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A prediction of the doom that will end a character
Longer not upon the privvie, nor the long drop neither.
Rats wearing the Horns of Taal shalt bite at thy heels.
As thee began, so shalt thou end.
High-born blood shalt spill thine own.
Thou shalt die in bed, but not thine own!
Just before he uttered your doom, the doomsayer died, his face frozen in a mask of horror.
A stalled blade bringeth a sharp end.
The holy day shalt be thy last day.
Manann's folk shalt love thee not.
A friend in need brings thy death with speed.
Winds of Magic