Traildiscoverer

Beregash snorted awake, eyes blinking in the unlit hostel room he'd secured for himself the night before, after an evening of song, merriment, and more drink than was probably wise.

His deep-gnome eyes adjusted to the dark well enough; he saw, to his disappointment, that he was alone in the room. Yet somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone had just been there. It was disconcerting, though he trusted his senses to tell him that either it had been a bad dream (a bit of underdone potato, perhaps), or...

No. Folk like him don't attract the attention of those with so much power, that they could penetrate a being's very dreams.

Looking over at the bedside table, he saw a half-finished mug of some rather potent mead, as he remembered. Perhaps the problem is, I'm not drunk enough anymore... he thought, as he reached over and downed the warm drink in several loud gulps. Sighing contentedly, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and the hand on the bedsheets, before turning over and attempting to drift back to sleep.

Yet, the harder he tried to push the troublesome dream away from more pleasant dreams involving naked women and plenty of laughter, the more it pushed against his mind.

Punching his pillow with a frustrated grunt, Beragash turned back over, slid his feet nearly to the floor and dropped out of the bed with cat-like grace. He found his fancier clothes - remarkably, unstained after the previous evening's revelry - dressed, and went to the tavern attached to the inn. Dawn was approaching, and it was likely that the establishment's owner's wife (a handsome lass, if he were to be truthful) had already begun to prepare for breakfast.

Yes. Breakfast. Nothing in this world that can't be cured by a good piece of crisp, juicy bacon, he thought, his mouth watering in time with his stomach grumbling.

The bad dream drifted away, though not completely.

A deep groan escaped the lithe woman resting in the best room the inn had to offer. The ....dream... that vision she had seen just minutes ago seemed almost too real to put it off as just that. Yet it differed from the kind of advice she usually tended to receive from her angelic guide. It had been more intense... rawer - the elated feeling that came with hearing Mykiel's stern tone which had ordered her to this place had been missing entirely. Yet, what else could it have been?

She had sat up in bed immediately after it had finished, feeling less of a backlash than others might have in her stead, yet unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling that had come with the images. A battle, it had been? There had been a mention of a hero. Perhaps this king was in danger?
Donning the padding she wore underneath her armour, Rose knelt down against the edge of the bed, kissing the insignia of her faith before folding her hands on the semi-soft mattress and beginning to pray,

"Mykiel. Is this vision the reason you sent me here? Can you tell me more about what I saw? I am not sure what you expect of me here in this town."

Thankfully dawn had barely broken, so she had a few attempts at contacting him before she would be called to the first round of breakfast.

Marc woke with a start, rubbing the dream out of his eyes and going over it as best he could, although the details were fading from his mind rapidly. He didn't normally have nightmares or dreams like that, but still, it might have been important. He wrote it down in his journal and stepped out of his bed in the inn, getting dressed quickly and thinking about breakfast and talking with fellow adventurers. It was dawn, so he decided to wait a bit until the other people were up and around, then he would make his entrance.

"I had a vision a few minutes ago - but it did not come from our Lord. It was... strangely neutral, neither heavenly nor infernal but what kind of power could force it's way to my mind, past your presence? I just... don't understand."

The lightly copper-haired Aasimar answered her guide with a visible hint of confusion in her eyes after turning her head to face him with a relieved smile at his quick response. This was a situation she had never encountered before. So much of her life had been about following and heeding the call of her faith and personal guide that the mere disturbance caused by a foreign power was enough to shake her up. Was this a one-time thing? Was she straying from her path? No... no... Mykiel did not seem angry with her right now.

If asked what her lucid dream contained, she would reply,
"A man... two men. One was, what I can only assume to be a form of mage. He was called Azothalen, I believe. His opponent was simply named the hero king. They were about to do battle. Strangely enough, the caster seemed to realize that I was watching.... in fact... I might not have been the only one to receive the message. If even I did despite your protection... surely others might have as well."

A Demon - and was? Did that mean she was thought of as dead? What was that about strong humans? Mortals without morals that could challenge Mykiel, strong enough to make her ever-confident guide shudder? That was quite a lot to take in...

"Does that not mean that the people here are in grave danger if what I saw was real? A being like that... on this plane... people of this age cannot compare to such an ancient power. Or do you think it to be merely a bad dream?"

This was not something she could handle, no matter how much Mykiel guided her. Was such a level of threat not enough to warrant heavenly intervention?

Cracking an eye open on a groan, the first thought that came to the overly large woman sleeping in the stable loft was that perhaps the local ale had been stronger than she’d remembered. The second thought was that perhaps someone had slipped something into one of her later rounds in an effort to gain the upper hand. After all, she had been cleaning house for a while there, all the local farmhands eager to test their strength against the exotic looking woman who’d stopped for a hot meal and a drink or ten.



It wasn’t unusual for her to have such odd and vivid dreams after a night of heavy drink, or that purple fungus that the shaman back in her village preferred. This one had been very different from the usual drink-induced visions. There hadn’t been a single one of her own people present. The two beings in her dream had been challenging each other, but they hadn’t even yet begun to fight when suddenly it was over! That can’t be right. Her mind had never yet dreamt up a challenge that ended before the victor was determined…

Reaching up with a massive, calloused hand, Glaas rubbed the grit from her eyes and pulled herself upright. Judging by how much light was streaming in through the hayloft door, she’d missed the sunrise entirely and likely her window of opportunity for breakfast—although, humans were notoriously accommodating, so perhaps she would be able to barter for some fresh bread at least.



