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Description

A prophecy unfinished

A prophecy lost

A prophecy befallen

"Deep in the august cavern, we gaze upon the empyreal pool,

The time is nigh, the celestial constellation is upon.

Argent of the full moon and stars shine down through the cracks,

On pure of still water, reflect their radiance of scarce.
We, chosen few gathers around, flawless mirrors of silver in hand,

With them, from the pool, we trap the nightly heavens' brilliance.

To cast it back amplified, radiance upon radiance gleaming on the water,

For in this overlap of dazzling glare, there shines the future.
We see, we gaze, we augur from the visions of the light,

Foresee the future, and the futures, for many promises, there lie.

Display of endless possibilities before our eyes,

Offering us what is yet to come.
We foretell, but the cost of these prophecies are high,

This divine knowledge is not for mortal eyes and mind.

And we are already paying dearly the price,

This will be our greatest, but last time.
We all will be dead by the next constellation's time,

Saw it all, the possibilities are many, but they do not lie.

Before long, madness will claim us, crude iron will slice us,

For our people, ashes and downfall all promises are.
We have fallen, but a last service we must grant,

For the visions on the water foreshadow horrendous in their dance.

Forthcoming of doom, doom and doom,

Compared to what our near end is merciful.
Long after our bones reduce to ash, there will be a time,

An age of disorder, blasphemy, war and great strife.

The era of anarchy, greed and pride, where a brown tide shed blood,

On wrists of poor, defeated and child, shiver shackles of plight.
Decades of hardship we foresee, suffering rising high,

But two path of plans: one vermillion, one dream of a fool wise.

Both misleading, just delusory promises of dawn,

For all of these are nothing, but the mere signs of what is yet to come!
Nothing and nothing, foreshadow of a twilight,

Harbinger of the upcoming endless terrible night.

A night so pitch-black, we see it in dread, it will consume all,

Dark and dark and dark, DARK, it will consume us all!
The stars expire, the moon swallowed, the sun falls,

Never-ending midnight reaches and covers all.

Twisted mockery of what once was, howling souls in damnation,

Our eyes are ablaze, but we must see: darkness eternal!
It will begin with mere words, an order of hate given,

A butterfly effect leading to doom, the permission of butchery granted.

Nine lives of ill will be the price and other three souls of grand,

Casting the dice for the terrible, dawnless night.
All possibilities, all outcomes of future promise the same: downfall,

In the augury of the glaring light, there is no hope, no hope at all.

And we are already falling, our minds cannot stand pure visage of coming dark,

But wait, there, amid the reflections, there is one!
Is it a lie, a deception? No, it is real, it must be for the sake of all,

A single, weak possibility in the chaotic dance.

So dim we barely see it, so hazy we fear to trust,

But we must foresee it, for it is the only chance!
The light shows us one what could be the hope of all,

Standing against the eternal darkness: another dark.

It is the salvation of scales, a promise on wings, a key or a way,

A darkness outside, but brightness inside, delivering us from the dusk.
Celestials, grant us strength for we are suffering,

This prediction is too much, one by one, we are dying.

It hurts, it burns our mind, but pay this sacrifice we must,

For we must warn, we must alert who are yet to come.
This dim hope, chance for the light of dawn,

Is not yet predestined, into stone not yet carved.

There is a great danger in this key, our hope,

No! No, so few of us remained, and the light falls!
Quickly, this last forecast must be told,

In the depth of this shade of forlorn hope,

Lies a forgotten, ancient shadow of a grimmer dark,

Slumbering, but threatening to overtake our sole dawn!
Oh, wise ancients, now only I remained,

The others are all dead or insane, and the light is fading!

I must finish, I must forewarn how to defy this shadow deep in our aurora:

IT CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO TRIUMPH, FOR SH..."

