((All permanent party members and those divinely dedicated to the quest will receive the following))
Darkness.
The images come slowly, giving the impression of coming gradually into view.
You see a quiet keep in the mountains where nothing lives for miles around. There is no grass. There are no trees. There is no wind. Not a single sound can be heard in an area where even a pinprick could be heard for miles. The tall walls of the keep look like they are designed to keep an army out, with nearly spartan simplicity in their design.
Inside the keep, in a throne room where nothing adorns the walls and a quiet stone throne sits, a man sits on the throne. He sits there, still as death, his face stretched and dried like one who has been mummified and preserved for thousands years. Everything except for his clothes and his eyes would mark him as being among the long departed. Cold sunlight streams in through southern skylights, barely illuminating the room.
His clothes, made of finely dyed linen, are of an impeccable cut and look like something made for a different time and place. They look like they were made yesterday, and cover him in such a way that the only exposed skin is on his face and hands.
His eyes--or rather the place where his eyes used to be--glow a sapphire blue.
"I have come, Kaiechos." A voice, feminine and commanding, breaks the stillness of the throne room. "Did you really believe that you could hide here forever?"
"Foretelling was always your strength, Alayna, not mine. Though I suppose it was inevitable that you would make it here eventually." Kaiechos's speaks slowly, with deliberate emphasis and a thick accent, as if trying to grapple with a foreign tongue. "I see that you have completed the staff."
"No thanks to you, I would have thought that you would have jumped at the chance to build such a weapon." The woman known as Alayna steps further into the room, becoming visible. She is surrounded by an aura of positive energy, her eyes glow green, but otherwise she is as you have seen her in previous visions. In her right hand is her staff in its completed form.
"Nothing personal. I prefer not to build things that in a thousand years people will hunt me down over. How do you plan to present it to the Aboleth?"
"I have a plan to lure it out. I have found this remarkable girl Lief and with a few modifications, she would be perfectly suited to the task. Actually, that's where I think you might be willing to help..." Alayna smiles coldly. "Not like you have any choice in the matter this time..."
The vision fades to blackness.
Showing posts with label visions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label visions. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Dream: Pelor Group
((Those of you on Team Pelor (Jacob, Chris, Ragnar, Arcadius, Fflam) will get this vision while waiting for the next boat.
Fflam, you get to see both visions. I'm thinking your manliness and self-sacrifice with fire has earned you a place in either camp for the moment.
You will have two days in town after the vision before the next boat leaves.))
Before you lies a ring of basalt stones, engraved with unfamiliar images of a god who's name has long been forgotten and overrun with vines and moss. In the center lies a stone sarcophagus, runes etched along both the inside and out in an elaborate pattern. A thick carpet of ferns blankets the ground, and while there are no trees to speak of there is a great deal of shorter foliage all around. ((History: 10 + Religion: 5 or Religion: 5 + History: 10 may give you more, email me for details if you meet these requirements))
Beyond the clearing you see mountains in all directions ((Geography or Maps: 5 will give you more here, let me know)) and along a passageway through the mountains there are two giant statues standing guard, each facing the other across the only evident path into the clearing. They are huge guardians, monuments of a cat-like creature with large wings, standing eternal watch.
There is a deathly peaceful feel to this place, as if it has not seen a disturbance in hundreds or even thousands of years. Not a single animal moves, no birds sing, no insects so much as click or cry out. There is no breeze, no movement, and all is perfectly still.
A moment later, suddenly, there is movement. The rustle of leaves as something moves, and in the silence the sound echoes for quite some distance.
An elven man stumbles into the ring of stones. His skin is scarred with sigils that were cut into his skin long ago, twisted images that look vaguely like the runes and glyphs common to various forms of magic, but twisted and misshapen. Not just from the inexpert and awkward hand that must have cut them, but as if the author were deliberately trying to distort their purpose. He wears clothes that look as if they must once have been made of the highest quality silk, now tattered and stained beyond all recognition. His hair is matted and caked with blood, and his eyes appear wide and terrified.
The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. A basic-but-functional instrument that on close inspection appears to be shimmering and shifting as he holds it. Looking around anxiously, he makes a long cut along the ball of his thumb and chants several words, the magic binding to his blood and causing a shimmering haze to fall over the land, when the haze lifts he is gone. ((Spellcraft 10: this is a form of blood magic, very rare, but extremely potent)).
