Post by Dungeon Master on Jul 5, 2013 21:08:55 GMT -5
The vast expanse of black and purple stretches on as far as the eye can see, a sea of arcing light and blackest blackness taking solid form in moments before dissolving into nothingness again. In this abyss an obelisk remains the only constant, floating above the ever-shifting landscape. It rotates, like a giant sinister top in slow motion. Over its surface skitters strange, unfathomable writing: runes of light unknown to any of the material planes. It is a marker for the site of entry, for the point at which the weave is slowly unraveling, allowing through formations and concepts native to the realm beneath Oblivion: the weakest point of resistance in the multiverse. Runeterra.
Pillars of pristine white Demacian architecture stick up from the intangible ground at eerie angles, stretching into Noxian arches and angular Ionian rooftops. A tree grows down from the sky, its roots interwoven with stormclouds. A gust of wind riles the stillness, blows the nettles and pines from its branches. And these become arrows as they fly--before blinking into glittering Nothing, floating to the ground as tiny violet snowflakes, all aglow. There is power in this place above which the monolith hovers. There is fuel.
The face of a man, one of the vulnerable denizens of this world, grows on a pillar. Its mouth moves to form the words, "Save us," before he and the formation from which he had arisen bursts into purple flames. The flames become a winged beast, which dives into the ocean of blackness miles below to be swallowed by the waves. And the waves become mountains, which grow and twist until their spires pierce the sky, as thin and sharp as needles. The clouds burst forth: black water in great tides over the twisting world below, over the obelisk, which crackles with energy.
High above, the sound of wings is almost deafening over the dreamscape. The denizens of the Void are moving. This is their next mark. This is the land they are destined to consume. They have done it before. They will do it again--until the Nothing covers all. The pass it now and then, to see if the portals are prepared, to watch as foreign forms take shape in the blackness.
Steam rises up from the ground as formations begin to settle, to take on the characteristics of the world below... the world that will soon be theirs--along with all the power therein.
Pillars of pristine white Demacian architecture stick up from the intangible ground at eerie angles, stretching into Noxian arches and angular Ionian rooftops. A tree grows down from the sky, its roots interwoven with stormclouds. A gust of wind riles the stillness, blows the nettles and pines from its branches. And these become arrows as they fly--before blinking into glittering Nothing, floating to the ground as tiny violet snowflakes, all aglow. There is power in this place above which the monolith hovers. There is fuel.
The face of a man, one of the vulnerable denizens of this world, grows on a pillar. Its mouth moves to form the words, "Save us," before he and the formation from which he had arisen bursts into purple flames. The flames become a winged beast, which dives into the ocean of blackness miles below to be swallowed by the waves. And the waves become mountains, which grow and twist until their spires pierce the sky, as thin and sharp as needles. The clouds burst forth: black water in great tides over the twisting world below, over the obelisk, which crackles with energy.
High above, the sound of wings is almost deafening over the dreamscape. The denizens of the Void are moving. This is their next mark. This is the land they are destined to consume. They have done it before. They will do it again--until the Nothing covers all. The pass it now and then, to see if the portals are prepared, to watch as foreign forms take shape in the blackness.
Steam rises up from the ground as formations begin to settle, to take on the characteristics of the world below... the world that will soon be theirs--along with all the power therein.
