The Dream Hunter's Report

 

I was not expecting this. 

 

Decades have I spent walking this land, ghost hunting a legacy I was long since sure had vanished to time.

 

I was wrong.

 

I was in Sandpoint, a city made of young, fresh stone.  I walked amongst the people.  They watched my false body move, heard my false voice speak, did not know my name.

 

So long has the hunt lasted I have lost all taste for the blood of the legacy. I do not even remember why I am on this mission.   But I obey.  As do all my kind, for the masters are harsh and cruel. And so I star dream a report.  It will be heard.

 

The swamp known as Brinestump was my current destination.  I have been here many times before.  There was nothing then.  There should be nothing now.  The mortals from Sandpoint dogged me.  They were not aware they dogged me.  Obfuscation and illusory manipulation and the velvet was turned.  I dogged them.  They were not aware.

 

I had seen this group of mortals before.  In Sandpoint. I thought nothing of them.  Only one had the lick of destiny but he was not the one.  Why then, were they in the swamp dogging me? 

 

A half elf ranger, his name was lost to me. The fey folk are hard to dream on. I will not dwell on it.  He is not the one. 

 

Another was difficult to dream on, the human with the licked blood of destiny.  He was there for a while, then not.  I remember red hair, a sulking frame.  It could be him.

 

The human of worship was open to me.  Amul is his name ... a child of Magnimar and Sandpoint combined. I know this deity.  Common in this land Abadar is.  A patron of civilization. He could not be the one.

 

A gnome man riding a wolf.  The little people interest me, with their lost ways.  No ... wait, not a gnome.  A halfling man.  Why did the dream stutter? I do not understand the happenings.  A halfling man and his wolf mount.  A mounted warrior.  I dream western honor but little understanding of the way.  His name floats with chances and fortunes.  I dream a chain to an old woman.  He could not be the one. 

 

A human of no particular worth. A sibling to the human bard in Sandpoint. This human was open to me. A human of the dark. A scorpion. He could not be the one.

 

These mortals do not seem correct and my dream wish was to kill them and leave corpses in the swamp.  I have not killed mortals in months and crave excitement. 

 

I dogged them.

 

They followed a map and a trail through the swamp.  A halfling was their destination.  A halfling's home.  A warden of the swamp.  There was conversation.  I could not make out much of it.  Talk of laws and swords, the warden was a libertine and the sulking red haired human a sympathizer to his cause. Other did not agree.  Mortal politics.  I grew restless and craved the libertine's blood in my mouth.

 

It was not to be. The mortals left and I dogged them.  I could have drank the libertine but feared loosing the mortals for a time in the swamp.  What if I had missed a revealing? 

 

I dogged them. 

 

They followed their map and trails and came to the home of the old witch woman.  I knew of her.  Alchemy and arrogance.  I knew her transformational cravings would bring about her undoing.  I smelled her corpse from a mile away.  The mortals did not yet know she was dead. They found her empty home and her corpse.  They battle a rattling and it's dire minions. I watched the slaughter and enjoyed the cries of pain.

 

Things of interest.  Two of them did not participate in the slaughter.  The red haired sulking human ... him I will now call, Sulk, he did not participate in the slaughter.  Amul did not participate in the slaughter. 

 

I do not understand mortals.

 

They cleaned out the witch corpse woman's home and slept.  I had planned to eat their dreams then murder them while they slept. 

 

Another took them.  Claimed into the dreaming they battled for their lives and for ... their destiny. 

 

They have the Eye. 

 

And this is what I dreamt earlier.  I was not expecting this.

 

Beyond improbable. It was an impossibility.  I question my sanity.   Perhaps I have walked these foreign devil lands too long.  My mind is senile and delusioned. That must be the answer. 

 

But if they have the Eye.  Then ... things are in motion.  It IS one of them.  But which one?  Which one will rise?  Which one will fall? 

 

It is no longer in my destiny to drink their blood.  I must observe.   I must dog them and observe their dreams.

 

They hunted the goblin city to the south.  I smelled the blood before the mortals saw the smoke.  The goblins were razed and slaughtered.  The mortals entered the city to witness the final gasp of goblin life.  Their was conversation with the goblin king but I did not hear much of it.  Talk of skeletons attacking goblin kind and goblins battling gods. 

 

It did not take long for the mortals to kill the goblins.  The half elf brought tears to my eyes - such passion for goblin blood!  Such pure, unbridled joy at goblin massacre.  I like this half elf.  After I have wrenched secrets from them all, I will kill him last.

 

The mortals looted the goblins.  Weapons and magic but also worthless trinkets made of  paper and fire workings.  

 

They returned to Sandpoint and made council with their people.  I understand now.  They fear the skeletons that slaughtered the goblins might come after Sandpoint. 

 

Perhaps.  I do not understand the way of undead. I slipped into the skin of another and listened as they spoke of caravans and the gypsy man spoke of destiny.  They speak of destiny.   They are starting to understand.

 

The sun rises and the mortals trek the swamp again.  They follow a map and a trail and it brings them to the lair of the skeletons.  I am almost seen by the half elf so I glamor men of lizards to distract them.   Mortals are easily deceived. It allows me to dog them again.

 

They find the skeletons.  I see something that should not be.  Dead souls from our lands.  These are not skeletons from the west.  These dead men are from the east.  I see it in their weapons.  I see it in their armor.  The champion fights them with honor until they violate his code, then his wakizashi strikes them down with cleaving slashes.

 

The mortals are victorious. They loot the lair.  Weapons, magic and more worthless trinkets made from paper and fire workings. 

 

One of them finds a secret.  A letter.  He does not read it out loud but I see the writing.  Writing from the west.  The human of no particular interest, the one with the bard for a sister, his face shows recognition.  I do not know the secret words on the letter but I see their auras light up with destiny. 

 

They are the ones. 

 

Again I question my sanity.  They can not be the ones.  But they are.

 

And they have the Eye. 

 

I must dream to the masters.  The Storm must be told.

 

But if they have the Eye then they will know what I dream. 

 

They will know the Eye offers them certain rights and protection which begins their journey to unlock it's puzzles and dream its violations.

 

They return to Sandpoint.  They strike caravan and say farewell to families.  

 

They expect to return in weeks.  They do not understand the way of the Eye.

 

They will not return in weeks. 

 

I will star dream to the Storm.  The Eye will inform Sulk.  I expect Sulk will inform the other mortals.  I must find another way to communicate to the Storm for all I star dream, they too will know.

 

They will not see me but they will know I dog them.

 

I will be so close I will smell their sweat.  The game will be glorious, perhaps ending in my death, perhaps ending in theirs.

 

I would not have it any other way.