Introductions

Part 1: Nightmare

David woke up in a dream. One that felt real and at the same time, unreal.

He began with a floating sensation, where it felt like it was in a cool, deep stream. There was a force that pulled at him, gentle but irresistible, and David felt compelled to simply drift and let it take him. As it let the pull drag it away, he began to wonder what was happening.

He looked about and it looked like he was in space. Dark, inky, black nothingness filled the world around him, and this made the streams of blue, yellow, green, and red that streaked in various directions stand out. David saw the streams all linked to a central pillar of white light that streaked infinitely up and down, and like a river, the colorful streams flowed to it.

He saw shapes in the streams, humanoid shapes. They were transparent, like ghosts. Instinctively, David raised his hands and saw that they too were transparent.

Wha-? He said aloud, and his voice sounded odd, like it was echoing hollowly. He looked down at his body and saw it was faint, almost transparent. What did this mean? David wondered as he raised a hand and saw right through the limb. Was he dead?

He thought back to what he was doing last. He just got home dead tired, the calls he had to take were all full of angry and unhappy customers who couldn't afford to pay their credit cards. David was emotionally exhausted as he listened to and reasoned with each person from each call, calming them down, trying his best to help them with what available payment plans his company offered.

He got home, took off his work clothes and promptly fell into his futon to sleep. He didn't do anything else.

Fuck, this has to be a dream, right? David thought. He looked around again and saw the pillar of light drawing closer and closer. Fear started to build up inside him. He felt like he had no control but then again, he thought that people couldn't control their dreams. What few dreams he remembered always felt like memories and this one, if this was a dream, was odd that it felt like he was really "here", in this weird place.

He wondered if he could return and at that thought, David began to swim against the current.

It seemed to work, he felt the pull struggle but did nothing else as he kicked and pulled away, swimming against the stream. David found the feeling strange, swimming in a dream, and wondered if he was lucid dreaming. He wondered too if in real life he was flailing about; his arms and legs were getting tired as he kicked and pulled away, opposite the direction of the pillar of light.

There was a sudden shift, the stream of blue he was on suddenly changing to a cold, purple field. He saw the shapes in the streams raise their heads as if they were staring at him, watching as he was lifted out of the stream. He struggled, trying to swim back but found now that any effort he exerted was useless. The field grew colder and he felt himself get dragged away faster, pulled away from the blue stream, from the pillar of light, and deep into the inky blackness.

He felt a strange sensation, a feeling like he was being pressed down. It didn't hurt but he found it uncomfortable, the pressure practically forcing him to bend and curl into a ball. He felt paralyzed and moments after he realized he was.

Slowly, the dark all around him began to fade, shifting into blue and continuing to lighten until he could see again. He wasn't happy as the first thing he saw was the face of an old man leering at him.

He tried to speak but couldn't. He tried to move but like earlier, the pressure kept him from so much as budging from his curled up state. He couldn't feel anything, and he couldn't even blink.

"Success!" The old man yelled jubilantly, his wide smile showing his rotten teeth.

He looked like a hobo, dressed in gray robes and sporting a long, scratchy, unkempt beard. His eyes were wide and had a manic look to them and he felt frightened as his face came terrifyingly close.

David realized then that he was tiny and while he couldn't feel it, he was somehow being held in this hobo's hands.

"Hello there!" The man laughed, shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he tapped a finger directly into David's eye. He then realized that he couldn't blink and somehow, he was in some kind of glass container.

"Another one successfully snared from the hereafter." the old man continued, smiling proudly. David saw the room shift and while the old man remained at the center of his vision, he could see bits and pieces of the surrounding area.

It looked like it was from a fantasy movie; pots and pans lined a wall that looked like packed earth, while wooden shelves had mason jars and corked bottles each filled with multicolored liquids, strange powders, and other things that didn't look like it belonged in a kitchen. Another shelf had books, strange-looking beakers, and even a few scrolls stacked atop it.

A hearth was at the center of this room and a large, iron cauldron with scary images carved around it sat atop the hearth.

What the fuck was this? David thought. He was panicking now, the dream being too vivid, too strange, and as unreal as this felt it also felt very strangely real.

