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Events News Post #606

It Ended In Chaos

Written by: Anonymous
Date: Sunday, February 18th, 2018
Addressed to: Everyone


What happened thereafter upon the Chaos Plane is said not, but upon the Prime, the heavens themselves told the story.

Mere hours after the hellish winds began, a stark uptick in their severity heralded their sudden egress towards the mainland of Sapience, coalescing in particular among the Bog of Ashtan. There, the winds joined themselves in terrible chorus with billowing clouds of black fog pouring forth from the Caverns of Enheduanna, screaming high into the firmament above.

All at once, every creature upon Sapience felt the coming of that which should not be. Skin itched, bled, and shuddered, the sensation of a thousand tiny needles and claws raking bloodlessly across one's flesh amplified a thousandfold. All of Humanity stood starkly still, held rapt by the call of a distant taint within their blood, gazes affixed upon the towering plume.

Thousands of feet above the ground, the presence came into being, bearing the empty eyes of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion down upon the heart of Achaea.

His voice echoed throughout Sapience:

"For centuries, My gaze has lingered upon the fringes of Creation, but no longer."

"The Throne endures its emptiness no more, the sightless now see. The boughs bear the jewel of the Prime upon their boundless reach, and now, the parasite shall be shed."

And then, the hellish winds rising in a terrible chorus of grating, assured laughter, the Lord of the Unknowable Mysteries simply uttered:

"Time is running out, Dunamis."

Stillness reigned thereafter, the winds banished, and gone, carrying the manifestation in their wake.

Elsewhere, a cowled figure stood thin-lipped, staring grimly at the orb beneath her hands, the myriad accord of a thousand voices in perfect unison clear within her mind:

"We shall not tolerate this imperfection."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Summary: Carried upon a wind from the Outer Cold, the terrible figure of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion, returned His gaze to linger upon Sapience once more, after three centuries of profound silence. Elsewhere, the agents of the Genesis stir in poised purpose for a task unseen.

Penned by My hand on the 10th of Valnuary, in the year 764 AF.


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Events News Post #606

It Ended In Chaos

Written by: Anonymous
Date: Sunday, February 18th, 2018
Addressed to: Everyone


What happened thereafter upon the Chaos Plane is said not, but upon the Prime, the heavens themselves told the story.

Mere hours after the hellish winds began, a stark uptick in their severity heralded their sudden egress towards the mainland of Sapience, coalescing in particular among the Bog of Ashtan. There, the winds joined themselves in terrible chorus with billowing clouds of black fog pouring forth from the Caverns of Enheduanna, screaming high into the firmament above.

All at once, every creature upon Sapience felt the coming of that which should not be. Skin itched, bled, and shuddered, the sensation of a thousand tiny needles and claws raking bloodlessly across one's flesh amplified a thousandfold. All of Humanity stood starkly still, held rapt by the call of a distant taint within their blood, gazes affixed upon the towering plume.

Thousands of feet above the ground, the presence came into being, bearing the empty eyes of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion down upon the heart of Achaea.

His voice echoed throughout Sapience:

"For centuries, My gaze has lingered upon the fringes of Creation, but no longer."

"The Throne endures its emptiness no more, the sightless now see. The boughs bear the jewel of the Prime upon their boundless reach, and now, the parasite shall be shed."

And then, the hellish winds rising in a terrible chorus of grating, assured laughter, the Lord of the Unknowable Mysteries simply uttered:

"Time is running out, Dunamis."

Stillness reigned thereafter, the winds banished, and gone, carrying the manifestation in their wake.

Elsewhere, a cowled figure stood thin-lipped, staring grimly at the orb beneath her hands, the myriad accord of a thousand voices in perfect unison clear within her mind:

"We shall not tolerate this imperfection."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Summary: Carried upon a wind from the Outer Cold, the terrible figure of Babel, the Lord of Oblivion, returned His gaze to linger upon Sapience once more, after three centuries of profound silence. Elsewhere, the agents of the Genesis stir in poised purpose for a task unseen.

Penned by My hand on the 10th of Valnuary, in the year 764 AF.


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