Ethereal, multi-dimensional gray strands appear in a white void as though layers of glittering tulle have been gathered in hand.
The strands are uncountable in number, connected like a spider’s web, and interwoven into passing waves. Their movement crackles across your vision, revealing them to be raw Soulfire. Each gap in the strands, where the surf seems to smooth, becomes a window into potential futures or forgotten pasts. In this fateful moment, the Soulforge weaves a new tapestry of revelations, sharper and more immediate than any other form of clairvoyance in the universe.
An island, shrouded in unformed mist, begins its slow ascent. The first thing to surface is the peak of an ancient stone hill, its crumbling facade as old as time itself. The erosion gives it the appearance of a great shark fin emerging from the deep, a metaphorical warning of impending danger. The next landmark to pierce the veil is the spire of an ancient stone fortress, covered in moss and weathered by alien architecture. This is no ordinary ruin; the intricacies of its design speak of a civilization long vanished. Arched windows high in the tower seem to observe the modern world like age-old eyes, overlooking the distance between the tower and the stone hill.
Following the fortress, a forest reveals itself—its trees gnarled and twisted, with leaves dipped in emerald and stained with nightmarish red veins. Their branches reach out like skeletal arms through the mist. Then comes the rest of the hillside, a mixture of rocky crags and sloping meadows. Yet, even as the island takes shape, an unsettling undercurrent pulses through the vision. Blurry forms seem to move within the mist, too indistinct to identify but palpable enough to instill a sense of foreboding. Something else is there, lurking at the edge of the vision. ~
An island, shrouded in unformed mist, begins its slow ascent. The first thing to surface is the peak of an ancient stone hill, its crumbling facade as old as time itself. The erosion gives it the appearance of a great shark fin emerging from the deep, a metaphorical warning of impending danger. The next landmark to pierce the veil is the spire of an ancient stone fortress, covered in moss and weathered by alien architecture. This is no ordinary ruin; the intricacies of its design speak of a civilization long vanished. Arched windows high in the tower seem to observe the modern world like age-old eyes, overlooking the distance between the tower and the stone hill.
Following the fortress, a forest reveals itself—its trees gnarled and twisted, with leaves dipped in emerald and stained with nightmarish red veins. Their branches reach out like skeletal arms through the mist. Then comes the rest of the hillside, a mixture of rocky crags and sloping meadows. Yet, even as the island takes shape, an unsettling undercurrent pulses through the vision. Blurry forms seem to move within the mist, too indistinct to identify but palpable enough to instill a sense of foreboding. Something else is there, lurking at the edge of the vision. ~
The vision blurs, the raw Soulfire at its edges begin flickering like an old television screen, as it transitions from the ethereal to the tangible.
Now, the misty island and its unsettling undertones are but a recorded image on a monitor in a room filled with the hum of weary technology.
Klaus, garbed in his usual attire, stands beside Medicus Thorn, the elderly Warbringer who had appeared in several visions before. They scrutinize the recording, the island now contained within a grid of electronic data points and topographic lines.
"Look here," Medicus points, tapping the monitor at the features of the ancient fortress. "This isn't just any ruin; it's an Old Order Pantheon House, a gathering place for gods and their subjects."
The words hang heavy in the room, laden with both danger and curiosity. Klaus mulls over Medicus' implication, mentally scrambling the Compass Rose fleet in preparation for what might unfold.
"It would be prudent to have the Dreamwalkers investigate," Medicus suggests, casting a sidelong glance at Klaus as though gauging his reaction.
The tension is momentarily broken by a change of subject. "How did Oliver Vale fare in his recent mission?" Medicus inquires, his tone shifting to one of paternal concern.
Klaus smiles, sensing an opportunity for lighter conversation. "He's coming into his own—doing well in his new role."
Medicus nods, visibly relieved, but the air still holds the weight of the unfolding mystery. "Good, good. But the matter at hand still awaits. An island from nowhere, the haunting echoes of a long-lost civilization, and whatever lurks in that mist," he pauses, eyes narrowing, "It's not just any island; it's a challenge. One that we must meet head-on." ~
Klaus, garbed in his usual attire, stands beside Medicus Thorn, the elderly Warbringer who had appeared in several visions before. They scrutinize the recording, the island now contained within a grid of electronic data points and topographic lines.
"Look here," Medicus points, tapping the monitor at the features of the ancient fortress. "This isn't just any ruin; it's an Old Order Pantheon House, a gathering place for gods and their subjects."
