The Dreamkiller

You tracked your prey to the Inn. You knew how it worked, so you hid in the bushes on the other side of the street. You pet the snake coiled around your arm, you would be ready.

    Night fell. It would only be a few more hours, and he would leave the establishment. You ignored the other patrons. There were many, but they were not your quarry.

    It’s been a long time, so long you feel it would be dawn soon, but the quarry still hadn’t left the inn. You could feel your head slipping backwards, and each time you realized it your head shot forward, jolting you. You had to move now. 

    You rose out of the bush. You picked this night because there would be no moons, and so it was pitch black. You picked your moment, when the guards weren’t looking. They held torches, but they couldn’t be everywhere at once. 

    You scale the side of the building, some of the windows had their curtains covering the inside, others didn’t. You’d have to find a way inside somehow, for the quarry was not in any of the rooms that you could see.

     *                            *                            *

    “So brothers, we have come here today to discuss once more the travesties of the priests and the horrible abuses of the church,” said a voice. 

    “Aye, sir, may I begin?” said another. It was Richard, you’re pretty sure half the stories he told were made up, they were too strange to be believed.

    A nod from the dwarf follows, Richard clears his throat and begins, “So, as I am sure you are all aware, the church has been quite busy lately, getting in the affairs of private citizens, but this story I tell you is quite egregious! I was walking down the street singing a tune of bountiful harvest, as you know a melody birthed in the forest boughs of Atembra. You’d think the priests would not know how this tune goes, after all, being so busy with their priestly duties and playing their droning marches. But no, I was passing by a priest, singing this tune and he turned to me and fined me 2 gold for the insult! Can you believe that! Completely uncalled for!”

    “Everyone knows that tune man! Doesn’t it start with, ‘Stop the clock, fall underneath, to bless these plants, Atembra,’?”

    “No i’m pretty sure it’s ‘Take these roots, into the ground, to bless these leaves, Atembra,”

    Still another person says, “No, I thought it was ‘By your grace, guide my hand, to grow the trees, Atembra,”

    “Stop it! It really doesn’t matter how it goes sirs, what matters is that this man was fined for singing a tune none of you know the words to!” The dwarf says.

    After a few hours of similar stories, the meeting was adjourned, and the small talk began. You had no interest in that. You were here for one reason. 

    You walk up to Richard and start talking about random bullshit. Eventually you change the subject to the Eel. You feel you are getting good information, when Richard says,

    “Sorry, but, it seems we are the only people here, why don’t we continue this conversation in my room?”

    So you both make your way to Richard’s room. Along the way you have to climb the stairs to the main serving area. You see the counter has no one standing behind it, the place is clean, swept, and the chairs are on the tables. You note the bartender mopping the floor. He nods to you.

    You arrive at the room. Richard opens the door.

    There is another man inside, holding a snake up to eye level. He notices you standing behind Richard and his eyes go wide. Just then you feel pain in your stomach. You look down, and see blood seeping into your clothes, and the dagger sitting in your gut. The last thing you see is Richard, turned to stone.

     *                            *                            *

    You swore. This would make things complicated. The stabbed man let out a yell just before you lopped off his head with your saber. Blood was getting everywhere, spraying on the statue. You’ll have to clean that later. You take out the specially made bag and cover the statue with it. Richard was secured, but this mess had to be left behind. You never left a trail before, you knew this would haunt you. 

    But you had no choice.

Chapter 2

    The road was bumpy, but you knew that going in. You sat in the back of a carriage bed, head lolling with each bump. Eyeing the others in the carriage, all of them were sleeping except for the girl sitting across from you. She had been staring at you for the better part of the day and hadn’t let up for even a second. It was strange but you usually had an affect on people. Though most of the time they looked away, this one apparently didn’t get the message. You felt the sudden urge to speak to her and cut the tension, but that invited questions. Questions you didn’t want to lie to answer. So you sat there and waited.

