Halls of Death

Antidas

Post your new embrace sequences! I'll start if off with the one for @Aurora below

Antidas

Gripped by the cold embrace of death, you succumb to the darkness...

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself 

known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through 

you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul, 

crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench 

of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails 

the senses, and instinctively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily 

feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak, 

unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an 

eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn toward the source. Without thought you submit to the 

harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling, 

then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous 

step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured 

onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your destination lies mere inches from 

your grasping reach.

Weaving back and forth with hands wringing together in blind faith, you stumble onwards on your 

perilous journey. The roaring crescendo of water subdues to a hushed tinkle of liquid splashing 

against an unyielding object. Still you drive forward, desperation pitting you against the odds.

Your form grinds to a sudden halt, movement staunched by an endless torrent of gold and ivory motes 

falling across your path. The lucent flakes drape across your countenance like curtains across lofty 

windows. A soft whisper resounds within your mind, "Rest". Unable to help yourself, you submit 

yourself to the beckoning command, tumbling down into a shrouded abyss.

Light striates speedily across the inky backdrop of pure darkness, your fall through the brink 

unfettered by corporeal form. Hues of white and yellow blink past faster than your eyes can imagine 

and your silent screams blend into awe as the colours meld into rubescent splendour, flitting 

between shapes of dragon and eagle.

Like a whisper on the breeze, your name sounds loud within the dazzling cocoon of scintillant wings. 

Your fall staunched by the radiant creatures, A figure stands before you, golden armour blazing a 

trail of illumination and cutting sharply through the dark recesses.

Hand resting on the Scimitar of the Dawn, Aurora, Goddess of Light assesses your frame, Her eyes 

deep pools of stoic contemplation. "Service to Me comes at a high price, warrior. This service is 

absolute and eternal, and you would see death befall you many more times to come in defence of 

Creation."

Her brow furrowed with thought, the Lightbringer throws a single finger in your direction, pointing 

directly at your chest. "Time is an endless commodity yet one that is always in limited abundance", 

She states. "Come, there is much work still to be done. It is time to return to your duty."

With a negligent flick of Her wrist, the Goddess of Light manifests a solitary font of ivory and 

inlaid gold. "Drink, mortal. Drink deep from this font before you, that the water would restore your 

essence. I bid you to rise again, soldier. Let Light be the shield and Truth be the weapon to 

protect and guide you along the path of the Righteous.

Head bowed, you take a single, thirst-quenching taste of the crystalline water within the font. Pure 

light engulfs you completely, your incorporeal form shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

In a single heartbeat you see your life flash past you, from the moment of being to the most recent 

recollection. A whispered blessing floats across your subconsciousness, "Rebirth", before the 

lingering image of a phoenix trailing a ray of light fades into nothing, leaving you gazing 

bemusedly around the confines of a small cave.

Tydas

@Ignika posted this one for @Ourania:

Gripped by the cold embrace of death, you succumb to the darkness...

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself 
known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through 
you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul, 
crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench 
of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails 
the senses, and instinctively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily 
feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak, 
unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an 
eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn toward the source. Without thought you submit to the 
harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling, 
then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous 
step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured 
onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your destination lies mere inches from 
your grasping reach.

"Don't move, Ignika." The whiskery tones of age and wisdom crackle in the words uttered from behind 
you.

A sharp prod at your back causes you to turn, and you face Urdu who bears a silvery pair of shears 
in one hand. The hunched and shrunken woman peers myopically up at you.
"You've died, eh?" The crone mutters this mostly to herself as she draws a glimmering thread from 
her sleeve and assesses its length, glancing at you with a scowl for comparison. With a sniff of 
castigation, Urdu returns her shears to her belted waist and departs, "It is not your time yet." 
echoes in her wake.

From nowhere, a slender, girlish figure approaches you, her step is light and she bears a 
mischievous smile. The Eternal Maiden takes your hand without a word and leads you onward.

Youthful promise exudes from Skuld. She skips you along, bells a-jingle as the terrain inexplicably 
shifts from barren rocky wastes to a scintillating starscape beneath her tripping feet.

"You ended for a moment and now we have begun, Ignika. Mother shall watch." A delicate hand gestures 
to the luminous moon high above your improbable surrounds.

With a final laugh, Skuld releases your hand and waves a goodbye. Her tinkling chuckle resounds 
across the sparkling vista as she fades from view.

Warm maternal tones greet you finally, "Fear not, Ignika, for we are never alone, even in the 
darkest of nights the Opener of the Gate promises return." A pregnant woman stands beside you in the 
cave, her smile as much a comfort as the light of life beyond.

A gentle hand presses at your back, ushering you forth back to life once more.

And @Asria gave us this one for @Twilight:

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself 
known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through 
you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul, 
crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench 
of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails 
the senses, and instinctively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily 
feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak, 
unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an 
eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn toward the source. Without thought you submit to the 
harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling, 
then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous 
step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured 
onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your destination lies mere inches from 
your grasping reach.

All goes black and moments later, you are enveloped in shadows. Suddenly you feel lighter, a great 
weight lifted from your shoulders. Just as you start to feel comfortable, you realise that something 
is not right. A soothing voice resonates from deep within the darkness, "Do not fret."

