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Shard visions
First of all, awesome! They're really entertaining to read, and some are outright hilarious (*coughViynaincough*). So without further ado, here are all the ones I've found! Feel free to add your own as well.
A great cloud of intoxicating smoke erupts nearby, drawing your attention from the fighting. You rush to the location to find a dozen dazed and confused dominators lying about Viynain Erid'in, who is himself too high to move.
A portal into endless nothingness yawns before you, and you realise with a start that you stare into the Void itself. A congregation of Elder Gods and Goddesses is nearby, and one by one, the Traitors among them are cast through the portal, though those Elders that remain glance among one another with apprehension and uncertainty.
Crumbling ruins of a dead city hang about you, the rumble of monolithic stone buildings beginning to collapse echoing down the streets. A thick cloud of smog hangs over the blood-soaked streets, one-eyed skeletons littering your surroundings, intermingled with the remnants of viscanti and illithoid. You try to lift yourself up and collapse, only then realizing that you are missing a forearm and much of both legs.
His eyes vacant spaces of nothingness and his flesh rotting away, an ambulent corpse rips the arm off of one ur'dead knight before lunging at a dominator, sinking his teeth into its neck. Too little, however, as more and more pour in. 'I am sorry, my wife,' he murmurs, though you instinctively know he is not the speaker. You nod stiffly, more dominators surrounding you. With an anguished cry the husk of Eliron Shee-Slaugh erupts in a violent explosion of black energy, consuming you and everything else in its path.
Ice-cold darkness surrounds you, permeating your bones with a deathly chill that sees no respite. So deep is the black space about you that you doubt whether the icy earth beneath your feet truly exists. With a start, you realise that the sky is gone; Mother Moon, Father Sun, and Mother Night have been eradicated, leaving the First World in the embrace of terrifying nothingness.
Murmured prayers to Shakiniel run through those around you as you look up, Queen Xena McCloud perched atop the Gatehouse of Cassis Cornuta, her back to the enemy beyond. Her words are loud and ring with hope and promise, though a chill sense of despair hits you as the gates beneath her shudder violently. She whips about just as the walls explode violently beneath her, the gates themselves falling back onto the group standing in formation, ready to defend - you among them.
Numerous coloured bubbles drift by you, each easily larger than your own body. A whirl of red, green, and blue rushes past as they increase their motion, and though some inimicable presence lurks behind the rush of colour, you know the bubbles to be your salvation in this torn, sundered land.
Snarling, Celina Nightshade runs her athame across her palm. 'I am sorry, my wife,' she murmurs, squeezing the opened wound and allowing the blood to trickle freely. 'Shazbat kadzar,' she whispers in a guttural tone, and a strange, alien sucking noise erupts across the forest. For a long moment she simply stands there, her features unreadable, and you are left to face the onslaught alone.
'STOP THEM!' shrieks the nearby guardian, several clawing their way forward through the mass of individuals gathered. You look to your commanding officer, his expression torn. Cracks form along the surface of the Megalith of Doom, tainted fumes leaking into the air when the order is finally given. Blades are drawn as you advance on the geomancers surrounding your Nexus of Power. Suddenly the whole of the city is shaken by a tremendous quake, buildings crack and collapsing throughout the city, some landing in the crowd now. 'Too late,' whispers Lavinya d'Murani, her nails digging into your shoulders.
Surrounded by a cloud of half-seen beings, Moon Guardian Amavan N'Rotha holds out his bleeding palm, chanting harshly in guttural tones. He gestures with his bloodied athame, shouting in the fae tongue. Shrieking and wailing, the spirits surrounding Amavan whip into a maelstrom, lashing out at anything that draws near. One ancestral wiccan spirit, shrieking and howling in unearthly sorrow, begins to push her way through the advancing dominators, drawing the lifeforce from them. A second wiccan spirit passes between the weak and dying huddled at Amavan's feet, bathing them in healing energies. As the spirits begin to slow Amavan looks more haggard and older, wrinkles forming and his joints becoming gnarled.
The armies of the Time Dame Kesisha pour through the Northern Gates, trampling the broken corpses of the fallen as they breach Magnagora's final defence. The Megalith of Doom fluctuates wildly, for among the dead is Ardrak, Keeper of the Megalith. With a great roar, the Nexus of Power shudders beneath the assault, then bursts apart in a shower of shrapnel and a storm of planar energy.
