Zarsies
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Posts posted by Zarsies
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The following is accessible information only to current corcituri.
You slip into the snug dark of sleep or a hypnagogic trance and your mind’s eye drifts in and away to distant fathoms. This void melts into the typical knit of forgotten dreams yet unlike those nights you stir. Your mind refuses to be lulled comfortably, instead in a state of fringe consciousness, eyes ready to snap open and wake. You cannot.
A dip in a pool, the drudgery of labor, a savored conversation; flying, falling, being chased, losing teeth. Your mind runs laps around you as the dream, whatever it may be, coaxes you in and urges you forward. Your wayfaring mind conjures up stories of storms abroad, unfaithful friendships, laundry, four-winged dragons, and overdue taxes. They abound and twist as you shift and slump where you rest.
The reality of your dream becomes apparent, its inconsistencies and absurdities cluing you into its false nature. In place of imagination and rest you have vigilance and unease, the cord of waking just beyond your mental grasp. You cannot wake.
Your fingers sweat, your hands tremble, your guts churn and usher forth bubbling groans, and your heart thumps like a drum. This dream slides out of focus and the image stains red, blood leaking overhead to pour down walls and gush with alarm. Gore paints the walls in sticky ribbons. You cannot wake.
Your disturbed fragmentary sleep coalesces with force. Your heart palpitates and overwhelms your hearing, the thud and pump drowning out what meager coherent thoughts you can form. Then the imagery slides back into focus and your dream sours; trees weep red, the earth bubbles with ruddy pits, faces frightfully dissolve into inhuman globules, and all sense of safety and rest are shattered. The heat cranks, your heart pounds, your head throbs, and you clutch at your chest. Gruesome avian claws now sprout from your fingers. You open your mouth to howl in alarm yet you are greeted by a dry itch which tickles your throat and chokes, thirst. You cannot wake.
Your chest seizes and liquid fire splashes about in your guts. You open your mouth to heave yet instead a torrent of blood spouts out and bathes the ground and yourself. Sticky, frightened, ablaze with chest pain, there is finally relief in what feel like final dying moments, prone and dizzy. The hypnagogic experience reorientates. Your head turns skyward. The fragile elements of the story unfolding in your sleep break down. In place of dread or anguish you feel only stillness. Overhead the ceiling or heavens of the setting collapse upon you in a final omen.
Scratching, shoveling, the scrape of topsoil.
A candlelit chamber bereft of structure.
The scarlet flare of hellfire.
The scene falls upon and over you. Your vampiric eyes parse from the shadows a broad and squat ebony marble table adorned by a fluted cup whose glass spines could cut deep with crimson candles.
A pitch basin.
Red to the rim.
Clawing thirst.
Either falling into the sky or flattened by it you drift closer to the dim sight. Freshly turned earth fills your nose alongside subtle brimstone and smoke. You see your reflection in the vessel’s crimson fill. A monstrous reflection; fanged, feral, and eyes of fire.
You open wide.
You drink deep.
Euphoria.
You wake.
Corcituri receptive to Prophecy are haunted by another Ill Portent
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Mordring, the King Beneath facilitated this ritual.
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Accepted.
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1/3 as of April 26th, 2024
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Accepted.
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big fan
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Accepted.
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- Popular Post
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This is a prophetic vision accessible to seers, naztherak, farseer shamans, vivification clairvoyants, and mystics with hexing per Prophecy lore.
A vision in sleep or a waking daydream, you are swept away to distant fathoms and drawn out from your body to the ether. In the swirling nebulas of the future your mind fixates on a ripple that rides across the sky and between worlds, a subtle wavering pitch that leads you through stars to an alien source. A whisper? A cry? A prayer?
Babbling brooks and bursting bubbles.
A trickling, slurring sound in a broken rhythm calls to you like a birdsong. The waves carry you closer, the slippery noise devolving into a wet churning.
Pitter-patter. Broadcasting sticky whispers.
Nothing matters. Woebegotten orphans, no whiskers.
The omen breaks into a vision; sprawling monuments of beastial heads, palatial ziggurats and silk-draped sandstone temples, and streets carved with canals and elaborate irrigation arches. Sparse cloud cover, a mixed blue sky, and a looming full moon upon an encircling sea. A capital befitting a theocratic empire. From the water breaches an immense carbarum trident wrapped in blood-soaked linen at the handle, sapphire as thanhium yet lustrous.
