As Tales of Ta'veren MUSH follows its own stories, it also has its own unique prophecies, including our own version of the Prophecies of the Dragon, also known as the Karaethon Cycle.
In content, the Prophecies of the Dragon concentrate on omens related to a man who will be born to fight Tarmon Gai'don (the Final Battle), and is both the world's only salvation, and the violent destroyer of this present Age. It is believed, however, that many of the prophecies relate to the time of the Dragon Reborn's appearance, and not only to the man himself.
The original Karaethon Cycle is written in the Old Tongue, the language that was spoken during the Age of Legends. Now the world speaks a different tongue. There are many translations of the Prophecies. The two considered the most accurate and definitive are available below.
OOC Note: Prophecy and Plot
The overall plotline of Tales of Ta'veren MUSH is NOT predetermined. For that reason, it is not possible for us to post a copy of the entirety of the Prophecies. New prophecies are added here as plots are planned and additional prophecy is written. So scholarly experts in the Karaethon Cycle should check this page from time to time for new prophecy.
We take two approaches to writing prophecy. Some is written to relate to specific stories that are planned for the MUSH. We also write general prophecy with no particular plans for what it might relate to, leaving it open for the administration or players to try and plot events that could be taken as fulfillment of that prophecy.
The Tales of Ta'veren Karaethon Cycle incorporates some of the Prophecies of the Dragon from the Wheel of Time novels. These are denoted with text like this, and are copyrighted to Robert Jordan and Tor books.
Players are welcome to submit prophecies for the Karaethon Cycle. Submissions should be sent to Saidar at saidar@ta-veren.org.
OOC Note: Notes to the Reader
The original Prophecies are written in the Old Tongue, the language spoken during the Age of Legends. The Old Tongue is a very complex language - most words have several different meanings or shades of meanings, and meaning is further influenced by context and placement within a given sentence. Although scholars still learn the Old Tongue, there have been no fluent users of it since it died out of use two to three thousand years ago. (The closest parallel on Earth would be Latin, people still learn Latin, but today we have no idea of the true accent. The Old Tongue is much more complex than Latin.)
The result is that the Prophecies are doubly vague. As with most prophecy, they speak in symbols rather than stating things plainly. But because they are written in the Old Tongue, a direct translation of the original meaning is impossible.
In the Tales world, there are two main translations of the Prophecies of the Dragon. The first translation attempts to preserve the poetic nature of the original. The first translation is the left column of the Prophecies provided below. The second translation sacrifices poetry in an attempt to provide a more exact translation of the original, and is found in the right column below. (For a comparison, think of the Bible. The King James Bible is a translation that attempt to match the poetry and majesty of the original Greek. A modern language translation aims for the most precise translation of the meaning in the original.)
So as you read the Prophecies below, you will see everything is divided into two columns. The left column represents one translation of the original, the right column another translation. So the section that begins "The ship of man flounders in still waters --" on the left and the section that begins "With his coming are the dread fires born again" are two different translations of a single passage in the original Karaethon Cycle, they are not two different prophecies.
| Translation 1 | Translation 2 |
|---|---|
|
The ship of man flounders in still waters --
False peace, the calm before the storm Which distant rumbles. And when he is come; So too the dread fires are reborn.
Heaven's glory, those flames do bitter sear,
The world will burn atop his fiery pyre.
|
With his coming are the dread fires born again. The hills burn, and the
land turns sere. The tides of men run out, and the hours dwindle. The
wall is pierced, and the veil of parting raised. Storms rumble beyond
the horizon, and the fires of heaven purge the earth. There is no
salvation without destruction, no hope this side of death.
|
|
His tomb fire shall rain,
The river run with gold, When he returns again, Our Hope, our Dread, this is Foretold. |
Our dread is the Grave of Fire,
On which all souls will burn, And drown in the River of Blood, Our hope is the promised Return. |
|
When Darkness returns, as was Foretold,
The Sword in Stone will be born of Fire. None can touch, save the Hand of Old, Who will appear in times most dire.
|
From glittering heights, a stone unfurled.
Within, a sword, skyward hurled. Beyond all reach of thought or deed, Until it fits the hand of need.
|
|
Change heralds the end of an Age.
Night weakens the bars of man's cage. Await the outcast who shall come forward. Servants rise against their Master. Broken oaths shall spur disaster. He wields the Light and future like a sword. Hero in the War of Power, His truth like fire the world will scour.