- "The Final Prophecy of Dread from the Men Before" or "Words of Mad Chaos", a uniquely intact, albeit unfinished wall-inscription originating from the civilization of the First Men. Discovered and excavated from under layers of volcanic ash, as well as deciphered, translated and studied by Luan Weldamat aet S'eraga, grand scholar of archaeology and history of the Magna Collegium Argentum. In the seventh year of the Eighty-ninth Consecrated Congregation, in the second year of the reign of Imperator Tetries of Dalleony, this extraordinary find was deemed as "blasphemous heresy of chaotic nonsense", and by the agreed verdict of the Holy, the Sacred and the Hallow Ecclesiarchs, the grand scholar was arrested, examined, and branded sinful, dying in prison blinded and muted shortly afterwards. All of his, and other published works containing the prophecy were confiscated and burned to ashes. Except for the original journal, which has been locked up into a chest, chained and sealed by the Consecrated Congregation forever, kept in a confidential repository."


   It had been long minutes by now already as the red-maned man was reading the parchment with his green gaze, carefully going through the lines creased by the hurry of the courier. The other man with a shorter, blonde hair and deep blue eyes was standing still before his superior's dark brown wooden desk in complete silence. The latter's armour with the vermillion badges and crest - portraying a cut-off head of a terrible horned and scaled beast with a spear thrust through its open maw full of sharp fangs - identified him as one of the highest-ranking hunter-knights of his order, but his true insignia was carved right into his chest over his heart.
He was familiar with what the report included and therefore could understand the red-haired man's disappointment, even if the other one was not showing it on his sharp-edged face. And he has not needed to know his master from the long years of loyal service for this knowledge, as the writing would have had the same effect on anyone. It was like a bottle of the finest wine, but without any nectar inside. A strong bow without string and sharp arrows. Words of interest and potential use, except the sought important subject. Details about a prediction, but without the prophecy of importance itself.
   "Well... this... is disappointing." broke the silence the red-maned man, looking up from the parchment.
   "Indeed it is. We all hoped for more..." answered the standing man, not surprised at all.
His superior folded back the paper into its original form. "So we did... But do not blame yourself, for you and the others uncovered more than any other could. You served the Order well again, Screecher-Drowner."

     The standing man, called "Screecher-Drowner" as his earned name of the hunt, bowed slightly in acknowledgement.
"We hunt as required, we serve as expected." he answered humbly.

     "And so we shall until our great task is done. Have you managed to learn anything other than what it's in the report? The location of this find, for example. If it's still there, carved into the wall, all we have to do is translate it as this S'eraga did." asked the red-haired.
   "While we do know the location of the ruins with the wall inscription, I am afraid it would be no use for us, even if we could decipher the runes of the First Men. The room where the great scholar uncovered it was unstable, and we know from another source that by his second return in the following year it was collapsed under the volcano's dried ash layers. The wall was crashed, and he was arrested shortly after. If any solid pieces remained, I guess the villagers nearby stole it long ago for their buildings, without any hint of what their obsidian rocks are." reported the blonde-haired man.
     "And the prison cell he was locked in? Perhaps he tried to crave the prophecy into its walls... Many do such maniac things."
     "We checked, but found no such things. If the professor did try to imprint it into the solid rock of his cell while blind and muted, any sign of it was long gone by our visit. Almost a century and a half has passed since, and I was personally surprised to find his prison even standing still." remarked the standing hunter.
     "I see. So... there are no other ways for us to find out what the augury was, but the original journal kept hidden somewhere. Our order's prestige and influence to the ecclesiarchy by now should be enough to acquire us the location."
     "Indeed, we own many favours from them but they would not unveil it even for us so easily. And it was in another age, the ecclesiarchy has differed much since then. I can easily imagine that the record of this whole issue, let alone the exact location of the sealed tome is simply lost or lies under dusted scripts and codexes all but forgotten, so neglectfully ignorant the Creator's servants are nowadays. Furthermore, if the documents and the journal still exist in the first place, we would need the agreed verdict of all three ecclesiarchs to open it... something we simply cannot rely on, as those sad jokes would never agree on anything, or even suffer each other in a single room! It would be so much easier and simpler to... create accidents for these imbeciles, and make sure proper and grateful candidates are elected!" said the standing man, out bursting with true disdain.
     "Careful now, Screecher-Drowner! You are bad-mouthing the holiest servants of Her, after all." chuckled the red-maned man. "And while I am more than proud that we have the influence and assets to be able to make such... unfortunate accidents happen to such persons of importance... their imbecile is serving us well in other ways. We should refrain from making a new Consecrated Congregation born as long as their folly benefits our interests."
     "Then I see no other ways for us to acquire the prediction this S'eraga has found." answered the other, shaking his head.
     "Patience, my friend! With time and research, more possibilities will reveal themselves to us. Remember, we are hunters tracking the greatest game, the most horrible monsters this world of ours could vomit into its surface. Patience is our virtue and persistence is our strength!"
     "As you say, Mylord!" nodded the standing man, knowing well their order's teachings.
     "But... wherein one hunt we should practice patience, in other, perhaps the time for the strike has finally come..." continued the red-maned man. And then he stood up from his desk.
     Screecher-Drowner was a tall, robust man, one of the greatest hunter-knights. He was strengthened by years of training and dangerous hunting, with armies of life-long scars borne as proofs on his body under the ornate armour. By now he was dwarfing most other people, so strong and tall he was... thanks to not only his born traits but to the confidential elixirs made from the very blood and flesh of their most hated foes, reserved only for the most trusted and proven loyalists.
But as his superior stood up... even he had to look up to met the other's face...

