Visions

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AvRen RP: Visions

The wind chose a seer form each nation, someone she had touched and watched and hoped would be able to bring the vision to life and take up the challenge of a quest. She had but one small mistake as she chose an Air Nomad girl who was just not yet ready to handle what she saw. So the wind gave another vision to the Air Nomads.

Each seer received the same core vision; however, each nation's seer also saw a clue that was only for their nation in that vision. Below is the core vision, followed by the same vision as each nation's seer saw it with the clue slipped in.

VISION KEY

WHITE - white text of for the core vision, the part of the vision that was the same for everyone
RED - red text is for what the Fire Nation seer, Shao Li, saw.
BLUE - blue text is for what the Water Tribe seer, Anks Kisuke, saw.
YELLOW - yellow text is for what the Air Nomad seer, David, saw.
GREEN - green text is for what the Earth Kingdom seer, Tsun Shou, saw.

CORE VISION

Shao Li's Vision ~ Anks Kisuke's Vision ~ David's Vision ~ Tsun Shou's Vision

A low mountain, not quite touching the cloud line overlooks a large lake just northeast of it. From its precipice you look north to see the fractured path between two giant lakes, known as the Serpent’s Pass, however that is quite far away. The hint of an Air nomad’s temple pillars peak from their embedded burial ground of mountain stone. Several small streams flow from within a series of puncture marks in the mountain, creating varied cascades along the south side. Moonstones and deep blue sapphires form swirling wave patterns above each water exit. Bubbling hot pools layer the east side indicating a molten depth in the mountain structure, their healing properties steaming around them. Lush deep forest and strange beasts blanket the west and available ground hiding all this unless you dropped from the sky to see it.

Darkness envelopes you. You push through dense foliage to be surprised by the rushing sound of a small waterfall. As you turn suddenly your foot slips on the mossy stones and you fall.

Stone surrounds you along with silence, quiet as an underground tomb. The air is hot and stifling. A damp breeze teases you to turn around, another cooler one coaxes you to move deeper into darkness. The stone forms stairs and the path gives way to a heavy door. The cooler air can be felt through its cracks. With some struggle you push the door open and it reveals a small plateau with a fountain that no longer sprays water. It is a still pool littered with leaves and debris and rimmed with stones covered in mountain lichens. Interlacing knotwork is engraved in various broken stones and along the walls to disappear behind a curtain of vines.

Whispering that was not quite audible before is a buzz of many voices, bringing you to your knees as a shadow grows over the hidden plateau grotto. Your hands and arms tingle like a thousand small needles pricked at them. You struggle to get away. A sound emanate from the growing shadow. Your breath comes short. Four great curved blades crash at you. Blue glowing hands grab you from behind the curtain of vines. Pain courses through you in a scream of agony and terror.

You open your eyes and suck in a deep breath to yell again, tensing your muscles as you ready to flight or fight instincts to kick in. The scene before you is a stunning display of detailed all paintings and that same interlacing pattern all around you in a cavern. Your flesh goosebumps as the paintings are of priests… from all four nations from all points in history. Nine gateways are painted around the room with horrific bloody images through their bars that chills and knot your stomach. In the centre of the chamber is a large well, the wall of it three feet high and six feet across. You step cautiously across the floor to see the interlacing patters shimmer beneath your feet with each step. The well is more like a still pool of some dark reflective liquid. It looks like water and yet like you took a black mirror and liquefied it. The juxtaposition plays tricks with your vision.

The sound of muttering and scribbling catches your attention. And old man, whose nation cannot be determined by his plain and simple rugged clothes, sits on the floor with his back against the wall of the pool. He does not notice you… not even when you try to speak with him. Frowning, you lean over to see what he has written.

I have found it. I found the inner sanctum. The most sacred place in the world. Its beauty is incredible. The pool is intact. The paintings tell the history of the world. The changing phases, the coming and goings of peoples and creatures. But a darkness has also crept in here. An assassin has followed me. He called himself a priest, an Akuma. I have hidden here in the inner sanctum of the buried temple. I must get news out to the people. This sacred place is in great peril, if it hasn’t already fallen pray. There are no locks on the painting of the nine gates as I have read there should be. There are no Qin Maru holy guards protecting this place as legends says there should be. I know not what has happened, though I am ecstatic to know it exists.

The old man stands suddenly and a man robed in black steps through broken wooden doors on the other side of the room. The old man runs for the curtain of vines. The dark figure whispers words and gestures, bending the very shadows into extended claws hands that capture the old man and strangle him to death. The note crumples with the old man’s futile struggles. As it falls to the ground from his lifeless fingers, a small fox snaps up the note and vanishes through the foliage.

