NationStates Jolt Archive

Damien shifted in his sleep. Underneath his closed eyelids, his eyes darted back and forth.

Then, a scream.

Damien winced, his eyes still closed. His face muscles tightened, and sweat began to form on his forehead.

Children running through burning streets, crying.

Damien's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Sweat began to slowly creep down his forehead, headed for his eyes. He shifted again, moving from his left side to his right.

Black smoke rises from a city as charred bodies line the streets. Their stinking smell choking the dying that lay about. A man walks down the street, armless, in a daze. He looks at Damien, but the man has no eyes.

Damien's eyes shot open. Sweat was streaming down his face. His breathing had intensified, and goosebumps covered his arms, but he felt hot. He blinked.

http://www.pathlights.com/theselastdays/images/hellfire.jpg

Fire wreathed demons tore and mutilated those they could find, their screams filling the air. Rivers of blood ran knee deep, and the sky poured fire as if the very gates of Hell had been opened.

Damien raised his hands to his face, wiping the sweat away. He breathed in heavily.

A fiery figure moved in about in the destruction, his wings spread wide. He stepped ontop of the thousands of butchered corpses that covered the blood stained and charred Earth. He paused, and slowly turned about. He faced Damien, and raised a long pointy finger, it's nail blackened and sharp. His mouth opened....You.... Damien started moving, although he stood still. He flew over the charred ground, and the screams grew louder. He stopped at the foot of a great temple, and the winged demon looked Damien in his eyes, and smiled an evil smile.

http://www.guitarnine.com/image/burningthehardcityalb1.jpg


The moans of the dying and of abominations from other worlds were like an eerie symphony, an everlasting example of what was to come.


Damien got out of bed. He stood and walked to the terrace while Xel still slept in his bed. He opened the door, and stepped into the night air. He looked out over the Halls of the Dead, and over the military compound a mile or so down the road. He looked down, exhaling deeply, then tilting his sweat covered head back, facing the sky.

"It is a sign...a prophecy no doubt. I have seen the things to come...and I will be the one leading the way."

He said to himself. He turned around and started back towards his bed, while Xel lay peacefully.

"What is happening to me......"

http://invisionfree.com:54/40/9/upload/p3403.jpg
---Damien Dreadfire---
-Supreme Warlord of AMF-
"Everywhere I go, I'm always leaving dead bodies..."
-Damien Dreadfire inauguration speech-

Great... I'm allied to a psycho now. :lol:

Very nice descriptive power you have there, makes me concerned for my citizens living in your nation.

http://www.redsun.org/images/lenin.gif
Premier Bomfy
People's Republic of Aequatio

Great... I'm allied to a psycho now. :lol:

Very nice descriptive power you have there, makes me concerned for my citizens living in your nation.


OOC: This was simply a dream that Damien had, nothing has happend yet.

OOC: This was simply a dream that Damien had, nothing has happend yet.

That's what makes me concerned, I don't know what's going to happen.

That's what makes me concerned, I don't know what's going to happen.

OOC: To my allies, nothing.

That's what makes me concerned, I don't know what's going to happen.

OOC: To my allies, nothing.

((OOC: You consider Krowemoh an ally, right ol friend ol buddy ol pal of mine. ^_^ Has anyone ever told you you have great RPing abilities?))

OOC: You consider Krowemoh an ally, right ol friend ol buddy ol pal of mine. ^_^

OOC: LOL...we'll see. :wink:

Has anyone ever told you you have great RPing abilities?

OOC: Yes, a few have. For months, I've been striving to make myself a name on NS. Through trial and error, I've concluded that the only way to get such a weighty name as the likes of Melkor or Scolo is to find your niche, and go with it. Gothic style RPing is my niche, I guess. And thanks for the compliment.

Damien could not shake the nightmare he just had, for it was far too real. It was so real, he could smell the charred flesh, he could feel the heat of the flames, and his ears were actually ringing from the screams in his dream.

Damien knew something was not right, nothing like this had happened before. And why was Xel still sound asleep? Was it all in his head, even him rising from bed?

A soft breeze blew in from the cracked windows, rustling the crimson colored curtains, their gentle flapping sound being interrupted by the occasional gust.

Damien rolled onto his left side, and pulled the covers close to his head. He was not afraid, but he knew that something was amiss, for why would he only be having such a dream now? And do Sentinels even dream in the first place?

...you..

Damien pulled the covers closer.