An abruptly rising, frigid wind chills you to the bone and the shadows retreat. You find yourself 
staring into a pair of glowing red eyes and realise that before you is Twilight, Lord of Darkness. 
Slowly you can make out the vaguest details of His visage as your vision adjusts to the surrounding 
darkness.

"The unfortunate fall of the Endbringer has forced Us to take this duty upon Ourselves, Asria. My 
Brothers and Sisters, We must all play Our part for the well-being of all. Naturally, I have gladly 
accepted this duty for I hold no grudges. Now, let Me embrace you."

A wry smile creeps upon the face of the Elder God, and all goes dark again. A cold mist entwines you 
as you are drawn into the shadows once more by an invisible force. Devoid of any sense of direction, 
you soon feel as if you are falling into unseen depths, faster and faster until suddenly it stops. 
Your heart races while your stomach turns.

"You have died. How or why is of no concern to Me, but your fate now lies in My hands." Once more,  
you find yourself staring into His eyes and as you are lifted up, your senses reel and are suddenly 
filled with an overwhelming feeling of wonder.

"I sense a purpose for you yet, and I shall grant you this opportunity."

"As darkness was in the beginning, so shall you pass through it now and return to your mortal self." 
The surrounding blackness flows towards the centre of the room and concentrates into a triangular 
portal in front of you. Your eyes seem to take an eternity to refocus as the surroundings brighten, 
the darkness receding gradually.

You observe your shadow moving forward and as it approaches the portal, dark tendrils shoot out and 
envelop it. An irresistible force from the depths of your being encourages you to follow and you 
find yourself stepping forward, then running towards the darkness until you too are embraced by the 
frigid tendrils. Burning from the inside, an excruciating pain overcomes your soul, threatening to 
throw you into madness as a soft chuckle resonates from the distance and a silken voice fills your 
mind: "I never said this would be easy."

The pain subsides and you consider the possibility that it was all merely an illusion. Opening your 
eyes slowly, you realise the darkness has vanished. Still wondering what transpired but moments ago, 
you keep pondering the silken words of the Dark Father.

Melodie

Mhaldor (not in any Order):

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul, crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails the senses, and instinctively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak, unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn toward the source. Without thought you submit to the harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling, then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your destination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

A light mist begins to pour into your vision, swirling enigmatically around your ankles with every step you take, before you plunge into freezing, fast-flowing waters.

Panic seizes your heart as the water sweeps you away towards the roaring waterfall. Unable to fight against the merciless current, you relinquish the fight. The swirling river tugs you under, and you feel pieces of yourself torn away, bit by bit, by unseen predators lurking beneath the surface.

Indescribable pain assails your consciousness, flooding your mind with flashing images of your demise. "Weak," comes a guttural voice that filters through the haze of agony. The colours of your surroundings begin to bleed into each other, twisting into unimaginable horrors.

You experience a sensation of weightlessness as the river hurls you from its cliff edge into the embrace of utter darkness. Resigned to your fate and suffering from intolerable hurts, you prepare to face your eternal rest.

The deafening thrum of the waterfall fades away, replaced by a steady hissing in your ear that is accompanied by the violent flutter of the thousands of wings. A swirling column of daemonites swiftly encircles you, carrying you away amid their frantic movements before unceremoniously depositing you on solid ground again.

Sprawled upon your back, your gaze refocuses upon the ominous form of Sartan, the Malevolent standing a distance from you. Fiery red veins throb across His towering form, lighting up the bleak surroundings with His presence alone.

"Elder God as He was," echoes the cruel guttural voice of the Malevolent, "Thoth proved the weakness of His Godhood when He perished." Overhead, the swirling column of daemonites banks with vulture-like focus. "Yet, even through His death, He has managed to saddle the Pantheon with His loathsome duty."

"I am unbound by the rules of the Garden, mortal," rumbles Sartan, the Malevolent as He slips the Blade of Perdition from its sheath, "So if you seek to live once more, prove that you have the strength to run from your fate of an eternal rest." Shrieking cries from swirling daemonites fill the air as He begins to stride towards you.

Filled with the overwhelming desire to live again, you begin a slow crawl backwards, putting some distance between you and the God of Evil, and limping when you are able to stand. The surroundings begin to lighten, indicating a subtle shift in location. A renewed vigour burns in your heart as it begins to beat again, thrumming strongly as the gloom lifts to reveal your successful escape from the Soulrealms.

(Nothing like being terrified out of death back into life.)

Tahquil

He dun scared you to death life.

Krypton

Antidas said:

In a single heartbeat you see your life flash past you, from the moment of being to the most recent 

recollection. A whispered blessing floats across your subconsciousness, "Rebirth", before the 

lingering image of a phoenix trailing a ray of light fades into nothing, leaving you gazing 

bemusedly around the confines of a small cave.

Should be changed to respect gravestones.

Skye

Gripped by the cold embrace of death, you succumb to the darkness...

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul, crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails the senses, and instictively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak, unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn towards the source. Without thought, you submit to the harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling, then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your desetination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

"What are you doing here, dear one?"

White light fills your eyes at the familiar voice and you feel scorching heat on your skin. As you blink your eyes back into focus, you muzzily make out the form of a tall, handsome man standing before you. There is a persistent loop of luau music stealing what's left of your ragged soul. 

The Lord of the Sea shakes His sandy blonde hair, and you notice with great relief that He's finally gotten a haircut and learned to grow a proper beard. The giggling, naked nereids hanging on to either arm look you up and down with an air of vapid interest.

"Dead are you? We can't be having that!" says Neraeos cheerfully. Without spilling His frozen Mai Tai, He raises a bare foot and boots you into the water before you can protest. "Back into the world with you!"

You barely hear His last few words about 'vacation' and 'getting some fresh tuna' as you fly through the air and crash into the sea. Sinking beneath the tumultous waves, the salt water fills your ears first, then your lungs, and you struggle futilely at first and then with more success as incandescent rage buoys you to the surface. 

Heart pounding, you rise from the water, shaking and heaving the sea from your hair and lungs before screaming, "WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"

Asmodron

Lololololol

Melodie

At first the luau music threw me off and I was about to complain, then the more I read, the more I got trolled.

Thanks, @Skye.

Krypton

Rogues:

(WTF PANDORA, LOL.)

(o hai Neroes!)

-------------------------

[...]

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its

sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain

your destination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

As you advance forward, you realise that your bleak surroundings appear

different somehow. Looming out of the darkness before you, an ethereal

paintbrush begins its work, dancing through the air like it would upon a canvas

tapestry.

With each sweep of its silken tip, the darkness is transformed with a palette of

colours to depict the twinkling, heavenly bodies of the night sky and a

breathtaking vista of snow-capped silhouetted against the firmament. The

thunderous sound of flowing water fades from audibility as wonderment and awe

overwhelms you.

Resonant laughter fills the surroundings as the paintbrush stills abruptly, the

rich baritone subsiding to meld with the poignant notes of an ancient harmonic.

Reverberating gently, the chords weave to manifest the Great Bard's presence,

who reaches up to pluck the tool from the air.

The refrains of a slow requiem shudders into wakefulness, eliciting a frown from

Scarlatti, the Great Bard. Stepping forward, He enfolds one pristine wing about

your form, drawing you unto His side. "Walk with Me, My [player]."

The vibrant landscape widens impossibly before you, and each step forward

creates a dirt path that trails off into the distance. Sheltered in the cocoon

of the God of Art's wingspan, you temporarily forget the circumstances that led

you to your death.

"It remains a little known fact, My [player], that the realms of My Brothers

and Sisters lay subservient to Mine own, creations that are suffused and

substantiated within artistic essence," comes the warm baritone voice of the

Great Bard. "To raise an example: here in Thoth's realm, you see the bleak

wasteland and the darkness that threatens to consume you."

Scarlatti releases you from His feathered embrace but turns upon a heel to face

you. Azure eyes examine your drained countenance, before He raises a hand and

presses a warm thumb into your forehead. Fire erupts between your eyes, flooding

your lifeless veins with a welcoming heat.

"But I see a canvas. A canvas steeped in the history of what was, and the

promise of what may be," muses the Great Bard. "You harbour the ability to

change the world purely with the force of your imagination and the fury of your

passion, tempered with discipline. Creation feels the loss of your artistic

potential when you died, My [player], but it need not remain so."

Your veins begin to burn with blinding intensity, and the sudden surge of agony

sends you to your knees. Each shade of colour appears sharper, until they begin

to bleed into each other to reform into familiar surroundings. Note by note, the

silvery harmonic unravels to follow the Great Bard's fading presence, and in His

departure, you draw in a ragged breath and realise with a start: you are reborn.

-------------------------

[...]

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its

sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain

your destination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

A stairway rises out of the darkness before you; the top is out of sight but

seeing no other alternative, you struggle up each step, your breath ragged and

pain shooting throughout your body. Suddenly the stairs shift: you are now

heading back downward, as a deluge of girlish giggles echo in your ears.

Panicking, you turn on your heels and race in the opposite direction to continue

your escape upwards. The stairs once again shift and head down; each time you

change your course so do the direction of the stairs, as the unrestrained mirth

grows louder.

Tears well up in your eyes as you flop down upon one of the stairs in defeat. A

young voice shouts out, "Aww, you're no fun!" Stepping out of the shadows,

Pandora, Goddess of Mischief stands before you, pouting at you resentfully.

Leaning in closely, She prods your chest with Her liquescent silver hand before

beginning to speak.

"You are just like the rest of them! They told Me if I came to help out that Guy

with all the arms who died that I would get to play with people! BUT NOBODY

WANTS TO PLAY!" Blowing Her single rainbow-hued curl out of Her eyes, She glares

at you before continuing: "It is dark and smelly and boring in here I think I

was tricked! I am the one who should do the tricking!"

Staring at this young Lady with a mixture of confusion and amusement, you open

your mouth to speak but before any words come out, She grabs you by the hand.

"Before I let you go, you will at least have a snack!"

You find yourself in a bright room of rainbow hues, relics of wars past

scattered about in clashing contrast. Motioning for you to sit at a table with

three chairs, She proudly proclaims, "Ta-da! Welcome to My room!" Two of the

three seats are empty; a small Magpie eyes you suspiciously from the third.

Racing around with Her flurry of ebon curls bouncing about, She soon returns

with dozens of miniature frosted lemon cakes which She places in front of each

of you; for each one you get, She gives Herself two.

"I am a Goddess and My Mummy and Daddy used to say I could have all the cake I

want so I get the most!" Beaming at the mountain of treats before Her, Pandora

digs in with excitement. After scarfing down a few of the desserts and licking

Her fingers, She peers over at you: "[player], why aren't you eating! You need

to eat! YOU CANNOT GO UNTIL YOU EAT!"

