Crom opens his eyes to the sight of something floating in the air around him, particles buoyant on the wind. He looks around to find himself buried up to the neck in a field of flowers, as if his cloak of petals shrouds him and melds to the earth. Unable to move he hears something heavy hit the ground close by, further thuds follow, building to a crescendo as bricks slam into place, building a wall that encloses him, traps him, locks out the flowers beyond. All goes quiet before another thud is heard, but not one man made, one of nature, galloping paws of mighty weight. The wall in front of Crom bursts in a shower of rubble as a great beast brings down the walls. The hulking body of a great bear, feathered mane and piercing eagle eyes, it lowers its head and calmly sniffs Crom's head in curiosity, in recognition, in pleading for connection. It paws at something on the floor, a shell, a sending shell. Suddenly a high pitch noise erupts from the shell and quickly descends into a woman screaming, Sivynel? The spiritual animal flinches in pain, as it looks at Crom an opening appears on its forehead, as a third yellow eye opens. Not eagle-like, but swollen, bloodshot, alien. The creature starts to thrash as more openings appear on its body, more eyes, one by one opening flesh to make room for their blank stare. Crom strains against his imprisonment in discomfort as a mountain looms behind his totem animal, growing ever taller. A rumble grows from its peak and darkness closes in. Rocks cascade all around as he is buried in a landslide, helpless. Then his eyes open to darkness, his ears burdened with screaming.
Amarion sits as comfortably as he can preparing to enter his night trance, through his darkvision he sees pollen floating in the air from the plants down in the sunken cavern. He closes his eyes and drifts to sleep. He feels a sensation of breeze and opens his eyes. He is sat on a small elven gondola, adrift in a sea of stars, an astral sea. A light shines ahead, a door made of sunlight and moonlight both. A doorway to a plane beyond his, of moral ideals and true beauty. But the door turns dark and the sea's edge approaches, an impossibly large waterfall cascading down, and the boat slips over the edge. Amarion plummets into darkness before hitting a rocky shelf hard, the one he had fallen asleep on. A yellow light glows below and he peers over the edge to see its source. A great yellow eye fills the chasm, unblinking, uncaring, watching. From above four elements swirl in a great storm, snaking downwards in a spiral. Fire, earth, air, water. Primordial spirits all. The eye's pupil widens, an eye and mouth both as it feeds. Streams of the four elements are consumed by its void of a pupil, the lifeblood of the material world. A scream rings out, darkness with it, as eyes open.
Mornington feels the cold stone beneath him, pressed against his body and face. His eyes flutter open and he sees a checkerboard as far as the eye can see. He stands, a great game board before him, like the ones he was taught as a boy. Game pieces are placed in the distance, each monumentally sized, towering above. They each depict different castles, cities, countries, moving against each other, with each other, jostling for position. Mornington starts to walk and feels he has support at his back, he has companions with him. Amarion, Crom, Edward, Fenris, Artax, moving as one, making their way in the world. Mornington is adorned with the fresh clothes of his noble status, he is ready for glory. The game pieces move around them, past them, a great rumble as each colossal obelisk finds a new position. He feels they look down on him, uncaring of his path in life. A shadow swipes across the party and Mornington feels his clothes snag, they are worn, rough and dirty. He turns to find Artax is gone, he sees a figure falling through mist, lost. He has to move forward, a strong steady stride. Shadow consumes again, plunged into darkness for a brief moment as he feels his clothes tear, tattered and shameful for his station. He whips around to check on the men, the floor bubbles and distorts in a pool of sickening acid, the hand of Fenris slowly sinks into its depths. He feels sick, the men look morose, onward. Darkness, the slamming of iron bars. Edward is trapped in a cage, persecuted, he reaches out for Mornington, but he is powerless to help. They are now at the base of a mountain, a rumble of falling rocks. Crom is buried, a mountain upon him. Mornington wears rags, he is defeated, on his knees. The Tide are before him, in the great dome of light, Amarion with them. They point, they blame, they are no allies of the young Lord Lormanston. Then fire consumes, consumes all as they scream, he sees the plains, the Mordred Plains, and everything is ablaze. The screams pierce his ears. Darkness, disorientation, thrashing.
Edward's eyes open, he is in a dingy room, no windows. A man sits in a chair by the bed, his old mentor, Strekore. His lined face scrunched in disapproval as he flicks through Edward's Tome of Shadows. "No, no. You are not worthy of this", Edward replies and his mentors mean demeanor sours further as his voice becomes gravely, other worldly. "ARE YOU WORTHY?!" Edwards sheets snare him and he plunges downward, falling through oil, heat building, burning. He slams into a sea of black oil, he wears nothing but the rags of his orphaned past. He rights himself, nothing around but the void, the heat. Before him the oil bubbles as crimson pours forth and a great throne rises, big enough to seat a giant, and it is entirely made of skulls. A figure is sat within, made of smoke and darkness, a wingspan outstretched from its back. Edward's patron speaks to him, and the voice shakes his bones. "Do you truly believe you can be anything without me?" A conversation unfolds as Edward tells his patron he wants no part in whatever dark plans he is piecing together. The patron explains that Edward is treading a dangerous path, he wouldn't want to be another skull that adorns his throne. Edward sees the thousands of skulls, all shapes, sizes, species. Edward tries to run, laughter shakes the ground he steps on, and it gives way to searing pain. Like blackened quicksand that pulls his skin from his flesh. He cannot move, there is only pain. "Xarturas is my name! You need only speak it if you wish to be anything more than the worm you were before. You are close now, I sense it. Closer still to being all you want to change your precious world!" Edward screams. Edward thrashes. Darkness.
The chasm echoes with a blood curdling scream that resonates from Edwards open mouth. All of the party wake. Once the scream stops echoing, Crom can hear something moving below. Amarion sees movement, leaves shake on the plants at the chasm floor, he grabs his shortbow and knocks an arrow. The air is thick with pollen that tickles the nose, it must of caused them to have intense dreams. They were only dreams right? Edward wonders. Mornington reaches for his Lantern of Judgment and utters the command word, it's plated shroud shifts and emits a bright light that fills the surrounding area. Crom and Amarion are on platforms of their own, each at least 20ft from Mornington and Edward who share a ledge. Creatures move below and they can hear gruff chesty voices grunting. One emerges from the bushes, a Unknown wielding a large staff capped with the tooth of some enormous jungle predator.
Crom climbs across the cavern wall to get to Mornington and Edward, they now stand shoulder to shoulder on a ledge with no more room to give. Amarion lets loose a couple of arrows at the shapes that move below. Two Unknown make it to the wall before he can bring any down, and to the parties alarm, they start climbing the chasm wall with ease. Edward reaches his hand forth, ready to summon his eldritch powers to thwart their ambushers. But nothing happens. He feels a hollow feeling, an absence of power within. It wasn't a dream. He shrinks back, bringing his elven cloak around him and tries to blend with the rock, taking as little room as possible as his companions prepare to defend against the towering ape like creatures advancing on their position.
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