Session 7

No longer am I under the delusion that these are dreams, fictions of the mind, but rather these are visions of something greater than myself, of who or what I do not know. I woke from these visions asleep in my bed book in hand. How I fell asleep I do not know but the sudden contrast between words on a page and the vista of the dreaded cabin were stark. I awoke screaming from the waking nightmare of the overwhelming feelings that Ancient Watcher gave off just by sitting next to him and for the first time in a long time I wished to forget what I had seen. I went down to the bar and drank enough to take my mind off the events of the night. The others asked why I had awoken in the manner I had as my mind drifted to the image of the Watcher the words from my first dream where that of the Watchers ‘the end is near but do not fear”, but those words are my own my from my first paper on necromantic magic, Which is why I finished what he had said in my mind when I had awoken “-;life and death are two sides of the same coin”. These words were mine which is why I thought these visions to be but simple dreams, with only a glint of hope they were something greater. I feel as if my wish was answered although I fear what monkey's paw I have wished upon. The voices of the party finally penetrated into my mind, I told them it was a dream one that felt all too real for comfort. They seemed to lose interest in my novel response and turn the conversation to what to do next. These parts are a little hazy. My mind was still racing from the experience I had lived only moments ago. I don't remember how or why, but we agreed to look for a trinket for Goeth in a ruin some distance away, 2 or 3 months… But what of Rugo? And this Earthsmasher? While the others sorted their affairs I went out to follow up on my lead. The place I had arrived at had a door that stood silent and locked. Without knowing how to open the door I sat on the steps in front of it and read that book I picked up from Kings library as a treasure or was it from the old house? I disliked this uncertainty so words will distract me from my thoughts. The book contains a rich amount of knowledge on druid craft, lightning magic and some notes and drawings on resurrecting animals. A fellow came by and remarked on the book and its value and told me to stay clear of the steps if I wished to find a way in and walked off. I reallocated to a nearby tree and sat under it reading, a man came up and fiddled with the door to no success then walked off like the first. Then the party after some time had arrived… I had truly lost interest in the events here or rather a more apt way to put it I had lost drive. Rugo's book still interested me, but it has exited my focus… and I have no time to find it. The rest of the time from here to asking questions to people inside… all the way up till leaving… I felt as if I wasn't myself that someone else was walking and talking for me while the real me sat and pondered. The Watcher said “The end is near” if this is a warning of the end of what, when will this end come? The next thing I knew the leading house with Milo had been tripped and crushed between 2 logs. Then a wendigo showed up, then walking tree roots, then hags… mushroom people. The fighting ended with a retreat through a temporally enchanted flower of some kind. In my estimation, due to the miscalculation of a certain Gnome 3 days had passed and we were now in the middle of the forest without horses. And while I waited again I was made to bear witness to the Watcher once more… I was outside the cabin, the chilling wind sweeping across the barren landscape, in front of me a window rattling, I walked forward toward it and looked through the slats. A figure Stood alone in the dim light inside the cabin, I knew what was about to happen, like I had already seen the ending. This feeling of dread was sharp like the strum of a harp creating a symphony of fear in me. I can't stop what is coming… Suddenly, the cabin door bursts open, letting in a blinding flurry of snow and a group of intimidating figures. They charge at the solitary figure, their weapons glinting ominously in the flickering candlelight. A desperate struggle ensued, a chaotic dance of shadows and steel. The figure was overwhelmed. Each hit they took, each faltering step, tore at something within me, I am to be made witness to the end of something great without the ability to prevent the outcome, to stem the chaos unfolding in front of me. Despite the fierce resistance, the onslaught was too much. With a final, decisive strike, the figure crumbles, their form dissipating into wisps of shadow. The attackers stood, their breaths heavy, the now only sound in the once peaceful cabin. The Watcher had died the outcome I had known from the start of this… this… hell but the dread had not left me it lingers growing still the vision had not concluded. The Watchers' killers lower their black hoods revealing bald heads, each marked with intricate tattoos that glimmer like liquid silver under the cabin’s faint light. They shed their outer cloaks, revealing crimson robes underneath. The robes, intricately embroidered with threads of gold, shimmer subtly in the flickering light. Red like crimson… gods I need this to be over I need to leave quickly but my body was not meant to move only watch no amount of struggling with change that. One of them stepped forward, his tattoos more elaborate than the rest, winding around his head like a crown of thorns. He raised his hand, and the remaining shadows in the room seemed to shrink back, as though they recognized his authority. In a low, grating voice, he begins to chant. The words are in an ancient, forgotten language, but their power was unmistakable. The air itself seemed to hum with energy, vibrating with the rhythm of his words. As the chant reached its crescendo, a gust of wind swept through the cabin, stirring up a whirlwind of shadows. I can only watch as the wisps gather around the chant, merging with it and solidifying into a dark crystal, which he deftly catches. Such a powerful existence reduced to a crystal of void like black like that of the color of my now worthless eyes. The crystal pulsed with an eerie light, and as he tucks it into the folds of his robe, the room falls into silence. My vision begins to blur as I feel myself being pulled back… the world fades away except for the wall and window that stands in front of me one of the figures begins to walk towards the window tattoos glinting ominously in the dim light then I am back. I do not scream, And can not cry, all I can do is sit in this uneasiness as a quiet witness of those events. The torch was pasted to me for what reason I am unsure but the crimson robes and the tattoos of the murders belong to…who? The crimson cult? There has been only one time I have prayed to the gods for help and that was in the accursed sewer. But after sometime staring at the blackness of the dark I fell to my knees and prayed for an answer “How can I stop the threat I have been made Witness to? How can I free the Watcher from his post-mortem imprisonment in that gem? And Who are the people in the red robes?” And In this position eyes looking toward the sky I asked over and over again till the sun rose…