    You were a few days out from your destination when you felt the carriage come to a stop. You heard voices outside. Your trained ear knew it wasn’t an ordinary stop. At first it sounded like bandits had waylaid your carriage. But then you heard a voice that you recognized. This was bad. You had to make sure they didn’t catch you or your prize would be confiscated and you likely killed. You hadn’t the time to reach a gate and so were understandably upset. You made an effort to cover your face. You already left a scene at the tavern and didn’t want to kill any more innocent bystanders.

    You pushed your face into the blanket wrapped around you. The latch on the door swung open and you heard the metal clapping. The high pitched squeal of the doors, followed by the scent of fresh air gave you a scene of what you should be seeing had you not covered your face. You could imagine it now, three men, armed, standing by the back of the carriage, looking for contraband, they’d say. But you knew what they were really after. You heard the voice again. It was the same voice you were familiar with. You imagine it now, her lithe body clad in fitted iron, her stern timbre cutting through dusty air. 

    “Everyone out. Now.” 

    You feel your entire body tingle. You felt the carriage tilt as people stood up and moved to get out. You looked up and joined them. It wouldn’t do to be the last one out. Soon everyone was out of the vehicle, and you saw the woman, stern faced, a lined face that spoke of many years on the road and foes bested and bested by. She nodded to the man to her right and he went in. 

    “Why are we stopped? I can’t be late for my daughter’s birthday!” said one of the people in the makeshift line the travelers had made. You stood by the end of the line and saw the woman turn to the man.

    “Just tell her you got to meet the Ulthar Ultras in person and you saw them apprehend a fugitive.”

    You knew you had to play the part, and so when everyone looked around you did the same. 

    “We have reason to believe the culprit of a vile murder and kidnapping is on this caravan. He is a man of around 30 years, dark hair, and has a snake with him. Everyone must be searched. Wilson, did you find anything in there?”

    There was no response. She walked up to the back of the carriage and opened the doors. We were stopped on a hill so the doors swung closed after the man went in. She gasped upon opening them. You couldn’t see from your vantage point but you could guess what had happened. You hear the sound of metal on wood and a frantic scramble ensued inside the carriage. Eventually she emerged holding a severed snake. She produced a bag and put the snake inside it. She motioned to another member of her group and they together removed the statue from the carriage, locked in a surprised expression.

    Everyone gasped including yourself. No one expected, or even heard of a snake that could do that. This made it serious, she wasn’t lying.

    “Alright! Everyone must submit to a search of their body. If you are the fugitive I would suggest you confess your crimes now.”

    Your benefactor would not be pleased. You already knew the price of a snake like that one was worth multiple jobs. You’re not sure you’d even have a job after this was through. Dreamcatchers who make a scene usually don’t last long, and you were about to make a big one. Before you got to do anything though, the girl in the line pipes up.

    “It was me!” She took a step forward. Wearing plain clothes and no visible weapons, the young lady seemed on the surface like she was covering for someone else, covering for you. It didn’t make sense but it drew the attention of the leader of the Ultras.

    There were only three Ultras left when you started the fight, but since they were caught off guard they didn’t last. The woman, though, was a tough opponent. You did eventually take her out, but you lost a lot of blood for it. Turns out they were all dreamers, and their bodies were whisked away when they breathed their last. Your traveling companions were all shocked into silence, only the girl was willing to talk to you. 

    “I never met a dreamcatcher before,” she said. She sidled close to you as you watched the fire, putting on the last bandage. Her voice was the first heard in the hours since the encounter. She put an arm around your shoulders and leaned close. “I never liked dreamers. They think they own the place because they believe if they get into shit they’ll just be fine.” You heard that before. 

    Once everyone was asleep you made sure to tie up the loose ends. When you had last got to the girl, you wiped the bloody dagger on her bedroll. You held the dagger up to her neck. C’mon, you thought. This should be easy. You thought of your benefactor, the face he’d make when you told him what had happened. It was no small feat, to lie to that person. One stroke, and it’ll all be over. You looked at the special bag again. You never got to know any of the people you captured, what they did, what they were going to do, their hopes and dreams. Before that man in the tavern you had never killed a man who hadn’t attacked you first. You didn’t know what your benefactor did with the statues. Today that number took two hands to count. Could it stop with this girl? There was only one way to find out.

