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by Seraph
The Dream . . .
It's the night of Jhang the 31st. The Crimson moon is still
high in the night sky, but has begun to wane. Amber Drome is
already just a slim crescent on the horizon, like the golden
blade of Djaffir hanging near the horizon. The pale blue of Laeolis
has begun to show itself in the east and near its pale glow the
shadow of a new Phandir awaits.
You fall asleep uneasily, tossing and turning. You eventually
drop off into the cool slumber of dreams.
A feeling of cold washes over you like waves beating against
a ship. Instinctively, you tug the meager blanket that was your
issue a bit closer, trying to huddle deeper in your rest. In
your dreams the scenery seems to change as the night winds begins
to howl around you.
----- ----- --~-- ----- -----
You find yourself standing before a towering mountain that shines
back the sunslight from its ivory skin. As the scene pans around
you, you begin to realize that this is no ordinary mountain.
This is Omen - a thousand foot high spire of skulls, a macabre
monument to the untold millions slain by the Necromancer Kings
of Quaran centuries ago. You feel a shiver pass up your spine
as something . . . no! someone . . . walks through you. You vaguely
recognize the form of Cashel, the Xambrian whom you had started
your journey with. He advances toward this towering pile of ivory
and kneels, as if in supplication to a king . . . or a god.
As you watch, you notice a pale form. An outline really. At
first you cant make it out as it seems to be moving INSIDE the
mountain of Omen. The shimmering movement draws your eyes to
a skull, distinguishable only from its neighbors by the unnatural
crack that runs along its right crest - obviously the mark of
some fatal blow. Then, to your amazement, the skull seems to
move forward, the shimmering you noticed before giving it definition
and shape, casting the shadow of a form, the illusion of a body.
In the merest of moments, so quick you cannot tell when the change
occurs, an aged and scarred Xambrian stands over Cashel's form,
its hand resting on his downcast head.
"Rise, Cashel or-Kenset. Stand in the full honor and glory of
your ancestors, faded though it may be. Know now that the spirits
of not one, but nine of our ancient enemies now stride this land.
Through the power of their thane, the Cabal of Okremiel has been
freed from the Nether realms. While we cannot foresee if all
of the Nine are free and re-born, we do know that the strongest
of them, a fearsome and powerful Necromancer known as Etoyek,
has returned to mortal form. In the wide spaces seek him out.
Let the fate of justice be meted out from beyond the grave. May
our hands guide yours, may our souls find rest."
"May our souls find rest," Cashel echoes.
He rises and turns, walking back the way he came. Again a shiver
passes through your body, but this time not from the sensation
of having another move through what should be your solid form.
This time you shiver because of the look in Cashel's eyes.
----- ----- --~-- ----- -----
You awake with a start to find the sharp light of sunsrise greeting
you.
Soon, your journey will begin again.
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