Greece, 640 A.D. - Oracle's chamber(Thrace)
A young boy walked down a dark stone corridor, only a single candle lighting his way. He had no business there, the thought of entering the place should have never even entered his mind, yet there he was. Something was calling him, urging him further into the corridor as the darkness closed in around him with each step. A breeze blew, too cold in Thrace's oppressive summer heat to be natural. Kyrian shivered as it chilled him, seeming to go straight through him to his very bones. His candle couldn't withstand it, it seemed, as it flickered weakly once before going out. All at once Kyrian was plunged into a darkness so oppressive it frightened him. He turned, disoriented and confused, what he thought to be one hundred and eighty degrees and began running. He barely made it three feet before smashing full force into a wall. The impact sent him sprawling to the floor, candle flying from his gasp. He scrambled up quickly, the darkness was still pressing in, making him unable to think clearly as a thousand faceless demons closed in unseen in his mind. It was then that he heard a sound, the first he'd heard in the corridor not made by him. It was a low hissing sound, not unlike that of a snake's slithering. He froze, trying to determine where it was coming from. Without warning something brushed past him, a thick smoke, a tangible one. He couldn't say how he knew, for he saw nothing in the complete blackness of the corridor, but he knew. Fear poured through him, soaking his clothes as he stood stock still, eyes clenched shut as he prayed for whatever it was to go away. A voice, cracked and brittle as ash then spoke, setting his hair on end, as if each individual one were trying to escape the specter.
"When the queene of insaenity,
to her husband's naeture falls
onlee a sonne of revelery
mae restore her sombrietey.
Nine men on a queste there must be,
but love well a stranger in fox-skinne cloths
for he will guide your wae.
The red woman and general shall arrive at cockerel's first crowe,
the pirate and princling soone after.
A seer and theife comme next,
and a magician of will completes the company
till first crisis bares another."
Then, just as suddenly as it had come the smoke retreated, leaving a lighted corridor in it's wake. Unable to cope, the boy's eyes rolled up into themselves and he collapsed.
America, 2012 C.E. - Nashville
A man watched amused as a crowd gathered around one of the last newspaper stands in town. Everyone seemed to be buying the same paper, some laughed as they read, others scoffed, yet they all kept reading. The woman running the stand bent behind the counter for a moment, only to come up with another stack of what seemed to be the only paper being bought, The Nashville Post. Intrigued, the man glided over and, to the woman selling papers, seemed to appear out of no where. She started briefly before taking in the man's appearance. He had the kind of bronzed skin that only came from hours in intense sun, certainly not the kind found in Tennessee, maybe somewhere exotic like around the Mediterranean, she mused. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, set under eyen darker brows and his mouth...sensuous with one side quirked ever so slightly, like he was sharing some private joke with her. The quirk widened a moment before he began to speak.
"Good evening miss." he shifted his weight a bit and crossed his arms comfortably, leaning against a near by tree. He was well built, with muscles that told of nothing but strength and speed. The woman flushed a bright red
"Good evening." she echoed, the greeting sounding odd coming from her own lips, though natural, inviting from his own.
"Business seems to be doing very well today. What is it that's got everyone so excited?" he asked, leaning in conspiratorially, and dropping his voice an octave or two. The red that had finally been draining from her cheeks returned with a vengeance and the man chuckled lowly. He loved it. In all his centuries, women's reactions to him never seemed to change. It was one of the few things he could take comfort in knowing would never change.
"Someone anonymous made a submission to the paper, they're trying to recruit people for something. A lot of people think it's just a joke but others are saying it's serious. No one knows what it means though, its written really weirdly and it's just about some queen or myth or something..." she trailed off, not sure what else to say about it. It was just one of those things you had to see for yourself. The man nodded and pulled a bill out of his pocket, stepping forward to put it on the counter and grab one of the mysterious papers. Then, with a nod, he stepped back into the shadows and seemingly disappeared. He didn't go far though before stopping to read the article in question. He took one look at the page and froze. On it, in bold writing, there were seventy-seven words, just three hundred and forty-nine letters. Just seventy-seven words and yet it brought him as close to fainting then than anything had since he'd first heard them uttered several lifetimes ago.