Seeing the Goddess of Mischief's gaze go from excitement to anger, you decide it

would be best to eat some cake though you are nothing resembling hungry. As you

gingerly lift one to your mouth Pandora begins to shout "No! Too late! Get out

of here, [player]! Just go... Live and stuff." The magpie flies at you with a

raucous shriek and pecks angrily at your face until the world turns to blackness

once more...

You open your eyes to find yourself sitting outside of the cave, refreshed and

no trace of anything which would prove what you just experienced. As you stand

and brush yourself off, a small magpie circles above you, letting loose a stream

of white goo on your head before flying off with a squawk and a giggle that

sounds suspiciously like that of an adolescent Mischief-Maker...

-------------------------

[...]

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its

sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain

your destination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

A negligent flash of wan light transports you from the barren wastes of the

outer Soulrealm. You float suspended, without weight, or gravitational sense.

There are no boundaries to this strange place, no borders, no floor below; there

is nothing save for the aurulent ambience that stretches on indefinitely and the

sibilantly incomprehensible whispers of a multitude that you cannot see.

Moments pass, each an eon to those who are caught in this strangely submersive

non-colour, those who are seemingly without time. Another snaps into being

beside you, her vivacity and life incongruent with the alien peace of this

non-place. Clad in ebon robes and appointed with snakeskin, the dangerous

seeming woman pushes her chestnut hair from her ancient blue eyes to better

consider you, a cruel tilt to her semi-smile.

"Let us not keep my Mistress waiting, [player]. That would be... Impolitic."

The robed woman roughly grasps your hand and, with a jolt that tears at the

bonds of your very being, you find yourself crumpled upon blissfully real, cold

stone floor. The human offers you a glance of vexed impatience and tugs you to

your knees.

An immense table covered in strange glass objects separates your kneeled self

and your chaperone from a statuesque figure who does not yet deign to

acknowledge your presence. Her back remains turned, subtle shifts in the silken

swathe that drapes the regal form suggest that another task secures attention.

"You have died, [player], and it falls to Me this day to see what you have made

of yourself." Cold and quietly brusque the voice is immediately recognisable,

you are knelt before the Jade Empress Lorielan.

A frigid ache blossoms in your knees as you await Her pleasure, and finally the

Elder Goddess does turn to address your presence with Her critical gaze. "I

cannot make use of you in this state, return to the path, [player], do better."

With that calumniatory statement hanging between you, Lorielan gestures

imperiously, dismissing you from Her chamber and Her consideration.

As you recover from another relocation you find yourself within a familiar,

rough cave. A single candle stands upon a lone table, offering the minutest of

illuminations, the only other discernable feature is the warmer light that

shines from an aperture across the space.

Finally you stand, your body is repaired and your spirit calmly invigorated. A

remnant of your resurrection, the faintest aroma of jasmine lingers, its calm

notes both a comfort and a reminder of the criticism you have received.

-------------------------

[...]

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its

sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain

your destination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

The bleak wasteland abruptly falls away before you like a shattered illusion; a

bright meadow greets your bewildered gaze, the vibrancy of the colours mocking

the faded hue of your drained countenance. Your surprise soon bleeds away,

replaced by a nagging curiosity of your surroundings.

A great sense of peace infuses your being as you begin to explore. A riotous

field of wildflowers encircles a frothing waterfall cascading off an odd,

cloud-wreathed cliff, while bright streams of sunlight reflect off stray

droplets of water that speckle the blades of the grass growing by the banks of

the lazy, meandering river.

The familiar sound of running water again begins to build into a defeaning roar

within your ears. Whether it be by free or Divine will, your gaze wanders back

to the cascading waterfall in the meadow. The unobtrusive outline of a tall and

lean figure can be made out behind the aqua curtain; reaching out through the

watery veil with a hand, the man whispers a single word: "Come."

The meadow disappears steadily from view, greedily swallowed by a flood of

darkness that whisks you away into the depths of the unknown. After what seems

like an eternity, you feel yourself being deposited back onto solid ground, or

in this particular instance, into the wet embrace of a wine-dark ocean.

The gleam of metal catches your gaze before a trident bursts through the ocean

surface, narrowly managing to avoid impaling you. The wielder of the weapon is

none other than Neraeos Pelagia, the God of the Seas, who you now recognise to

be the figure behind the waterfall in the meadow.

Temporarily overtaken by surprise, it takes you a moment to realise you are

caught in a small, saltwater cocoon floating upon the ocean surface. "Death had

you in its maw, [player], but I fought it back with My trident." Neraeos, the

God of the Sea purses His lips, inscrutable in His contemplation. "There is a

reason behind My actions."

"I am not meant to be here, child," comes His quiet voice as He drifts upon the

currents of the ocean, watching you with expressive, blue-green eyes, "But with

Thoth's death, some abandoned duties must be taken up once more."

A gentle warmth begins to circulate within the cocoon and it begins to

crystallise around you, forming layers of salt that obscure your view of the Sea

God. "[player]," murmurs His quiet voice, "I deem your journey unfinished, for

you perished before achieving that moment in life. The Sea espouses many things

but it is strength that it will grant you now, once more, to attain this goal."