The chiming of crystal sounds throughout the laboratory as Xyl busies Himself, deep in contemplation. A flutter of feathers gives indication of the presence of Trillillial nearby, though She merely looks on, quiet and adoring, as the God goes about His work.
The familiar yet alien Road of Fiery Salvation extends before you, the skies above dark and clouded. Ash falls like snow all about you, coating the ground in a thick powder of grey. No fire burns in the great city - the sole light comes from the mote of fire held by your companion. You look to Yiratcho Chum, whose features are suddenly overcome by horror. You turn, and find the vast corpse of the Guardian Drachou, torn apart and dead, eviscerated by bladed whips and chains.
The forest is alight with flame, and a roaring inferno surrounds you. You look about wildly, searching for a way to escape the conflagration as curls of smoke rise from the canopy above. Heat closes in upon you oppressively, and the dark figure of Stepasha, Dame of Destruction flits overhead, cackling, as the Serenwilde dies.
The plains upon which you stand have been blasted and destroyed, leaving only great, burned tracts of land. In the distance, smoke rises from the rubble of the city of Gaudiguch, and the sounds of rioters and looting resound from its shattered walls, echoing dismally across the flats. A chill breeze whips past you, and frost collects upon the ground of the barren Skarch.
The Pool of Stars bubbles and froths, radiant whorls of pure divinus energy rippling from it in cascading waves. From its empyreal depths, the Princess Marilynth rises, her form expanding and glowing with power as she assumes the mantle of Vernal Goddess. A heart-warming smile touches Her features, though it meets not Her eyes, which are fixated upon some unseen threat in the distance.
The sky is black, and great cracks of temporal energy have sundered its mighty firmament. A shadowy God wreathed in dark flame looks on as a dark forest spreads to cover the land in a twisted, thorned embrace. Suddenly, the Creatrix Estarra appears, wreathed in light and shadow. She raises Her hand, and you know no more.
You bow low before the Black Throne, grovelling before the might of the hazy, indistinct figure seated atop it. The Time Dames themselves flank their master, who gives an unspoken signal. The crone Stepasha glides forward, a cruel smirk curling her wrinkled lips, and the last thing you see is her great scythe parting the air.
You crouch low amongst the bushes, peering out. Whispered words, half-heard, edge your perception, though you understand them intimately. You nod and the ancestral wiccan spirit pulls away, sinking into the forest behind you. You turn your gaze forward once more, the cries of Stepasha's troops nearly drowned out by the shrieking wails of the spirits that tear into them, drawing out their lifeforce.
You gaze into the silver scrying pool, witnessing the growing cloud of darkness seeking to spread ever outward from the City of Magnagora. With a sigh, you wave your hand, clearing the image, and your own reflection - that of Farella Lunseer - stares back at you, drawn and grim. A rustle to one side draws your attention, and you turn as a small furrikin approaches, prepared for what you must do for the good of all that you hold dear, though it may come at the price of your soul.
You hum brightly to yourself as You work, shaping the mass of powdered snow into a humanoid shape. This one looks like a Mister Frostono, You think, and so You christen him, placing him aside to totter away as You tear off through the snow after the next icebourne, laughing as Bollikin looks on with amusement.
You look across to Malicia and Nydekion, embracing one another in their final moments, the Even-Bladed to one side of you and the Exalted Lord to another. They share a sad smile with you as you collectively direct your attention to the Pool of Stars. Its surface froths and boils with an angry red-and-black light, its edges breaking apart. Your defenses have failed, and your final moment is spent in silent prayer.
You mill about through the party, a drink in your hand and an easy smile upon your features. Pausing to chat with one of your acquaintances, you can't help but grin at the commotion suddenly stirred up as Archmage Scuchidira Tliwx laughs uproariously, the robes of the Hallifaxian Ambassador suddenly alight with festive yellow flame.
You proceed with your fellows in an orderly fashion through the Wards, calmly evacuating as a droning, monotonous voice emanates from the surroundings, warning of the devastating blows smashing throughout the city only moments before they actually strike. The Primary Generator suffers one such blow, and a rush of white mist expels from it as it fails. The entire city suddenly shudders, tilting sideways before falling through the sky as the ground rushes up to meet you.
