On the final night at the end of two weeks of rest (and leveling), Ca’armine does not drift into sleep. He kneels. He prays. Not his morning prayers, simply a choice to connect with his god before he drifts off to sleep. It has been a good two weeks in this Westland wilderness, on the side of Mt Lanos. It has been so peaceful that even with the howling of the undead in the woods to the south, Ca’armine has enjoyed some real bonding time with the other members of his party.
The world grows sharp.The air becomes thin, and cold like standing at a mountain pass in winter. It’s not a painful cold, but it does make Ca’armine feel alive, and awake. When he opens his eyes Ca’armine stands upon a high ridge overlooking the Red Wastes.
The wind roars off the red wastes, kicking the crimson sand into the air and making the sky seem smeared with blood. Not chaotic. Some fear the winds. This seems purposeful to Ca’armine. Countless groups of humans are leaving the wastes and finding shelter below in these first lands. Behind him, footsteps. Heavy. Measured.
Raiden stands there. Not a god of light and glory. Not crowned. Not radiant. He stands in travel-worn armor. Leather scarred. Cloak torn. A longbow across his back. A sword at his side. His ears are slightly pointed. His face weathered. His eyes are very human. And tired. Perhaps even sad. But resolute.
Raiden Speaks…“This is but the first gate, as they have taken to calling it. Many will wish to stay here after our long journey. Yet we still have so far to journey before we can build again. I know that this is not what you seek, but it is important for you to remember. I can sense, beneath your guise of peace and calm, an anger burns.” The wind does not drown his voice. “Good. You wish to fight the corruption of our order, to fight the disease that attacks our roots. But first we must remember what is worth saving.” He gestures to the Red Wastes below. Ca’armine sees visions in the sand:
Large groups of humanity are fleeing from a scene of mass destruction, cities falling, civilization destroyed…Orc hordes cresting the Middlebarr pass and pouring into the land…Sutheron in ruin…Humanity scattered.The last scene, a young family, a man and woman and child, hiding in the woods as dark murderous forces move past…they are silent, not just in feart, but in determination. “We survived because we did not break.”
The sand shifts again. Now Ca’armine sees a scene between two figures, one of them familiar, Tarkus, in a familiar warehouse in Ghanil..Red iron shipments are discussed. A need for dark rituals. The importance of gathering power. The mysterious figure is clearly in charge. As they speak Ca’armine notices shadows coiling around an image of a broken crown that seems to ethereally sit over the head of the unknown figure, commanding Tarkus to obey him.
“The enemy believes humanity is weak.” Raiden says. The sand turns to glass and in the reflection Ca’armine sees himself after one of his more taxing battles with the Crimson Casling. Bruised. Wounded. But standing. “We are not weak.”
Raiden steps forward. The world swims and a new vision comes into focus. Now Ca’armine stands in a ruined city, perhaps Sutheron centuries ago from the look of it. Orcish warbands approach the gates. The defenders are few. Raiden leads them, but does not charge. He does not shout. He plants his banner. “Hold” he tells them. These human kin, they are resolute, and you know already that they win in dominant fashion, finally driving the hordes from Sutheron, and eventually over the Middbarr pass.
“Strength is not domination.” the world weary Raiden says to Ca’armine. The wind rises. “Strength is endurance.”
The vision swims and fractures again. Ca’armine now sees something he was not expecting: A new figure, a member of some kind of unknown imperial army by the looks of it, preparing to defend against a large force of elves and dwarves, that upon further inspection looks tired, hungry, and desperate. It is hard to make out specific qualities of the figure that the vision is focused on, but elements of his character shine through. Brilliant. Driven. Certain. He routes the enemy army and those around him swarm to him in celebration. Yet the figure quickly moves away. While the others celebrate, Ca’armine watches as this mysterious figure wastes no time returning to his tent and planning…always planning his next move, and the one after that, and the one after that…so many plans stretching far into the future. Raiden watches him with no hatred. But you detect your god does feel sorrow for this figure. “He may have destroyed the last empire, if you can believe such things are the result of a single person’s actions, but he is not chaos.” he tells you. “He is conviction without humility. Even as the others celebrate they are blind and lost in his web of dark desires. And while he is long from this world, from a time before now, you must prepare for his return for his machinations have never ended.”
The wind stops.Everything becomes silent.
“You will face men who believe they are saving humanity.They will sound righteous.They will sound necessary.They will sound like me.” Raiden grips Ca’armine’s shoulder. It is solid. Real. “You must remember the difference. Like when you left the Order, with purpose, no longer willing to be deceived…determined to fight for me, for us, for humanity. For the good that we can all do. That is why, no matter the darkness they can bring, or the evils they can choose to do, our people must be saved, for the good that we must encourage them to foster, on each other and the world around them.”
The scene shifts one final time. Ca’armine stands before a massive storm rolling in from the north. Black clouds. Lightning. Shadows moving within. Banners of the Dark Hand on a towering citadel surrounded by snow, ice, and black rock. A reoccuring figure again, the one who spoke with Tarkus in that warehouse…maybe Bandesingh. There is a ritual underway. You hear echoes from another time resounding as the ritual continues. Something awaits in the long ago and far away dark…something returns…something that will spell doom for all mankind while trumpeting it’s defense and salvation.
Raiden draws his blade. It does not glow. It does not blaze. It is steel. Simple. Reliable.“You will not stop the storm. You will stand in it. You will anchor the others. You will not bend. You must not break.”
The wind returns. Now fierce. Now glorious. Ca’armine feels strength surge through him…Endurance. Rootedness. A mountain stance.
Raiden’s speaks one last time to Ca’armine…“When you doubt, remember all of this, the struggle and the desperation, the power of choice and the need to stay strong in the face of all that which wishes to undo the good that we sow into this world.” There is a spear in Raiden’s hand which he entrusts to Ca’armine. Ca’armine grasps it with intense determination and it glows with the power of Raiden.
The vision fades to a final image. The Middlebarr Pass. Raiden is standing alone at its narrowest point but you can tell it is simply an ethereal vision of him which only you can see. This is a possible future. Behind him is an army of sorts, the tired, the hungry, the desperate. Other humans like Ca’armine. The rebels of Aegier…refugees most of them, not true warriors. They are preparing to fight, yet you can smell the fear emanating from all of them. Before Raiden stands a horde unlike anything Ca’armine has ever imagined, spreading down the pass and far off into the north…as far as Ca’armine can see. Orks, goblins, bugbears and hobgoblins, banded together from countless tribes to form a massive indomitable army. They are not there out of greed, or a desire to pillage. This is a host bent on the destruction of every human in the lands. The blood that they will spill will be like oceans to feed the appetites of their dark gods. Raiden does not move but you can tell he is speaking to those who can not see him, trying to give them courage in the face of so much death and destruction and evil.“Hold.”