Power swells painfully within your bosom, roiling like a boiling geyser over

your cold heart. As the internal heat builds to an intolerable level, you cry

out loudly, fingers clawing desperately at the crystalline surface of your

cocoon. Somehow, you find the strength and passion to break out from your oval

prison, but your surroundings and circumstances have changed: you are laid upon

the cold ground outside the cave, reborn.

Skye

wtf that Pandora one hahahaha

Rom

Eleusians seem to 50/50 get Artemis or Gaia if they aren't in an Order.
Artemis:

Gripped by the cold embrace of death, you succumb to the darkness...

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself
known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through
you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul,
crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench
of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails
the senses, and instinctively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily
feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak,
unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an
eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn toward the source. Without thought you submit to the
harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling,
then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous
step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured
onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your destination lies mere inches from
your grasping reach.

As your throat and skin tighten to insufferable levels, your vision blurs and dizziness overcomes
you. A glimmering pool of crystal-clear water suddenly appears as though from nowhere, beckoning you
to immerse yourself in sweet relief.

Mustering every last ounce of energy from within, you hurl yourself into the oasis. Searing heat
envelops your frail body as the scents of sulphur and burning flesh assault your senses. Looking
about in confusion, horror sets in as you realise you are in a pool of lava from an active volcano,
and the blistering skin is your own.

Chants in a foreign tongue drown out your screams of agony as you fall through the seemingly endless
pool of lava. The mantra grows louder, soon accompanied by thunderous stomping and slapping; images
of tribal warriors swim about your vision, glaring at you in intimidation and disgust.

As you pray for the excruciating torture to end, a blunt pain overwhelms you and you land in an
unceremonious heap in a sweltering cavity within the volcano. Fiery currents of bright, crimson lava
roil against the cracked earth and threatening to envelop you once again. Panic rises in your heart
as you realise you are rendered immobile: hardened magma encases you, holding you in permanent
stasis.

The resurgence of tribal chanting and screaming grows to fervent levels, heralding the arrival of
Artemis, the Wrath of Nature. Assessing you with a repulsed glare, She sighs in annoyance and waves
Her hand to silence the indigenous cortege.

Affording you Her attention, the Great Wrath mutters under Her breath before beginning to speak. "As
you should well know Rom, the cycle of Nature can indeed be cruel. There is unpredictable ferocity
in Nature - it is not Good nor Evil, it simply is, and will happen whether we like it or not. You
must accept it and prepare for it the best you can."

As She examines your sorry state more closely, Her glare softens. "The Endbringer's sole purpose in
His existence was the Guardian, Caretaker, and Collector of the souls of the dead. He understood
that death is simply a part of the cycle of life, and just like the Cataclysm, will come at times
when it is not always expected."

"If the Endbringer was still with us, Rom, He would tell you that He deems your journey unfinished.
I will grant you the same gift, mortal - do not take it for granted, and remember that Nature will
reclaim all that mankind has plagued and tainted."

With a wicked smile, the Great Wrath points Her staff at you. A whirling cloud of sand coalesces,
descending upon you in relentless fury as it churns into a cyclone of abrasive grains, knocking you
unconscious. When you wake, you find yourself in a different cave back to the way you were before
death claimed you. A single yew leaf flutters down from above, landing next to you before
disintegrating in a small ball of fire.

Gaia:

Gripped by the cold embrace of death, you succumb to the darkness...

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself
known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through
you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul,
crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench
of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails
the senses, and instinctively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily
feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak,
unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an
eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn toward the source. Without thought you submit to the
harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling,
then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous
step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured
onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your destination lies mere inches from
your grasping reach.

With reckless abandon, you take a final step; the ground beneath your feet falls away into naught
but air, and you tumble helplessly into the thunderous cascade of a monolithic waterfall. Your
senses numb as you tear through the roiling mist and a sinister chill takes hold, choking your heart
and grappling the very essence of your soul.

As your eyes flutter closed in resignation, your descent abruptly halts and you hang, suspended in
an eternal free-fall, amidst the merciless clutches of death.

Eons pass, until time becomes nary a reverie. Slowly, the enveloping mist begins to writhe and swell
until the surroundings are no more: you now stand amidst a haunting grotto, its flora bestowed with
a ghostly translucency.

Amberous spores drift through the atmosphere, petrifying into the perennial form of the Earthmother.
She gazes upon you with a curious tilt of Her head, before sighing softly.

"I am not one to usually interfere with the Eternal Cycle, Rom. Alas, I am forced to do so."

"The Endbringer's duty was perhaps the ultimate gift: to grant life to those of whom fate favoured."
The Earthmother pauses, Her brow furrowed. "His demise has the potential to disrupt the course of
Nature for many years to come, and so it falls to Us to act in His stead."

With a soft smile, She steps toward you and takes your hand in Her own. "It is no longer fate
favouring you, Rom. It is Nature that heals the wounds of your body and grants relief to your soul;
it is Nature that shall return you to life."

The Earthmother releases your hands and presses Her palm upon your chest. The soft, slow beat of
your heart suddenly resonates from Her touch, and with a satisfied nod She steps away. Silently, She
traces Her finger through the air: infinitesimal motes linger in its wake, highlighting a lemniscate.

Mere moments pass before the symbol's radiance intensifies, brightening with an enchanting light
until extinguishing all else; the world turns to white, and your soul blooms with the blessing of
rebirth.

Krypton

Adding Vastar for rogues:

VASTAR

[...]

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its

sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain

your destination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

A great buffeting of wind caused by wingbeats pins you to the barren landscape.

