Enemy at the Gates
The dreams of Valadain Raikos
In the hours after the meeting with Azael a heaviness descends upon the party. A gnawing doubt deep within Valadain causes him to prey…and to sleep. Perhaps the other side of this day would bring better news, a brighter outlook. But with sleep come the visions from the world of spirits…from the world of the Paths.
A narrow path between two impossible peaks is the mouth of a huge valley that stretches as far as any elven sight could manage. Snaking into the gloom is an army of enormous proportions; and army of dark marauders, of inhuman beasts and of the dark powers of the Abyss. In their path are a handful of warriors; their bleak faces reveal the true horror and futility of their plight, almost one hundred against one hundred thousand. A coalition of Malkar soldiers and Willowstarian elves. The high priest turns to his elven counterpart and the two leaders exchange a knowing stare…they both know this will be their last battle.
“We should summon help,” the priest says.
“There is no help that will stop this force,” the elf replies.
“Then we must retreat.”
“Retreat where? We are on the cusp of two worlds, thousands of miles from our homelands. We have to face facts, my priestly friend, this will be our swansong.”
“I will pray to Malkar for aid.”
“None will come.”
“We must try!”
“Our plight is to be nothing but a statement…I have seen it in my god’s eyes. The evergreen goddess of the forest sent me to my death…as did yours. A welcome for this accursed Azael and a message from the gods.”
“It cannot be!” the priest’s eyes are moist with tears. “I cannot accept this!”
The elf’s eyes soften. “One cannot assume to know how gods operate, my friend, but in their service you must accept their word as law or all else will collapse into the kind of chaos we see before us. We must fight, my friend.”
“You will not fight alone…”
The voice of a third man makes them turn in surprise. The stranger is dressed in black with a black overcloak and wears a haunted expression. Eyes of black with a red tint give him the appearance of the enemy. Both elf and priest start to react aggressively but the stranger holds up a hand.
“I am here to turn the tide in your favour.”
“Who are you?” the elf snaps. “For if you are a servant of Azael then you will be sent swiftly back to the Abyss.”
The stranger’s smile resembles dark clouds before a thunderstorm. “I am the nightmare this new enemy deserves…”
“Who sent you?” the priest asks.
“I have no master.”
The elf grins ironically. “You could have chosen an easier fight. We are heavily outnumbered and out-powered. I fear it will be a quick battle.”
“The enemy will be filtered through the narrow entrance to the valley,” the stranger says, “with just twenty good men you could contain him, and with my blade we can defeat him.”
The priest and elf stare at the longsword and then back to the stranger. “You are a madman,” they say in unison…
A second vision comes into your dreams. A mountaintop enclosure high above the clouds sees Malkar and Willowstar at a table in a sour mood. Before them is a large map of Grayhawk with representations of the main players littered about it like pieces on a chessboard. In the background is the mysterious woman in white, her flawless skin glistens in the sunlight and her silken gown flows like an embodiment of the gentle breeze all around them.
“We are too late,” Willowstar says gloomily. “The enemy is at the gates and we are nowhere near prepared for the fight. Your gamble appears to have failed, Malkar.”
Malkar the White sighs. “Events are poised on a knife edge, my friend, but we are closer than you think.”
“Nonsense! The riddles of the Sharyr are almost all intact. There is no more time I say.”
“You should have more faith in the party, Andurien, there is time enough and they have skills beyond that of normal men.”
“Your faith in the Kasadai legacy is laughable…that power is gone, it will fade before long. I say we mobilise everything we have – including the Bretonians.”
“You forget that the new emperor has a mind of his own.”
“But my son can influence him to our cause.”
“Your cause!” Malkar snaps. “That son of yours has less influence than you think, Andurien, you should remember how he came into his inheritance.”
The woman in white soothes the growing tension between the gods. Her words reach into their hearts and calm the passion within. “The Glaennyn will come.”
“Why don’t you just free them?” Willowstar snaps peevishly.
“I cannot – you know how the universe works, my lady, you know what the Universal Balance entails. Though I have roused a conscience from the past…a man who has pledged himself to our cause…more specifically pledged himself to aid me.”
“You have a propensity for riddles, Noble Lady,” Malkar says.
She smiles. “Indeed I have…but that is part of my allure is it not?”
Malkar smiles but Andurien Willwstar can hardly contain her anger. “What man can possibly stand against Azael alone? If Vance Dexton himself can only maim his lapdog what chance does your man have? I do not hold with your riddles, Noble Lady, for I feel you are just clutching at straws. We need power to stop him and I am going to send my son to deal with him, as we should have done in the first place. Primal power is the only weapon we can use against Azael.”
“You will send him to his death,” Malkar says.
“So tell me, Noble Lady,” Andurien says, “who have you found that can stand against this force? You haven’t managed to resurrect Chael now have you?”
The woman in white regards the goddess with an even stare. “I have brought the Betrayer to bear…”
Malkar and Willowstar exchange stunned expressions.