     As his lord walked to the windows of his private office - not the public, gilded one similar to a monarch's opulent throne room, displaying the fame, renown, influence and in all, greatness the Order of the Beastblood has ascended into and welcomed the many emissaries, diplomats and couriers of kings, nobles, ecclesiarchs, and even the imperator himself. But a modest room made from simple but well-worked wood, reminding themselves to their beloved order's honest, humble origin - Screecher-Drowner straightened into awaiting attention.
     "Remind me, what was the last report from our brothers beyond the edge of this world of ours?" asked his superior after some time of inspecting the idyllic view outside, basking in the sunshine reflecting from the vermillion tiles of the order's main chapter.
     "They stand ready as ever! The winged fools still have not discovered them, even when our brothers hide and prepare right under their "so sharp" eyes. Everything is prepared, and they only await your word eagerly, Mylord!" the blonde hunter-knight reported zealously, as he had been awaiting this question deeply himself for a long time now.
     "I see. I... we have discussed this with our "illustrious guest". She agreed as well that the time has come..." continued the red-maned giant.
While the mention of "Her" awakened antipathy greatly in Screecher-Drowner, the impending order of utmost importance was too anticipated by him to let it sour his mood as he was waiting patiently for his master to continue.

     "... So be it! We have tracked our prey back into the end of the world and beyond. We have stalked them no matter where they have run and hidden from us. We have prepared long enough. The ferocious prey lies before us unaware, and our weapons and souls are at the ready. Forward the order, my friend: I hereby give the permission to strike! Let the dragons knew their pitiful extinction is nigh!" ordered the tall and robust man with his long red-mane and green eyes flaming in the sun's glare... who was known, feared and respected as the Crimson Bear, Bane of Dragons, Inheritor of the Gilded Lion: Renowned Highmaster of the Order of Beastblood in all but title.
     "Your will shall be done! For the Hunt and the Blood!" shouted Screecher-Drowner heatedly and after saluting, immediately turned to carry out the long-awaited order.

It will take some time to reach his hunter brothers, even with the techniques only his order was aware of. But it will worth it beyond measure, as finally, the blood of those loathed, scaled horrors will flow again!
And right after forwarding these words of a new era, he would not forget to make preparations to add the names of his martyr brothers to the Arch of the Dauntless.

