"Dreams are seen as a gift from Lunaris, Queen of the Gods. While her King's messages come harsher through visions and the clairvoyant madness of prophets, Lunaris is a goddess of subtlety.
When the Goddess wishes to send a message to her children, it is through the misty veil of slumber. The Queen is a being of feeling, of instinct. Wolves howl at the moon, for she is their Queen just as she is ours.
Despite the languid nature of the Goddess, only fools ignore her. A true scholar must remember that Lunaris stepped willingly into the shadows when she wed Solaris. But the same Divine Ichor flows in her veins as Solaris, and it was with her help the God King slew the Nameless King.
While her priestesses (and the rare priest) preach with her most recent titles, Silver Queen, Great Mother, and more, she never gave up her names of old.
Swift Hunter, Bow Skilled, Arrow Fast, Lady of Mist and Shadow, Story Howler, Wolf Queen, Spear Sharp and War Clever, The Bearer of the Silver Crown.
Lunaris,
Mother of Monsters."
~ Excerpt from Restricted Book, "A Treatise on the Worship and History of Lunaris's Church."
Author Anonymous
My dreams have always been a bit strange. Often I find myself either in perfectly mundane situations with small changes, or completely nonsensical environments.
But in this dream, I found myself looking over the battlements of a castle.
It was an hour before sunrise, and I was waiting for the black smoke of the Devil Wagons to start once again.
I breathed deep, the pine and mountain air filling my lungs, tainted by a faint coppery tang and the acrid stench of rotten eggs.
Our western wall had taken a beating the previous day, and I knew that if our ballista could focus fire on one wagon, we might take it out before they reached us and could start again on the already weakened stone.
I had the three remaining Earth Mages focus on repairing the wall, but there was only so much they could do without sleep or quality stone. The shattered rock could only be repaired with mortar so many times before it stopped being able to support the wall.
Henrik wanted to try and find a ring of Earth Wisps he'd heard of in the woods, but I shut it down. While they would be useful, one of his cohort had collapsed from aura exhaustion, and I needed all of the Yellow Circle I had left. The last thing I needed was one of them getting shot in the back while looking for a rumor.
I sighed and drummed my fingers on the half wall.
"Lord Chosen."
I rolled my eyes and turned to the voice.
"Brok, how many times I have said to—."
When I saw the knight's expression I bit back my comment.
Brok's face was drawn and I knew something was terribly amiss.
"What is wrong Brok?"
The man folded his arms behind his back. and the goatee that had been his pride and joy was now scraggly and speckled with mud. But beneath the grit, I saw the steel in his iron grey eyes.
"Lord Chosen, I have received information by courier that the opposing forces have a Blasphemy."
I swore. Loudly. Even Brok, whose silver hairs proved him a veteran of many years, still cringed from my colorful expressions.
Once I was done, I ran a hand through my hair, the sweat and dust causing it to stand up.
"Which one do they have?" I said bitterly.
We had been successful in slaying four of the thirteen Blasphemys in the course of this campaign, and I personally had aided in permanently dealing with a fifth. It was not a pleasant memory.
Of the remaining eight, I knew that only four were close enough to an issue. Of those, only one was a real threat to a well manned castle. Luckily the Church had sent a regiment to fight them so—
"It's the Reaver."
I swore some more.
"Are you serious? Surely the Paladins aren't so useless that they can't last week against one Blasphemy."
Brok seemed more crestfallen about my criticisms of the Church's soldiers then our impending slaughter.
"My lord, I understand your reservations, but I must remind you I am still a knight, not a common conscript to stand in awe of your damning words."
I waved a hand at the old knight. "Forgive me friend. I am tired and misspoke. I am sure they fought their hardest."
Brok nodded. I had fought nearly ten moons with the Badger Knight, and not a day goes by that I didn't wish he would see the flaws in his beloved Church.
I turned back towards the open field stretching away from our mountain keep. I rested my hands on the wall, my right restarting its incessant tapping again.
"But now we need to plan how we will take out that beast."