The Dragon is Reborn.
|
Strife and division will be your portion when the Age ends. Complacency will burn away and sear you with the lesson that the hand of man can never rival the work of the Creator, and you will live within shadows. Those who serve will turn, will forsake their vows. Then will the hero of the War of Power return. Then will he hold your future in his hand, and cut it with a sword, and fling the pieces onto the fire of his truth where they will burn to powder. Then is the Dragon Reborn. |
| Translation 1 | Translation 2 |
|---|---|
|
It is an ancient prophecy,
Of twice and twice and twice. By belching stone and glittering eye, The world feels fire and ice.
The heaven's clouds are opened wide,
|
The Creator's Eye shall be pluck'd from the heavens, and the mountains and rivers will weep. The skies shall wail a song for fire and ice, unlikely partners whirling through the steps of a deadly dance that will sear the stage they touch upon. Then will the unremembered tale of twos be told again, and the world shall writhe in pain to hear it. |
|
Away we go, my House and I--
Frail man ne'er sate in such another; Whether among his winds we strive, Or deep into intrigue we dive, Each is then turned against the other.
Away we go--and what care we
There was a time when all mankind
But now his air is on the land
|
The Dragon's Breath Stone will scour,
Its burning cannot fail to sear. The Houses fall, swept in that gust. Pay heed all you who've ears to hear.
From Spring's hot flames to Summer's chill,
In times long past, an Age of peace,
Soon he comes, he rides the wind that
|
|
The World will shake down to its bones,
Touched to its very marrow. As bones do break the world will shake to Song that chills and harrows.
The eyes that weep across the land,
Then Darkness rise 'neath searing Sun,
|
Yet one shall be born to face the Shadow...and there shall be wailing
and gnashing of teeth at his rebirth. In sackcloth and ashes shall he
clothe the people, and he shall break the world again by his coming,
tearing apart all ties that bind. Like the unfettered dawn shall he
blind us, and burn us, yet shall the Dragon Reborn confront the Shadow
at the Last Battle, and his blood shall give us the Light. Let tears
flow, O ye people of the world. Weep for your salvation.
|
|
The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came fish! To wash the land of its grave sins, Fulfill a Dragon's wish.
|
When the sun rises in ominous aspect, then shall the Dragon raise his left
hand, and the seas will rise at his command. The waters will wash over the
lands, to sweep away the sinners revealed by the Light's unmerciful glare.
|
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And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald.
|
The cold hand of death reaches out to envelop the world in an icy embrace.
Its chill breath fills the skies with vapours and ice, cracks the earth,
and chokes the seas with ice as hard as emeralds.
|
|
Fell eggs of ice, that never hatch,
From callous skies of green, In storm clouds bold formed faces old. Those of the Dark obscene.
The dirt shall bleed, its rivers blood,
|
Shards of ice rip the heavens, scratch through the clouds like fingernails
upon the tender skin of a child's face that cries tears of blood to fall
upon the ground, seeds of death sown in fertile earth. Poison is the fruit
those seeds bear, poison that will taint young and old, high and low, in
the cities and in the towns, until the sick fall in their thousands.
|
|
The Sun will rise upon the right:
The skies will weep as he Brings tears to every Light-blessed eye, And land is lost to sea.
The wailings of the multitude
|
Oh, when the Dragon takes your life in his right hand, oh how you will
weep, people of the world. You will wail, and gnash your teeth, and cry
out to the Creator that even death is better than such salvation. Then
the weeping of the people will swell to overflowing, becoming a wave of
tears that will sweep away all in its path and consume the land in its
watery depths.
|
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And now the storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along.
The thunder split the sky with light,
|
Then shall he spread wide his wings to protect the world. And his wings
shall blacken the sky and hide the sun from view. And the wind raised by
the passage of his wings shall destroy that which he would most dearly
protect. His howls of rage will crack the very sky, and spur the winds to
ever greater frenzy. Then will the living envy the dead and cry out in
horror that they must bear witness to the death of the Age.
|
|
In sheets rain pounds the tortured land,
With mist poor flesh is chilled. When hot grows cold and cold turns hot More than the crops are killed.
