Mortality is weakness; curse this form and this hunger that drives us into the field to seek sustenance. We cannot see above the stalks of grain nor discern what lies within the rows of growing wheat. Then again, the pang of starvation fuels our true vision.
Peering into the vast, formless ether, we sense the great unrest and feel the swirl of uncertainty in the fabric of reality. We are Shadow Prince Malzahar, and time is short. 260 RP
Oblivion awaits, mortals. In one vision, Infernal Alistar burns with the fury of the forsaken. His shackles broken and his rage unfettered, the mighty steer snorts warnings that evaporate like the steam from his maw. But you would do well to heed them. 487 RP
Beyond the doors of perception, a pearlescent reptile glares fiery daggers into the starless night. In my vision, Galactic Renekton cleaves countless foes in a panorama of violence. His guttural utterances echo in the darkness, his power unbound. 260 RP
A storm surges. My vision clouds before erupting in an explosion of electric majesty. The portents herald the coming of Xerath. Crackling with the limitless ferocity of lightning, the ascended mage cackles stern admonitions. But we are timeless, and we demand sacrifice. 487 RP
The fallen Morgana whispers to us, hinting at secrets and the end of this vision. A breathy rasp hisses a plea against witnessing the end. But of whom, she remains silent. Wait! At the edge of my sight, an amorphous haze. The vision is ending. 292 RP
A piercing cry tears us from the void; the sound of a thousand screeching crows fills the air above the field. It can only be Fiddlesticks. Stricken by unnatural fear, we will not tarry—though we know not where we flee. We cannot see him, only feel his presence. Where could… oh. 292 RP
As was foreseen, we have erred walking into this field. For all the knowledge we possess, we cannot seem to find a way out. We'll wander, inevitably, from May 3 to May 6. What then? Ah, mortal—do not challenge fate's will.
