User:Vien/Visions
Event Predictions
(Listed roughly from newest to oldest)
A searing jolt of pain stabs through your chest and your vision flashes with an angry white glare. Collapsing to the floor, gasping for your final breath, thoughts fly through your mind before the world goes black. "What have I done to deserve this? Will the Master be next? The rags are still on the table, he'll be furious. The floor is cold. I'm so very...cold. The candle is too close to the curtain...pull it back."
The sounds of the world grow muted and distant. A sweetly jubilant melody emerges from the back of your mind in their stead. Humming along and reminiscing of the past, you wash the bloody debris off your hands.
You lower your head to your arthritic hands, furiously trying to craft something of wonder. No! The material is insufficient. You raise your voice imperiously and demand more. Only, there is no one else in the room...
Out of a sudden darkness that descends upon you, plump raspberries of cloying pink bounce into view! After a while, the scene shifts to that of a child's opulent room, and the raspberries to large splotches of fresh blood on the floor, walls and even ceiling.
Twirling bones of myriad sizes begin a peculiar dance around you, filling the air with their rollicking clatter and distracting you from the world. When you reach out to touch one, all of them burst in small explosions of silvery dust.
A searing jolt of pain stabs through your chest and your vision flashes with an angry white glare. Blinding flashes of lightning burst from the heavens in angry bolts that reach ominously towards the ground. The roar of rain spattering off of closed stalls and other structures drowns out most of the earth-shaking thunder. The wind shrieks through holes in the wooden homes as it tosses rain-soaked debris carelessly from place to place.
All the light dims out of your sight, enfolding you in the Dark Cloak of Woven Night - but the stars do not come. After a while, a gleaming white pinpoint in the distance resolves into several lances of jagged bone that hurtle toward you! As you hear the sound of tearing flesh at the first impact, you are thrown back to the mundane world.
You find yourself sitting -- or standing; you can't tell for some reason -- in a field of ivory. Tinny, monotonous voices whisper conspiratorially from all around. As though perpetually busy with something else, you nod absentmindedly and reply in a voice not your own, "Ready, yes, ready."
An eight-legged monstrosity of gigantic proportions languorously treads through a field of strewn bones, which then transforms into a jungly region. Curiously, the creature is followed on all sides by a parading crowd. Or are they skeletons?
Your vision remains unchanged, but the sounds around you are abruptly replaced by a dozen maddened wails! Among their din, you make out a single weeping voice softly pleading to Albreda over and over.
A shadowy, misshapen giant towers in front of you and trumpets out, "It's time to pay, gnat. A hundred deaths for every slight!" Your vision snaps back to normality as a coarse mixture of laughter and growling reverberates against your skull. --- Twirling bones of myriad sizes begin a peculiar dance around you, filling the air with their rollicking clatter and distracting you from the world. When you reach out to touch one, all of them burst in small explosions of silvery dust.
A searing jolt of pain stabs through your chest and your vision flashes with an angry white glare. A knock sounds at the door. Setting aside the feathered duster and cleaning rags, you make your way towards the entry parlor, your footsteps echoing loudly upon the marble floor.
You focus inwardly searching for insight into your future. A searing jolt of pain stabs through your chest and your vision flashes with an angry white glare. The storm shows no sign of letting up any time soon, and in fact continues to get worse with each passing moment. Pulling your cloak tightly closed and clutching your possessions, you step out from under the awning to make your way home.
No more than three steps out, the world explodes in a white-hot flash.
The sounds of the world grow muted and distant. A sweetly jubilant melody emerges from the back of your mind in their stead. Humming along and reminiscing of the past, you wash the bloody debris off your hands.
The world melts around you, and you find yourself with a platoon of Elven warriors surrounded on all sides by an undead force. Despite their overwhelming numbers, it quickly becomes apparent that the monsters are the disadvantaged side. Silver fire rains down in bolts that fly through the wooded field and the chaos of bodies locked in battle, unerringly blasting into the Elves' foes.
In the middle of it all stands a nondescript robed man. His eyes laughing with zeal, the Elf chants triumphant prayers to the gods of war as each sweep of his flashing sword severs a rotten head. His eyes... The vision suddenly zooms close to his face, revealing mismatched gold and indigo eyes with one pupil warped into a mongoose and the other into a vulture. With a blink, the animalian pupils revert back to normal, and so does your sight.
As your vision clears you see a small light drifting peacefully across the heavens, gradually growing brighter as it moves. In a sudden moment of terror you realize that it is not getting brighter; it is getting closer.
As your vision clears you focus on a small man hiding in a tree. You note his merry blue eyes and thick beard. He smiles as he watches children making a small pile of odd items. You see what looks like a small piece of lead, some bits of hard candy, and even a small jar of thick cream.
As the children depart, the man notices you, his smile turning into a deep frown. A fierce look crosses his face, and his visage changes into that of a gremlin.