Shaking the last of the vision from her mind and discounting it as unimportant for the time being, Glaas gathered what little gear she had, spent three and a half seconds brushing bits of straw from her clothing and then climbed down into the stable proper. Ignoring the single stablehand who stared at her receding back from his cowardly position half hidden behind the tack room doorframe, the Goliath woman made her way back to the tavern in search of something stodgy and filling for her grumbling stomach.

The tavern door opened with a thundering crash. She’d pushed too hard again, the flimsy portal threatening to come off its hinges at the unexpected force. For a moment, Glaas stood in the doorway, her head ducked low to fit through the opening and her frame blocking out the morning light almost entirely. Closing the door behind herself went a little smoother; She managed not to break it at least.

“Food,” she demanded of the tavern keeper’s wife who happened to be present. “Hot food if you have it. And bread.” It wasn’t so much that Glaas was trying to be menacing. Surely she couldn’t help that her voice was gravelly and deep. It was also not her fault that humans were so small. Nor so frail and often prone to panic. “And ale,” she added, dropping her coin purse onto the counter to ensure the poor woman would know she’d be paid.

Angelo was trying to sleep peacefully but he soon was subject to a horrible dream about someone ending the world. In all honesty though it might not be that bad if the world changed but not if it were to be destroyed as the creature said. He awoke with a start panting a bit wondering how he could have such a vivid dream. Even his favorite dreams of being a king himself didnt feel as real as this one. He wondered what it could mean but that thought quickly left when he remembered where he was.

He looked around and he was still in his cot in the abandoned house. This place was a neutral zone for the various gangs that guard the city and it was closed off by the city making it sort of like a hidden hotel since he wasnt the only one who lived here. There were of course rules that protected them from being stabbed in thier sleep but Angelo was smart enough not to piss off the wrong people. He then got up and he put on his cloths and grabbed his knives as he got ready to leave. He had gotten enough money to get by and possibly buy himself a place at a real inn for a while.

He then opened his window and he jumped out and into the alleyway as he looked around trying to find his next mark and see about getting more money for the kids at the orphanage. Even a dream as vivid as this has no place in his world where life is hard and unforgiving...


For reference on how he looks in gear...

Cassius woke with a start as the oddly vivid dream concluded. He thought on it more, less out of a desire to and more because it impressed itself on his mind still. Who was that man, that 'hero king' as he'd been called? What kind of sword was it that he wielded? Who or what was his assailant? Reviewing in detail the things he could remember, Cassius could find no answers to these questions. He sat up and took his pendant from the nightstand beside his bed, then slipped it over his head and around his neck. He then held the pendant up and looked at it for a moment. It was simple steel, carved and curved into the shape of a rampant Dragon with wings outstretched. Cassius then closed his eyes and whispered his daily prayers to the Platinum Dragon. Once done, Cassius would dress and don his plate armor, then slide his sword into its sheathe, grab his shield, and head out the door. Judging by the hustle and bustle of the tavern, as well as the angle of the the light through the windows, Cassius guessed that he had overslept by an hour or so. Not good, though his body must've needed it. After all, he had gone to bed at the usual time, and had not woken prematurely through the night. Setting these thoughts aside, Cassius would go over to the innkeeper's wife and politely request some bread and wine. He then told her that he would be sitting near a window, pointing to a seat in particular, so that she could bring his order to him when she was able. He understand just how busy she must be with all the other patrons.

That done, Cassius would bid her farewell for now before taking up the seat he'd pointed at, the sun lighting up his fur and causing it to glow a little at the outter layers. He began to make a list of things to accomplish today. He'd need to go patrolling for at least an hour or so. A criminal would have to be either very confident or very foolish to conduct their illicit affairs with a Paladin of Bahamut in their midst, but there were some who thought could get away with it. Cassius had proven most of them wrong, with only a handful ever escaping his clutches. The theives usually counted on thick crowds to bog him down and allow them to escape, but failed to account for his strong and capable wings, carrying him above the crowd and allowing him to pluck the perp right off the ground like a bird of prey.

As he imagined the last time he had done that, he smiled, feeling a small sense of pride for the accomplishment. Soon however, he found himself thinking about the dream again. It pushed itself on him like an assassin weaponizing a pillow. With an exertion of will Cassius forced himself to resume planning out his day, and resigned to head to his church after breakfast to investigate any possible meaning that these images may hold.

"Who are you talking about?", the female Aasimar under his guidance continued to ask, unsure what to think of the whole situation. Why was he being so roundabout about things right now? That was not his usual manner at all. It was, 'do this', 'do that', 'go there', 'fight that' - and now, all of a sudden, he was indecisive? This level of hesitance naturally did not go by unnoticed by the woman that had been under his influence for more or less her whole life, causing her to become very uncertain about her future prospects.

It was quite clear that, if there was a great evil around, that the woman, still a young girl in so many aspects, would not sit by idly until it was gone.

Marc, not knowing what to do about his nightmare, went down to the bar and paid for some breakfast and a drink, enjoying his meal quietly and looking for anyone else who seemed stressed about such events as nightmares.

Marc at his food and looked around again, occasionally trying to strike up a conversation or two with the other people at the bar, generally asking questions about local adventurers or events, and wondering whether or not he should reveal his own strange dream.