OOC: You keep getting more and more twisted....

Bump

Damien rose from bed, restless. He looked down to see if Xel was still asleep, but she was not there. Placing his hand on her side of the bed, he noticed it was cold. Puzzled, Damien exited his room, and started down the long hallway.

Rounding the darkened corner, Xel appeared, hovering 2 feet off the ground. Her toes and feet were curled back as she slowly came towards Damien. Damien took a step back, and then paused as Xel spread her arms wide, coming closer to Damien. She opened up her mouth to speak, and showed nothing but maggots inside. Spilling from her mouth like a waterfall, they landed on the floor with a sick splat, and Damien's eyes grew wide.

Stopping several feet from him, Xel reached out for Damien, a dying moan slipping it's way through her mouth. Suddenly, as Xel reached forward, her face began to turn gray. The skin on her hand began to wrinkle and harden, and Xel moaned again. Her eyes rolled back, disappearing into her skull. Her dried skin started falling off in clumps, disintegrating as it hit the floor. Xel's black thigh length hair turned gray, then white as she began to deteriorate further.

More and more, Xel rotted away before Damien's eyes, and she moaned agian, this time it was more like a hissing sound. She came closer, her now skeletal arm reached for Damien. Damien took a step back, but he fell. Xel's decaying fingernails scraped is left hand as Damien fell down a long black pit. Falling faster and faster, only darkness engulfed his body. He tried to scream, but.....


Damien awoke. The sun was rising, and he took in a deep breath. Xel was still asleep next to him in her silk nightgown. Was Damien dreaming all along? Did he have a nightmare inside a nightmare? Damien dismissed it as folly, and rose from his bed. He made his way to the bar that was inside his master bedroom, and poured himself a morning drink.

Picking up the bottle of whiskey, he noticed 3 pink scratches on his left hand.

I need to see someone....

It has already started. Your to late. Your living in a fantasy, if you think that it is not yet upon us. The citys lay in ruin. The blood of the innocent covers the land. One by one, like lambs, they are taken to their slaughter. Slient in the night, they go to their demise. The end is here. Durring the day smoke fills the air. The sounds of screams and gun fire and explosions rock the earth. And in the deapth of the night, you see the fires. They burn. The city, it burns. The bodys of the dead burn all around us. The screams of children rip out of the everlasting silents that goes so deep it peirces your very soul and the very fabric of your being tears till there is nothing but nothingness. Emptiness is all that remains. All that can remain. All that ever can be in the end is nothing.

We try to excape. We try to run from what in the end is our inevitable fate. It come for us. Seeks us out. Will find us. It belongs to us, and us to it. We are deaths child. All of us. Born to Die.

-Tag-

OOC: The thousand years have ended! The End of Days is upon us!

Brilliant film, that.

OOC: The thousand years have ended! The End of Days is upon us!

Brilliant film, that.

OOC: End of Days was good, but it has no influence on this thread.

Bump

Bump

Additional post pending.

Xel sat up from bed, stretching her arms in the air, sighing a little bit. She stood up, her white nightgown falling into place. She saw Damien over by the bar, and she slowly walked closer to him. She came up behind Damien , wrapping her arms around his midsection. Damien didn't respond.

What's wrong, my love?

Xel said gently. Damien still said nothing, but he turned around, looking Xel in her big beautiful eyes. He just stared, no emotion on his face. Xel looked puzzled.

Damien, what's wrong?

Damien started away from Xel, uttering.

Nothing....nothing.

Xel stood there, confused. She did not know what to make of Damien's strange behavior. She shrugges, and went towards her closet and began dressing.

Damien quickly left the room, and made his way to his private den. He sat in his highback chair, and turned on his console. He began sending a message to his close friend, Bastien the Bronze of Pantera.

Bastien, something wierd has happened. Last night, I had a dream. Not only is it impossible for a Sentinel to have a dream, it was a nightmare. This leads me to think that....maybe my dream is a sign. I dreamt that I had decended into Hell, or a place resembling it, and death and carnage was all around me. A winged demon motioned to me, saying simply, "You".

I then awoke only to find myself in another nightmare, where I saw Xel deteriorate before my eyes! I fear for her safety Bastien....more than I fear for my own....

He sent the message, then leaned back and put his hands over his head.

Doom and destruction seems to be the order of the day, Dreadfire. I have had a rather strange occurance of my own, that will surely bear later discussion...