The Spy

The man was writing in a small book. The room was dark thanks to the drawn curtains, and the mahogany desk looked black in the gloom. This didn’t seem to bother the man, and he dips his quill into the inkwell. There are knocks on the door, two in quick succession, then one. Without stopping, he calls out.

    “Yes? Come in please.” As he says this the shades flutter to the sides, and brilliant light pures into the room, giving color to the space, revealing the wide balding man at the desk, who is the first thing Peseshet sees upon entering. He takes a deep breath.

    “Sir. I woke up in the gate.”

    The man set down his pen and spoke. “I see.” He thinks for a bit. “I have noticed that the people you were with did not return. Come closer, let me see.”

    Peseshet walks over to the desk and places his hands on it, leaning forward he bows his head. The man standing opposite him places both hands on Peseshet’s scalp and closes his eyes.

    “Things are going well. Your group makes it into the Thraben hills. They find the water elemental, after some hours they give up there. Some time later, a few days perhaps, they encounter another group. Hmm, looks like they are conversing, hold on...orcs are with the other group. The orcs charge in. A human, elf actually, fires his bow and hits your fighter. This is quite strange. It looks like the one with the large sword is trying to stop the orcs from attacking, while the mage continually fumbles his spells.” He laughs. “Yes, it does seem these enemies didn’t have a plan. Your death is savage as well, do you want to hear it?”

Peseshet shakes his head. 

“Well it seems like these people are responsible for your death and the deaths of your group. Though I am loathe to change the perimeters of the test, you must change your name again, Peseshet. Make sure to visit the Twister, your appearance needs changing as well. When you come back I’ll brief you on your next mission.”

The older man at the desk nods. He then lets go of Peseshet’s head and waves him off. The curtains draw to a close, bathing the room once again in darkness. 

“Good, now leave my office.”

    Peseshet bows and backs away from the desk and into the hallway. His foot falls making nary a sound on the red carpeting interspersed with images of yellow stars. The door closes, leaving him alone in the quiet hall. 

    Carpet gives way to stone about 50 paces from where he started. The lighting diminishes, the sconces on the walls unlit now. When the man walks onto the stone though, the wall sconces erupt in purple light, bathing the hallway in an eerie glow. The hallway transforms into a circular stair that turns down, the man’s steps echoing off the walls. Eventually, after a minute’s descent, the man enters a damp room, a low thrum emanating from the portal on the opposite end. A large rectangular frame made of onyx stands 15 feet tall, and inside between the onyx swirls a dark interior, which the man steps through. 

    Pipes groan overhead. The smell is horrendous down here, and slime coats every surface. The secrecy of this place means that no one ever comes down here to do plumbing or cleaning, and so the place assaults the man now exiting the portal. Peseshet hated coming down here but pushed the urge to vomit out of his mind and climbed the sticky stairs with a mantra repeating in a tiny whisper. He could stomach this for his master. He tried to avoid the drips that fell from unseen pipes above as he climbed the stairs, and was unsuccessful. 

    Footsteps can be heard from above, echoing sharply. Peseshet continued his slow progress up the stairs. Life was complicated. Dying as often as he did, it was hard for him to give a shit...about anything. His work seemed never ending. He could stop he knew, he certainly had saved up enough money, but he was trapped in a kind of momentum. The source of the footsteps passed him on the journey to the surface he knew would be there waiting for him. The sudden heat on his skin woke him out of his reverie. The light was bright and the brilliance of it, after being underground so long, momentarily stunned him. 

    A huge hulking golem walked the street, towering over the heads of the citizens. Peseshet avoided it, and as well as keeping his head down. Best to avoid everyone.

The Captain

The waves lap against the ship. The sea breeze carries brine and salt to your nostrils. You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself on the railing. You wished you heard chatter. You long for the familiar banter of your crewmates, but they were not here.

You feel a presence approach to your right. You dare not look at it. You are thankful for the railing then, to stay your trembling arms. You should be angry, for what it did to your crew, but you were beyond that now. Now you were just a passenger on your own ship, and you wonder why you were even brought along, why you were allowed to live.