Water, water, everywhere,
|
When the bounty of the earth is smothered by the bounty of the sky, then
shall the cries of the hungry and the dispossessed echo across the world,
which will scourged by the fire that chills and the ice that burns. The
water that all life needs to grow will turn against man and beast alike,
and the sodden ground will go thirsty.
|
|
And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-- The ice was all between.
The ice was here, the ice was there,
|
And still the woes of the earth are far from over! Now comes the Beast of
the North roaring down onto the South. Its teeth like sharpened icicles
crack the very bones of the world with its fury. Its great maw opens in a
deafening howl that sears the land with an icy blast. Fear shall blind the
eye of man to its approach, and the awesome sight of it will strike man
sightless.
|
|
And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Creator send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face.
|
Ye shall know him come when the Shadow grows strong enough to obscure the
Light from the face of the world. The Light imprisoned looks on in horror
at the Shadow unleashed and waits for the Battle to begin. Then shall a
Saviour be sent to destroy you all with his Healing.
|
|
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the Dark; With far-heard whisper, o'er land and sea, Oh 'ware these words and hark!
|
The echo of his footsteps like a whisper upon the wind marks the end. One
stride for the Shadow, one stride for the Light. With one hand he creates,
with the other he destroys. Oh Light grant him the wisdom to know the
difference, the wisdom of mercy. Oh hark ye people and prey to the
Creator to save us from his mercy!
|
| Translation 1 | Translation 2 |
|---|---|
|
Lace from an Age, far past, ahead,
Will save with rage and heroes dead. Sword-wielder rises, called forth anew, No compromises, Dark hides in view.
|
When the Wheel weaves a Pattern not seen in an Age, and Darkness surrounds
yet crouches unseen, then shall the Warrior be called forth, and the
heroes of old to guard his flanks. He shall save the world as he smotes
it with his Sword.
|
|
When Dragon takes the power his
The stone will shake. The moment is The time his voice is raised to roar To all the choice. Beasts bellow more.
|
The earth's child will shake in fear when the Dragon gives voice to his
power and chooses as all men must choose, and the beasts of the earth will
bellow in fury to see with path he follows.
|
|
When tears of fire sear as they fall,
The One is bade to unite all. Fierce winds the land will harshly sweep. The time's at hand. The world will weep.
|
When the skies burn with fire as thick as rain, when winds pluck the earth
bare, then shall the veil of future's path be lifted, and so man will
learn his tapestry is tied to a single thread of the weave.
|
|
The Moon and Sun take emerald hue,
The river runs with blood. Men rue A summer's chill. Old tales presage A time to kill, the foretold Age.
|
How the world will grow sick, sun and moon rotting with gangrene, and the
earth dripping tainted blood. Summer shall seem as winter and all turn to
death when the Age that gave him Power comes again.
|
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The Queen of roses bears in her womb
A Prince who poses, brink of doom. The Bull will gore the one from the tower Black wars White for the seat of power. |
The Black Prince shall bend knee to the spire, while the Red Queen falls
back from the hoof of the Beast, before she turns to smite him with a
flower. Barely seen, rarely heard, the White Fool rules over all this
court.
|
|
The world's eye winks among the stars,
At pain it blinks and weeps. The scars Of all the woes of man are plain. When it should close beware green bane.
|
The world turns its wounded face to the sky, and meets the stare of jaded
Eye, that makes to man's pain a wordless reply, and looking down, down,
down, begins to cry.
|
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That fiery breath should cause a chill,
Come bearing death from tears that kill. Seasons turn wrong, summer sees snow. Spring sings no song, the world feels the blow.
|
Where fiery tears touch upon the land, there love's warmth turns chill,
and the heart of ice thaws. There the blastfire grows silent and the
soundless ice howls.
|
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They'll weep and bleed, they'll moan and curse
And in their need, they'll fail, and worse. The pain a sign of dread to come. Hope fights decline as world grows numb.
|
The Servants shall first feel the arrival of the harbringer of dread and
hope, shall feel it with a certainty that numbs the mind, boils the blood,
burns the bone. Man's hope is nought but a tear on the wind.
|
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The ancient ward looks down in fear.
Revealed a sword, the time is near. The thrones will shake, the omens fraught, A world to break, unloose the knot.
|
The unveiled sword shatters the seats of petty power and cuts all bonds.