Long have the sages of Pantera claimed that dreams are the window through which your soul sees eternity. Our seers and Priestesses of Wind claim that you have but opened your ThirdEye, and you shall now see things as they truly are.

Though the fact that you should not be dreaming is strange, I would count it as a blessing, rather than a curse.

Long have I trustd the words of the dream, and they have yet to lead me astray. The meaning of your dreams is for you to decide, regardless of wether or not you were 'meant' to dream. Your perception is cleansed, and now you must see, Dreadfire. You must see.

My advice, friend. Keep Xel close to you. The rest is for you alone.

Bastien struck a final key and sent the message, raising a hand to scratch at the days growth of beard on his jaw irritably. He would shave it, he decided for the twentieth time.

Turning from the computer screen, his purple eyes came to rest upon the sleeping crone seated by the hearth, her huddled form bathed in the firelight.

Rising, he made his way closer and looked upon her. Well over one-hundred, she had lurked about the Seastone Palace since before he had been born. When asked, his Lord Father would only chuckle, and say that she is of use in her own way. After that, he would say no more.

When his father had died, a few of his House had asked he put her out, but Bastien had refused, as he felt she belonged there. He had spoken to her a few times, though he couldn't, for the life of him remember her name, or if he had ever heard it.

As he was reading Dreadfire's message the crone had hobbled into his Hall, dressed in the sky-blue raiment of a Wind Priestess. He had been awestruck as she began to speak, her voice small at first but gaining intensity the longer she went. Prophecies of doom and rebirth she did rant at him. Raging of light and love coupled with rape and cleansing fire.

He shuddered to think of it now.

Finally, her rambling ceased and she moved to the fire, taking up a quilt and slumping ito his own hide-bound chair, exhausted. Long had he sat, drinking and thinking as he studied her sleeping form, before finally giving a shake of his head and writing his message to Damien.

A strange day, to say the least. He prayed the old woman was just mad, and that Damien just had a nightmare...

The words of the crone echoed in his mind once more:

"The dread fires are born again,
The shining prince rides amid the flames...
With the dawn again they come,
The east burns while the west trembles at thier names...
The ravens feed and the thirst of the gods is great,
One for light and one for life, both for love and for shame."

That and much more, all of it tinted with doom. Mad old wench. He thought irritably.

Shivering, he made his way from his chamber and gave the orders to have the woman returned to her own quarters. ihs thoughts on Dreadfire, and the terrible import of the crones words, he made his way to shave the cursed beard.

Damien had to read the message from Bastien several times before it truely sunk in. Had he been contacted by the beyond? Was there indeed a prophecy that Damien was shown?

Why.....

Damien kept asking himself over and over again. He shook his head, he could not believe it, he would not believe it. He stormed out of the room, and rapidly walking down the long corridors. A servant was moving from room to room, and spotted Damien.

Sir, is everyth....

Damien shoved the servant out of his way, and continued his way out of his mansion. Exiting out of the rear door, he stormed across the lawn, his direction unknown. He suddnely stopped, and blinked hard.

With his eyes closed, he saw more visions. Visons of fire falling form the sky, torching all those that stood below. He heard the screams vividly, and he opened his eyes, and blinked again.

This time, he saw a field filled with thousands of impaled corpses, hanging in the air, the sky permanently darkened. He was walking through the near endless rows of corpses, when suddenly, one grabbed ahold of him He struggled, but more came to life, covering him. He could not scream, because the corpses had covered his entire body.

He opened his eyes, and his breathing intensified. His eyes were practically ablaze, and he clenched his teeth, raising his fists to the sky.

What the fuck do you want from me? HUH? WHAT DO YOU WANT!!!!!

He swung his fists around the air like a madman, his face so hot steam was practically shooting out.

Why is this happening? Why? Why me, why am I here?

He stopped his tantrum, and sat in the grass, his head resting on his knees.

Bastien emerged from his chambers, clean shaven and dressed in light chainmail and leather. Carrying a great broadsword, he made his way to the outer yard, and met with Caval the Warhound, sworn sword to his younger brother, Dayne.

Saying nothing, Bastien stretched and settled back onto his heels, holding his broadword in both hands and beckoning to the Hound with the great blade. The grizzled Reaver grunted and launched himself at Bastien, his smaller longsword sweeping in a great arc and slashing downwards at Bastien's shoulder, only to be deflected by the blunted edge of the broadsword.

