The Dreamstalker

The companions continued their trek into the mountains. Silar had fallen from the stone bridge hours earlier, and those remaining had continued on in silence, lost in their thoughts.

There's just something not right here, thought Brighton. First those things that bleed sawdust. Now it seems like we've been hiking for days, but we haven't camped overnight at all. In fact...

Brighton looked up at the sky overhead. It was blue, as far as he could see. There was not a cloud in sight.

Nor was there anything else.

"Uh, guys," he said, coming to a halt. "Is it just me, or is there nothing up there but blue?"

Mica shot a curious glance back at the Troubadour. "What are you talking about?"

"The sky. I don't see any clouds. I don't see any birds. I don't see any sun."

"What?" Tomas glared at the Troubadour. "That's nonsense."

Bearclaw had stopped and was looking up at the sky. "He is correct."

Mica frowned. "That can't be good."

"What does it mean?" murmured Tomas.

"How should I know?" snapped Brighton. "You're the brains of this outfit. I just noticed it."

Tomas began stroking his chin, lost in thought. The others watched him. Finally the Wizard said, "It's the only thing that makes sense."

"What?" asked Mica.

"None of this is real."

Bearclaw grunted.

"No, really, I'm serious," said Tomas. "I don't know what exactly is going on, but none of this is real. It can't be. At least, it's not the real world that we're all familiar with. The lack of features in the sky proves it."

"All right," said Mica. "We've figured that much out. Now what?"

Tomas shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Until I know more of the nature of this realm, I suggest we keep moving. We're bound to come across something."

Bearclaw moved ahead, cresting a small rise in the trail. "We already have."

The others moved to join him. Spread out before them was a large, bowl-shaped depression. The trail led directly into it and straight across the dusty brown floor to a cave that gaped in the sheer rock face opposite them. The cave mouth appeared to be the maw of some monstrous creature, with stalactites forming large fangs, and two holes above the entrance appearing as sinister eyes.

Figures moved throughout the area -- more of the twisted Name-givers they had encountered earlier. They shambled about, hissing and occasionally fighting one another.

Brighton, his eyes wide, stammered, "Look at all those things. What are we supposed to do? What's going on?"

Tomas shook his head. "I don't know. But I bet the answers lie in that cave." He pointed to the opening at the far end of the depression.

They stood silently, watching the activity below them. Then Mica's eyes were drawn to movement from the cave mouth. "Look at that!" he cried.

A figure was emerging from the jaws of the cave. He was wrapped in a black robe. Stretches of tattered fabric from the robe floated around him like smoke. No features were visible beneath the cowl.

The twisted figures in the clearing turned towards him and bowed, their misshapen faces touching the ground.

The companions heard a low chuckle from the robed figure. It sent a chill down their spines.

The figure turned slightly, and looked straight at the companions. Beneath the cowl was darkness, broken only by a pair of glowing red eyes.

Good day, my friends. The voice crawled through their thoughts. I'm sorry I haven't the time to invite you in. As you can see, I'm terribly busy. Its wicked laugh seemed to echo off the peaks. But I'll make sure you feel welcome next time we meet.

The twisted creatures raised their heads and turned towards the adepts, their soulless black eyes shimmering with hunger. One of them tilted its head back and howled. One by one, the other creatures joined in the hellish chorus.

"This is not good," muttered Brighton. Mica drew his sword, and the Troubadour looked over at him. "What do you think you're doing?" he cried.

Mice stood, looking down into the clearing, a wild grin spreading across his face. "I'm getting ready. You should, too."

Brighton nodded and began to loosen up his whip with trembling fingers.

The robed figure turned and went back into the cave. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind kicked up, threatening to knock the companions off the ridge and into the waiting claws of the snarling creatures below.

Tomas glanced back over his shoulder. The trail behind them had vanished in the haze of a huge dust cloud that moved towards them at an incredible pace. "Brace yourselves!" he called out over the howl of the wind.

Bearclaw shot the Wizard a glance and followed his gaze. Seeing the cloud he moved to push the others behind the shelter of a nearby rock.

He wasn't fast enough.

The wind devoured them. The dust storm blotted out the sky. Blinded by stinging dust, the four clung to each other in a near panic.

Tomas felt the wind lift him off the ground. His grip on Mica's tunic slipped, and was lost. With a cry he was flung over the edge of the ridge.