An ancient seed long-buried begins to grow, destruction and mayhem its
heralding fruit, a gift from past to future.
|
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A box, an eye, a treasure rare,
The Dark deny, the Light despair. What hope it holds, what answer hides, What doom untold does it betide?
|
Dark's dread claw and Light's trembling hand reach for that gift, but
which shall first its mysteries unveil? What lies within that shrouded
box, golden hope or the baleful eye of doom?
|
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A call to arms is thricefold met
Deception webs enlightenment Heralded clash, trumpeted threat A madness rallies for this event
Pikes, lances, swords an' barbed steeds
In harrowed skies banners billow
What madmen draw the fray this day?
|
Come the dawn of dissention, they will be made known. Might will know
right, and Light will grow tight. The Shadow constricts. Men hail the
Dragons, and weep at the scored fields! They know for which they've come,
and are willing to Break the World once more just to attain it. The
leaders of the White and the leaders of the Gold as well as the leaders of
those who support and oppose them, will take every measure to pull the
strings of marionettes of which they hold no ownership. The Crystal Blade
knows the truth, and when it sings, so will all the world. Be they submit,
or be they not, they will know.
|
| Translation 1 | Translation 2 |
|---|---|
|
'E carried him away
The thorn the rose did lay, An' a bull he come an' tramped the roses down. 'Is soul was black inside, An' just before 'e died, "I 'ope you liked your Doom", sez the Dark Bull. So they'll meet 'im later on At the place where 'e is gone -- Where a man is wanting on his head rose crown; 'E'll be squattin' on the coals Givin' hope to poor damned souls, An' they'll get a taste of pain from the Dark Bull! Yes, Bull! Bull! Bull! That heavy-hoofed and trampling Great Dark Bull! Though the bull is old in power, So's the woman from the tower, Whose black arts will serve the man who is the Bull! |
Age and power combine in the Black Bull. His foul snort threatens doom, even as he conspires with a woman of warped wisdom to crown his horns with flowers. Now comes the charge, now he tramples the garden 'neath hooves as dark as his heart. The fragile petals of roses cannot hope to stand against his crush and their cries of pain are fodder for the damned who follow the Bull, but roses have thorns, some sharp enough to pierce even his heavy hoof. |
| Translation 1 | Translation 2 |
|---|---|
|
At first no mind assaulted my senses, no thoughts, no power, no words.
Then revelation. The light within the mind exploded forth, and blossomed
like the new-found rose. A flower of perfection and silvered honey
thoughts. Within that flower danced the myriad shapes of the universe, the
thousand hands of the lost, the voices of the damned, and all those who
turned their backs.
And I saw forward. And I saw backward. For they are one and the same in the hands of The Not King. And I heard the voices yet to come. And I heard the voices long turned to ash. For they are the same to the eyes of The Not King. And they grasped to me, and showed me their fate. I was upon a plain of never-ending quicksilver. It flowed lazily past me, obscuring all things below me, though I knew that great forms -- great behemoths -- swam below. In the center rose a needle of pale bone, dried and cracking. Empty. For the second of the thirteen gates of madness lay open, and bled pain upon the world. A great light shone from the carved windows, a rainbow of scattered skeins of cloth that spread across the world and strangled the kings of many nations. And it was that the wing of birds fled from the lands, leaving the Seven Cities of Crystal to maintain what was in their keep. For they had become choked on power, remorse and death. They had broken themselves upon the walls of bone, with blood and ash they had become what they had despised. And they released the hounds from their bonds, returning them to the splinters of bone. But, lo, with his eyes of fiery opal, he did look down and with hands like sowrds he cleft the tallest towers from the sky. For he did not tolerate the winged, and scattered them unto the sea to return nevermore. For Molech of the first tribe was arrogant, and sure, for he held the power of all with his thumb and he stood at the first of the thirteen gates of Madness, and he held the ash of a world in one hand. And all slept. And all rested. And the thirteen gates of madness crept ever wider, as the knots of rainbow cloth that held them slipped and broke. And he who is the voice of fulfillment, the voice of ending, the proven sound, crept ever close to opening his eyes. To seeing the void, to hearing its words, and taking up the sword against the unblind ones. And so I walked on. And I held up the red ring of madness, and stared into its liquid depths to view the silver of its heart that was stolen by the gaze of the Handmaid to the Sea of Lies. The thoughts of fear unfounded, the thoughts of fear presumed. I saw the web of fate, the pattern of all ages, shiver beneath the gaze of The Not King, and I beheld a man. He was as a snake, for he bore the spider upon his back, and led the armies forward to the splinter of bone in the quicksilver sea. And he was named Leilath for the unborn ones, and the ones that held their hands before their eyes. But the rainbow skein was strong. Stronger than Iron. Stronger than the stone at the hearts of men. And the spider fled amongst the branches of the sleeping tree, spinning webs to bend the branches up and through. But the fate of the pillar of bone weighs on the shoulders of Leilath. And the fate of Leilath stands by the hair in a crystal cage. And the fate of unborn Tiamath, hope of life and promise of Madness, shall be brought to the shining place. His heart, balancing against a feather, shall test hubris and vanity in the chair of peace. But the land of towers shall fall. And the city of Hate shall stand and call the mists. And the city of lies shall stand above the prison of forever. And the seven deeds of Horon shall foretell the coming of the Lady of Sighs, from her ivory Hell. And with the first breath of the First Amongst Many, heart of the hateful void, last to walk the earth, the others shall come and the gates will be rent asunder.