Back and forth they fought, Bastien's grunts beastlike as the rythym of the match became apparent. The Warhounds smooth, easy grace easily countered Bastiens raging charges, but occasionally the slither of blunted steel on chainmail could be heard. Bastien's rage continued to build as he thought back over the day, his heart pounding as he became one with his steel. Faster and faster he attacked, his fury pressing hard on the older Reaver.

Finally, however, the Hound slipped low under the huge blade and delivered a mighty whack to his Lord's calves, and ended the match. Bastien drew a deep, calming breath and saluted, but the Hound's eyes were wary,"What's wrong, lad? Y' fought like y' meant t' kill me there."

Bastien hesitated a moment, weighing his thoughts before finally nodding his assent and telling his old retainer of Dreadfire's nightmares, and the old crone's rambling. The Hound bobbed his grey head slowly as his Lord came to the end of his tale, saying nothing for long moments.

'I think you know what to do, M'lord. Dreadfire's dreams are more than that, it is plain to see, eh? The old woman was a Priestess, you say? Your father held her fond, though he never told me why. I'll be willing t' lay my life that she knows more than it would seem. Her words had the sound o' prophecy."

Bastien gave a shake of his great head and thanked his Hound, tossing his broadsword to him and turning to lope across the outer yard and up the massive steps of the Seastone Palace. He made his way to his solar, and gave the order to send the communication.

Grinding his teeth, he sat and typed out a careful report of the crones rambling, ending it with:

Dreadfire, I fear the terrible purpose I feel here. The words of the crone have stirred a terror deep within me, and your own dreams add to the flames... Never have I been truly religious, but I feel something, Damien. I feel... Something. My mind is in a turmoil. I am not ashamed to say I fear that which I do not understand, and I do not understand what is happening here. But, the God's have chosen us to give the words, and we must hear them.

'Thrice the glory and thrice the lives,
To sacrifice a million, or hear the maidens sigh...
For to follow not, dust and decay,
Three they will be, leading all to a shining way'

My brother, dark words and dark dreams abound. I know not what to make of prophecy, but the import of these words weight on my mind. Thrice, Dreadfire. The Dread Fires, The Shining Prince, 'with the Dawn they come'. We are missing the Dawn, Damien... Something is coming, I feel it.

His temples aching, he again reached for his bottle, praying Dreadfire would know what to do better than he, for all Bastien felt was confusion.

The servant rushed the notice to Damien, who was still sitting on the grass quietly, which was unusual. He cautuisly approached the Warlord, licking his shaking lips before saying to Damien.

Sir, Bastien sends another message.

He handed Damien the message, and he read it over several times. Damien dismissed the servant, and began walking by himself. His mind was racing, he could not focus on the situation at hand. He began to speak to himself.

Bastien thinks I would know more about what is happening? This must be very severe, for Bastien is wise. His lack of explanation is not a good sign, and neither is this "crone" he speaks of. Something is going on here that I am not aware of. There must be a greater purpose for my existance, not simply to lead a nation.

Damien stopped, and changed direction. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at Dawn's Cathedral. He opened the massive oak doors, and started down the long red carpet. The pews were empty, and so was the alter. The candles flickered as he walked by, his eyes fixed on the alter. Making his way up the few carpeted steps, be kneeled down, and folded his hands. He began praying to Tordun, the Corpse God/God of Death.

Oh mighty Tordun, why have the Gods forsaken me? Why am I doomed to become subject to some prophecy? Answer me, oh mighty Tordun, you have always guided me in the past...

Silence was all Damien heard. He sat silently, praying in his head, praying for some answer. He continued to ponder his purpose, and his ties with Bastien. Was it destiny that brought the two together in Blood Pact, or was it coincidence? It could not be coincidence, the evidence was too great: the Blood Pact, the Sentinels rise to power, the dreams, the crone, the prophecies....the evidence was all too damning.

Rising from the alter, Damien closed his prayer. May my ancestors watch over me....

Damien made his way to the phone in the Cathedral office. There, he called his personal assistant.

Hello? Listen, there is no time to waste. Get my transport ready, I have somewhere I need to be, immediatly.

Damien hung up, and started towards the door. The answers to his questions could only be in one place, Pantera, land of Blood and Fire. There, he felt he would find his answers.

The Squire came once more to Bastien, gesturing excitedly,"Dreadfire comes, M'lord."