"Tomas!" yelled Brighton, his voice nearly drowned out in the angry roar of the wind. He made a grab for the hem of the Wizard's robe and lost his balance. He was launched into oblivion.

Bearclaw gritted his teeth, looked at Mica, and then jumped off the ridge after the others.

His knuckles white on the hilt of his sword, Mica fought the wind as long as he was able. But even he couldn't resist the gust that threw him over the edge.

He expected at any moment to be dashed against the rocks and dropped into the depression, his broken body a feast for the twisted creatures waiting below. But instead of sending him to his death, the wind supported him, carrying him along.

This must be what it feels like to fly, he thought.

The roar of the wind grew so loud in his ears that it seemed to fade into nothing. His eyes, blinded and itching with dust, saw only darkness as he drifted in the storm, occasionally jarred by a sharp cross wind.

Suddenly, the dust cleared and the monstrous cave loomed before him. The rocky eyes now glowed bright red, just like the eyes of the robed figure. Mica was swallowed.

He awoke with a startled gasp and began coughing. Silar, the t'skrang they had met earlier, crouched by his side, shaking him by the shoulder. A small campfire burned nearby, and a gentle breeze was blowing the smoke in his direction. The others were sitting up in their bedrolls.

Mica looked around and saw the buildings of Chimney Rock. The sun was peeking over the horizon to the east. He turned back to Silar, who regarded him with a concerned expression.

"I'm fine," he said. "At least I'm pretty sure I am."

The t'skrang nodded and moved to the fire. A small skillet sat on the coals. Mica heard the sizzle and pop of bacon.

Mica looked over at Brighton, who appeared to be in shock. The Troubadour's eyes darted nervously about, as though expecting something to jump out at him.

"Hey Brighton, are you all right?" he asked.

Brighton looked over at him, his eyes widening a bit. He started to shake his head, then apparently changed his mind and nodded. Then he looked around with a confused expression and shrugged.

"I... I think so," he stammered. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Sorry. I just had the worst dream. We were heading up into the mountains after the ogres, and then we were attacked by these... things."

Tomas, who had been lost in thought, looked over at Brighton with a shocked expression. "And then Silar fell of a bridge."

Brighton nodded. "Yeah, he did. How did you..." his eyes grew wide and he looked at the wizard. "Did you...?" he left the question unfinished.

Tomas nodded somberly. "Yes."

Brighton sat there with his mouth open, then finally blurted out, "That's not possible!"

Tomas snorted. "Impossible or not, it happened."

The companions looked at each other in silence. Then Bearclaw said quietly, "It was a message."

Tomas nodded. "It certainly seemed to be. The question is, who sent it? And what does it mean?"

"That nasty guy in the black robes," moaned Brighton. "He's gonna get us if we go after those ogres." He fell backward onto his bedroll and put his hands over his eyes. "We're doomed."

"So what do we do?" asked Mica.

"I'm not sure," said Tomas. "I've never heard of anything like this happening."

"We do what we decided to do last night," said Silar. "We go after those ogres. If these dreams mean anything at all, the answers are up there." He motioned with his head towards the higher peaks.

Brighton sat up. "Are you insane? The best thing for us to do right now is turn around and go back down this mountain. Away from the ogres, far away from those things at Cliffside, and far, far away from Mister Nasty. I only met him in my dream. I have no desire to encounter that guy in person."

He pointed a finger at Silar. "You fell off a cliff. Are you telling me that you want to go up there and risk it happening for real?"

"It was a dream," replied Silar. "As heroes, we cannot let fear keep us from our duty."

Brighton growled in frustration. "I don't even know why I bother." He looked around at the others. "I don't suppose any of you have more sense."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Tomas sighed. "I agree with Silar. The answers are up there. Whatever that dream means we shouldn't let it dictate our course of action. We should be careful, naturally, but the meaning of the symbols escapes me."

Bearclaw nodded. "These people are in danger. It is our duty to protect them."

Mica grinned. "I'm always up for a fight."

"It's decided then," said Tomas. "We follow the trail, wherever it may take us."

Brighton raised his eyes to the heavens. "May the Passions have mercy on us all."

Author's Note: The next entry jumps ahead several months, and marks the beginning of the in-character journal entries written by the players themselves, as opposed to narrative adaptations of the events written by me.

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