peace?" It sneered at the very idea, as heavy steps crushed rock beneath its gate, voice echoing within those blood stained walls. "Only the weak would cower from the challenge the living provide, and the underserving from their screams. I will have none of your peace... But that power could be put to better use." It stepped out into the dark of the night sky, animal gait loping to reconnect with its supposed allies.

[StokedOff 456]

A tall, lanky, ashen monstrosity of a being paced around within the Horde rambling to itself. The rambles began to focus, the questions coming out in a ghastly, crackled tone; in a poor display of common "What will the living do after they've killed one another and we've only just begun? What will they do when the sons of Krug are defiled by the Emperor? Who will save them this time? Not Krug." the being began to chortle to itself, his laughter echoing throughout the Horde

Edited January 29 by StokedOff

[marsloll 1384]

Stupors were not uncommon now - especially late in the darkness of night. Spectral hands and bodies passed through her as they always did, as that sleepless woman trudged through the hallways of her home. The daze was not new - the contents, rarely ever differed in what it was trying to say.

 

Still, an uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach, with the weight of a rock that sunk to the bottom of a river.

 

Truth, was often arbitrary - dependent on whom perceived it. Just as beauty was in the eye of the beholder.

 

She would be beholden to no truth in that festering ugly preacher.

Her eyes had seen enough to know that the dead know nothing of peace at all.

[lemonke 6014]

"AHRIMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN. THE ONE PIECE IS REAL!" Screamed a jester to her student @Acostrob"IT'S TIME TO GO AND LOOK FOR A TREASURE!"

[Ardory 2978]

The Fisher’s glazed eyes open as the vision passed. He smirks at the absurdity of it. “I can hear the walls of the caverns below skitter with the desperate and the cowardly.” he muses as he takes his oar cane and pushes his body upwards from the stone bench with an audible grunt, “I care that my scion will find it first. However, if not, I sincerely hope the one who finds it has a modicum of skill and won’t hide forever in the darkness like those sniveling dogs of Xion. They are too nosy to ignore this and will probably not tell another soul, I should-” The orc scowls as he pauses, realizing his hatred fuming once more of the old blood which cursed his mind. He takes a deep breath and hobbles away.

[Amesti 247]

Diolinda shot up from the couch. Her terrified cries filled the small cabin, waking her children on the loft above. No words of comfort would quiet her and soon her feet had carried her out the door. The woman crumpled to the dirt as desperate prayers were cast to deaf skies. Her fake gods could provide her no comfort and no salvation from the sins that had once marred her and the evil yet to come. She was set to maddened mumbling, the words she had heard and words of her own devising, until finally one of her children dragged her back into the cabin.

[Aehkaj 1244]

[!] A splitting migraine followed within one who received such a decrepit prophecy. Skeletons woven of black ink danced and played fiddles circling the static of that consciousness filled with a whimsy jolly as their instruments roared with laughter. Hands gripped the mind inside, arguing with the careless chaos of the dancing figures as it sought out adjusted orientation. The static thrummed with the splitting words of that Prophecy and the figures drew their bows across the strings one last time. An agreement was struck in that moment, a choice to answer that which called the damned.

[_AzureLexi 766]

Pallid gray hands strum the catgut strings of a lacquered guitar, lit only by the gentle light of the moon. A gentle melody fills the air, a fleeting moment of warmth from the hands of a decaying mind and soul. Guile's playing comes to a halt, the strings vibrating alongside the pulsating veins of her wrist, lost within a trance. 

A breath sharply draws. A breath shakily exhaleds

"Yx ax teymo'ker ux rezero?" comes a low growl of her conflicted voice. Is this the old dark that awakens? she asks herself. Then, a cackle breaks from her voice, a wicked and maddened discord against the chirping of crickets in the night. A grin flashes across her face, as a pull is chosen amidst her inner conflict. "Hasetto mobo," she hums to herself in a wicked melody. Sounds fun.

[Onnensr 1908]

Cardinal Nerium flung himself forward from his resting spot, the soft earth of the tea garden filling his fingers as he threw himself onto his knees, vomiting blood across the grass. Several lambs close by stiffened with awkward fear, the priest smearing his scarlet lips onto his cloak. "Ach- Spam mail! In my head!" he cursed the unholy tiding, revolted with the unclean implications. The experienced carmine sage, the red rabbi, rose his thin and unusually long fingers to the heavens. "I have got to get this sheisse out of my cranium...!" He sneered. With a twitch of one eye, magenta within magenta, the red smatter on the turf squirmed and ordered itself to his will. The Rune of Ignorance stared back at him with hesitant freedom...