Bastien's smile was grim as he nodded and began barking orders, preparing rooms and the Palace for Damien's arrival. The next hours could change the face of the earth, Bastien...

Grunting softly, he turns and sees his young son, Valanus, bounding across the floor towards him. Scooping the child up in his arms, Bastien looks into the fierce purple eyes and sighs, running his hands through the long golden hair.

Sighing he sets the boy down and grins as he scampers off in search of his mother. The ravens feed and the thirst of the gods is great... Grumbling quietly, he seats himself near the fire, to await the arrival of Damien.

At Razorback Airfield, Damien readied himself in the seat of the SR-71B, his pesonal modified super plane. He would arrive in Pantera in less than an hour. Traveling faster than any other plane, the Reaper, as Damien called it, fired up it's engines, and the pilot began the liftoff sequence.

All set sir? We'll arrive in Pantera very soon, just relax.

Damien grunted something to himself, and checked his safety belt a few times. The cockpit closed, and the plane began liftoff. Like a shot, the plane was in the air, and already nearing the sound barrier.

Damien's thoughts were elsewhere, thinking about the past, thinking about the events that were about to unfold. He thought about Xel, and how much he loved her, and how much he feared for her. But he could not show her he was scared, never. He had to be strong for the Empire, and for his lady. Now was not the time for fear, fuck fear. Now was the time to grab his destiny by the horns and ride it in.

Dozens of minutes passed by, and the pilot came on over the radio.Sir, we're nearing Panteran shores. I hope they're expecting you.

Damien again said nothing, for his mind was still wandering like a fool in the darkness.

'They're coming down, M'lord.'

Bastien nodded and began waved a hand,"Have him brought to my tower. And bring another bottle. This will prove to be a long night..."

OOC: I'm gonna need about an hour from right now. I gotta head out for narcotics, smokes, and a burrito, but I will be back shortyly...

OOC: I'm gonna need about an hour from right now. I gotta head out for narcotics, smokes, and a burrito, but I will be back shortly...

OOC: Sounds like a plan. :P

Wrapped in a billowing shadowskin cloak, it's length blowing behind him in the fierce winds, the Lord Reaver stands atop the Tower of Winterfell, the highest in the Seastone Palace. Some four thousand feet high, the crashing crimson waves of the Blood Bay far below, and the lights of the city of Toke were layed out like a necklace of jewels, strewn about the shore, and cradling the high hill upon which the Palace sits.

The icy autumn winds of Northern Pantera cut like a knife, but Bastien seems uncaring, occasionally raising a bottle of Uisge to his lips and drinking deeply of the amber fire, its warmth running through his chest pleasantly.

Perching himself on a ragged stone parapet, and looping an arm around a worn deformity that was surely once a gargoyle, Bastien takes another long pull from his bottle and awaits Dreadfire, and the night ahead.

Screaching towards Toke, Damien's plane made it's way to the designated landing strip, and the plane began it's landing sequence. Touching down several minutes later, the fiery Damien stepped out of the cockpit, and onto the runway.

He sighed deeply, looking aound him carefully. He always liked coming to Pantera, but he wished that this trip was on a lighter note.

Reports continued to fly in concerning the battle raging far to the south, and Dreadfires impending arrival. He shook his head irritably, grumbling to himself and motioning to a reportign squire,"Quiet boy. Get Dreadfire here. Now. When the Tersanctan arrives, I want him brought up here as well."

Placing his things in the waiting car, Damien made his way to the residence of the Lord Reaver. Anxiously, Damien sat in the car, thinking about all the recent events, and the new reports of renegade Tersanctus activity.

Damien looked quietly out the window, waiting for the car to arrive, for he had much to discuss with the Lord Reaver.

http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1702944#1702944

We'll continue to use this thread, but I started the other so Damien could be with me when we question Dantes, and further 'associates' of our Blood Pact.

Bump

I'd like to continue this, Pantera.

Stepping off of the bloodied shores of Pantera, Damien made his way back to his vehicle. Having helped the Reavers push back the renegade Templar, his job was done. His sword and armor were splashed with blood, and the barrel of his SBP-90 was still smoking. The whole time amidst the death and chaos, Damien could not take his thoughts away from the dreams....the dreams that played themselves over and over...even while he was awake.

The burning sensation inside of him grew again, as he started up the car and headed back for the Lord Reaver's keep. Again, his thoughts drifted to the visions that were seared into his soul. He prayed that Bastien had an answer, something to help take the pain away.

