The Pixel Inksplat

A creative roleplay site where anything is possible-- Literally!


You are not connected. Please login or register

Prophecies Were Confusing At The Best Of Times...

Go down  Message [Page 1 of 1]

Really, there are few legends in Inkling. There are, of course,old wive's tales about the various gods, but they are no more than fairy stories. Most of them have died out know, what with the unfortunate buisness of The Laughing Pantheon. This is the most known legend, as such, it is only right that is told first.

It happened only a few days before the gods themselves went insane. For the first time swirling green smoke appeared on the horizon as the newly created tainted the air. The sky was a swirling mauve, verging on grey at times. The clouds were much darker than the rest of the sky, some of the darkest had an odd, greenish tone to them. The work of those factories no doubt.

The Laughing Pantheon had several oracles. Why? It was somewhere for the oracles to be, really. The Pantheon was known for being particuarly mercifull with a large sense of humor (hence the name) and they felt that it what Pantheons were supposed to do. To have oracles and the such like in their temples and wherever else you had oracles. Anyway, a young oracle named Arrats happened to be one of their best. Strangely she was one of the only Inklings that had no interest in art, instead she preffered to concentrate on her other gifts. Her gift of prediction being the only thing that ever really appealed to her, well, that and her ablility to change into many forms.

Currently she was a dark-skinned human with odd, glowing markings scratched into her skin. They pulsated softly as she breathed, her eyes closed. Had they been open one would have seen that they seemed to glow too, less than those markings, however. After a moment or two a worried expression crost her face. She didn't move from the large marble altar at which she was sitting, instead she seemed to grow stiffer as she sat. Almost absent mindedly her hand reached for a large feathered quill. Dipping it in deep blue ink she began to write. Her handwriting was scratchy and uneven, her eyes still closed as she wrote.

She was barely in the airy candle lit room anymore. Her body was, but she felt herself to be far from it. She could see herself, older, much older. Her hair hadn't gone grey and she still retained that unearthly grace, it was the hardened look of many years experience that showed the age gap. She could see the factories and the smoke, and The Painted City. She could see the City of Inkling and the city whose name had been long forgotten. Everything was darker, no longer did it retain the brightness it seemed to hold now. Where were all the artists? Where were the paintings? She could see herself moving through the city, she took the form of a fox with many tails. Her markings were the only thing the younger Arrats could see. She could see another figure, he was quite tall, with filthy uncut dark hair and two horns that curled from his head. The figure was covered in blood and fightful injuries. Grey eyes seemed to look up at the younger Arrats, a sad smile playing around his face. There was no mistaking that face, there was no mistaking those eyes. She'd played hours long games of chess with him often enough to know never mistake him, even through the state he was in.

It was Rhyfel. The god of war.

"Have you any luck, Grim?" The older Arrats asked.
"None."
"The artist will come forward themselves It's just a matter of time and patience."

~***~

The quill scratched across the parchment, when it ran out of ink the young oracle set it aside and her posture relaxed somewhat. It was then her bright blue eyes opened. She sighed, if she hadn't just seen the older version of her, she could have kidded herself into thinking that what she'd seen was going to happen hundreds or thousands of years from now.
After a moment or two she was brave enough to look at the paper on which she'd been writing on. It was so smudged she could barely read it. Infact there was only several bits she could pick out from what she'd written.

... One of Painted blood...
...Artist... Left handed is he,
... Restore the...
... Change.
... Bring back the old ways.

Whatever it was, it didn't bode well.

(Need better title, but it's late an I'm too tired to think of anything better, D8;; <33)

View user profile http://inkingsplat.forumotion.co.uk

Back to top  Message [Page 1 of 1]

Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum