Hearing I ask from the holy races,
From Heimdalls sons, both high and low;
Thou wilt, Valfather, that well I relate
Old tales I remember of men long ago.
I remember yet the giants of yore,
Who gave me bread in the days gone by;
Nine worlds I knew, the nine in the Tree
With mighty roots beneath the mold.
Of old was the age when Ymir lived;
Sea nor cool waves nor sand there were;
Earth had not been, nor heaven above,
But a yawning gap, and grass nowhere
The Revelation of Yeshua Kristos, which Yehovah gave unto him, to shew unto his servants things which must shortly come to pass; and he sent and signified it by his angel unto his servant Ionnes:
Who bare record of the word of Yehovah, and of the testimony of Yeshua Kristos, and of all things that he saw.
Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written therein: for the time is at hand.
After your orders are given, the light fades from your vision and only darkness remains for what seems like an eternity. You hear voices you cannot understand or make out, like whispers in a crowded room.
You also dream:
In your dream, a tall figure with a golden mask greeted you, saying, "There are many rooms in the house of the Master. Be easy, for from the hands of your enemies I have delivered you." It seemed you had died and could see yourself laid upon a table lit by candles. But with your hands you touched the figure, and the figure drew breath, opened eyes, and rose from the table. Then the room was gone, and the world filled with light, and you awoke.
You awake to the faces of the Presbyters
Hooded and masked as in ceremony, icons and symbols of faith and worldly authority dangling from their necks and belts. Your body still burns with pain and you look down upon your naked form and see the blows rent upon your body by the weapon
Leviathan
You know from your time as a medic that you should have received treatment long ago. Your flesh already begins to blacken with rot and the agony of the injury is almost unbearable.
A presbyter with the face of a cherubim leans down close to you and you find that you are bound to the table. Candles burn around you and the air is thick with incense. The sweet voice of the presbyter sounds softly in your ear:
"Apollyon, you have not kept the Faith. It is not for the Servants to question the Masters, but only to Obey. The wages of Sin are Death, child. But we are merciful, as Yehovah is merciful. Be thankful and rejoice: We offer redemption through suffering." With that, he gestures towards one of the others.
A tall presbyter with the face of a bronze lion reaches out his sleeved arm over you and with a twisting gestured and a murmuring your flesh begins to twist and bubble, erupting into boils, lumps and pus. The pain is unthinkable.
There are no words to describe that feeling as the Presbyters use the Divine power of Yahovah to torture you for what seems like days. They ask no questions, nor respond to your questions or scream of agony. They only speak benedictions and prayers as the Lion-headed one warps your body into a mass of quivering agonized flesh.
Many times you pray for death, but Yehovah does not answer you.
After what seems like forever, the Lion-headed one leaves and the first one, with the Cerub face stands in his place. Raising his bare hands above you, he chants over and over in the sacred tongue:
"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."
Though you do not understand his words, you begin to feel something within you. Your flesh no longer boils or swells unnaturally, you no longer bleed onto the table and floor. Instead, your boils and welts are cleansed supernaturally, your wounds mended as if they had never been struck. The pain vanishes too after a while and you finally lapse into sleep once more to dream...
You dreamed that a tall figure with a golden mask spoke to you, but you understood not a word. He smiled, and seemed pleasant, but when he reached to touch you, it terrified you, and you tried to escape, but you couldn't move. you tried to cry out, but you couldn't make a sound. The figure kept smiling and talking, but you felt sure he was trying to cast some sort of spell on you. When you woke, you couldn't recall how the dream ended.
You awaken again, lying unbound in a bed. The orangish sky of Anatoli shining in through the windows and the poised figure of Raphael stands at attention by your door, as if guarding you. His eyes widen as you stir.
"My Lord?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:15, Wed 01 July 2015.