"Three done, four left." the old man said aloud. David's vision spun as the old man rushed to a nearby table, surprised at the size of everything as he was placed down. He suddenly realized that he must be the size of a toy as he was in the old man's hand.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't blink. Terror gripped him and David tried to scream.

He couldn't do that either.

He was utterly and completely helpless.

Part 2: The Wizard

His name was Jeran and once, a long time ago, he was a respected academic and renown practitioner of the magical arts.

He used to be with the Kingdom of Kaldur's Circle of Sages, a master in the field of divination and one of the pioneers of exploring the astral sea. He had a manor in the Capital's Silver District, complete with rooms specifically for his alchemical studies, his work with astral charting, and for his personal pleasures and distractions.

He had everything once, a long time ago. Because of one careless mistake Jeran lost it all.

He bit his lip as he struggled to contain the rage that again was welling up inside him, demanding he lash out. Jeran focused on his breathing, focused on his surroundings; the meager earth-packed walls, the wooden shelves that had beakers, bottles, books, and what other small items he could save from his home. He stared at the iron cauldron that sat at the center of his Divination Chamber, a pitiful shadow of the one he had in his old home.

He let out one sharp, angry breath as he again suppressed the anger, pushing the emotion away. He would get it all back soon, get back his wealth, his status, and his revenge.

The gem in his hand felt cold. Looking at it, Jeran was reminded of an uncut sapphire, deep blue and beautiful despite its rough shape. He took pride at this, this crystallized soul he was able to snare from the beyond. He smiled widely, imagining how he was able to snatch this soul from an afterlife beyond the afterlife.

"Gods of the dead, eat your hearts out." He said as he placed the gem on his worktable. Sitting on it was a circlet of iron, its rough shape and texture indicating it was worked by an amateur. That didn't matter however, what mattered was the magic Jeran had been working into it, the runes he carved with his very hands that would channel the magic he needed.

He laughed softly as he began to work the gem into the crown, placing the new blue crystal soul beside another already set in the circlet. The third out of the seven, he thought as magic sparked from his fingertips, minute motes of heat reaching out to carve a spot where he could slide in the gem. He began to hum as he dreamt of the day he would finally get the last soul, the day he would set the last gem into the circlet.

Jeran dreamt of the power he would get on that day. Magical power that would, if he were right with his research, put him well beyond the combined strength of the Circle of Sage's power.

"Oh, how they'd pay." He said aloud, "I'd make them beg as I slay their friends and families, make them weep as I dismantle the kingdom stone by stone."

He remembered Kaila, the traitorous bitch who ratted him out. Who was she to say that what he did was heresy? People made deals with demons and devils every day, selling their souls, their very lives, for money. Jeran happened to take the trade a little further, coaxing a few literal demons from the abyss and trade knowledge and power with.

He thought about Kaila again, the horrified expression on her face as she walked into his laboratory. Sure, sure, he looked horrific at the time but so would anyone were they covered in blood and viscera. Besides, the slaves Jeran sacrificed were of no real value; old, infirm, crippled, well past any point of being useful. He would argue that it was charitable that he overpaid for these wretches and should be lauded for giving them a chance to become part of something grand.

"Traitorous bitch…" He hissed. He felt the anger welling up inside again and had to stop his work and force himself to calm down.

Kaila will get what's coming to. He'd make sure to provide very special attention to her when he finally completed his work.

Hours would pass by in a blink of an eye and before Jeran knew it, his hands were shaking with fatigue. He frowned as he looked at his work; the new gem was slotted into the circlet but more than half the connecting runes were still incomplete. It'd be a few days yet at least before he thought he'd complete this, a few days of hard work and concentration.

"Fuck, well whatever." He said aloud as he placed the circlet down. Stretching his arms, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders, Jeran stood up and turned his thoughts to supper. He had some interesting ingredients to make what he hoped would be a very delicious fish stew and looked forward to opening that bottle of wine he purchased from his last visit in town.

He took one final glance at the circlet before heading back upstairs. "Soon" he said, his thoughts again drifting to the power he would get once the circlet was completed. Never again would he have to catch and cook his own meals, and he dreamt of that day when he would reduce choice members of the Circle into his personal slaves.

