Event Announcement Dark Omens I || The Age of Reaping

[!] The following players get a terrible nightmare the next time they go to sleep:
- Kharis Fitzalan
- Reuven Engraen
- Rhagmir Embereye
- Arndil


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Dark Omens I

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Those with this dream see a darkened sky.
A red city engulfed in flames.
The screams of Men, women, and children
are the only thing that can be heard over the blaze.
They are dying..
There is nothing you can do.

Amethyst lights flicker from within the veil of smoke
as the two rivers surrounding the city turn a dark
red.

You find yourself at the edge of the blaze.
Your feet seem to be mended into the ground.
As the blaze and the screams crawl ever closer,
you can do nothing but watch.

The tidal wave of red makes its way toward you.
The thing carrying the blaze is a carpet of bones.
Skulls scream without flesh or a body.
Limbs spasm without muscles.
The bodies are without a soul.
Their light has gone out.

As the flames touch you, all turns red, and then black.
The screams silence.
The bones vaporize.

There is nothing.


[!] You wake up.
 
The groan of an old bed long-suffered it's days of use was the only thing that greeted the Scinar the morning thereafter. The memory of such a vivid, horrifying dream was fresh in the minds eye, the flames burned into it and flooding his vision. For several minutes, all he could do was sit in silence and wait for the memory to fade.
Legs shifted, one after the other over the side of the bed. He rose quietly, finding with a sway that they could still walk. Such a mundane thing he'd never thought to feel so grateful for, yet a rush of it filled his head. Crimson sheets lay crumpled on the surface Kharis just rose from, the warm light of the room illuminating them in a dim way. The curve and shift of it, so vivid and red.


Red.

Red as the flame that consumed the city, as the harsh hue that engulfed the people. The men, women, children - were they familiar? Did he know these screams as that of his loved ones? There so near to him, yet much too far away. No, he couldn't reach them through this wall of smoke, through those intense flames.
The Scinar's throat tightened, a scorch filling the swell of their lungs. It burned, desperate attempts to suck in the cool air around them proving inadequate. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision further and spilling over his face to the floor below. When had it gotten so close? Fingers stinging, clutched to the wooden planks. The skin had broken open, the static tinge under his nails overlooked nearly entirely for the ache. Such an intense wave of this ache set deep into his flesh, clinging to his bones and joints. Movement was difficult, and it would be for an unperceived amount of time.
When Kharis eventually rose, the biting sting at the tips of their fingers lay mute to a faint throb. Perhaps a new color of sheets was in order. His face and hands were washed, hair brushed, anointed, and braided. Fresh clothes were pulled on, soft fabric a sandpaper to the shaken azari'cill. Descended into the main living space where water was set upon heat, tea prepared. The light that flooded the room indicated late morning. Steaming tea filled a sturdy, familiar mug. A long, slow sip was drawn from it, burning his mouth. He gazed out the window to emerald green leaves and slow moving waters.

It was a new day.
 
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