I clenched my fist in anger.
That damned beast was covered in plate enscrolled against magic, so the two full Fire Mages, usually so strong against these types of enemies, would be useless.
The Yellow Circle could launch physical stones alongside the ballista and one or two remaining catapults, but it would leave the walls unmagiked.
When the Reaver attacked, the Horde would surely do as well.
My only hope was to kill it before it could do any real damage.
Great idea, Chosen One, now all you gotta do is kill a behemoth that slew an entire regiment of knights.
I didn't know they had that expression.
I turn to Brok.
"Did you say something?"
The knight frowned and shook his head.
I copied his down-turned expression. No matter what I did, the result was going to be bloody and costly.
I continued looking over the battlefield, and start to strategize aloud.
"Did King Batham respond to our message?"
I hear the contempt in Brok's voice as he replies.
"He still insists on more time to ready his forces. Apparently, his council, who are almost unanimously opposed to breaking their neutrality, are surprisingly taking longer than then typical to rally their banners."
"Cyra couldn't convince all of them?"
"No Lord Chosen, from her letter it is evident Lady Cyra was lucky to convince the ones she did."
I racked my head for more possibilities.
"Is King Goldmane still too far to send aid?"
"He is still embattled with Wrath and Lust to the east, my lord. He offered to send a regiment or two, but…"
I shook my head.
"No, he will need all the swords he has to fight against those monsters. I would not cripple him only for a chance at victory here."
I pushed off the wall, and ground my jaw.
Everyone was too far out to help or unwilling. I should be out fighting the Demons, but I was the only thing keeping this pass from being flooded by the Horde.
If they broke through here, they could muster behind the eastern front and crush our soldiers.
My rage rose up like bile, and with a yell I slammed my fist into the stone wall beside me.
The stone cracked beneath my blow, and the faint scent of ozone filled the air.
I bit back a curse. I was breaking the castle I agonized over defending and needlessly wasting my Aura in my anger. Some Chosen One I turned out to be.
I rubbed the bruised knuckles of my hand. I hadn't reinforced myself before striking, so I suffered the full backlash of my blow. Even now I was making novice mistakes.
Back to basics
I closed my eyes and breathed slowly. A four count for inhaling through my nose, holding, and exhaling out my mouth. In the darkness behind my eyelids I focused my will inwards, and quelled the fire of my Mana.
Once I was calm, I looked out across the field that would soon be slick with blood once again and knew what I had to do.
I had to fight the Reaver myself. No one else could do it. I would be supported by our artillery, but in the end it would come down to my sword and my magic. Besides, ballista bolts and rocks can only do so much against a monster like that. It was a living siege weapon, and would destroy this castle if I let it.
If I had cannons or bombs maybe we'd make a dent. But the damn Myst meant I couldn't do anything of the sort. As much as I'd love to design a fantastical version of the F-16, it was just impossible.
Wait…
I rubbed the sides of my head. I felt a headache coming. A lack of sleep will do that to you. Maybe I could catch a wink of—
"Lord Chosen!"
I whipped towards Brok, and I saw his face drain of blood, his eyes locked on the distant horizon.
This Chosen, he's…
I turned towards the battlefield.
In the distance, three black columns of smoke rose.
I breathed in the air once again, this time I collected my Aura to my senses.
In the wind, the scent of brimstone grew stronger.
And I heard a distant roar.
He's from Earth! He's like me!
I stared at the man, whose face I had been seeing out of only moments ago. I couldn't see his features, only his dark, almost black hair.
He put a foot on the battlement.
The knight beside looked worried and fearful, afraid of the man even.
"Lord Chosen, I—."
The Chosen let out a chuckle.
"Brok, how many times must you make me say it. Just call me Arthur."
Arthur. The Chosen.
I reached out, but a dreadful feeling coiled around me, dragging me out of the dream
I fought against the ice cold binds. It was as soft as clouds but firm as steel.
"No damnit leave me alone!"
But I was pulled beneath the water again.