Description

A prophecy unfinished

A prophecy lost

A prophecy befallen

"Deep in the august cavern, we gaze upon the empyreal pool,

The time is nigh, the celestial constellation is upon.

Argent of the full moon and stars shine down through the cracks,

On pure of still water, reflect their radiance of scarce.
We, chosen few gathers around, flawless mirrors of silver in hand,

With them, from the pool, we trap the nightly heavens' brilliance.

To cast it back amplified, radiance upon radiance gleaming on the water,

For in this overlap of dazzling glare, there shines the future.
We see, we gaze, we augur from the visions of the light,

Foresee the future, and the futures, for many promises, there lie.

Display of endless possibilities before our eyes,

Offering us what is yet to come.
We foretell, but the cost of these prophecies are high,

This divine knowledge is not for mortal eyes and mind.

And we are already paying dearly the price,

This will be our greatest, but last time.
We all will be dead by the next constellation's time,

Saw it all, the possibilities are many, but they do not lie.

Before long, madness will claim us, crude iron will slice us,

For our people, ashes and downfall all promises are.
We have fallen, but a last service we must grant,

For the visions on the water foreshadow horrendous in their dance.

Forthcoming of doom, doom and doom,

Compared to what our near end is merciful.
Long after our bones reduce to ash, there will be a time,

An age of disorder, blasphemy, war and great strife.

The era of anarchy, greed and pride, where a brown tide shed blood,

On wrists of poor, defeated and child, shiver shackles of plight.
Decades of hardship we foresee, suffering rising high,

But two path of plans: one vermillion, one dream of a fool wise.

Both misleading, just delusory promises of dawn,

For all of these are nothing, but the mere signs of what is yet to come!
Nothing and nothing, foreshadow of a twilight,

Harbinger of the upcoming endless terrible night.

A night so pitch-black, we see it in dread, it will consume all,

Dark and dark and dark, DARK, it will consume us all!
The stars expire, the moon swallowed, the sun falls,

Never-ending midnight reaches and covers all.

Twisted mockery of what once was, howling souls in damnation,

Our eyes are ablaze, but we must see: darkness eternal!
It will begin with mere words, an order of hate given,

A butterfly effect leading to doom, the permission of butchery granted.

Nine lives of ill will be the price and other three souls of grand,

Casting the dice for the terrible, dawnless night.
All possibilities, all outcomes of future promise the same: downfall,

In the augury of the glaring light, there is no hope, no hope at all.

And we are already falling, our minds cannot stand pure visage of coming dark,

But wait, there, amid the reflections, there is one!
Is it a lie, a deception? No, it is real, it must be for the sake of all,

A single, weak possibility in the chaotic dance.

So dim we barely see it, so hazy we fear to trust,

But we must foresee it, for it is the only chance!
The light shows us one what could be the hope of all,

Standing against the eternal darkness: another dark.

It is the salvation of scales, a promise on wings, a key or a way,

A darkness outside, but brightness inside, delivering us from the dusk.
Celestials, grant us strength for we are suffering,

This prediction is too much, one by one, we are dying.

It hurts, it burns our mind, but pay this sacrifice we must,

For we must warn, we must alert who are yet to come.
This dim hope, chance for the light of dawn,

Is not yet predestined, into stone not yet carved.

There is a great danger in this key, our hope,

No! No, so few of us remained, and the light falls!
Quickly, this last forecast must be told,

In the depth of this shade of forlorn hope,

Lies a forgotten, ancient shadow of a grimmer dark,

Slumbering, but threatening to overtake our sole dawn!
Oh, wise ancients, now only I remained,

The others are all dead or insane, and the light is fading!

I must finish, I must forewarn how to defy this shadow deep in our aurora:

IT CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO TRIUMPH, FOR SH..."

