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The Dreams Begin
In the fall of 542, each of the heroes began suffering from sleepless nights. The war came back to them, and things that were taken in stride in the heat of battle, now fill them with irrational terror.
Edgar Tirol: His cell grows as the light fades in the evening. The walls slip away and he's left with waking dreams of stalking through the Spire’s corridors, an unseen presence in turn stalking him. He turns in a panic, its form is gone but its scent remains, the sweet scent of rotting corpses and suppurating wounds.
Deimos: The dream is always the same. Sparring alone in the courtyard at night, the moon shines in through the piercework canopy. He passes a basin and sees his reflection. His skin is pale and pitted. His body wastes away before his eyes and dark green ichor drains from his eyes and fingernails. His strength fades and he fall in. As he drowns, the moon’s reflection on the basin’s tiles turns to the Reap Night death’s head, grinning at him with malevolent awareness.
Kal Kariasi: The lights of Illian dance on the curtains of his shop, and as he drifts off, the image of Jacob the Mad’s death fills him with dread. In his dreams, the angels stare directly at him while cutting his neck. The bloody grin on Jacob's throat matches the bloody grin of his sickly spirit as it rises to the rafters of the throne room, cackling like mad.
Aredika the Just: The dreams don’t visit him in the wilderness, but any night spent in a town finds him walking the streets in the dead of night, hunting, or hunted by, something. He knows what’s coming, but still, every time, he rounds a corner and a rougly-human form, all teeth and slime, pounces. The pain in his throat burns like fire. It leaves him in the street, writhing in agony. There he dies and then, he stands. Unable to control his hunger, he kicks in doors and gluts on the blood of the townsfolk, all of whom he'd met earlier that day. When dawn comes, he and his spawn retire to a root cellar. When he awakens from the dream, he jumps out of bed, sure that he's still in that root cellar, surrounded by the abominations he created the night before.
Runihura Ur Tumaini: The pure darkness of the mountains at night lets the mind conjure monsters to fill the shadows. He wakes in the dark with a weight on his chest. The dully glowing green eyes of a Strangerspawn above him, something smooth and salty slides between his lips. Covering his face, the plasm fills his mouth and nose, before creeping around his eyes. He struggles in vain for what seems like an hours before waking in a cold sweat.
The monks report seeing him wandering the halls in the early morning hours, the corpses of birds are found throughout the monastary, and before long, he's asked to leave.
Reap Night
On Reap Night, 543, the celebration is grand, wherever they are. Stranger’s Moon rises with a pinkish hue that few notice, but by dawn, it has turned the color of old blood. The following night, Stranger’s Moon rises again, red and bloated. At dawn, the keen eyed notice a small red star glowing opposite the moon, rising as the moon sets.
The scholars and priests proclaim the end is nigh. The temples are filled with the fearful. Many prepare for the turning of the age, but weeks go by with no change, and the foul-weather faithful quickly return to their lives of apathy, but for most, a tension never fully fades.
In the fall of 542, each of the heroes began suffering from sleepless nights. The war came back to them, and things that were taken in stride in the heat of battle, now fill them with irrational terror.
Edgar Tirol: His cell grows as the light fades in the evening. The walls slip away and he's left with waking dreams of stalking through the Spire’s corridors, an unseen presence in turn stalking him. He turns in a panic, its form is gone but its scent remains, the sweet scent of rotting corpses and suppurating wounds.
Deimos: The dream is always the same. Sparring alone in the courtyard at night, the moon shines in through the piercework canopy. He passes a basin and sees his reflection. His skin is pale and pitted. His body wastes away before his eyes and dark green ichor drains from his eyes and fingernails. His strength fades and he fall in. As he drowns, the moon’s reflection on the basin’s tiles turns to the Reap Night death’s head, grinning at him with malevolent awareness.
Kal Kariasi: The lights of Illian dance on the curtains of his shop, and as he drifts off, the image of Jacob the Mad’s death fills him with dread. In his dreams, the angels stare directly at him while cutting his neck. The bloody grin on Jacob's throat matches the bloody grin of his sickly spirit as it rises to the rafters of the throne room, cackling like mad.
Aredika the Just: The dreams don’t visit him in the wilderness, but any night spent in a town finds him walking the streets in the dead of night, hunting, or hunted by, something. He knows what’s coming, but still, every time, he rounds a corner and a rougly-human form, all teeth and slime, pounces. The pain in his throat burns like fire. It leaves him in the street, writhing in agony. There he dies and then, he stands. Unable to control his hunger, he kicks in doors and gluts on the blood of the townsfolk, all of whom he'd met earlier that day. When dawn comes, he and his spawn retire to a root cellar. When he awakens from the dream, he jumps out of bed, sure that he's still in that root cellar, surrounded by the abominations he created the night before.
Runihura Ur Tumaini: The pure darkness of the mountains at night lets the mind conjure monsters to fill the shadows. He wakes in the dark with a weight on his chest. The dully glowing green eyes of a Strangerspawn above him, something smooth and salty slides between his lips. Covering his face, the plasm fills his mouth and nose, before creeping around his eyes. He struggles in vain for what seems like an hours before waking in a cold sweat.
The monks report seeing him wandering the halls in the early morning hours, the corpses of birds are found throughout the monastary, and before long, he's asked to leave.
Reap Night
On Reap Night, 543, the celebration is grand, wherever they are. Stranger’s Moon rises with a pinkish hue that few notice, but by dawn, it has turned the color of old blood. The following night, Stranger’s Moon rises again, red and bloated. At dawn, the keen eyed notice a small red star glowing opposite the moon, rising as the moon sets.
The scholars and priests proclaim the end is nigh. The temples are filled with the fearful. Many prepare for the turning of the age, but weeks go by with no change, and the foul-weather faithful quickly return to their lives of apathy, but for most, a tension never fully fades.