OOC: Alot went on while you were gone fighting. Assasin put a hit on Dantes, and Bastien recieved the Tersanctan surrender. Read the Sword in the STorm RP if you haven't...

IC:

Bastien tossed the phone down onto the fabulously carved table, snarling. Dantes would live, but as yet they had not informed him who had sent the assassin. He was in a foul mood, and the old woman had repeatedly made a nuisance of herself. Spitting her doom prophecies and ranting about death and horror. Quite irritating...

But, Damien would soon return, and they would speak on it. Bastien felt it would be good to discuss the troubling events, for they were weighing heavily on his mind.

"Send for another bottle, lad. Killing gives me a thirst, an' I'm sure it will do Dreadfire the same..."

The battered car screached to a stop, and out stepped Damein. He removed his helet, and sighed a few times before wiping the ash from his face. For now Damein's bloodlust had been satisfied, for he sent many a Templar to their God.

Tired, although not exhausted, Damein made his way up the staricase, the old woman's nagging echoing down the halls. Damien entered the room, standing tall, coverd in sweat and blood. He drew a cloth from his pocket, and began wiping the blood off of his armor, and then the Relic's Sword, which saw much action.

Bastien, good to see you. Damien then snickered, and went on to say. Must death and torment was brought to these rouge Templar. You should have seen it Bastien.....it was....

Damein's eyes shifted to the old woman, and he stopped talking instantly. His eyebrows lowered, a half scowl, half look of intrigue across his face.

Bastien's face was stoic as he watched Dreadfire gauge the crone. Her rambling had ceased when he entered, but now that he stood face to face with her, she began to tremble...

"The silence stretches, Dreadfire... The ravens will gorge themselves in your wake, and only the Shining Prince shall save the world from your darkness. Heed the Dawn, for two is not three... To go north you must turn south, and to reach the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

With that, the old woman gives a slight shake of her ancient head and raises the cowl of her sky-blue, silken robes. Tottering off, she throws a grim glance at Bastien over her shoulder ebfore taking her leave.

Bastien shook his head incredulously as he reached for the bottle of brandy on the table in front of him. Pouring two glasses full, he gestures to Damien,"See? Is all like that, Dreadfire. Horrors and doom... I'm na ashamed t' say it gives me the shivers. I've found that she's long been a Priestess of Wind, and a fuckin' Reverend Mother at that. Dark words, Dreadfire... Dark words..."

Raising the glass, Bastien drains it quickly and refills it with the amber spirits, watching and judging Damien carefully.

That's the answer I came for?!! I came here just to have some old nag tell me some rhetorical bullshit? No....this can't...

Damien turned around in a huff. He was trying not to take his frustration out on Bastien, for it wasn't his fault. He picked up the glass that Bastien poured him, and slammed it down, some of the liquid spilling down his throat.

Bastien, we need to dig deeper. Dark words they may be, but that's all they are: words, not answers.

Damien turned around again, this time pacing about the room.

I need to speak with this old hag again, and maybe this time she'll tell me more than riddles.

Damien was obviously over anxious, and he started down the hall towards the old woman.

Bastien shook his head and waved a meaty hand dismissively, content to drink his brandy and try to forget the matter,"As I said, Damien, it has the sound of prophecy to it. Rhetorical doesn't apply, for you don't have a choice, here. If it is indeed prophecy, then it is unavoidable..."

The old crone tottered quickly down the hall weaving in and out of servants before stopping to whirl about and level a gnarled finger at Damien, following behind,"Accost me not, Dreadfire. I know of the horrors done in your name, and of those to come. I know of the torment in the soul you are not supposed to have, and I know of lives that you will never live. I know more than you could possible imagine, and all of my knowledge would shirivel your soul.

I have awaited the coming of the Shining Prince since my birth and now that he has arrived I must take you as well, though it pains me... Wind blow strong.

So, I will grant you one question, and one only. Do not make it frivolous, or you wil pay the price..."

The crone stared up at Damien, wizened and wrinkled face stern as she gazed at his towering figure, her gnarled finger still levelled at his chest.

Damein stood, a little taken back by the hag's words. He stood, thinking about what question he should ask....but only the obvious one came to mind.

Alright, here's my question.....what is going to happen to me in the coming months, where am I headed?


Damein tightened his lips, it was not the question he had wanted to ask, but it as too late now.