    The usurper speaks, “Captain, how much longer?” 

    You jump, taken from your reverie by its slow, measured voice, and your hands release the railing before gripping it again, not wanting to show your nervousness, though you were sure it knew. 

    “Abou’ six days. The wea’er will turn sour soon. Ye see that cloud formation there? Nath is angry, and we be in quarrelsome waters if we stay the course,”

    “Our sailing must not be perturbed.”

    “Then take us on ano’er course,”

    “That would mean a delay. We will sail through,” the presence left you alone at the bow once more.

    The storm was upon you and your ship. The huge cloud stretches across the entire horizon, rising up like a howling tempest, a massive avatar of destruction. The usurper is going forward as you watch from the wheel, it holds a pulsing object in its hands. As the waters become more turbulent, and the ship enters the storm, you spy a massive wave coming. You pray to Nath, this is the final moment. 

    “Liege! I thou’ ye said we be fine!” Looking around, the crew was working soundlessly, wordlessly operating the ship, and they seem to pay you no mind. They seem nonplussed by the situation. Totally unaware of what was about to befall them. 

    The hideous figure merely approaches the bow and raises the blue object to the sky, and the wave, massive as it was, seems to cleave in two, the middle of it reducing, allowing the ship to pass through it. A calm serenity inside a whirlwind, for the next hour, the ship passes through the storm with no issue, sailing as though there weren't waves the size of houses crashing nearby.

    The next several days pass without incident. The usurper never talked to you about that storm, or what he did, and you were too afraid to ask.  

The Archmagus

Ever since Alva was full, you’ve noticed your power has waned. The townsfolk were up in arms daily, knocking at the gates, yelling. You’ve tried placating them with gold and food, but to no avail. You were afraid this would happen of course, that one day the Heart would be stolen away. You shake your head. If only the priest accepted your offer, perhaps it would still be safe. But the Church had been destroyed, leaving a gaping hole in the heart of Dylath’leen.

    You walk to the balcony and step into the night air. From here, you could survey the city, and with your hands on the railing, you lean over it, and spy the gathering crowd at the gates. With your preternatural hearing you could make out a slogan being chanted, something about the priests of Nath being missing.

    Shipments have slowed, the city is dying. With the peasants unwilling to work, the city’s infrastructure has ground to a halt. You needed to think of a solution, but it was hard to think through the headache. Just then you receive a message.

    “Sir, something has broken through the barrier!”

    There are not many who could do that, and so you compose yourself at the desk in the room, decorated by baubles gathered long ago.

    You didn’t have to wait for long, as a nimble elf lands on the balcony railing and jumps into the room. There was no mistaking it. This was the man who stole the Heart, this was the man who killed Dylath’leen. Funny, it was an elven name after all, it’s only right that an elf would be the one to kill it. You think back to those plucky adventurers you spied in the mountains, hunting your automatons’ fate. Perhaps they were working for him.

    The figure smiles and strides forward, just short of the desk. He offers his hand. It is black, as well as his garb, also black. You look past his shoulder to see the sword, it gleams dark blue in the soft light that illuminates the room. His garments are designed for battle.

    “Delian Nath’shora, it has been so long.”

    “Not long enough,” you say as you ignore his hand, which he retracts.

    “Well, I have come to take this city off your hands, you need not supervise its continued annexation.”

    “That’s gracious of you to say, but what makes you think I’ll go willingly?”

    He shrugs and turns away from you, as he makes his way to the balcony he says, “It would be a shame if there was bloodshed, so many have died already. Exile is not so bad, just ask my brother. Look, you know you are hopelessly outmatched, with Nath out of the picture, you cannot win this battle.” He turns around to face you, his hands behind him, gripping the railing. “I’m surprised you can even speak,” he says, every word dripping with malice. 

    He was wrong about that. The heart was only stolen, not destroyed, you still felt a connection to the heart, to Nath, if he believes otherwise….

    “So, you came to retake the city that once belonged to you, are you sure Ulthar will abide your presence?”