Time passes, and a woman appears in the clearing. She doesn't teleport in or appear to step in, her body doesn't seem to materialize. It is as if you blink and then she is standing there, radiating a sense of quiet calm. She is a Drow with an extremely noble bearing, porcelain skin that is pale even by the standards of the Drow, and jet black hair that drops below her waist. Where her eyes should be appear pools of glimmering darkness. She is clothed in loose-fitting traveling clothes, which hint at her lithe frame while not explicitly revealing it, a pair of leather boots, and a black silk hat. It all appears to be in perfect condition, as if she had just put it on minutes before and checked herself over in a mirror minutes before.
She speaks softly, her words lilting elegantly, "My beloved Dannar, did you really think that the stones here would protect you, or that I couldn't see through your blood magic?" Despite the elegance of her language, her tone has a flat affect to it, entirely devoid of warmth, anger, or any form of passion. Without speaking a word, she waves her hand and a shimmering curtain forms and parts to reveal the man standing perfectly still, his eyes wide, as if paralyzed by fright.
The barest note of sadness enters her voice, "I am sorry my beloved, but you know that I need the blood of someone of your caliber to finish the Work. Your efforts to retrieve the last piece and the sacrifice you are making here will not be forgotten."
She takes him by the hand and guides him to the sarcophagus, he comes along placidly, as if not in control of his own will. With each step, the vines and moss seem to recede, stones that were previously fallen over stand upright, and cracks in the sarcophagus seem to patch over. She releases his hand and, eyes still wide, he lays down in the sarcophagus. She kisses him on the lips, then draws a crystal from one of his pockets. It shimmers and changes colors continuously from the inside, as if its very material were being reworked and reformed continuously. "This will not be in vain," she whispers, taking a step back and the lid of the sarcophagus slides into place.
Lights flash all over the now reconstructed ruins, and energy seems to slowly be drawn out of the sarcophagus into the surrounding stones. She pulls a nearly completed staff from a pocket of air and fits the third and final piece--the crystal--into the crosspiece at top. Gliding gracefully, she sets the staff into a slot in one of the rocks, where it just catches the light, and begins to chant.
The vision fast forwards as the woman continues like this, casting the ritual spell, for three days and nights. At the end of this time, the energy slows to a trickle and then, finally, stops. She stands, picking up the staff and using it for support, obviously tired from her efforts, and walks toward the sarcophagus which opens to her approach. Inside there is the ruin of the man that had been here three days before: he is curled into a ball with his skin is shriveled and pallid, and his fingers appear to be gnawed off. The woman leans over and brushes her lips against his forehead, then closes his eyes with her hand. "I am sorry, we both know why this had to happen."
The woman--drained as she is--proceeds to dig a grave, marking it with a small stone and putting the body in it. She then removes a ring from her finger and puts it in the grave with the man before replacing the soil and walking off in the direction of the statues, carrying the now complete Staff of Alayna with her.
As she walks away you can see the stones return to their former places, the cracks reform, and the carpet of plants move back into place. In the end, the only evidence that the couple was ever here is a grave dug off to the side and marked with a piece of granite.
Fflam, you get to see both visions. I'm thinking your manliness and self-sacrifice with fire has earned you a place in either camp for the moment.
You will have two days in town after the vision before the next boat leaves.))
Before you lies a ring of basalt stones, engraved with unfamiliar images of a god who's name has long been forgotten and overrun with vines and moss. In the center lies a stone sarcophagus, runes etched along both the inside and out in an elaborate pattern. A thick carpet of ferns blankets the ground, and while there are no trees to speak of there is a great deal of shorter foliage all around. ((History: 10 + Religion: 5 or Religion: 5 + History: 10 may give you more, email me for details if you meet these requirements))
Beyond the clearing you see mountains in all directions ((Geography or Maps: 5 will give you more here, let me know)) and along a passageway through the mountains there are two giant statues standing guard, each facing the other across the only evident path into the clearing. They are huge guardians, monuments of a cat-like creature with large wings, standing eternal watch.
There is a deathly peaceful feel to this place, as if it has not seen a disturbance in hundreds or even thousands of years. Not a single animal moves, no birds sing, no insects so much as click or cry out. There is no breeze, no movement, and all is perfectly still.
A moment later, suddenly, there is movement. The rustle of leaves as something moves, and in the silence the sound echoes for quite some distance.