- "The Final Prophecy of Dread from the Men Before" or "Words of Mad Chaos", a uniquely intact, albeit unfinished wall-inscription originating from the civilization of the First Men. Discovered and excavated from under layers of volcanic ash, as well as deciphered, translated and studied by Luan Weldamat aet S'eraga, grand scholar of archaeology and history of the Magna Collegium Argentum. In the seventh year of the Eighty-ninth Consecrated Congregation, in the second year of the reign of Imperator Tetries of Dalleony, this extraordinary find was deemed as "blasphemous heresy of chaotic nonsense", and by the agreed verdict of the Holy, the Sacred and the Hallow Ecclesiarchs, the grand scholar was arrested, examined, and branded sinful, dying in prison blinded and muted shortly afterwards. All of his, and other published works containing the prophecy were confiscated and burned to ashes. Except for the original journal, which has been locked up into a chest, chained and sealed by the Consecrated Congregation forever, kept in a confidential repository."


   It had been long minutes by now already as the red-maned man was reading the parchment with his green gaze, carefully going through the lines creased by the hurry of the courier. The other man with a shorter, blonde hair and deep blue eyes was standing still before his superior's dark brown wooden desk in complete silence. The latter's armour with the vermillion badges and crest - portraying a cut-off head of a terrible horned and scaled beast with a spear thrust through its open maw full of sharp fangs - identified him as one of the highest-ranking hunter-knights of his order, but his true insignia was carved right into his chest over his heart.
He was familiar with what the report included and therefore could understand the red-haired man's disappointment, even if the other one was not showing it on his sharp-edged face. And he has not needed to know his master from the long years of loyal service for this knowledge, as the writing would have had the same effect on anyone. It was like a bottle of the finest wine, but without any nectar inside. A strong bow without string and sharp arrows. Words of interest and potential use, except the sought important subject. Details about a prediction, but without the prophecy of importance itself.
   "Well... this... is disappointing." broke the silence the red-maned man, looking up from the parchment.
   "Indeed it is. We all hoped for more..." answered the standing man, not surprised at all.
His superior folded back the paper into its original form. "So we did... But do not blame yourself, for you and the others uncovered more than any other could. You served the Order well again, Screecher-Drowner."

     The standing man, called "Screecher-Drowner" as his earned name of the hunt, bowed slightly in acknowledgement.
"We hunt as required, we serve as expected." he answered humbly.

     "And so we shall until our great task is done. Have you managed to learn anything other than what it's in the report? The location of this find, for example. If it's still there, carved into the wall, all we have to do is translate it as this S'eraga did." asked the red-haired.
   "While we do know the location of the ruins with the wall inscription, I am afraid it would be no use for us, even if we could decipher the runes of the First Men. The room where the great scholar uncovered it was unstable, and we know from another source that by his second return in the following year it was collapsed under the volcano's dried ash layers. The wall was crashed, and he was arrested shortly after. If any solid pieces remained, I guess the villagers nearby stole it long ago for their buildings, without any hint of what their obsidian rocks are." reported the blonde-haired man.
     "And the prison cell he was locked in? Perhaps he tried to crave the prophecy into its walls... Many do such maniac things."
     "We checked, but found no such things. If the professor did try to imprint it into the solid rock of his cell while blind and muted, any sign of it was long gone by our visit. Almost a century and a half has passed since, and I was personally surprised to find his prison even standing still." remarked the standing hunter.
     "I see. So... there are no other ways for us to find out what the augury was, but the original journal kept hidden somewhere. Our order's prestige and influence to the ecclesiarchy by now should be enough to acquire us the location."
     "Indeed, we own many favours from them but they would not unveil it even for us so easily. And it was in another age, the ecclesiarchy has differed much since then. I can easily imagine that the record of this whole issue, let alone the exact location of the sealed tome is simply lost or lies under dusted scripts and codexes all but forgotten, so neglectfully ignorant the Creator's servants are nowadays. Furthermore, if the documents and the journal still exist in the first place, we would need the agreed verdict of all three ecclesiarchs to open it... something we simply cannot rely on, as those sad jokes would never agree on anything, or even suffer each other in a single room! It would be so much easier and simpler to... create accidents for these imbeciles, and make sure proper and grateful candidates are elected!" said the standing man, out bursting with true disdain.
     "Careful now, Screecher-Drowner! You are bad-mouthing the holiest servants of Her, after all." chuckled the red-maned man. "And while I am more than proud that we have the influence and assets to be able to make such... unfortunate accidents happen to such persons of importance... their imbecile is serving us well in other ways. We should refrain from making a new Consecrated Congregation born as long as their folly benefits our interests."
     "Then I see no other ways for us to acquire the prediction this S'eraga has found." answered the other, shaking his head.
     "Patience, my friend! With time and research, more possibilities will reveal themselves to us. Remember, we are hunters tracking the greatest game, the most horrible monsters this world of ours could vomit into its surface. Patience is our virtue and persistence is our strength!"
     "As you say, Mylord!" nodded the standing man, knowing well their order's teachings.
     "But... wherein one hunt we should practice patience, in other, perhaps the time for the strike has finally come..." continued the red-maned man. And then he stood up from his desk.
     Screecher-Drowner was a tall, robust man, one of the greatest hunter-knights. He was strengthened by years of training and dangerous hunting, with armies of life-long scars borne as proofs on his body under the ornate armour. By now he was dwarfing most other people, so strong and tall he was... thanks to not only his born traits but to the confidential elixirs made from the very blood and flesh of their most hated foes, reserved only for the most trusted and proven loyalists.
But as his superior stood up... even he had to look up to met the other's face...