    “If he decides to battle over my rightful ownership I welcome him to try, though he will likely fail. He knows this, and won’t risk a counterpunch, won’t risk the loss of life.”

    “What will you do with the prisoners? Release them?”

    He smiles.

    As you were talking you had been searching underneath the desk for the button. If he is allowed to free the prisoners…

    “I have been thinking about that subject...though I don’t think I’ll share with you my plans on that front.”

    “So, are you trying to make a home above ground for the Drow? Are you trying to legitimize your presence among the other races?”

    He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter to me, the only thing that matters is that my ancestral homeland is retaken, and since the usurper Nath is gone, I couldn’t ignore the opportunity. Your sick arrangement with Kagnak is over. Though Celephais’s continued existence is a mockery of Lumea, it must continue to persist...for now.”

    “Well, it seems I must vacate the premises then. I also desire Celephais to fall into the sea,” you offer a hand, keeping the other under the desk. He nods his head and clasps it with his.

    You press the button. By the time he realizes your plan, it is too late. You summon the last bit of strength to hold him there.

    Pure white fills your vision, as everything around you disintegrates, the last thing you see is his insufferable smile.

The Wizard

You were nervous. After what the archmagus told you, you knew that the mages of this city could not stand by and watch the priests suffer in any way, but you had appearances to keep, not to mention that the priests wouldn’t accept your help anyway. The adventurers weren’t in the city anymore, you were sure of that. The brooches had disappeared from the sight of the Witness, but not before one had went to Ulthar. Someone had told them of their true function, and you had a good idea of who it was. Considering that they are dreamers, it made sense. 

They seemed hellbent on finding out the truth of the matter by any means necessary. If they did it would be much harder to stop their course of action, and the dissolution of the church. The appointed time is nearly upon us, you thought. Alva will be soaring soon. 

Of course, the adventuring party wasn’t the only threat. A scouting party was sent to the complex rooted out by the ratcatchers, and the signs of malevolence were everywhere. The corpses of nightmarish behemoths and those of the defenders were strewn about the cavern floor. Tenebrium was recovered. Why there was such a place so close to Dylath’leen was worrying. 

Regardless, you had a meeting with one of priests, in another attempt to accept the help of the mages. Dassem Ultor was busy and so you had to settle for Tariq, a round man of southern heritage. You make your way past the gate to the mage quarter, and shuffle past a black carriage driven by one of the Kagnak. They still creeped you out, and not just because they smelled of death. 

You found yourself winding through the streets of the lower city until you found yourself at the church of Nath, and were ushered inside where you met Tariq, as solemn as ever. 

“Nice to finally meet you Tariq.” You offer a hand. The other man eyes it for a second and takes it into his own. You shake. He grunts.

“Likewise. We should talk in my private chambers.” You notice acolytes in the church minding their own business, cleaning and preparing for the next mass. You follow Tariq into a hallway and then a room lined with bookshelves. A stained glass window cast kaleidoscopic light into the room and Taris takes his seat on the other side of a desk. He motions for you to sit, and you take the proffered seat opposite him. The chair was nice, too nice for a simple priest.

 You couldn’t help but notice the glass framing Tariq’s head. It depicted Nath, above, reaching down to touch a woman, but from this vantage point, Tariq’s head took the woman’s place, and so it looked as though Nath herself were anointing the priest. 

“That’s a beautiful piece of work behind you, the composition is exquisite,”

“Thank you, I designed it myself,”

Of course you did. “I have come to your church in the past, urging you to accept our assistance in the grotto, and every time you have denied us,”

“That is true, and you must know that in each case that your assistance,” he stressed the word, pausing for second, “was not required. This time will be no different.”

You struggled to stay seated. “This time it is different. We know for a certainty that forces are arranged against you. We have interrogated the dead found in a fortress in the mountains. We know that they are coming for the Heart, and I know that they have infiltrated the priesthood. There may be five of these moles inside the parish.”

“So what do you want me to do? Kill all the new recruits?”

“No! Nothing like that! Delay the ritual until the next time Alva is soaring! Long enough for us to put up a proper defence!” 