An elven man stumbles into the ring of stones. His skin is scarred with sigils that were cut into his skin long ago, twisted images that look vaguely like the runes and glyphs common to various forms of magic, but twisted and misshapen. Not just from the inexpert and awkward hand that must have cut them, but as if the author were deliberately trying to distort their purpose. He wears clothes that look as if they must once have been made of the highest quality silk, now tattered and stained beyond all recognition. His hair is matted and caked with blood, and his eyes appear wide and terrified.
The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. A basic-but-functional instrument that on close inspection appears to be shimmering and shifting as he holds it. Looking around anxiously, he makes a long cut along the ball of his thumb and chants several words, the magic binding to his blood and causing a shimmering haze to fall over the land, when the haze lifts he is gone. ((Spellcraft 10: this is a form of blood magic, very rare, but extremely potent)).
Time passes, and a woman appears in the clearing. She doesn't teleport in or appear to step in, her body doesn't seem to materialize. It is as if you blink and then she is standing there, radiating a sense of quiet calm. She is a Drow with an extremely noble bearing, porcelain skin that is pale even by the standards of the Drow, and jet black hair that drops below her waist. Where her eyes should be appear pools of glimmering darkness. She is clothed in loose-fitting traveling clothes, which hint at her lithe frame while not explicitly revealing it, a pair of leather boots, and a black silk hat. It all appears to be in perfect condition, as if she had just put it on minutes before and checked herself over in a mirror minutes before.
She speaks softly, her words lilting elegantly, "My beloved Dannar, did you really think that the stones here would protect you, or that I couldn't see through your blood magic?" Despite the elegance of her language, her tone has a flat affect to it, entirely devoid of warmth, anger, or any form of passion. Without speaking a word, she waves her hand and a shimmering curtain forms and parts to reveal the man standing perfectly still, his eyes wide, as if paralyzed by fright.
The barest note of sadness enters her voice, "I am sorry my beloved, but you know that I need the blood of someone of your caliber to finish the Work. Your efforts to retrieve the last piece and the sacrifice you are making here will not be forgotten."
She takes him by the hand and guides him to the sarcophagus, he comes along placidly, as if not in control of his own will. With each step, the vines and moss seem to recede, stones that were previously fallen over stand upright, and cracks in the sarcophagus seem to patch over. She releases his hand and, eyes still wide, he lays down in the sarcophagus. She kisses him on the lips, then draws a crystal from one of his pockets. It shimmers and changes colors continuously from the inside, as if its very material were being reworked and reformed continuously. "This will not be in vain," she whispers, taking a step back and the lid of the sarcophagus slides into place.
Lights flash all over the now reconstructed ruins, and energy seems to slowly be drawn out of the sarcophagus into the surrounding stones. She pulls a nearly completed staff from a pocket of air and fits the third and final piece--the crystal--into the crosspiece at top. Gliding gracefully, she sets the staff into a slot in one of the rocks, where it just catches the light, and begins to chant.
The vision fast forwards as the woman continues like this, casting the ritual spell, for three days and nights. At the end of this time, the energy slows to a trickle and then, finally, stops. She stands, picking up the staff and using it for support, obviously tired from her efforts, and walks toward the sarcophagus which opens to her approach. Inside there is the ruin of the man that had been here three days before: he is curled into a ball with his skin is shriveled and pallid, and his fingers appear to be gnawed off. The woman leans over and brushes her lips against his forehead, then closes his eyes with her hand. "I am sorry, we both know why this had to happen."
The woman--drained as she is--proceeds to dig a grave, marking it with a small stone and putting the body in it. She then removes a ring from her finger and puts it in the grave with the man before replacing the soil and walking off in the direction of the statues, carrying the now complete Staff of Alayna with her.
As she walks away you can see the stones return to their former places, the cracks reform, and the carpet of plants move back into place. In the end, the only evidence that the couple was ever here is a grave dug off to the side and marked with a piece of granite.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Vision in the Night
Your group stands on a mountain together, facing out toward the sea. It is the middle of the day, and sprawling out below you are İzmir and--in the distance--Point of Origin and then the ocean. Birds are singing around you, and there's not a black or carnivorous tree to be seen.
Visions flash before you. A group of Duergar toasting their success in taking over an abandoned mine from a group of kobolds. A giant tree, sitting in the center of a dying town, shrouded in mists. A young silver dragon, its scales gleaming in the sun. A painting of a wolf, running through a field hanging on the wall of a castle. A female ranger, emulating the predatory aspects of nature, stalking her human prey in a most dangerous game. An orc shaman, casting bone lots to read the future. Paladins you don't know sitting around playing dice in a tavern one evening, talking about what other good deeds they may perform after having saved the tanner's daughter.