Your throat closes as the shadows engulf you. Your spirit screams to live.

You wake.

Tom: Shao Li's Vision

Shao sat by the fire and leaned his back against a rock watching the flames dance in the wind. They were mesmerizing. The shifting colors, the hazy light, the cool damp wind all tugged him somewhere else. He could hardly keep his eyes open, but did they really close? The yellows and oranges of the flames became other images before his eyes. He thought he was dreaming but felt too aware. He could not wake or look away as the wind rustled his white hair. Smoke rose from the dancing fire to swirl white and tug at the image of his surroundings, till the vanished in the clouds.

A low mountain, not quite touching the cloud line overlooks a large lake just northeast of it. From its precipice you look north to see the fractured path between two giant lakes, known as the Serpent’s Pass, however that is quite far away. The hint of an Air nomad’s temple pillars peak from their embedded burial ground of mountain stone. Several small streams flow from within a series of puncture marks in the mountain, creating varied cascades along the south side. Moonstones and deep blue sapphires form swirling wave patterns above each water exit. Bubbling hot pools layer the east side indicating a molten depth in the mountain structure, their healing properties steaming around them. Lush deep forest and strange beasts blanket the west and available ground hiding all this unless you dropped from the sky to see it.

Darkness envelopes you. You push through dense foliage to be surprised by the rushing sound of a small waterfall. As you turn suddenly your foot slips on the mossy stones and you fall.

Stone surrounds you along with silence, quiet as an underground tomb. The air is hot and stifling. A damp breeze teases you to turn around, another cooler one coaxes you to move deeper into darkness. The stone forms stairs and the path gives way to a heavy door. The cooler air can be felt through its cracks. With some struggle you push the door open and it reveals a small plateau with a fountain that no longer sprays water. It is a still pool littered with leaves and debris and rimmed with stones covered in mountain lichens. Interlacing knotwork is engraved in various broken stones and along the walls to disappear behind a curtain of vines.

Whispering that was not quite audible before is a buzz of many voices, bringing you to your knees as a shadow grows over the hidden plateau grotto. Your hands and arms tingle like a thousand small needles pricked at them. You struggle to get away. A sound emanate from the growing shadow. Your breath comes short. Four great curved blades crash at you. Blue glowing hands grab you from behind the curtain of vines. Pain courses through you in a scream of agony and terror.

You open your eyes and suck in a deep breath to yell again, tensing your muscles as you ready to flight or fight instincts to kick in. The scene before you is a stunning display of detailed all paintings and that same interlacing pattern all around you in a cavern. Your flesh goosebumps as the paintings are of priests… from all four nations from all points in history. Nine gateways are painted around the room with horrific bloody images through their bars that chills and knot your stomach. In the centre of the chamber is a large well, the wall of it three feet high and six feet across. You step cautiously across the floor to see the interlacing patters shimmer beneath your feet with each step. The well is more like a still pool of some dark reflective liquid. It looks like water and yet like you took a black mirror and liquefied it. The juxtaposition plays tricks with your vision.

You reach down to touch the ground for stability. The feel of lava pulsing like blood deep below the rock reminds you that this calm pool of water it likely quite hot, heated naturally from below as the steaming pools were that you spotted from the air. This is how the Fire Sages kept their healing rooms. They had great steaming pools of mineral rich water near an underground lava stream. You look up a moment and recognize the image of an old Fire Sage that had been Avatar Roku’s very teacher painted on the wall. It is clearer and better preserved here than it was in the damaged and crumbling Sages Temple that you had visited but once when your mentor insisted you be taken through the harsh and dangerous traditional rites of manhood before you earn your first military rank under his command.

The sound of muttering and scribbling catches your attention. And old man, whose nation cannot be determined by his plain and simple rugged clothes, sits on the floor with his back against the wall of the pool. He does not notice you… not even when you try to speak with him. Frowning, you lean over to see what he has written.

I have found it. I found the inner sanctum.
The most sacred place in the world. Its beauty is incredible.
The pool is intact. The paintings tell the history of the world.
The changing phases, the coming and goings of peoples and creatures.
But a darkness has also crept in here. An assassin has followed me.
He called himself a priest, an Akuma.
I have hidden here in the inner sanctum of the buried temple.
I must get news out to the people.
This sacred place is in great peril, if it hasn’t already fallen pray.
There are no locks on the painting of the nine gates as I have read there should be.
There are no Qin Maru holy guards protecting this place as legends says there should be.
I know not what has happened, though I am ecstatic to know it exists.