Diviner of the full moon. Followed.
Designer of apex predators. Swallowed.In a flicker the sea becomes putrid oil, the temples are gnawed, clawed, and painted in slime, and the monuments twist into unidentifiable beastial features. The sandstone melts. The sky oozes. The buzz that called you resonates. The immaculate trident is replaced by a fetid gas that revolts all senses.
Thinking organs stuffed in jars.
Spying eyes hide between stars.Atop the ziggurats shiver mucus-laden brains with abominable mouths that suck and spit the song that drew you. They writhe with dark limbs, eel-fleshed and toothed. A mere glimpse delivers a shred of doubt in what defines monsters.
Chorus of horror, sing your jubilations.
Scrawled in twisting ink; lamentations.Sinking below the oily sea and the monumental temple structures lie networks of catacombs, vaults, tombs, and stelas. Hidden among them skulk mummified figures, feline heads bound in linens and lace.
Mortal pariah. In death, basking forever.
Immortal messiah. A sacrificial endeavor.One such embalmed and dressed spirit violently flees through labyrinthine tunnels from a squelching, gibbering monstrosity with its dozen arms grasping and many more dozen eyes glimpsing. The mummy stows away in a deep cavity of forgotten tombs and frantically whispers a prayer, its hoarse voice a grave chant in your psyche.
Mother, hear me now
Past and future. How,
Could the all-seeing be consumed?
Send us a hero; violent.
White-furred with your trident,
For we spirits entombed.Space and Time. The impossible climb.
Save us Mother from maw and slime.
Black and Yellow, the Kings war,
For ancient tomes we abhor.
Cleanse this plane of infestation.
Behold Time, Beauty's attestation.The prayer repeats as your perspective draws up and away, shifting through layers of sandstone and marble temple infrastructure before settling upon a flickering image. Nauseating clouds linger around a pale-stoned pyramid whose bricks peel away to bizarre masonic fingers. The tide of putrid sludge and glossy oil coats the banks as they slither back and forth. Looming far above obscured by clouds is an amorphous black shape, tendrilled and eyed. At the heightening gravity of this figure’s scale and true shape, abject disgust and horror fills your belly like a rotten hot meal.
Then from the stupor you wake, nauseous and likely to retch due to a sense of minnows swimming in your guts. What nightmare was this? A cry for help or an omen of doom? Perhaps puzzled, perhaps inspired, the prophecy leaves you nonetheless burdened with a glimpse of occult knowledge.
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Picked up.
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Accepted.
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A blue devil gawks at the surnames on the missive and begins her hunt. Woebegotten father, she thinks, I will avenge you. I will find our Provident.
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Student's learning paused (teacher PKed) 4/10/2024.
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Accepted.
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1/3 on 4/10/2024
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Students 3/5 as of April 16th, 2024
https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/236098-alchemy-fa-eldritchheretic/
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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Accepted.
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5 hours ago, Traveller said:
I can confirm wonks were built into this map's lore and there are canon threads (map lore events) that would explain their return as well as explain why they wouldn't be identical to wonks encountered before (behaviorally / culturally). That said their return hinges on the success of hou zi.
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A devout Acaelanite readies himself for duty. Anything, he thought, for the good Sul aen Sov.
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my cuteputer needs more gigglebytes !
Anything for Squash.
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The Hells rage. The blasted sky screams and weeps. A horned host treks far to Natla zu'Zathka, a city of burning spires and devastated cliffsides.
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15 hours ago, Damnit_Delmar said:
Uncertain if you just missed out on it, would Darkstalkers be able to utilize these effects as well?
Woopsies! Fixed.
13 hours ago, RedResult said:will only spooks and those whom are undead be able to wield it?
Anyone could wield or wear it, it just benefits some spooks.
11 hours ago, ReveredOwl said:don't most undead CA's already have a plethora of metals and magical swords in their arsenal?
Metals, no, not any more than normal folks. Magic swords, somewhat, they tend to curse or hex their weapons but they aren't particularly relevant to combat and tend to be out of combat sort of effects.
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[Apotheosis] - Recap - Act 2, Truths and The Pride
in Events
Posted
The King Beneath gives his greatest naps to his sleepiest soldiers.