You saw their containment units,' says Archmage Ircria. You blink and turn your head to her. 'Magistrate Windwhisper? ...Phoebus? Are you okay? Look - I think I have a design which will allow us to...' You turn your gaze away from the conversation, your eyes settling on the lower wards below, one spire quivering in what almost seems to be revulsion, plumes of corrosive, tainted smoke billowing from one window.
You stand before a stone bier, looking onward as a funeral pyre consumes the prone figure of the Queen of New Celest. A tear runs down your cheek, while red flames light the night sky. Outside the cave, the guards grip their crude spears and set their jaws, preparing to ward harm off as the howls of the slavering minions of the Time Dames sound from the encroaching darkness.
You sway with the music that thrums deep within your being, silvery threads of energy running from you in every direction, connecting you to your brothers and sisters all throughout the branches. You shake a leafy branch with the beat, your voice silvery and chiming with the song. 'We are the Maeve,' you say in unison, 'Together and whole, forever together, never apart...' As you flit to the next branch you resume your swaying, your song ceaseless, and your eyes focused on that which plays out below. Hands linked together, druids of Hart call in a deep nasally tone, joined by the high-pitched caws and shrieks of the Blacktalon that dance with them. The branch you are seated upon shivers violently as the Tree of Trees responds, the ethereal magic of the Great Spirit of Trees and the Maeve entwining in this place. You feel your physical form breaking apart, your spirit joining the other fae in creating Nature's last hope.
You've managed to make your way partway down the Teeth when the engines finally give out, you and your group turning to watch the crumbling spires of Hallifax crash into the mountains. You clutch tightly against your chest the final project of the Matrix Research Institute. A cloud trill puts one hand on your shoulder, her expression pained but comforting. You twist away and put your shoulder between you, her equipment jostled with the suddenly violent motion. 'We must hurry to Gaudiguch,' you whisper hoarsely, clutching the chronomantic cube against your chest. 'We've sacrificed too much for this to fail.'
Your mother tugs you by your hand, but you keep stopping to look. Finally, in frustration, she pulls you into her arms as you are pushed away into the crowd. Shining brilliant and golden, the Exalted Lord and the Even-Bladed Goddess drift on opposing sides of a pillar of black energy rising up from the Pool of Stars. The distant forms of Nydekion and Malicia La'Saet and Kelly McCloud drift beside Them, a network of shimmering light running between them. As your boat pulls away from the city, you see the Pool of Stars erupt in a blinding flash of terrible light. You close your eyes, though you still see nothing but the searing white light of the dying Pool of Stars.
A great cloud of intoxicating smoke erupts nearby, drawing your attention from the fighting. You rush to the location to find a dozen dazed and confused dominators lying about Viynain Erid'in, who is himself too high to move.
A portal into endless nothingness yawns before you, and you realise with a start that you stare into the Void itself. A congregation of Elder Gods and Goddesses is nearby, and one by one, the Traitors among them are cast through the portal, though those Elders that remain glance among one another with apprehension and uncertainty.
Crumbling ruins of a dead city hang about you, the rumble of monolithic stone buildings beginning to collapse echoing down the streets. A thick cloud of smog hangs over the blood-soaked streets, one-eyed skeletons littering your surroundings, intermingled with the remnants of viscanti and illithoid. You try to lift yourself up and collapse, only then realizing that you are missing a forearm and much of both legs.
His eyes vacant spaces of nothingness and his flesh rotting away, an ambulent corpse rips the arm off of one ur'dead knight before lunging at a dominator, sinking his teeth into its neck. Too little, however, as more and more pour in. 'I am sorry, my wife,' he murmurs, though you instinctively know he is not the speaker. You nod stiffly, more dominators surrounding you. With an anguished cry the husk of Eliron Shee-Slaugh erupts in a violent explosion of black energy, consuming you and everything else in its path.
Ice-cold darkness surrounds you, permeating your bones with a deathly chill that sees no respite. So deep is the black space about you that you doubt whether the icy earth beneath your feet truly exists. With a start, you realise that the sky is gone; Mother Moon, Father Sun, and Mother Night have been eradicated, leaving the First World in the embrace of terrifying nothingness.
