Aether: Logs - Fimbulwinter: The Coming Storm

Logs

"Visions"

These series of visions were all written by Eleggua for the "Fimbulwinter - the Coming Storm" plot, and @mailed to clairvoyants characters to help build up the suspense. There are separate visions for each level -- Novice, Acolyte, Adept, and Magus.

Novice Visions

Tonight, in the midst of a deep sleep, a familiar inner awareness opens from the depths of your consciousness. You find yourself crossing over to the place where dreams are more than dreams, and slumbering visions often have urgent meaning in the waking world...

The waters are churning, vainly thrashing across the open sea. You see a beach directly before you, and you watch as the angry waves reach the shore, crashing against the sand with a deafening force. The temperature begins to drop, causing you to involuntarily shiver. In the distance, you see the storm that pushes the raging water toward the land. The cold is now impossible to ignore -- so bitter. There is danger in the air, growing nearer with every passing moment.

In a field of inky blackness, a pair of eyes, blue as the deepest sea, open before you. A scattered star field springs to life around these supernatural orbs as you suddenly realize that the eyes are no longer eyes at all. They are the moon. You watch as the moon, full in all its glory, begins to wane, shrinking to a half, then a quarter, then a sliver. There is another presence here watching with you, and a growing discomfort begins to take hold as you sense the increasing ire of this other. Somehow you know that the moon has a jealous lover, and this knowledge only serves to heighten your unease.

From deep within the grey dream haze, you sense a presence. It's impossible to make out, but the aether draws your attention to the place where that presence must be. Struggling to discern details, you make out a pair of disembodied eyes. Very striking, these eyes -- a liquid, inky black -- humanoid in shape and position, but unlike the eyes of anyone that you've before seen.

You now stand at the edge of town ('of the forest' for Sylvans). Everything seems normal until the color begins to change. Familiar scenery loses hue but gains brightness as a whitewash sweeps over the landscape, eventually leaving nothing but white light.

Acolyte Visions

Your dream transports you into a regal, marble hall, decorated in the Empyrean style. Surrounded by matchless artwork, massive pillars, intricate statuary, and gilded relief work, it's as if you were in the home of a god. And indeed you are. The Kronian sits upon his throne, an implacable frown resting uncomfortably on a stern face that could have been chiseled from the same marble as the room. He moves not at all, steel blue eyes riveted upon a spot at the opposite side of the chamber. You turn to follow that electric gaze, searching for the thing that can cause unease in a god.

And there it is. A shadowed silhouette stands in the arched entranceway. There is a shade in the Kronian's hall, unwelcome but unmoving. Who would dare to challenge the will of the greatest of Empyrean deities? The silhouette provides you with no clue to its identity. You watch the shadow with some amazement as it remains still and defiant. In the distance, you hear the muffled call of what could only be a crow or a raven.

You're greeted with the ringing of steel against steel. Spear clashes against shield; sword clashes against axe. The groans of those struck swirl through the sounds of melee. As the picture comes into focus, it's impossible to distinguish one warrior from the next. The rolling mass of combat is an entity to itself, inching across the landscape, slowly approaching a destination. You squint at the distant haze and make out a tall spire, crafted from smooth white stone -- Delphi's citadel stands in wait. The picture slowly fades, but the din of fighting remains, and you cannot help but think that a danger awaits. A danger comes from the north.

The air is cold, and a biting wind whistles from amid the homes and buildings that make up the city of Haven. It's cold enough that you are hard pressed to fight back an involuntary shiver. The wind does not come alone, however. Soon enough, you're pelted with bits of ice and sleet as the grey skies open with a vengeance, unloading a blizzard the likes of which the city has seldom seen. Every surface is covered with white, and your body is quickly coated with freezing precipitation.

You now stand upon the beach, watching as the storm sends massive waves crashing to the shore. From within that turbulence, a large, dark shape can be seen to approach. Each pummeling wave brings it closer until it vaults from the water onto the beach, a huge reptilian form, dozens of feet in length. Red, menacing eyes regard the city for several seconds, and its jaws part, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth. The vision then fades.

Adept Visions

Your vision is dominated by a pair of unearthly, liquid-black eyes. There is a presence behind those eyes, but it is difficult for you to make out many additional details. A strength is represented in that pair of eyes, an incredible power that demands respect, but there is a terrible fragility as well. The image of the eyes is then superimposed upon a picture of choppy seas -- the crashing waves of a typhoon. Tossed on those waves is a strange ship, unlike any that you've seen.

Turning away from the sea, you notice that the land is being ravaged by a fierce blizzard; snow, sleet, and ice pummeling anything and everything. You're aware, for the first time, of the bitter cold. The landscape is a frozen field of unbroken whiteness, and then the image fades.

