Author Topic: Wizard Post Number 8  (Read 1182 times)

Offline MerliniX

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Wizard Post Number 8
« on: October 19, 2016, 12:48:07 AM »
And thus shall it be, that the mighty Wizard shall rise once more from his slumber, and from his mouth will issue forth a stream of words. The scribes, and the scholars, and all the learned men of the world will hear those words, and few will know their import, but all shall tremble at the voice, and quake in fear, and know that the end is near.

The End is Nigh!

Listen close, yee with ears to hear and eyes to see, listen and be made wise. For my prognostication resonates with truth as yet glimpsed by mortal men, or indeed, even those who would call themselves 'immortal'. Truths, too terrible once to contemplate, these I will tell you, and tell you true. The future I will reveal, though your minds are not ready.

Nigh, draws the time, when the eternal fires of the dawn grow cold, and fade to smoking embers. Nigh, is the time when in the mystical land of Jinhai a wall, once thought impregnable, shall begin to crumble. Nigh, is the time, when in a world of jungle, unspoiled by the tainted touch of civilization, a darkness begins to slowly spread. Nigh is the time that in the mighty towers of Lanstead, the lights shall go dark, as the power fails, and men and women will emerge from their factories, for the first time in their lives, as the blackness spreads across the sky. Nigh, is the time, when on the cold, dead world of Avarach, a solitary drone will look up at the sky, and watch as it's world fades to nothing. Nigh is the time that the cultists of the plains will be consumed by a terrible darkness, they will turn to each other, as it comes for them, and they will say 'it is the demons', but they will be mistaken. Nigh, is the time, when the fires of Torment will grow cold, and darkness will cloud the skies of chaos. The demons will at first rejoice, knowing their time has come, but then they, too, will fall silent in horror as the truth dawns upon them. Nigh is the time, which in Solace, for the first time in memory, shadow will touch the glimmering city of light. Shadow, and silence, and nothing else. 'Impossible', the angels will say, yet it will happen still, and all of their power, all of their might, and all of their wisdom, will not suffice to turn back the tide.

On the battlefields of the Infinite War, soldiers will look across the battle lines, to where the enemy forces stand arrayed. Enemies will scream together in agony, as they are engulfed, and extinguished, plucked from the light all at once, and plunged together into the darkness. They will gnash their teeth there, together, and tear out their hair, and cry out together in misery. Angel, and Demon, Aspirant, and Monk, Cultist, and Drone, Undead, and Beast. In that darkness even the ones known as the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise, will writhe and twist in agony. They will know only agony, and they will not know the cause.

In the towers of Lanstead, as the blackness crawls across the sky, a solitary woman who has lived in that place for millennia will look out as it comes crashing down. She will look at it, and she alone will know what it is that comes for her, what it is that comes for them all. And, though immortal she may be, she knows too that this thing, this one thing that comes for her now, this thing will be her undoing. Her unmaking. It is a Calamity, of a sort she has never witnessed before, though she alone had bore  witness to the Calamities of the past.

As it comes for her she will watch, patient. A few thousand years is more than enough time, she knows, and she has long since grown wearied of her timeless existence. Still, fear gnaws at the corners of her brain like a rat at a scrap of rotting bone. She knows what this is, but knows not how dangerous it truly is for her, for everyone.

And as the darkness finally covers her, extinguishing her, and sending her to a realm of eternal shadow, she whispers but a single word, that echoes across all of the infinite planes. The Monks hear that single word as they perish, and the warriors of the once glorious dawn, and the cultists of death herself, and the demons, and the angels, and the dead, and the living, and cold truth dawns on all of them as that single word pierces through their minds.

"Server," she whispered, and in that solitary moment, through all the rifts, and across all the planes they understood. The server had been shut down.

Offline Benionin

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Re: Wizard Post Number 8
« Reply #1 on: October 19, 2016, 12:52:13 AM »
0/10 not enough sandwiches
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