You see a man of ashen grey complexion standing on a featureless plane. He is hairless and nude, his skin profoundly bruised and burnt. A black aura surrounds him, all sharp lines and jagged edges, except for his head: as it inches upward, the darkness gives way to a crown of braided sunlight.
Above and surrounding the figure is a semi-circle of creatures, vaguely Human shaped but made out of fire and sunlight. Some bob up and down to the beat of incandescent wings, others are merely suspended in defiance to gravity. Manacles bind their limbs and trail earthen brown tethers that connect to the plane below them, leaving them perhaps a few more feet of slack.
One of the fire creatures attempts to raise a blinding sword, but does not have enough slack to bring it above its head. The grey man smirks, but closes his eyes and lowers his head. He walks the distance between him and the creatures, then sits down amongst the tethers.
As your vision clears you see a child's doll dressed in a hooded scarlet robe. The doll lies face down in the mud. You lift the doll carefully, cleaning mud from the back of the robe. You turn over the doll and discover a skeletal face staring back. The face seems to smile at you as the doll fades away in your hand, and your vision returns to normal.
A massive shadow speeds across overhead, drawing your attention upward. Great sheets of metal cover a massive, winged beast as it effortlessly glides through the air. It turns its great head in your direction, opens its mouth and releases a tremendous roar that makes the very ground you stand upon quake. In the span of a blink, the creature is gone, leaving you to wonder if it ever existed at all.
A crimson design etches across the air in front of you. Its origins are foreign, but a powerful desire accompanies it: it means everything you want, every possibility realized.
"You're forgetting something."
You stand in front of an iron table, scalpel in hand. Lying on the table is a half-naked Prydaen, unbound yet seemingly paralyzed. She stares up at you with wide, tear-brimmed eyes, while her breaths are accompanied with gasping, plaintive whines. Standing opposite of you is an elderly Human man in homespun clothes.
The Old Man says, "Glory. Immortality. Transcendence. Every promise that has been made is true. It's all hidden inside there," he looks down at the captive Prydaen, "Waiting for you to dig it out."
He returns a flat, expressionless gaze to you, "The moral dilemma isn't that necromancy demands a terrible price, but that you aren't the one that pays it. Are you worth her life?"
Spontaneous Visions
09/24/09 - 8:30pm
Your mind is suddenly overwhelmed with thoughts of possibilities and portents. Just as suddenly, the feeling is gone. It is as if a door had swung open and then closed.
09/11/09
The image of a clear, starry night plays in the back of your mind. Steadily the image gains definition, conjuring from your imagination three unnamed stars in the firmament erupting with light.
The sense of intensity only grows, soon gaining prophetic authority and subsuming your senses. Your vision locks onto the scene while the stars continue to swell, piercingly bright and bitterly cold. The vision holds until the scene has dissolved into all-engulfing, frozen whiteness, leaving you momentarily blinded by glare.
The image of a clear, starry night played in the back of my mind. Steadily the image gained definition, conjuring from my imagination three unnamed stars in the firmament erupting with light.
The sense of intensity only grew, soon gaining prophetic authority and subsuming my senses. My vision locked onto the scene while the stars continued to swell, piercingly bright and bitterly cold. The vision held until the scene had dissolved into all-engulfing, frozen whiteness, leaving me momentarily blinded by glare.
09/02/09
Your vision is wrenched away to a grassy field. A purple-robed woman deftly glides through thick blades of grass that shy away from her presence. She approaches a green-robed man whose tail sways pensively behind him, as if waiting. His dull black eyes seem to glitter for a moment as he looks to the encroaching woman, "You can't even conceive that there's no point to this, can you?"
The woman is unresponsive, her severe features flickering in your mind's eye until there is not a lady but instead a grim, skeletal visage with writhing strands of ethereal white swirling behind her. As abruptly as they changed in the first place, so does the creature revert back to the woman with the frozen gaze.
The man shakes his head, annoyance clearly written upon his snout. He mutters, "Fine, if this is what you want." The man snaps his hand forward as an arc of blackness sweeps forth, green and red swirls writhing within in a pale mockery of life. The woman simply raises one hand as red and purple shafts of light sparkle through the air. As the wave of darkness passes, the woman's severe features are haughtily arrogant, and untouched, though the ground around her has become a cracked and dessicated patch of dirt.
As the woman prepares her counter-assault, your sight suddenly sees beyond the two figures, beyond their magic. A ravenous, shapeless hunger rises from the woman, greedily pushing outwards but always centered upon something that remains hidden from your sight. Facing it is an oozing blackness seeping forth from the man... old, and powerful. Despite its obvious might, the darkness feels frail before the hunger. Your brain hurts with intense pressure as forces you cannot comprehend fling themselves at each other, and your mind's eye mercifully closes just as you sense the black force retreating.