The visions fade.
Darkness sweeps across the landscape, cloaking the once bright world. No natural darkness, the noonday sun is swept away as the darkness speeds along the ground until all that is left is the faint outline of a ring of fire in the sky. The stars are visible overhead, but their visibility is muted, less than they would be in a natural night.
The smell of salt water washes over everything, and a deep sound can be heard echoing off of the mountains. Similar to a whale but deeper, darker, more sinister. The sound causes the very mountains to shake, stirring the things that live there.
Dark things. Ugly things. Unwholesome things.
Trees--once healthy--twist and turn black and decrepit overnight, their leaves blowing away with even a slight breeze. Shadows and undead come up from the depths of the earth.
The visions return. Flashes of clarity in a sea of confusion.
The last remaining inhabitants of a town being caught as the ground beneath them wells up with thorny, bloodsucking vines--hapless bystanders or, perhaps, sacrifices to keep a tree from interfering with a plan. Their screams can be heard for miles, but there is no one around.
A pack of wolves fleeing.... something. Sounds not unlike those made by a dolphin can be heard in the distance.
A painting of a creature too horrific to exist, with tentacles, a beak, and an exposed brain.
An adult dragon, once silver, now grey in color... the last of its life fading out of its eyes.
A duergar's face as he stabs his compatriot in the stomach, all trace of humanity, of sanity, drained from his eyes. The smell of fear and piss thick in the air. A dark shadow flickers in the background.
The paladins standing up in the middle of the night, a blank look in their face, their souls sucked away. Leaving without bothering to get dressed, without alerting anyone--apparently transparent to the surrounding townspeople.
The shaman, lying by the side of the road, all signs of life faded from his eyes. People shuffling by, without a single spark of humanity in them, not even noticing.
The ranger, running for her life as if all of the demons in the multiverse were chasing her. Her face streaked with blood.
The visions fade again. You wake up around noon, drenched in cold sweat.
Visions flash before you. A group of Duergar toasting their success in taking over an abandoned mine from a group of kobolds. A giant tree, sitting in the center of a dying town, shrouded in mists. A young silver dragon, its scales gleaming in the sun. A painting of a wolf, running through a field hanging on the wall of a castle. A female ranger, emulating the predatory aspects of nature, stalking her human prey in a most dangerous game. An orc shaman, casting bone lots to read the future. Paladins you don't know sitting around playing dice in a tavern one evening, talking about what other good deeds they may perform after having saved the tanner's daughter.
The visions fade.
Darkness sweeps across the landscape, cloaking the once bright world. No natural darkness, the noonday sun is swept away as the darkness speeds along the ground until all that is left is the faint outline of a ring of fire in the sky. The stars are visible overhead, but their visibility is muted, less than they would be in a natural night.
The smell of salt water washes over everything, and a deep sound can be heard echoing off of the mountains. Similar to a whale but deeper, darker, more sinister. The sound causes the very mountains to shake, stirring the things that live there.
Dark things. Ugly things. Unwholesome things.
Trees--once healthy--twist and turn black and decrepit overnight, their leaves blowing away with even a slight breeze. Shadows and undead come up from the depths of the earth.
The visions return. Flashes of clarity in a sea of confusion.
The last remaining inhabitants of a town being caught as the ground beneath them wells up with thorny, bloodsucking vines--hapless bystanders or, perhaps, sacrifices to keep a tree from interfering with a plan. Their screams can be heard for miles, but there is no one around.
A pack of wolves fleeing.... something. Sounds not unlike those made by a dolphin can be heard in the distance.
A painting of a creature too horrific to exist, with tentacles, a beak, and an exposed brain.
An adult dragon, once silver, now grey in color... the last of its life fading out of its eyes.
A duergar's face as he stabs his compatriot in the stomach, all trace of humanity, of sanity, drained from his eyes. The smell of fear and piss thick in the air. A dark shadow flickers in the background.
The paladins standing up in the middle of the night, a blank look in their face, their souls sucked away. Leaving without bothering to get dressed, without alerting anyone--apparently transparent to the surrounding townspeople.
The shaman, lying by the side of the road, all signs of life faded from his eyes. People shuffling by, without a single spark of humanity in them, not even noticing.
The ranger, running for her life as if all of the demons in the multiverse were chasing her. Her face streaked with blood.
The visions fade again. You wake up around noon, drenched in cold sweat.
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