Part 3: The Vessel

His name was T'rrk, a lowly goblin from a large goblin clan that claimed territories in the wretched swamplands of the Kasper Expanse. Born strong and fast, T'rrk grew to become one of the better hunters of his clan, becoming an excellent shot with a bow and arrow and a sneaky little lethal pain in the ass with a spear or a knife. Many things fell thanks to T'rrk, from deadly snapfish that preyed on those that crossed the deeper waters of the swamp, wolves that stalked the edges of the gloomy forests, and even one of the giant spiders that sometimes liked to hunt in the willows and cypress trees near the water's edges.

T'rrk was happy being a hunter and he felt happy when his clan took and butchered the things he bought back. He was also incredibly happy to not have died during his early years as goblin children tend to die early, their education on how to use weapons pretty much consisting of the adults giving them spears and bows and arrows and letting them play with the things outside.

On his tenth summer, he and the other surviving goblin whelps were inducted into the clan as adults and the chief anointed him (along with a handful of others) as part of the clan's warriors.

While he beamed with joy and celebrated with his fellows, inside T'rrk felt terrified. Warriors were taken by the chief to raid human lands for gold, weapons, and women. Warriors were also sent to fight dangerous things like adventurers whenever they ventured into the swamp. A lot of these warriors never came back from these jobs, and the few that did make it back to the lair often ended up getting armed people to find the lair.

T'rrk remembered vividly the last few times this happened. So many died, warriors, hunters, females, goblin whelps and pups. Adventurers tend to leave no goblin alive and those fortunate enough to escape had to find a new suitable lair to rebuild.

The tribe's current chieftain (a position that was never held long due to the inherent dangers the role had) fancied himself as a force of power in the Kasper Expanse. Possessing a magic sword acquired from the corpse of a dead adventurer, the chief created a reputation of being invincible as the blade's magic seemed to both quickly slay any enemy and protect the chief. T'rrk witnessed this firsthand when the tribe was attacked by a group of adventurers, the chief leading the charge (unusual for a goblin leader) and not only slicing past the heavy armor of the swordsmen and killing them, but also surviving the spells hurled by the magic-users the group had with them.

T'rrk was awed as he saw the chief take a fireball directly and instead of dying, had his sword absorb the flame. The mage who threw the spell probably felt something similar, followed by fear and paid when the chief moved in close and gutted the man.

T'rrk wanted a magic weapon of his own after that. He figured he'd be more comfortable as a warrior if he had a sword or a spear or an axe that cut steel like butter and stopped magic from hurting him. Unfortunately, the adventurers they slew at that time didn't have any magic weapons and whatever good weapons and armor they had were quickly taken by the bigger goblin warriors, the elites of the chief's war cadre.

So when T'rrk found himself as part of a warband with the job of storming a wizard's tower, he felt ecstatic. Wizards had magic, used magic all the time. He was sure that there would be plenty of magic things, weapons, armor, whatever, that T'rrk could get. The thought of what he could obtain made T'rrk's head whirl, and he fantasized possessing weapons that could kill entire armies and armor that could make him move unseen and protect him from being hurt by weapons.

The clan knew of this wizard; he's lived on the Kasper Expanse for as long as T'rrk could remember. Because of his magic the goblins and other things that lived in the swamp avoided his tower and the stretch of wood and swampland where it was. There were stories of the wizard laying monsters low with his magic, stories the clan told pups and whelps to keep them from doing something stupid and possibly drawing the wizard back to the lair.

The chief decided that didn't matter. These were stories and only stories: Whatever magic the wizard had, the chief was sure it could be overwhelmed by a large enough force.

Over a hundred goblins was the force the chief assembled, warriors and hunters eager for blood and battle. Enticed by promises of gold and new, shiny weapons, the goblin warband eagerly made preparations for battle. T'rrk was among those eager warriors and while his arsenal was primitive and meager (stone arrows, an old shortbow, and a rusted shortsword passed down from an older sibling he didn't really know), he felt confident. Like the chief, T'rrk thought that the wizard could be overwhelmed by a large enough force, and over one hundred goblins was a pretty big force.

He smiled as he remembered his daydreams, T'rrk licking his lips in anticipation for the coming victory he was sure the warband was marching to.