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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Softwind" data-source="post: 1355665" data-attributes="member: 13893">Dream sequenceThirty-fourth Session  (Oct 03)  [Given to the players to read] Exhausted in the heat, but mostly uninjured, you survey the scene of battle with the strange plant-men.  Your sight wavers, and you shake your head to clear your vision, only to have your eyes water and your head spin.  You look around in panic as you feel the world collapsing, feeling a strange sort of relief when you realize that it is not the world, but you, and your companions, who are falling. You go to your knees as vertigo overwhelms you, your awareness of your surroundings dimming.  All goes dark as your head hits the ground. You find yourself in a featureless gray environment, devoid of useful references – no air seems to move, no scents to stimulate your nose, no sounds impinge upon your ears, no time seems to pass; or at least, any you can discern, with nothing to differentiate one moment from the next. Suddenly (or slowly, who can tell?), air moves across your skin, the breeze growing stronger.  A faint odor of brimstone and hot metal comes to your nose.  A rhythmic thudding is soon evident, sounding like footsteps, heavy trodding approaching.The source is revealed to be a figure you feel you have seen before, albeit in a dream. Clad in loose robes, very little can be seen of the true appearance of the person, save a pair of gnarled hands, and the toes of heavy boots emerging from the bottom of the garments. The figure’s head moves slowly, side to side, as if looking for something… or someone.  For even though it stands no more than five paces from you, it seems not to notice you.  Side to side, slower and slower, back and forth, back and forth… and stops, staring straight at you… and your companions.  For now, by your side, stand the other members of your party.  Together, you face the cowled figure, as it lifts its hands and pulls back the hood.  First impressions aside, the face revealed is enough to cause anyone to draw back, for the scars, from weapon and flame, grant the man a diabolic visage.  The grin that follows gives no relief to the sight before you. “Well, well”, he says.  “Perhaps the time has come after all.  I feared I would grow tired of the hunt.  You have been elusive; I will grant that to you.  Oh, all save your elven companions… they were not so difficult to find.”  His chuckle disturbs you.  He waves at you expansively, “Only the small and stout ones are necessary, the rest of you“, pointing to those of elven blood, “can… die.” His hands crackle with a baleful energy as he raises them in a strike – only to be halted by something that catches his attention behind you.  The nimbus surrounding him dims, and he lowers his arms slowly. “You!” the breath barely escaping the ruined lips.  His hands whip up, the energy renewed, and bolts of raw energy crackle over your heads, towards a yet-unseen target.  The expected burst of arcane energy does not come, and you turn to see what has transpired.  Standing several paces away is the other figure you have seen in your dreams, or heard about from your companions at least.  Appearances being deceiving, you can not afterwards describe the person you see; but are left with a feeling of presence.  The figure speaks not as the dark energy surrounding him fades away, like smoke on the wind.  He raises strong, tender hands as in benediction upon you, and then raises them higher as his own fingers glow golden, and fire streams from them towards the first figure, only to splash against a mystic shield. Feeling discretion the better part of valor, you move aside while the two opponents face off.  And move farther away as the atmosphere increasingly heats up.  Spheres, bolts, and clouds of energy obscure your vision, preventing you from seeing any details of the struggle.  On it rages, until you are near to blinded by the light, deafened by the noise, and suffocated by the mixed stench of fire, brimstone, hot metal and gases.  And then, with a mighty screech, yanked from the very depths of the pit itself (or so it seems), it is over.  The noise quiets.  The lights fade.  The wind, present throughout, clears the miasma, revealing a lone figure standing, but barely, clenching a tattered robe.  He grins weakly, and crumples. You run to assist him.  The healers of the group are dismayed that their connection to the divine is weak in this area, but what aid you provide is enough to strengthen him, so he is able to sit up.  Seeing the concern and the questions in your eyes, he reassures you that he will survive, given time.  He smiles wanly.  His form flickers briefly, but with a grimace, he stands up.   “Somehow, even with my efforts, he is getting stronger.  And my abilities do not increase in such proportion.  He has worked his way past the enchantments woven about you, and I cannot strengthen what he has already removed.”  He sighs deeply.  “However, he cannot find that which he does not know.  To succeed, you must change.  Even the subtlest of alterations should suffice.  Your core essence will remain the same, but will be clothed in different skills, abilities, mindsets.  Grant me a moment, and we shall begin.” ***You remember the words.  You remember the inflection.  But you cannot remember much else about the being in the other realm.  For now, you stand back in the heat and humidity near the town of Sumpter, the remains of the plant-kin steaming in the sun like so much mulch.  You look around, your initial passing glance stopping on your companions.  Or at least you think they are…  there is something different about them somehowShaking off the dream, the party looks itself over.  Subtle and not so subtle differences are seen in most, although the newest member of the party seems mostly the same, the party not familiar enough with Daladariel to note changes.</blockquote>

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