The old man stands suddenly and a man robed in black steps through broken wooden doors on the other side of the room. The old man runs for the curtain of vines. The dark figure whispers words and gestures, bending the very shadows into extended claws hands that capture the old man and strangle him to death. The note crumples with the old man’s futile struggles. As it falls to the ground from his lifeless fingers, a small fox snaps up the note and vanishes through the foliage.

Your throat closes as the shadows engulf you. Your spirit screams to live.

You wake.

<END VISION>

Soon it was over and he fought to breath, the wind chilling the sweat that rolled down his back and chest. He blinked several times to be sure he was still in the camp and not where he just was. He didn’t understand what happened. For a moment he thought he was dead and somewhere else. And what he saw… he stood, a little shaken and quickly sorted his thoughts and what to do next. Something had to be done. He strode with firm purpose back toward the village.

Anks: Anks Kisuke's Vision

When all that surrounded him was water and no shore could mar the horizon, when the sky was a deep indigo blanket pricked by a thousand silver threads, only then did he stop. Panting and exhausted, he sat on the flat middle of the boat. He took a long gulp of the fresh clear drinking water he had in a waterskin and nibbled some fruit from the rude merchant. Then he flopped onto his back to gaze at the beauty of the moon. The brisk breeze that skipped across the deck was still warmer than he was used to. He pushed back the hood of his parka and tossed his mitts into the nearly deck box. His skin was fairer than most Northerners and he sometimes wondered about his parentage… or maybe the moon had simply kissed him in the blessing ceremony as a baby. He ran his fingers through his shoulder-length black hair and retied it meticulously before laying back on the deck. The gently rocking of the boat on the waves lulled him into an almost dreamless sleep. The breeze picked up the scent of the sea and soothed him into a deeper sleep full of strange visions and not releasing him till the dream was done.

The scent of salty sea air shifted to thinner icier unsalted air. The deck of the ship sunk beneath the waves as Anks felt himself floating on the waves themselves. A slight shift and a peak through sleepy half closed eyelids revealed an ocean of clouds.

Moonstones and sapphires along with sodalites, lapis lazuis, and aquamarines were sacred stones to the Water Tribes. They marked sacred places where shamans could be found. Only the Northern Oasis with Tui and La, as well as the old avatar temple in the South Pole still had these stones rimming their entrances. And neither of these places had Water Tribe shamans any more. The closest to a shaman now were some elders who passed on the old tales and traditions during the Winter Solstice ceremonies or lead the rites of passages for those of each tribe.

Darkness envelopes you. You push through dense foliage to be surprised by the rushing sound of a small waterfall. As you turn suddenly your foot slips on the mossy stones and you fall.

Stone surrounds you along with silence, quiet as an underground tomb. The air is hot and stifling. A damp breeze teases you to turn around, another cooler one coaxes you to move deeper into darkness. The stone forms stairs and the path gives way to a heavy door. The cooler air can be felt through its cracks. With some struggle you push the door open and it reveals a small plateau with a fountain that no longer sprays water. It is a still pool littered with leaves and debris and rimmed with stones covered in mountain lichens. Interlacing knotwork is engraved in various broken stones and along the walls to disappear behind a curtain of vines.

Whispering that was not quite audible before is a buzz of many voices, bringing you to your knees as a shadow grows over the hidden plateau grotto. Your hands and arms tingle like a thousand small needles pricked at them. You struggle to get away. A sound emanate from the growing shadow. Your breath comes short. Four great curved blades crash at you. Blue glowing hands grab you from behind the curtain of vines. Pain courses through you in a scream of agony and terror.

You open your eyes and suck in a deep breath to yell again, tensing your muscles as you ready to flight or fight instincts to kick in. The scene before you is a stunning display of detailed all paintings and that same interlacing pattern all around you in a cavern. Your flesh goosebumps as the paintings are of priests… from all four nations from all points in history. Nine gateways are painted around the room with horrific bloody images through their bars that chills and knot your stomach. In the centre of the chamber is a large well, the wall of it three feet high and six feet across. You step cautiously across the floor to see the interlacing patters shimmer beneath your feet with each step. The well is more like a still pool of some dark reflective liquid. It looks like water and yet like you took a black mirror and liquefied it. The juxtaposition plays tricks with your vision.

The sound of muttering and scribbling catches your attention. And old man, whose nation cannot be determined by his plain and simple rugged clothes, sits on the floor with his back against the wall of the pool. He does not notice you… not even when you try to speak with him. Frowning, you lean over to see what he has written.