A great shadow cowls your pallid shape as something descends, its bulk too

enormous to discern. Immense talons grasp your shoulders and haul you aloft,

higher and higher in dizzying circles until you are far above the grey horizons

of the Soulrealm.

"Observe, [player]."

The Skylord in all His glory hovers manifest before you, great wings bearing Him

aloft in His element. With a grand and sweeping gesture, Vastar directs your

attention to the swirling maelstrom of monochrome hues far below.

"You have fallen to calamity, the Storm's influence upon your life too great for

you to bear. But this is not escapable by death." The climactic God assesses you

with a stern expression.

"You will return, [player] and you will have a choice, face and embrace the

Storm, triumph and glory in its power, or you shall wander these lands again,

ever imperiled and hindered by its mercurial influence."

A clap of thunder deafens you as the Skylord beats His celestial wings. Every

aspect of your being rushes through the air, unseeing and unfeeling beyond the

calamitous blitzing of your journey.

When you regain consciousness, you are confused about where you are and how you

got here. Darkness surrounds you, save for a single candle. A look around tells

you that you are in a rough cave, with a single table bearing the candle. An

entrance, visible because it is slightly lighter than the rest of the shadow,

beckons from across the cave.

Despite the tumultuous passage, your body is healed and strong once more. What

tempest awaits you have yet to find out, but embracing the sentiment of Vastar

and the undeniable power of the Storm you stand and depart the cave.

Salindera

Vastar's is the same when you're in his order, for reference.

Trey

Phaestus is the bestest, IMO

Blinding light flashes before you as a brilliant, white-hot blaze plunges into a stone trough, releasing a plume of angrily hissing steam from the previously 

limpid confines. "Whoa, there!" booms a paternal voice, a soft snort of amusement following swiftly after.

Dimming to dull crimson, the glow coming off the work reveals both a set of blacksmith's tongs and the One Who holds them. You stand before Phaestus, the Smith, sweat unashamedly sheens His soot-grimed brow and a kindly smile beams behind His bushy black beard.

"Come along now, Trey."

The Dwarf Father turns and cants His head, your surroundings rapidly shift. Stone walls raise themselves around you, and waves of impossible heat wash over you as He thrusts His creation back into the mouth of the Worldforge. With His free hand, Phaestus gives you a small shove towards a massive set of bellows, and you receive a nod of approval as you step up to the task at the furnace mouth.

"Got yourself a little killed, did you? You ought to be more careful. There are worse places you could end up, you know."  The Smith's forearm bulges as He hefts the unfinished piece from the forge, the brilliant glow suffusing its shape obscuring its nature from discernment, and moves it to the anvil. A thunderous clangor fills the forge as His hammer crashes down, sending sparks flying into the darkness like stars in the heavens.

"We all have our work to do, big and small. Yours isn't finished, and you need to go back 'til it's done." Before you can voice assent or protest, you find a large iron flagon thrust into your hand. "Have a drink before you go, yeah?"

Raising the flagon to your lips, you drink deeply. The gruit of the ale tickles the back of your throat, the malty gulp of the hearty beverage swiftly gives way

to more complex flavours, and your head begins to spin. Tastes flash across your tongue too quickly to appreciate for long: fresh-tilled earth, the metallic tang of iron, sawdust, lifeblood, the scent of a newborn, the joy of hard work; each impression growing more abstract as you swallow greedily. Reeling, you stumble backwards, and just as you pass into unconsciousness, a single word rumbles through your mind: "Grow."

When you regain consciousness, you are confused about where you are and how you got here. Darkness surrounds you, save for a single candle. A look around tells you that you are in a rough cave, with a single table bearing the candle. An entrance, visible because it is slightly lighter than the rest of the shadow, beckons from across the cave.

Sitting up from your supine position, you glance at your body and realise it is healed and whole once again. Smiling despite yourself, you silently thank the Smith for the gift of life as you step outside of the cave.

Skye

Now I'm curious what Prospero's one is

Shirszae

I love Scarlatti's one

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your destination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

As you advance forward, you realise that your bleak surroundings appear different somehow. Looming out of the darkness before you, an ethereal paintbrush begins its work, dancing through the air like it would upon a canvas tapestry.

With each sweep of its silken tip, the darkness is transformed with a palette of colours to depict the twinkling, heavenly bodies of the night sky and a breathtaking vista of snow-capped silhouetted against the firmament. The thunderous sound of flowing water fades from audibility as wonderment and awe overwhelms you.

Resonant laughter fills the surroundings as the paintbrush stills abruptly, the rich baritone subsiding to meld with the poignant notes of an ancient harmonic. Reverberating gently, the chords weave to manifest the Great Bard's presence, who reaches up to pluck the tool from the air.

The refrains of a slow requiem shudders into wakefulness, eliciting a frown from Scarlatti, the Great Bard. Stepping forward, He enfolds one pristine wing about your form, drawing you unto His side. "Walk with Me, My Shirszae."

The vibrant landscape widens impossibly before you, and each step forward creates a dirt path that trails off into the distance. Sheltered in the cocoon of the God of Art's wingspan, you temporarily forget the circumstances that led you to your death.

"It remains a little known fact, My Shirszae, that the realms of My Brothers and Sisters lay subservient to Mine own, creations that are suffused and substantiated within artistic essence," comes the warm baritone voice of the Great Bard. "To raise an example: here in Thoth's realm, you see the bleak wasteland and the darkness that threatens to consume you."