“How many others know about this?” 

“Just one,”

Tariq sighed. “Cala Demis, you went to the wrong priest,”

“What are you talking about?”

Suddenly Tariq’s form shifted, blurring and turning black, until a very different figure sat in front of you. It appeared black, thin and emaciated looking, but the muscles it did have were wiry and tight. You immediately attempt a spell, but it fails. “Oops.” The sound came from behind you.

You turn around and look into the face of a young man, with a shock of black hair on a pale face. He wore an odd set of clothes, a coat whose collar covered his jaw. He must have been invisible! You cursed your carelessness.

“When I heard the base was cleaned out I expected the worst, but Rasan had survived. He is useful. You will be useful too, I expect.”

The Smith

The sound of waves crashing. It’s enough to lull you to sleep. 

Suddenly your eyes open, and you run into the water, spear in hand.

In only a few moments you see your prey, shiny, black, and darting past you.

You bring your spear around and with agility borne of years of practice, and bring it down on it, causing blood to blossom in the water.

You raise your head above the water and stare back at your hovel, at the adjoining workshop. Good, you think, it’s not there.

You return to land, and place the fish on the anvil. Taking a knife from it’s hook on a nearby wall, you deftly start to gut and remove the scales.

You’re so busy doing this you don’t even notice the temperature dropping, until you shiver to yourself, the water on your body freezing suddenly. 

“Have you changed your mind, then?”

The sound jolts you, and in your spasm, the knife flies from your grip and lands in the sand. You look up to see your guest. It has four legs now, though the face remains the same. The legs are different too, they seem to taper down to a point, starting from the knees, and there are four of them. This creature appears to be like a perverse drider, a torso supported by four opposing legs.

“What? I’m just--”

“Don’t be coy, I see the substance over there, where I left it last. Have you reconsidered our arrangement?”

“Well, I just realized I’m out of practice, I’m not sure I can fulfill the design…”

You watch as the entity before you raises an accusatory finger at you, and you notice its long nail.

“Lie. You just thought it a bad dream when I came to you. You tried to ignore my request, in some perverse way, you thought if you didn’t think about it, then it wasn’t real.”

You shake your head, “I hate the gods as much as you do. My life is drab and wretched compared to my brother’s, but a weapon that can bind souls to service? Would you not be godlike then? Would my hand not be bringing that which I despise above all others?”

“That is why when this business with those pretenders is done, I’ll destroy the weapon, you have my word.”

“Really, and how can I trust you?”

The figure snaps its fingers, and a rift about your height forms beside it. It oozes black tendrils, and you feel...warmth, strangely. From within it’s black maw, you see a face, one you recognize. Its eyes open, it’s her.

“Oneras? Is that y--,” Her question is muffled by your kiss. As you wrap her naked from in your embrace, you feel the tears welling up. You bring her to arms length and stare into her eyes. You hear the chilling voice once more.

“Do we have a deal, Oneras?”

You take one look at the black thing, and nod your head. 

“Beloved, who’s―,” she begins to say, before she realizes the creature is gone.

The Branded

“The time is now, brothers, to make a stand for the downtrodden amongst us, for the ones who are subjected to this cruelty. The guild has twisted the bodies of too many. It doesn’t matter how much they pay. We should not allow them to use people, yes even people we hate, the dreamers, as experiments. We should not let them use them, even if they are criminals! What they do is inhumane! It’s evil! It’s―,” Suddenly his voice stops, and you squint at the man in the center of the square, clutching his throat, like something is caught in it. He gets off his soapbox and runs into the closest store, or tries to, as he bumps into a guard, who promptly shoves him to the ground.

You look across the way for the source of the magic. You scan the moving crowd. There are a lot of people in the throng, no one is paying attention to the now sprawled man on the ground, whose mouth is opening and closing, but can manage no words. You look frantically, surely the person who did this must be close. 

That’s when you spot him. Wearing a cloak with the insignia of the guild, staring at the man. No other gesture is required, whatever magic he was using only required his undivided attention. Attention that you break as you run into him. He’s startled, and before he can retort you interrupt him with an apology as you pass by him, stealing a glance at the man now rising to his feet, coughing.