Anks sat bolt up as if the boat were about to capsize. In his panic, he almost caused that notion to be fact. He panted and his breath came out is visible puffs in the chilling air. His sapphire eyes, wide, sought the moon again as he stood frantically. Dreams were sacred to those who remembered them in the Water Tribes, but what did this one mean? He sat hard on the deck. There was no one to ask advice from. He was alone and never thought he would feel more alone than now. He licked his lips to moisten them and gazed back at the moon. He had to do something. Such a vision would not have been given to him for no reason. He patted his parka and took a firmer stance on the deck. In a great sweeping motion, he summoned wave upon wave to hasten his travels.

David TLCB: David 's Vision

David leaned back instead against Goro’s soft fur feeling the light breeze drift in from the cave entrance. Goro’s warmth and gentle rumbling comforted him. He was never alone with Goro around. He snuggled into the fur and slept. The breeze teased his hair and clothes, teased his sleeping mind, and opened it up past the dreams of music, healing and haikus. It wisked him high above the world on Goro’s back skipping playfully through the clouds dip below their dampness.

<VISION>

A low mountain, not quite touching the cloud line overlooks a large lake just northeast of it. From its precipice you look north to see the fractured path between two giant lakes, known as the Serpent’s Pass, however that is quite far away. The hint of an Air nomad’s temple pillars peak from their embedded burial ground of mountain stone. Several small streams flow from within a series of puncture marks in the mountain, creating varied cascades along the south side. Moonstones and deep blue sapphires form swirling wave patterns above each water exit. Bubbling hot pools layer the east side indicating a molten depth in the mountain structure, their healing properties steaming around them. Lush deep forest and strange beasts blanket the west and available ground hiding all this unless you dropped from the sky to see it.

Darkness envelopes you. You push through dense foliage to be surprised by the rushing sound of a small waterfall. As you turn suddenly your foot slips on the mossy stones and you fall.

Stone surrounds you along with silence, quiet as an underground tomb. The air is hot and stifling. A damp breeze teases you to turn around, another cooler one coaxes you to move deeper into darkness. The stone forms stairs and the path gives way to a heavy door. The cooler air can be felt through its cracks. With some struggle you push the door open and it reveals a small plateau with a fountain that no longer sprays water. It is a still pool littered with leaves and debris and rimmed with stones covered in mountain lichens. Interlacing knotwork is engraved in various broken stones and along the walls to disappear behind a curtain of vines.

Whispering that was not quite audible before is a buzz of many voices, bringing you to your knees as a shadow grows over the hidden plateau grotto. Your hands and arms tingle like a thousand small needles pricked at them. You struggle to get away. A sound emanate from the growing shadow. Your breath comes short. Four great curved blades crash at you. Blue glowing hands grab you from behind the curtain of vines. Pain courses through you in a scream of agony and terror.

You open your eyes and suck in a deep breath to yell again, tensing your muscles as you ready to flight or fight instincts to kick in. The scene before you is a stunning display of detailed all paintings and that same interlacing pattern all around you in a cavern. Your flesh goosebumps as the paintings are of priests… from all four nations from all points in history. Nine gateways are painted around the room with horrific bloody images through their bars that chills and knot your stomach. In the centre of the chamber is a large well, the wall of it three feet high and six feet across. You step cautiously across the floor to see the interlacing patters shimmer beneath your feet with each step. The well is more like a still pool of some dark reflective liquid. It looks like water and yet like you took a black mirror and liquefied it. The juxtaposition plays tricks with your vision.

The sound of muttering and scribbling catches your attention. And old man, whose nation cannot be determined by his plain and simple rugged clothes, sits on the floor with his back against the wall of the pool. He does not notice you… not even when you try to speak with him. Frowning, you lean over to see what he has written.

The words Akuma and Qin Maru tickle your poetic mind. You are sure you read these words or names before. Qin Maru especially rang a deep gong in your memory. Qin Maru meant Silver Circle and were an order of warriors trained to protect sacred people, places, and things. In older texts you had read that they would be the escorts for the gurus and monks and priests. Sometimes they were temple guards against raiders. The old man too seems familiar. As his face turns a little, you recognize him as a researcher from the University of Ba Sing Se. He had visited the Northern Temple a many years ago seeking information and was shortly locked away discussing his research with some of the oldest monks and gurus, most of whom have already passed from this life now.

The old man stands suddenly and a man robed in black steps through broken wooden doors on the other side of the room. The old man runs for the curtain of vines. The dark figure whispers words and gestures, bending the very shadows into extended claws hands that capture the old man and strangle him to death. The note crumples with the old man’s futile struggles. As it falls to the ground from his lifeless fingers, a small fox snaps up the note and vanishes through the foliage.

