Month: October 2017

The image shimmered and changed to a young male a bit taller and stouter build than Xenn. The green robe expanded to accommodate his added height and weight. He was reddish and greenish at the same time and had pointed ears and vaguely Drelvish features. Little red sparks flickered from his eyes. The visitor spoke, “I ponder my mother’s interest in you, wimp. I grew tired of mimicking you. My name is Jar Dee Ans. I prefer Dee. You may call me Fire Master, Rat Master, or simply Master. I’m here at another’s behest to grant you gifts, though I don’t understand why. Words and phrases will appear in your mind. When you awaken, you will understand them. You’ll also find ample supply of the yellow granules you’ll need to foment the power of fire. I’ll leave you to your nap, Mama’s boy. Grow up! Maybe you’ll save someone dear to you one day. Personally, I doubt it. You are a t**d to my eyes.”

Blueness surrounded the young male and he faded from sight. Xenn returned to restless sleep. When Xenn awakened he found a small chest filled with sulfur granules. He removed a few granules and the chest refilled. Twenty-one phrases milled around like ripples in the tissues of the Spellweaver’s mind and then organized in orderly fashion. The phrases represented an incantation of a spell. His thoughts became clear. Words appeared in the young Spellweaver’s mind:

“I give you my blood through which you will receive all you seek. You in turn give to me your all.”

Inexplicable surges of strength raced through Xenn.

Rhiann Klarje concentrated on the Hanging Gardens, scattered a bit of the soil he had taken from the Snowberry Bush’s former home, and muttered a simple command. In an instant he stood in the main garden just a few feet away from Decima’s cottage. The startled ferret fled from the hole in the ground. Rhiann muttered a phrase and gestured as the ferret ran away. All the Detect Magick Spell told him was that the furry beast was indeed a familiar. A furry little spy! Rhiann followed the beast a bit. He reached into his ever-present rucksack and grasped Exeter’s hilt.

The soothing feminine voice entered his thoughts and said, “It’s a woodland creature, Rhiann. It’s not an enemy, but an extension of an enemy.”

Rhiann thought, “It’s a familiar! Whose familiar?”

The voice replied, “He’s more than thirty paces away, Rhiann, and I’m not privy to the nature of familiars.”

Rhiann thought, “Familiars are Magick, not Nature.”

The sorcerer watched it run toward the invisible bridge. The ferret scampered across Red Creek and headed off toward the woods to the west.

The redness cleared. A young orange skinned male stood with his back to Xenn. The visitor to Xenn’s dream wore a green robe identical to the artifact Xenn’s mother had found in Sylvan Pond.

Xenn spoke, “What trickery is this?”

The visitor turned and Xenn looked upon himself.

Xenn said, “Leave my sleep! Rest has eluded me.”

The visitor to his dream answered, “All in good time! Tell me… why do you not wear your robe?”

Xenn said, “Obviously, it’s green. I’d stand out in the forest like a sore thumb!”

The Dream visitor replied, “You stand out anyway. It’s a Robe of Sagain, you dumb ****** ******! Only a handful survive. It’s just hanging in your closet! S**t fire! You don’t know its value. A Light Sorceress seamstress constructed the robe from silk of Sagain, the feathers of the snow-white Phoenix, one of the three shypoke scales remaining in the Laurels, and the scales of a prismatic dragon. Moreover, the seamstress risked death as she tenuously placed a jet-black Tuscon feather within the fabric of the device. Once placed in the robe, the Magick of the robe harnessed the malevolent force within the jet-black feather and instead instilled a protection against Death Magick upon the wearer of the cloak. The robe is patterned like the ancient robe of the Order of Light Sorcerers. The properties of silk of Sagain included the facility to adapt to the size of each wearer of the garment. The Light Sorcerers cherished the spiders that created the silk. The tiny arachnids required two centuries to produce the silk needed to create the robe. The silk had been used to create little black dresses which had adorned many young women during their ceremonies of commitment. Even more rare were the adamantine spiders that created the slender cords that the sorceress used to bind the silk and other materials. The robe has many hidden pockets. It’d give great advantage in a conflict with another Spellcaster, and it hangs in your ****** closet!”

Xenn timidly said, “It’s green!”

The visitor replied, “Amazing! It contains a prismatic dragon scale within its folds! It can be any color you want! Its last wearer wanted green!”

Redness filled Zysle’s dream.

Out of the red mists a face entered his dream. Horrific and vaguely female, the creature had fiery red eyes, unsightly wings, and long muscular arms ending in long curved talons, which were covered in dark ichors. The strangely attractive creature pursed her lips, blew the sleeping Draith a kiss, and simply hissed, “Pleasant dreams, old fellow! How do you like these?”

The she-beast revealed long curvaceous legs.

“Who…what are you? Why do you invade my sleep?” Zysle asked.

 

Hearing one’s dreams and responding…

Speaking and hearing one’s dreams respond…

 

“My, you’re a simple ****!” the voice clamored.

“Rudeness! Why am I talking to you when I am sleeping? You are a sorceress, aren’t you? Though I cannot challenge you, I call you a coward! Face me when I can fight!” Zysle responded defiantly.

“Calm down! Calm down! Calm down, you son-of-a *****! I’ll kick your *** anytime, anywhere! But that’s not my purpose in being in your dreams. Is this picture easier for your simple mind?” the she-beast asked vehemently.

She changed to the precise image of Zysle’s long dead mate Loratideen. Every detail was accurate all the way to the individual strands of her hair.

As he slept, Zysle perspired heavily and moaned plaintively.

“You defile the memory of my mate. She fell to a giant’s club. My scouts are my life now. If you seek to influence me, find a way to advance their efforts,” his sleeping mind replied.

“You opine over your lost love. Pure ***** heat, that’s all she felt for you. Suffer as much as you will, *******!” she uttered disdainfully.

“Draiths are governed by commitment, not passion, harlot! Face me and say such things!” Zysle growled.

“You tempt me, old timer. I’ll give you that. At least you have some fight left in you. Our paths will not lead to battle, but I’ll do as you want and help your scouts. You’re not ready for everything that’s in the little bag. I’m taking the red and blue stone tiles and Fire Magick tome. But I’m leaving the black rod and stone of Ooranth. From one comes many. Tap the stone with the rod and say ‘Gorge dub you bush.’ You may keep the little glass orb that you fancied. It will save you from Magick. Just don’t drop and break it! I’ll also leave you a personal present. You’ll find my gift when you awaken,” the image answered in Loratideen’s voice. Quirk of Magick… the black rod’s command changed along with ownership. Intentional omission… the Dreamraider omitted many features of the powerful artifact.