The vision leaves you with a sense that danger approaches from the north, and it comes closer every minute.

You're floating through the heavens, much higher than any wings could carry you. Surrounded on all sides by the constellations, you're in the realm of gods. A waxing moon rises over the ocean, sliding across the sky to join you in the celestial heights. The moon is now a beautiful woman with coal-black hair and sea-blue eyes, but with a lower body like the tail of a fish. This is Pasiphae. Looking past you, the goddess smiles; a bald Atlantean now stands beside her. He reaches out to run fingers through the strands of shiny hair, and she smiles again. But then she starts to turn away, and the man recoils. The peaceful waters below begin to boil. She continues to turn until only her back is visible, and the man's anger rises. The picture fades as the sea churns, mimicking the mood of the spurned lover.

You're now standing in a regally appointed hall, staring straight at the Kronian's golden throne. The god stands before the magnificent chair, hands on his hips, wings flared, with a stern scowl on his face. Standing no more than two paces away from the chief Empyrean deity is an imposing figure cloaked entirely in shadow. All of his features are obscured by an impenetrable blackness, but you can discern from his stance that he remains defiant, meeting the Kronian's gaze directly, his own ebony-cloaked wings flared outward to match the other's. An instant later, the picture breaks apart -- replaced by a flight of dozens of ravens. The birds scatter, but their calls still echo in the darkness.

The vision leaves you with a sense that danger approaches from the north, and it comes closer every minute.

You find yourself watching a swiftly flowing river as it rushes across the landscape. Your focus is upon the water itself as it moves; instinct tells you that the water is the relevant symbol in this sequence. A gust of wind joins the river, blowing just above its surface, matching velocity and direction. Soon, the landscape fades, allowing the water and the wind to rush forward together through space in a manic duet, twisting and mixing to form a frothy, elemental mass. Swirling, the wind and water eventually find the sea, forming a waterspout -- a tornado above a tight whirlpool. You watch as this newly formed storm blows off into the distance.

The scene now fades to a hazy grey, and the sounds of battle begin. On all sides of you, there's shouting and the ringing clashes of steel against steel. Then, suddenly, from out of the mists comes charging an enraged Empyrean. Draped in heavy furs and sporting a thick, red-gold beard, this man is running forward at full speed, a huge battle axe held over his shoulder in both hands, ready to strike. A wild gleam touches his grey eyes, and a bellowing battle cry comes out from snarling lips. An instant later, he's lost once again in the mist.

As the sounds fade, you are left with an obscure sense that danger approaches from the north, and it comes closer with every passing minute.

Magus Vision

You now find yourself watching a swiftly flowing river as it rushes across the landscape. Your focus is upon the water itself as it moves; instinct tells you that the water is the relevant symbol in this sequence. A gust of wind joins the river, blowing just above its surface, matching velocity and direction. Soon, the landscape fades, allowing the water and the wind to rush forward together through space in a manic duet, twisting and mixing to form a frothy, elemental mass. Swirling, the wind and water eventually find the sea, forming a waterspout -- a tornado above a tight whirlpool. You watch as this newly formed storm blows off into the distance.

Turning away from the sea, you notice that the land is being ravaged by a fierce blizzard -- snow, sleet, and ice pummeling anything and everything. You're aware, for the first time, of the bitter cold. The landscape is a frozen field of unbroken whiteness, and then the image fades to a hazy grey.

From the depths of the haze, the sounds of battle begin. On all sides of you, there's shouting and the ringing clashes of steel against steel. Then, suddenly, from out of the mists comes charging an enraged Empyrean. Draped in heavy furs and sporting a thick, red-gold beard, this man is running forward at full speed, a huge battle axe held over his shoulder in both hands, ready to strike. A wild gleam touches his grey eyes, and a bellowing battle cry comes out from snarling lips. An instant later, he's lost once again in the mist.

The haze slowly evaporates, and as your sight returns, you're now standing in a regally appointed hall, staring straight at the Kronian's golden throne. The god stands before the magnificent chair, hands on his hips, wings flared, with a stern scowl on his face. Standing no more than two paces away from the chief Empyrean deity is an imposing figure cloaked entirely in shadow. All of his features are obscured by an impenetrable blackness, but you can discern from his stance that he remains defiant, meeting the Kronian's gaze directly, his own ebony-cloaked wings flared outward to match the other's. An instant later, the picture breaks apart -- replaced by a flight of dozens of ravens. The birds scatter, but their calls still echo in the darkness.

As the picture fades, you are left with an obscure sense that danger approaches from the north, and it comes closer with every passing minute.