|
From a blackness without sense or shape or word the vision arose. Then
came the Light to open my inner sight as a flower opens to the sun, the
fate of the world at its heart. Then came the voices of all the people who
had ever lived, and all the people yet to come. And I saw what had past,
and what was yet to come. For then and now and will be are all encompassed
in the Pattern, and in the King Who Would Not Reign.
Time was spread out before me like a silver sea, unchanging, ever-changing. Barely-glimpsed shapes I saw just beneath the waves, their forms were terrible and wonderful. A pale and fragile splinter rose from that sea, a spire wrapped around light that shone from its many wondrous windows to cast particoloured rays even unto the Pattern itself, holding even princes and kings to the warp and woof of its design. But the Second of Thirteen was loosed from its prison then, light can hold for only so long before the darkness falls. Seven spikes of crystal saw I then, like cities and yet not. The crystal cracked and blackened, was stained with blood. And those within turned to ash as fires of power and death consumed them. Freedom fled, and the people like caged birds beat their hands against their crystal prisons, herded in by remorseless hounds. The First of Thirteen came then. The promise of release was sweet on his lips, but fire burned in his eyes. He smote the crystal prisons with mighty swords. But no freedom did he offer, no birds in his world would fly. He had no need of prisons, he would crush the people again to ash with his arrogant spirit and with his sure hand. More of the Thirteen crept towards the world as the rainbow light of the pale spire faded and flickered. And the voices of ash cried out to me - where is the hope of the world? Why does he not see? Why does he not hear? Where is the sword to fight against those who see too much? Walk on, walk on to find him. I looked down and found a ring upon my hand, a ruby red as blood, and beating like a heart. My eyes were drawn to its depths, and my mind was filled with fear. She would come, too, she who served lies. And when I had stopped looking for him, I found him - the King Who Would Not Reign, the figure of fear, the only hope of those yet to come, and those too blind to see. Snakes coiled about his feet, and a spider hid upon his neck, its fangs dripping foul poison and spurring him to lead his swords towards the pale spire of fading light. And yet the rainbow light held. Impossible to touch or hold, but stronger than stone or steel. The spider fled, but was undaunted, and new webs did it spin, bending the branches of a tree long wrapped in slumber. I saw the King Who Would Not Reign seated on a throne, a heart in one hand and a feather in the other. I saw the King Who Would Not Reign lift the pale spire upon his shoulders. Would he cast it in the sea? Would he raise it up and burn the light the brighter? I did not see. And as the vision dimmed, I knew only this - what towers now will one day fall to be broken. Hate will shroud one of the crystal cities like a mist. Lies will imprison another for eternity. Seven great deeds and the cries of the damned will portent the Lady's coming. All the Thirteen will walk amongst us, even as the King Who Would Not Reign unsheathes his sword. |
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Last modified: 27 July, 2004 - updated for memorial site
Installed: March 7, 2000
Page design, misc graphics: © Rhonda Peters (1995-2000), Melissa
Kell (2004)
The Wheel of Time Setting: © Robert Jordan and Tor Books
Please feel welcome to link to this page, or print a copy for your personal, individual use. Any other use, including, but not limited to: republication on another Web site, inclusion in a printed or televised publication, or inclusion in MU* online news or information files requires the permission of the author