Scarlatti releases you from His feathered embrace but turns upon a heel to face you. Azure eyes examine your drained countenance, before He raises a hand and presses a warm thumb into your forehead. Fire erupts between your eyes, flooding your lifeless veins with a welcoming heat.

"But I see a canvas. A canvas steeped in the history of what was, and the promise of what may be," muses the Great Bard. "You harbour the ability to change the world purely with the force of your imagination and the fury of your passion, tempered with discipline. Creation feels the loss of your artistic potential when you died, My Shirszae, but it need not remain so."

Your veins begin to burn with blinding intensity, and the sudden surge of agony sends you to your knees. Each shade of colour appears sharper, until they begin to bleed into each other to reform into familiar surroundings. Note by note, the silvery harmonic unravels to follow the Great Bard's fading presence, and in His departure, you draw in a ragged breath and realise with a start: you are reborn.

Omor

Ashtan, orderless.

------

Gripped by the cold embrace of death, you succumb to the darkness...

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul, crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails the senses, and instinctively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak, unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn toward the source. Without thought you submit to the harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling, then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your destination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

An unpleasant and inexplicable sense of dread squirms in your gut. The cramp forces you to your knees and ceases your passage through the bleak borderlands of Death.

The uncomfortable prickle of being watched causes you to shudder. A cold sweat beads on your brow and your hands clench, clammy and pale as the invisible gaze peels you apart, layer by layer.

Shattering the silence of the Soulrealm a cacophony of noise fills your mind, "Omor" screams and laughs and weeps and berates through the recesses of your tenuous consciousness. The throng of voices delivering your name forwards, backwards, and in all the languages of the planes and beyond.

The disturbing and tooth-filled tones continue their soft taunting, "It matters not if you perish once or a million times, you cannot fail. All will be deemed worthy at the end."

Your mind fills with incongruous hues of gold, black, grey, and green as a tumultuous and incomprehensible vision coalesces. Before a tall iron throne the seething paroxysm churns, unendingly ravenous.

The roiling rift fills your thoughts, inexorably drawing upon your memories to feed its incomprehensible maw. You watch inwardly, spellbound, helpless, and proned in the empty outerlands as your psyche strains with the sights it is offered.

In a jarring shift that makes your mind scream in agony, you are thrust from the outskirts of death, and cast upon the cold floor of a dark cave, a ragdoll of loose bones and tortured mind. Tentatively, your senses emerge, peering through the remnant schisms of insanity and enable you to discern the doorway that leads to life.

Trembling legs support your healed body and you depart the cave, unable to shake the maddening whisper of your name, the remnant of your experience.

Sobriquet

Daeir said:

I threw up in my mouth a little bit reading the Pandora one. If there's ever been an incentive to not be a patronless Rogue, that's it.

I really like the Pandora one, fits Her character very well. I'll have to die sometime to see I it's the same as an Order member.

Tahquil

From the looks of it, it's one per god. 

Exelethril

Sobriquet said:

Daeir said:

I threw up in my mouth a little bit reading the Pandora one. If there's ever been an incentive to not be a patronless Rogue, that's it.

I really like the Pandora one, fits Her character very well. I'll have to die sometime to see I it's the same as an Order member.

I liked Pandora's too, the "over the topness" was kinda funny.

Rangor

I'm converting to Gaia, I dun wanna swim in lava.

Sarathai

Rangor said:

I'm converting to Gaia, I dun wanna swim in lava.

Think of it like an extra-hot spring!

Rangor

Sarathai said:

Rangor said:

I'm converting to Gaia, I dun wanna swim in lava.

Think of it like an extra-hot spring!

Will I get a tan?

Dunn

Someone message me IG right now and I'll post Babel later. Stupid busy Saturday's.

Nicola

@Dunn Omor already posted it!

Grandue

Nicola said:

@Dunn Omor already posted it!

He did? He isn't in Babel's Order nor is Babel the Patron of Ashtan... how did that happen?

Shirszae

Grandue said:

Nicola said:

@Dunn Omor already posted it!

He did? He isn't in Babel's Order nor is Babel the Patron of Ashtan... how did that happen?

Probably everyone in Ashtan gets it because its a faction Babel is heavily related to.

Omor

Grandue said:

Nicola said:

@Dunn Omor already posted it!

He did? He isn't in Babel's Order nor is Babel the Patron of Ashtan... how did that happen?

I thought it was Babel's, but I didn't want to call it, since I'm not in the Order.

Asmodron

Khalasian version:

-----------------


Gripped by the cold embrace of death, you succumb to the darkness...

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul, crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails the senses, and instinctively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak, unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn toward the source. Without thought you submit to the harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling, then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

Time seems to go on, unending, or perhaps never moving to begin with. The harsh landscape seems to stretch on for miles and miles, with no reprieve in sight, no salvation. Possibilities of the end of your existence and utter unending damnation creep up in your mind uncontrollably.

A cruel mocking laughter breaks the stasis, making you jump in fright. "Unending? You dont know the meaning of the word", the voice taunts.

You find yourself ripped from your location, quite literally the sensation of being ripped apart fresh in your mind. You stand within a location that has a strong familiarity to it, as your eyes adjust, you realize you are within Tomacula, standing before the statue. No, not exactly, something is different. The land and sky around you seem to be wavering, almost melting, as if a layer of intense heat drapes over it. A sudden realization begins to dawn on you...

