Evil

Woah, didn't know people remembered me....

[!] The following is perceivable to the soothsayers of Vivification, Mystics with Hexing, Naztherak and others as per Prophecy lore Fog bedims your senses… Be it a tranquil dream you were having, or a mere respite amid a day of hardships, something bites and gnaws unto your consciousness. First - but a nuisance, but quickly - a loathed ailment that can be ignored no more. By and by, and a surge of pain warbles throughout your mind: like innumerable ice daggers that stab and skewer the frail marrow of your soul. You are clenched in that unbenign cradle. Darkness obtrudes all around, and though you may scream, though you may wail or weep, thrash or writhe, naught is to avail; The whirl of murmuring shadows encroaches, until you are plenarily consumed. They choke you; and though you gasp, no air graces your yearning lungs. There is only despair. It rankles. The dread of the beyond. Who could tell, how long this interminable agony tormented you? Amidst the darkness time seemed fickle. There was neither sun, nor moon, nor any stars to tell you of the passing. There were no spectators that could hint upon the never-ending flows. Even your own clamour lost any meaning. It could be minutes that you screamed. Or it could be ages. Years that you lived in suffering, and yet none will know. But even what appeared infinite, eventually, evinced its timely end. Duly, the phantasmal pain melts away. In its stead a bizarre lightness splays inside you. A finesse and dignity yet unfathomed.. And shadows part ; They unravel a realm of rife dark. A blackened sun, a stygian star, proliferated twilight, and uncanny shadows danced among the long eviscerated woods, across black meadows and up dim hills. This place held a strange feeling to it; and a morbid silence. This was no domain of living. It was a kingdom of the dead. Your glance timorously wanders. You gauge the landscapes, and in the swathe of nature you descry many structures, albeit long dilapidated and abandoned. Towers and castles, taverns and homes; all eroded into ruin. They come from millenia bygone. You stand there anew. Strangely, this unbeknown landscape appeared snug; homely. But that endowed interlude is cut. The black skies rumble. The earth quakes. Behind you a racket rings, and you whip round; to spy the ongoings; and you see it. The rippling air and swirling miasma. Crackling howls and wails of the very tissue of space; it moans, for it is tugged on. A moment passes. Maybe two. And then a fiery slit cracks open, with a thunderous clap, and out spout crimson fires. There is turmoil. Figures squandering around and about the rift; passing. But they are afar. Too far. They are mere specks; unrecognisable. Unlucid. Another thunderclap thwangs, entwined with a roar of earth and skies. An ire. Fury. You jolt in that tumult, and in the next heartbeat you sprang awake. Ennervated by the nightmarish prophecy. Yet back; alive.

A chorus roused within a discreet cave. A blasphemous rite has neared its conclusion, and in drappled, flashing pictures, a macabre and heinous practice unfurled to the gazes that gauged the fragile coherency of the realm’s shield against the volatile sea of chaos. The Veilwatchers, whether blessed or burdened by the greater sight, were bestown with a countenance of ruptured fabric. Clad in a splendorous corral, shackled in a great and gilded chalice, it oozed the agitation. A glimpse of the beyond. Its looming brawn was leering out in all its glory. A din of blistering winds that spewed therefrom gnawed on the ears of the observers. In the cloven maw, a welter of writhing colours, of crimson and viridescent, roared and frothed with sheer might, freckled with sinister smudges of abyss. Obsequious to the rift’s power, space bent at its fringes, wavering and hazing, croaking and crackling. There was a pair of podiums at its brims, staring at each other from across the arcane chasm. Stationed upon either, stood a figure, wrapped in instantaneous black cloak each, and with hoods draped lowly over their visages. Wisps of mana thrived about them, and beset in trembles lingered either. Beckoned by the avarice, they wrought a terrible deed, whether folly was to follow or greatness to arrive.