The words hang heavy in the room, laden with both danger and curiosity. Klaus mulls over Medicus' implication, mentally scrambling the Compass Rose fleet in preparation for what might unfold.
"It would be prudent to have the Dreamwalkers investigate," Medicus suggests, casting a sidelong glance at Klaus as though gauging his reaction.
The tension is momentarily broken by a change of subject. "How did Oliver Vale fare in his recent mission?" Medicus inquires, his tone shifting to one of paternal concern.
Klaus smiles, sensing an opportunity for lighter conversation. "He's coming into his own—doing well in his new role."
Medicus nods, visibly relieved, but the air still holds the weight of the unfolding mystery. "Good, good. But the matter at hand still awaits. An island from nowhere, the haunting echoes of a long-lost civilization, and whatever lurks in that mist," he pauses, eyes narrowing, "It's not just any island; it's a challenge. One that we must meet head-on." ~
The vision shifts abruptly, as though torn from one scene and thrust into another.
The Soulfire shimmers with violent intensity, refracting like a prism shattered by a cosmic force. Suddenly, you are adrift in the Sea of Unformed Dreaming, where the water is more like liquid thought than any earthly ocean.
Three sailing ships, spectral yet solid, glide across the tumultuous sea, their sails billow with memories of torrential storms and dreams of lightning crackle around them. Aboard these vessels, pirates and privateers, hardened denizens of the dream all, wield weapons that glow with arcane energies. They stand poised, prepared for the dangers of their elusive prey.
Without warning, nightmarish creatures rise from the depths—twisted serpents, grotesque fish with human faces, demonic water spirits—all converging on the lead ship. A battle erupts, the clash of ethereal steel and eldritch energies lighting up the dream-sea like a tempest.
Just as the pirates repel these lesser foes, a low, guttural sound ripples through the waters—a sound more felt than heard. Then, it emerges: a Nightmare Behemoth, its form a swirling vortex of chaos and malevolence. The pirates brace themselves, mustering their remaining courage and power for the inevitable clash.
The vision ends abruptly, severed by an energy that even the Soulfire cannot contain. The dream-sea fades away, but the sense of peril lingers. ~
Three sailing ships, spectral yet solid, glide across the tumultuous sea, their sails billow with memories of torrential storms and dreams of lightning crackle around them. Aboard these vessels, pirates and privateers, hardened denizens of the dream all, wield weapons that glow with arcane energies. They stand poised, prepared for the dangers of their elusive prey.
Without warning, nightmarish creatures rise from the depths—twisted serpents, grotesque fish with human faces, demonic water spirits—all converging on the lead ship. A battle erupts, the clash of ethereal steel and eldritch energies lighting up the dream-sea like a tempest.
Just as the pirates repel these lesser foes, a low, guttural sound ripples through the waters—a sound more felt than heard. Then, it emerges: a Nightmare Behemoth, its form a swirling vortex of chaos and malevolence. The pirates brace themselves, mustering their remaining courage and power for the inevitable clash.
The vision ends abruptly, severed by an energy that even the Soulfire cannot contain. The dream-sea fades away, but the sense of peril lingers. ~
Just as that peril begins to fade, a metaphysical earthquake shakes the very fabric of the dreamscape.
The Soulfire vibrates with a discordant energy, forming cracks in the otherwise seamless veil of reality. And then, with a ripple, the vision shifts to a new scene entirely.
You find yourself in a liminal office space, one that defies easy description. It exists at the intersection of multiple genres, evident by the jarring mix of antiquated scrolls lying beside hyper-advanced computing devices all covered in a retro, brutalist shell. Desks overflow with disassembled parts of a massive computer system, forming a puzzle that seems simultaneously brutalist and futuristic.
On the wall, written in hurried handwriting, are five names.
You find yourself in a liminal office space, one that defies easy description. It exists at the intersection of multiple genres, evident by the jarring mix of antiquated scrolls lying beside hyper-advanced computing devices all covered in a retro, brutalist shell. Desks overflow with disassembled parts of a massive computer system, forming a puzzle that seems simultaneously brutalist and futuristic.
On the wall, written in hurried handwriting, are five names.
The first name is already crossed off, ink slashed over it as if marking completion or, perhaps, elimination.
The vision wavers, becoming translucent like a fading memory, and you realize you're standing at the threshold of myriad worlds. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the office scene dissolves, and you are called to the dreaming...
The vision wavers, becoming translucent like a fading memory, and you realize you're standing at the threshold of myriad worlds. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the office scene dissolves, and you are called to the dreaming...