Your throat closes as the shadows engulf you. Your spirit screams to live.

You wake.

<END VISION>

David struggled to wake from his dream, gripping Goro’s fur tight in his fingers. When he was finally free of it and his eyes snapped open, he apologized to his poor sky bison for the fistful of fur he had ripped out in the midst of the vision he had had. He let the wind carry away the loose fur as he sorted through his next course of action. The wind had told him something too important to not be handled immediately. The leader in him seized hold of his spirit. He saddled Goro and they leapt from the mountain’s precipice to speed through the clouds in determined haste.

Nuncle Zero: Tsun Shou (Earth Kingdom)

Though he was tired from the fight with the serpent, he made his way across again and collapsed exhausted at the foot of twin mountains on the western side. Tsun was not sure what was more fun, running the Serpent’s Pass or the look on the other traveler’s face when he did. The wind cooled the sweat upon him. As he drifted in a light nap, his mind wandered over all the things he had learned and all the things he hoped to find. He fantasized about what Ba Sing Se might look like. The images shifted. He tried to hold onto the lavish city of gems and colored rock, but it blurred and changed anyways.

A low mountain, not quite touching the cloud line overlooks a large lake just northeast of it. From its precipice you look north to see the fractured path between two giant lakes, known as the Serpent’s Pass, however that is quite far away. The hint of an Air nomad’s temple pillars peak from their embedded burial ground of mountain stone. Several small streams flow from within a series of puncture marks in the mountain, creating varied cascades along the south side. Moonstones and deep blue sapphires form swirling wave patterns above each water exit. Bubbling hot pools layer the east side indicating a molten depth in the mountain structure, their healing properties steaming around them. Lush deep forest and strange beasts blanket the west and available ground hiding all this unless you dropped from the sky to see it.

Darkness envelopes you. You push through dense foliage to be surprised by the rushing sound of a small waterfall. As you turn suddenly your foot slips on the mossy stones and you fall.

Stone surrounds you along with silence, quiet as an underground tomb. The air is hot and stifling. A damp breeze teases you to turn around, another cooler one coaxes you to move deeper into darkness. The stone forms stairs and the path gives way to a heavy door. The cooler air can be felt through its cracks. With some struggle you push the door open and it reveals a small plateau with a fountain that no longer sprays water. It is a still pool littered with leaves and debris and rimmed with stones covered in mountain lichens. Interlacing knotwork is engraved in various broken stones and along the walls to disappear behind a curtain of vines.

The very same interlacing knotwork was seen carved on a statue in the old man’s home and in an abandoned shrine in your birth town. You remember tracing your finger along it once wondering that it meant. There was this strong urge to fix the broken patter in this wrecked place. The very place almost begged for it, as though the stones themselves could almost speak… if only you had learned how to truly listen to the language of stone.

Whispering that was not quite audible before is a buzz of many voices, bringing you to your knees as a shadow grows over the hidden plateau grotto. Your hands and arms tingle like a thousand small needles pricked at them. You struggle to get away. A sound emanate from the growing shadow. Your breath comes short. Four great curved blades crash at you. Blue glowing hands grab you from behind the curtain of vines. Pain courses through you in a scream of agony and terror.

You open your eyes and suck in a deep breath to yell again, tensing your muscles as you ready to flight or fight instincts to kick in. The scene before you is a stunning display of detailed all paintings and that same interlacing pattern all around you in a cavern. Your flesh goosebumps as the paintings are of priests… from all four nations from all points in history. Nine gateways are painted around the room with horrific bloody images through their bars that chills and knot your stomach. In the centre of the chamber is a large well, the wall of it three feet high and six feet across. You step cautiously across the floor to see the interlacing patters shimmer beneath your feet with each step. The well is more like a still pool of some dark reflective liquid. It looks like water and yet like you took a black mirror and liquefied it. The juxtaposition plays tricks with your vision.

The sound of muttering and scribbling catches your attention. And old man, whose nation cannot be determined by his plain and simple rugged clothes, sits on the floor with his back against the wall of the pool. He does not notice you… not even when you try to speak with him. Frowning, you lean over to see what he has written.

There was a tension he felt in his muscles. It started with the dragon tattoos of his body and he instinctively earthbended rock armor about him despite the fact he was dreaming. Or was he? When the vision finally passed, he woke with a start bald head knocking against rock painfully. His body was wrapped in rock armor. This was no dream or fantasy. He slammed the rock off him and stood with a different purpose. Discovering his past he do later. This… this vision… gave the world a short time limit. He had to act now.

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