The moon shewn full over Slumberstone. The night was warm and comfortable, showing why the town had earned its name. The Count was restless, just beyond the horizon his son and household were fighting a war they did not deserve to be in. They lived in times that no man should ever see, and yet here they were. Hatred and sadness clouded his thoughts as he tossed for hours. One singular thought overwhelmed all else, "Lord Tymetras, protect my only son." He clutched the bronze pendant around his neck. He had continued to ask himself why he had sent him even though he knew the answer. The heir must learn like he did. War is the greatest teacher no matter how repulsive its consequences may be. The Gods wrought this world, and a man can only choose what to do with the time he has given to him. The Gods have fought for eternity, before time was born. Some of them have died since. First ones may be immortal yes, but one must only read a single tome to be faced with an existential realization. More First Ones that have reawakened since the Cataclysm have died than still draw breath, as it seems the Gods have fated it. A truth Dorian knew too well.
The creak of the door stirred him from his restless slumber, a slender shape carrying a torch slipped quietly into his chambers. Deep fear took him, the woman was dark and dusky. Dark hair and darker eyes, gleaming by torch light. He grasped feebly for a dagger in the flickering light, slipping from his grasp and rattling on the stone floor. The sleepy blindness dissipated along with his fear. it was the Lady Toussaint, Síle de Bergerac. He was annoyed beyond belief. Tales were told throughout Misthelm of her beauty, and for those who knew better, her knowledge of old magic. Some say it had come from the Golden Kingdom. Others from islands far off the mapped edges of the known world. Whatever the truth, Dorian trusted her. She was his best friends wife. Though he had little patience for her machinations.
"My Lord, forgive me for the interruption. Though we both know there can be no sleep at the rending of the world." Dorian was half awake, and sincerely wished she would leave him be. "What- no, rending of the world? By the Gods woman-" He stopped himself, finding his manners, "Forgive me for not entertaining your manic delusions. For the love I bear your husband I may engage them from time to time. This is not one of them. Go find Bertrand and show him your parlor tricks. Leave me be." Like an insolent child, he sought to turn over. An unmistakable sign of irritation. He thought he heard the door latch shut.
Next thing he knew, he was standing in the crypts of Slumberstone wielding a torch aloft. Next to him, Síle. "...Flambard, your old friend no?" She traced the tomb with her finger, around the rough statue's imagining of the old Duke's face. "My brother-in-law...How did we get here?"
Síle smiled, "You brought us here." The Count jumped back, aghast. He could swear he was just in bed. He was not his father deep in the grips of slumerblight's consequences, he still had his wits. He held the torch towards her like a weapon, backing away he shouted "Get away from me you witch. This is not the time for your tricks. Don't you have any sympathy?" Fear took him again, he could feel tears furnishing his cheek. He was terrified. Her face beamed, shadows dancing across her face like a mummer's show in the Havengate. Her eyes seemed to glow a ghostly blue. She placed her hand on his, "Don't you want to know why?"
He awoke in front of a peculiar grave. He was thirsty. The faded effigy depicted a strong man, wielding a staff of flame made of cold black stone. "Who was he?" Dismissively she placed his hand on the effigy. He tried to pull back but it was too late. His vision tightened, and a burning sensation flooded his being. The staff and the man were now flesh and blood, and the obsidian a white flame hotter than any living man had seen in a thousand years. Reality seemed to tear away and darkness enveloped them. The effigy had the appearance of a mortal and a terrifying expression on its face. It opened its eyes and stared at him, even its eyes were flames. Its face did not change, stuck in a contorted stage of pain. Stone cracked and dropped to the floor as it craned its neck. Something was very wrong about its movements. It turned to stand up, the Count could hear steps walking towards him. Dorian looked away and clutched his pendant, whispering prayers he hadn't said since childhood. His ears were ringing, he knew he was going to die. Sile pulled his chin up to meet his eyes.
"Open your eyes my Lord, do not be afraid." He was calm for the first time in weeks.
Then he woke, the birds singing.