Murmured prayers to Shakiniel run through those around you as you look up, Queen Xena McCloud perched atop the Gatehouse of Cassis Cornuta, her back to the enemy beyond. Her words are loud and ring with hope and promise, though a chill sense of despair hits you as the gates beneath her shudder violently. She whips about just as the walls explode violently beneath her, the gates themselves falling back onto the group standing in formation, ready to defend - you among them.
Numerous coloured bubbles drift by you, each easily larger than your own body. A whirl of red, green, and blue rushes past as they increase their motion, and though some inimicable presence lurks behind the rush of colour, you know the bubbles to be your salvation in this torn, sundered land.
Snarling, Celina Nightshade runs her athame across her palm. 'I am sorry, my wife,' she murmurs, squeezing the opened wound and allowing the blood to trickle freely. 'Shazbat kadzar,' she whispers in a guttural tone, and a strange, alien sucking noise erupts across the forest. For a long moment she simply stands there, her features unreadable, and you are left to face the onslaught alone.
'STOP THEM!' shrieks the nearby guardian, several clawing their way forward through the mass of individuals gathered. You look to your commanding officer, his expression torn. Cracks form along the surface of the Megalith of Doom, tainted fumes leaking into the air when the order is finally given. Blades are drawn as you advance on the geomancers surrounding your Nexus of Power. Suddenly the whole of the city is shaken by a tremendous quake, buildings crack and collapsing throughout the city, some landing in the crowd now. 'Too late,' whispers Lavinya d'Murani, her nails digging into your shoulders.
Surrounded by a cloud of half-seen beings, Moon Guardian Amavan N'Rotha holds out his bleeding palm, chanting harshly in guttural tones. He gestures with his bloodied athame, shouting in the fae tongue. Shrieking and wailing, the spirits surrounding Amavan whip into a maelstrom, lashing out at anything that draws near. One ancestral wiccan spirit, shrieking and howling in unearthly sorrow, begins to push her way through the advancing dominators, drawing the lifeforce from them. A second wiccan spirit passes between the weak and dying huddled at Amavan's feet, bathing them in healing energies. As the spirits begin to slow Amavan looks more haggard and older, wrinkles forming and his joints becoming gnarled.
The armies of the Time Dame Kesisha pour through the Northern Gates, trampling the broken corpses of the fallen as they breach Magnagora's final defence. The Megalith of Doom fluctuates wildly, for among the dead is Ardrak, Keeper of the Megalith. With a great roar, the Nexus of Power shudders beneath the assault, then bursts apart in a shower of shrapnel and a storm of planar energy.
The chiming of crystal sounds throughout the laboratory as Xyl busies Himself, deep in contemplation. A flutter of feathers gives indication of the presence of Trillillial nearby, though She merely looks on, quiet and adoring, as the God goes about His work.
The familiar yet alien Road of Fiery Salvation extends before you, the skies above dark and clouded. Ash falls like snow all about you, coating the ground in a thick powder of grey. No fire burns in the great city - the sole light comes from the mote of fire held by your companion. You look to Yiratcho Chum, whose features are suddenly overcome by horror. You turn, and find the vast corpse of the Guardian Drachou, torn apart and dead, eviscerated by bladed whips and chains.
The forest is alight with flame, and a roaring inferno surrounds you. You look about wildly, searching for a way to escape the conflagration as curls of smoke rise from the canopy above. Heat closes in upon you oppressively, and the dark figure of Stepasha, Dame of Destruction flits overhead, cackling, as the Serenwilde dies.
The plains upon which you stand have been blasted and destroyed, leaving only great, burned tracts of land. In the distance, smoke rises from the rubble of the city of Gaudiguch, and the sounds of rioters and looting resound from its shattered walls, echoing dismally across the flats. A chill breeze whips past you, and frost collects upon the ground of the barren Skarch.
The Pool of Stars bubbles and froths, radiant whorls of pure divinus energy rippling from it in cascading waves. From its empyreal depths, the Princess Marilynth rises, her form expanding and glowing with power as she assumes the mantle of Vernal Goddess. A heart-warming smile touches Her features, though it meets not Her eyes, which are fixated upon some unseen threat in the distance.