"Yes, this is and is not the location you see", the voice sounds out your recent thought. "As you very well know, I am rather chained to it" the voice states with a hint of maniacal laughter.

"But it is not I that am the topic of this meeting. It seems you have decided to embrace oblivion. Do you seek to leave my service so easily?". You immediately bluster out apologies and denials of such a thought to ever cross your mind. After what seems like an hour the voice finally speaks again, "I should hope not. Know that if it was not for Me, you would have remained a wandering soul, forever lost upon that desolate plane. None of my lesser siblings would have thought to come and resurrect you. Know that it is through My great power alone that you stand a chance at returning to the living".

As you begin to give thanks for such a charitable gift, the voice speaks over you, ignoring you "You have much work to still do, Asmodron, and I shall not accept failure. Return now and see to My day".

A great pressure suddenly fills your mind, as you sense the presence taking a hold of you. Your spirit feels near to ripping as an immense power floods it. Images begin to flicker within your mind in rapid succession, of planes known and unknown, worlds undiscovered, secrets hidden, all accompanied by a constant seething unending wrath of potential denied.

A strange prickling sensation begins to take over you, and you suddenly notice a strange grey substance crawling up your arm. With sudden realization, you see that it is actually stone encompassing your body. Your eyes widen as you see the liquid stone rise up from your lower half all the way to your head, beginning to cover your eyes and deny you vision.

"Be still. This process is not that easy in my current situation". You hold back any unrestrained fear and accept the inevitable. The stone completely covers you, and all goes black. You feel an eternity pass with you trapped within as you wonder if you'll ever see the light of day again. Suddenly, a small crack appears before you, so insignificant but such a beautiful sight to behold. You push your entire body against the stone, hearing faint cracks until small pieces begin to break off and drop. Finally, with one final push, you break free, sending shards of stone flying around you. You notice you are outside a cave, back in the world of the living. The sky above, the fresh wind on your face, the scents in the air, it is all such a beautiful sensation and you truly appreciate the freedom given to you as tears well up in your eyes.

"Do not forget..." a voice faintly whispers at the edge of your hearing. With determination, you head out, your task at hand.

Yes this is fake o.o . One can dream

Ahmet

Cyrenians without orders get Prospero, Valnurana, Phaestus or Scarlatti. Don't think there are any more.

All I have right now is Valnurana:

Gripped by the cold embrace of death, you succumb to the darkness...

Eerie blackness surrounds you; no light penetrates the endless gloom. Only a faint wind makes itself known, drifting across your beaten body with a silken touch.

With each caress of the persistent breeze your senses heighten, and a chill begins to spread through you with increasing intensity. You give a violent shiver as the cold envelops your very soul, crushing your resolve with a merciless bite.

At once, the unmistakable presence of death overwhelms all else, and your stomach heaves: the stench of decay is ever-present, relentless, and unforgiving. Tears run down your face as the odour assails the senses, and instinctively you wipe them away.

With one hand pressed against your nose to bar the smell, you cautiously raise the other, warily feeling into the darkness with outstretched fingers. Emptiness greets you; the world is a bleak, unknown wasteland, and your ears strain for any semblance of sound.

Far in the distance echoes the faint rush of water. At once, the unbearable need to quench an eternal thirst swells within you, and you turn toward the source. Without thought you submit to the harsh environs, stumbling across the uneven terrain beneath your feet.

Time becomes immeasurable as you struggle onward through desolation. Moments pass, first crawling, then racing without restraint. The terrain shifts and alters beneath your feet with each hazardous step. Silently you persist, eagerly moving toward satiation with unrivalled desperation.

The tantalising sound of running water roars in your ears, now deafening in its sweet euphony. Lured onward by the beckoning current, you draw closer, certain your destination lies mere inches from your grasping reach.

A cool touch at your elbow steadies your footsteps, and a soothing sense of tranquility washes over you in rippling waves.

Beside you is Valnurana, Goddess of Dreams, Her calm gaze fixed on some distant point. Silently She keeps pace with you, until at last you can go no further, and She motions for you to stop.

The turbulent world through which you have journeyed is no more; you stand now within a stark cave.

"Behold the Dream, Ahmet," whispers the Goddess, sweeping a graceful hand around your surroundings, and the solemn walls are awash with a tableau of shifting images. Some are surreal depictions of heroic adventures, others are so vivid as to be indistinguishable from reality; all portray elements of your own past.

As you stand face to face with your memories, Valnurana's soft words become an echo that reverberates throughout the chamber. "The deeds of all leave a lasting impression upon the Dream, and the final imprint of a perishing mortal is a powerful one indeed. But this... this is not your final death."

The visions shift from those you recognise to new scenes of triumph and tragedy, of excitement and devastation: a storm of possibilities revealing endless futures, and your soul stirs with the will to live.

Valnurana turns Her sapphire eyes to you, regarding you with a knowing smile. "There is much yet for you to do in the waking world. Heal, and return to life.

The delicate caress of feathers brushes your cheek and the Goddess is gone. Enveloped in a close, unseen embrace, you easily succumb to a deep and healing sleep, a serenity that vastly eclipses any rest you have ever taken.

Familiar dreams play upon the stage of your slumbering mind, and when your eyes open, you find your body and spirit restored. With renewed resolve, you rise and depart the cave.