Good, you thought, as you continued on your way. You hated dreamers but you hated the guild more. 

“Hey!” you hear behind you. You feel a hand grip your shoulder. Strong. You turn around and come face to face with the guild member. 

“Yeah? I said I was sorry,” you push his arm off you and turn back around. Or try to. You notice his arm has grown hard as stone, his grip on your shoulder so painful you are brought to your knees. You look up at him, grimacing.

“I see you, Darius Emrakul. You have been a thorn in the guilds side for a long time, know that I have seen your face, seen your heart, and know that you have been branded by my touch.”

Shaken, you look around and notice no one seems to be paying any mind to the scene in the middle of the street. They simply moved around the two of you like you were just a signpost. You turn to look at the man, and notice he’s gone. But the pain in your shoulder remains.   

Chapter 2

    The pain in your shoulder had not abated. In fact, the pain has only expanded to include the left side of your face and upper hip. You’ve lost control of your left arm, and your shoulder is mostly stone now. You hobble about the thoroughfare, throwing your shoulder forward with each step. Your shambling gait attracts unwelcome eyes, but upon seeing your face quickly turn away. 

    You always kept tabs on who was coming in with members of the guild. You had written down each person that had come into the town with a guild member leading. More than ten people had come into town this way. You assumed they were all dreamers. Then one day you saw a blue haired woman and another man being led into town, but they were talking to each other, laughing. 

    You remembered her, you surely knew her face but you forgot her name. While the crisis at the lake house was ended, the guild still operated as though nothing had befallen them. The endless train of dreamers into their halls never stopped, only slowed in recent months. People from out of town arrived with supplies for reconstruction. They were rebuilding, the college was still in operation, new graduates would replace those who were lost, and the guild would be as strong as ever. 

    You approached the outskirts of town, a single pack over the shoulder. You had hoped to be rid of this cursed place. Perhaps it was time to give Del another visit. 

    “Darius Emrakul. A little late to be sneaking off in the night, is it not?” You set down your pack and regard the woman speaking from a tree branch up ahead, her legs kicking the air. Her blue hair was almost gone, it was mostly brown now, only the tips remained that pearlescent blue. 

    “Yes well, I decided to journey,”

    “Huh. Where to?”

    “Far away from here, as far as my legs will take me,”

    She laughs. “You’re not going to get far with your affliction. Just give up, you only have what, another year before it takes you?”

    You grunt and pick up your pack. “If you’re here to berate me, save your breath. This course...you’ll not shake me from it,”

    She falls from the branch and lands on the hard dirt below, it looked easy. “Then I am going with you. I grow tired of this job. Are you headed to Del? I hear there is a temple near it that can cure your ailment.”

    You shrug. “I was headed there anyway, it’s worth a shot.”

    She smiles widely. “Good, then let's go,”

    “Wait, what was your name again? I had forgotten it, I’m sorry,”

    “Rebecca, pleasure to meet you,” she holds out a hand, and you grab it. You were surprised by its warmth. 

The Confidant

Tarek was a man who ventured into the desert wastes to collect the bones of fallen animals and things. It was not dangerous work, of course, he knew to avoid the random snakes that would rattle and he scooted by them. He knew of the eagles large enough to swallow a man whole, but somehow they avoided him. He would be gone for days at a time, scouring the wastes for bones. Sometimes he would find equipment left behind, arranged in a neat pile. 

    He would grin of course. Finding the leavings of a dreamer was fortuitous indeed. And so he thought nothing of it, he added the piece to his collection. Oh yes, I am describing the beginning of the end for poor Tarek. For you see, this particular item was cursed, infact, the nature of how this advanturer came to die is related to said curse, but he had an out, not so for Tarek. 

    The moment Tarek touched the item, the armor, the iron banded helm, he was trapped. He wore the helmet the moment he found it. To his amazement, he could see for miles further than he ever had before. He could see invisible things, and he always knew when someone near was casting a spell. The problem was, he couldn’t take it off, ever. The helmet had fused with his skin, and turned it black. In a panic, when he discovered this one fateful day, he tried to take off the helm. He tried all these mundane ways to remove the helm, but those failed. He spent all his remaining money, money earned from years of scavenging, to have the curse removed from the helmet.