The sky is black, and great cracks of temporal energy have sundered its mighty firmament. A shadowy God wreathed in dark flame looks on as a dark forest spreads to cover the land in a twisted, thorned embrace. Suddenly, the Creatrix Estarra appears, wreathed in light and shadow. She raises Her hand, and you know no more.
You bow low before the Black Throne, grovelling before the might of the hazy, indistinct figure seated atop it. The Time Dames themselves flank their master, who gives an unspoken signal. The crone Stepasha glides forward, a cruel smirk curling her wrinkled lips, and the last thing you see is her great scythe parting the air.
You crouch low amongst the bushes, peering out. Whispered words, half-heard, edge your perception, though you understand them intimately. You nod and the ancestral wiccan spirit pulls away, sinking into the forest behind you. You turn your gaze forward once more, the cries of Stepasha's troops nearly drowned out by the shrieking wails of the spirits that tear into them, drawing out their lifeforce.
You gaze into the silver scrying pool, witnessing the growing cloud of darkness seeking to spread ever outward from the City of Magnagora. With a sigh, you wave your hand, clearing the image, and your own reflection - that of Farella Lunseer - stares back at you, drawn and grim. A rustle to one side draws your attention, and you turn as a small furrikin approaches, prepared for what you must do for the good of all that you hold dear, though it may come at the price of your soul.
You hum brightly to yourself as You work, shaping the mass of powdered snow into a humanoid shape. This one looks like a Mister Frostono, You think, and so You christen him, placing him aside to totter away as You tear off through the snow after the next icebourne, laughing as Bollikin looks on with amusement.
You look across to Malicia and Nydekion, embracing one another in their final moments, the Even-Bladed to one side of you and the Exalted Lord to another. They share a sad smile with you as you collectively direct your attention to the Pool of Stars. Its surface froths and boils with an angry red-and-black light, its edges breaking apart. Your defenses have failed, and your final moment is spent in silent prayer.
You mill about through the party, a drink in your hand and an easy smile upon your features. Pausing to chat with one of your acquaintances, you can't help but grin at the commotion suddenly stirred up as Archmage Scuchidira Tliwx laughs uproariously, the robes of the Hallifaxian Ambassador suddenly alight with festive yellow flame.
You proceed with your fellows in an orderly fashion through the Wards, calmly evacuating as a droning, monotonous voice emanates from the surroundings, warning of the devastating blows smashing throughout the city only moments before they actually strike. The Primary Generator suffers one such blow, and a rush of white mist expels from it as it fails. The entire city suddenly shudders, tilting sideways before falling through the sky as the ground rushes up to meet you.
You saw their containment units,' says Archmage Ircria. You blink and turn your head to her. 'Magistrate Windwhisper? ...Phoebus? Are you okay? Look - I think I have a design which will allow us to...' You turn your gaze away from the conversation, your eyes settling on the lower wards below, one spire quivering in what almost seems to be revulsion, plumes of corrosive, tainted smoke billowing from one window.
You stand before a stone bier, looking onward as a funeral pyre consumes the prone figure of the Queen of New Celest. A tear runs down your cheek, while red flames light the night sky. Outside the cave, the guards grip their crude spears and set their jaws, preparing to ward harm off as the howls of the slavering minions of the Time Dames sound from the encroaching darkness.
You sway with the music that thrums deep within your being, silvery threads of energy running from you in every direction, connecting you to your brothers and sisters all throughout the branches. You shake a leafy branch with the beat, your voice silvery and chiming with the song. 'We are the Maeve,' you say in unison, 'Together and whole, forever together, never apart...' As you flit to the next branch you resume your swaying, your song ceaseless, and your eyes focused on that which plays out below. Hands linked together, druids of Hart call in a deep nasally tone, joined by the high-pitched caws and shrieks of the Blacktalon that dance with them. The branch you are seated upon shivers violently as the Tree of Trees responds, the ethereal magic of the Great Spirit of Trees and the Maeve entwining in this place. You feel your physical form breaking apart, your spirit joining the other fae in creating Nature's last hope.
You've managed to make your way partway down the Teeth when the engines finally give out, you and your group turning to watch the crumbling spires of Hallifax crash into the mountains. You clutch tightly against your chest the final project of the Matrix Research Institute. A cloud trill puts one hand on your shoulder, her expression pained but comforting. You twist away and put your shoulder between you, her equipment jostled with the suddenly violent motion. 'We must hurry to Gaudiguch,' you whisper hoarsely, clutching the chronomantic cube against your chest. 'We've sacrificed too much for this to fail.'