     As his lord walked to the windows of his private office - not the public, gilded one similar to a monarch's opulent throne room, displaying the fame, renown, influence and in all, greatness the Order of the Beastblood has ascended into and welcomed the many emissaries, diplomats and couriers of kings, nobles, ecclesiarchs, and even the imperator himself. But a modest room made from simple but well-worked wood, reminding themselves to their beloved order's honest, humble origin - Screecher-Drowner straightened into awaiting attention.
     "Remind me, what was the last report from our brothers beyond the edge of this world of ours?" asked his superior after some time of inspecting the idyllic view outside, basking in the sunshine reflecting from the vermillion tiles of the order's main chapter.
     "They stand ready as ever! The winged fools still have not discovered them, even when our brothers hide and prepare right under their "so sharp" eyes. Everything is prepared, and they only await your word eagerly, Mylord!" the blonde hunter-knight reported zealously, as he had been awaiting this question deeply himself for a long time now.
     "I see. I... we have discussed this with our "illustrious guest". She agreed as well that the time has come..." continued the red-maned giant.
While the mention of "Her" awakened antipathy greatly in Screecher-Drowner, the impending order of utmost importance was too anticipated by him to let it sour his mood as he was waiting patiently for his master to continue.

     "... So be it! We have tracked our prey back into the end of the world and beyond. We have stalked them no matter where they have run and hidden from us. We have prepared long enough. The ferocious prey lies before us unaware, and our weapons and souls are at the ready. Forward the order, my friend: I hereby give the permission to strike! Let the dragons knew their pitiful extinction is nigh!" ordered the tall and robust man with his long red-mane and green eyes flaming in the sun's glare... who was known, feared and respected as the Crimson Bear, Bane of Dragons, Inheritor of the Gilded Lion: Renowned Highmaster of the Order of Beastblood in all but title.
     "Your will shall be done! For the Hunt and the Blood!" shouted Screecher-Drowner heatedly and after saluting, immediately turned to carry out the long-awaited order.

It will take some time to reach his hunter brothers, even with the techniques only his order was aware of. But it will worth it beyond measure, as finally, the blood of those loathed, scaled horrors will flow again!
And right after forwarding these words of a new era, he would not forget to make preparations to add the names of his martyr brothers to the Arch of the Dauntless.