    That didn’t work as he intended, for the helmet remained on him. Of course, the helm also lost it’s beneficial properties. He languishes in his home, brooding. I wish he would go outside and taste the dry desert air, but nothing I say reaches him. When I last walked by his home to drop off his dinner I thought I could hear a conversation. Ever since that day, at strange times, I’d smell an acrid stench whenever I was close to his house.   

    He told me, on the rare times he would speak to me, that he found help. I pressed him on this point and I could see in his eyes, raw from weeping, a terrible purpose.

Chapter 2

I climbed the steps to the palace. The once thriving temple to Yogash that dominated the city, now a howling ziggurat of madness, and despair. The priests were gone, having been overthrown after it was noticed that they had no power. They would scream as they were thrown off the top of the temple. Now, there was an endless procession of supplicants climbing the stair, a line that stretched from the top of the once proud monument to Yogash, all the way to the city gates. Men in grotesque helms kept the line in order. The once proud followers of Yogash had a new master.

    “Keep your eyes at the top of the palace!” the words came with the crack of a whip, and I felt the lash through my threadbare clothes. I had to bite my lip to stifle my cry. I could hear those who were returning from the top coming down the stair twenty feet to my left. Everyone was carrying something.  One man had a goat on his shoulders. 

    You’re doing the right thing, came a voice from inside my head. 

    What do you know about the right thing?   

    I eventually made it to the top of the temple, and only a few people remained in front of me. A massive pile of treasure could be seen past the double doors of the dome. The man with the goat walked through the doors and handed the animal to a guard, bowed to the king, and kissed his black iron helmet. He backed out of the room and passed me without looking at me. I was next.

    One had to master the art of looking at someone without looking at them. I gazed at the helm, but not his eyes, and brought out a small jewelry box. Its purple felt exterior brought out expressions of curiosity from the guards flanking the king. 

    “Open it,” the rasp of the king echoed throughout the chamber. Behind him a large white cloth was covering a large rectangular shape. It framed him nicely as he was sitting in an ornate chair that was gaudy and foreign in this temple. He clutched the jade tipped armrest, his knuckles turning white. I calmed my nerves and opened the small box. 

    I imagined his eyes narrowing as I opened the small case. 

    “STOP!” he yelled. But I was too close. I would die for this act, I knew, but I had already made up my mind. The acid spray hit the king in the face, and he reeled in agony, stumbling over his throne. The guards caught me in their grip, as they were already moving. Attendants rushed to the king’s aid, groaning in pain as he was, and they carried him off. I would spend the rest of that night in a cell. 

    The sun beat down on my shoulders. I sat in a puddle of my own filth. Down here, water pooled around me, and―.

    Suddenly I was bathed in shadow.

    “It must pain you to know that you failed,” the voice came from far above. I looked up the thirty foot shaft, past the grate, to see the silhouette of the king's helmet looking down at me. I said nothing.

    “It would’ve worked you know. I had thought I recognized you, but I’ve seen so many faces, I couldn’t place how I knew you. Then I remembered, you gave me dinner when I was too scared and beside myself to leave my home. But once I found the one beyond, you hated me. You hated that one so disfigured could actually enjoy themselves. Above all, you hated the power that I have taken. You could have ruled as my right hand. Instead you schemed to ruin me. But I don’t go down easily, not anymore. I am beyond human, beyond you.”

    I found myself shouting back despite myself. “No, you were a scared man, a man who ruined himself! But living with what you had done with yourself was too much! Wasn’t it!? You had to make others feel how you felt!”

    Laughter echoed down the narrow shaft not even wide enough to lay down in. I was still wearing the clothes I wore on that fateful day. 

    “That’s amazing. Isn’t that the very thing you tried to do? Disfigure the one who disfigured your city? Your empty platitudes are as hollow as this shaft, empty, containing nothing.”

    The sun returned to my cell.