Your mother tugs you by your hand, but you keep stopping to look. Finally, in frustration, she pulls you into her arms as you are pushed away into the crowd. Shining brilliant and golden, the Exalted Lord and the Even-Bladed Goddess drift on opposing sides of a pillar of black energy rising up from the Pool of Stars. The distant forms of Nydekion and Malicia La'Saet and Kelly McCloud drift beside Them, a network of shimmering light running between them. As your boat pulls away from the city, you see the Pool of Stars erupt in a blinding flash of terrible light. You close your eyes, though you still see nothing but the searing white light of the dying Pool of Stars.
2
(c) Iron Realms Entertainment 2012.
Comments
Signature!
But really, it's pretty neat that so many people are mentioned by names in these prophecies. It really helps making you feel more involved in all of this.
It is really cool. I'm really in love with the two that involve me. They bring in Astraea without mentioning her by name, and touch (if only by mentioning specifically Eliron's name) on the relationship between Eliron and her. You can tell it was written by a God that has watched how the families and characters interact. I think it's absolutely fabulous.
Some are of the past, and it seems like the rest are all glimpses of the same future where the world is ending, rather than a myriad of alternate timelines. It's just exciting because even though I'm super lucky to have my name mentioned, just drawing on actual in game relationships and current org leadership, people can actually identify with the visions. For me, this is the first looming Ascension event that actually has an end of the world feel. I'm not sure why, maybe because we're actually seeing end of the world scenarios, with our actual names and people we know involved.
The Celest visions, especially the one with Xena on the gate and the follow up where she is being burned on a pyre I really liked. Great job admin, no pressure, but keep it coming!
I have to admit, I also like to imagine I'm present in the group carrying the chronomantic cube to Gaudiguch. Being one of the founding members, it adds a touch of... power to the vision having been in the guild from beginning to end. Being that I'm not in a leadership position of any sort, I doubt I'll get any actual appearances anyway.
At least Gaudi still stands... should probably log in and do a few of these myself.
All mine have high Gaudis. TYPICAL.
...still high
Already posted up top, but reading it fills me with an uncalled for amount of emotion and a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
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--quote thing bluh--
I love how these are from the same meeting, but from different people's perspectives.
All about you the First World crumbles and falls apart, cities exploding, crashing and crumbling while communes burn to a crisp. Avechna the Avenger simply stares on silently as the forces of the Times Dame come to overrun the whole of Lusternia, the Nine Seals holding strong. All the while you just brush away the ash and dirt that lands on the pathways of Avechna's Peak - what else is there to do? You hum a little song while you work, sweeping and sweeping. You pause for a moment and look out onto the Basin of Life. Well, you think with a bit of wry amusement, ye've got lots of cleanin' to do, boyo.
There before your eyes is the single most important thing in all of creation. To you it was everything and all things, the light worth living for, the very purpose and draw for continuing to exist. That light had drove you on in the endless nothingness that was the Void, and that light - for the first time in countless aeons - now stood before you. And as he spoke, it was as though the world itself glowed with vitality. You step forward and place your hand about his waist, the other caressing his cheek, brushing aside soft, golden hair. 'The song of Our Heart,' you whisper, leaning in for the first kiss in countless thousands of years of yearning and longing.
'YOU AGREED TO THIS?!' shrieks one elfen, tears running down her face. She grabs for you, but a squat mugwump steps between you, her cudgel held up protectively. 'It was the only decision,' she states firmly. You shake your head and offer in a sad voice, 'We would have been wiped out. This was the cost.' The elfen screams and clutches at her chest, and all around you quiver. The forest itself grows silent as the sound of workmen echoes between the trunks. 'THEY WILL SEAL THIS SCAR AND IT WILL NEVER BE REMOVED! THIS IS YOUR AGREEMENT?! WE WILL FOREVER BE SPLIT IN HALF! NO! NO!'
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Though that prophecy in particular exists in the list of visions Hallifaxians have gotten. Perhaps suggest a prophecy exchange between the two nations?
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<_<
Never surrender!