Post by The Prophet of the Void on Sept 29, 2013 16:11:35 GMT -5
All we see or seem is but a dream within a dream--and how deep the Prophet drifted into sleep upon the kopak's bough, in which he lingered in the future and forsook the now. There on the horizon, cold, lingered the likeness of a thunderstorm amidst the stars. It flickered purple and all the stars were swallowed. In the recesses of space the Prophet wallowed.
Emptiness rushed in his ears; he hovered weightless in the vacuum Nothing. The darkness' depths could not be fathomed. Blazing sun and flame of dragons could not hope to pierce it. It was Forever and annihilation washed him in sick pleasure. He could not even measure his elation. (There was no measure.) He moaned aloud and found there was no sound: an stark juxtaposition to the seer's station.
But the solace of nonexistence was soon broken by roar, distant at first, but then haunting in the way it sunk beneath the skin, through bones and to the bitter soul of men.
Men screamed.
Malzahar opened his eyes as a babe torn from the womb--and all around him humans scattered. Present and yet removed, he watched them as they ran, down mountain paths and far from their village homes. They were afraid. And rightly so. Malzahar could feel it: the static in the air that heralded Oblivion's grim arrival. He sensed the presence of his rival, but Kassadin would be too late, and the rural folk would fall prostrate before the Void's might. (Oh, what a sight!) He shook with anticipation.
And then there came a roar.
It was a sound that tore the body from the soul and stole the breath and stopped men in their tracks. There was no going back. Whatever waited here had been awakened; boulders fell from mountaintops as they were shaken by the great force of magic beating from the serpentine body that eclipsed the sun, blotted the clouds, eclipsed the portals. The Void could not fail because of wretched mortals!
But this thing, this storm that shook the skies, brought tears to countless pairs of human eyes. All watched as it encircled the tear in the world, squeezing it tight like a great boa constrictor. The clouds broke forth and a torrent of tears cascaded down upon the awestruck nation.
Runeterra wept and wept as though washing itself clean.
"Jormungandr hoth zaaloth'nng sraii f'taghnn lesh alesh sthradiv..."[/color]
The prophet's whisper stirred the leaves, and presently he started from his slumber. Glowing eyes took in their surroundings. He was still in the Kumungu, and beneath its canape he heard the thunder. The storm of his dreams took form and fell tickertape over the jungle leaves as Malzahar pondered the message he'd received.
He sat up on the kopak's branch and hugged his knees to his chest. He'd grown weary of rest--and the Void's voice haunted him tonight. He huddled in the jungle and longed for its light, pondering the message it delivered.
Beneath the ground, hundreds of miles away, a cold wind blew and all Ionia shivered.
Emptiness rushed in his ears; he hovered weightless in the vacuum Nothing. The darkness' depths could not be fathomed. Blazing sun and flame of dragons could not hope to pierce it. It was Forever and annihilation washed him in sick pleasure. He could not even measure his elation. (There was no measure.) He moaned aloud and found there was no sound: an stark juxtaposition to the seer's station.
But the solace of nonexistence was soon broken by roar, distant at first, but then haunting in the way it sunk beneath the skin, through bones and to the bitter soul of men.
Men screamed.
Malzahar opened his eyes as a babe torn from the womb--and all around him humans scattered. Present and yet removed, he watched them as they ran, down mountain paths and far from their village homes. They were afraid. And rightly so. Malzahar could feel it: the static in the air that heralded Oblivion's grim arrival. He sensed the presence of his rival, but Kassadin would be too late, and the rural folk would fall prostrate before the Void's might. (Oh, what a sight!) He shook with anticipation.
And then there came a roar.
It was a sound that tore the body from the soul and stole the breath and stopped men in their tracks. There was no going back. Whatever waited here had been awakened; boulders fell from mountaintops as they were shaken by the great force of magic beating from the serpentine body that eclipsed the sun, blotted the clouds, eclipsed the portals. The Void could not fail because of wretched mortals!
But this thing, this storm that shook the skies, brought tears to countless pairs of human eyes. All watched as it encircled the tear in the world, squeezing it tight like a great boa constrictor. The clouds broke forth and a torrent of tears cascaded down upon the awestruck nation.
Runeterra wept and wept as though washing itself clean.
"Jormungandr hoth zaaloth'nng sraii f'taghnn lesh alesh sthradiv..."[/color]
The prophet's whisper stirred the leaves, and presently he started from his slumber. Glowing eyes took in their surroundings. He was still in the Kumungu, and beneath its canape he heard the thunder. The storm of his dreams took form and fell tickertape over the jungle leaves as Malzahar pondered the message he'd received.
He sat up on the kopak's branch and hugged his knees to his chest. He'd grown weary of rest--and the Void's voice haunted him tonight. He huddled in the jungle and longed for its light, pondering the message it delivered.
Beneath the ground, hundreds of miles away, a cold wind blew and all Ionia shivered.
