by Gold Baron
You go through the day uneasily. You didn't sleep much the rest of that night. You still remember the dream well as you wake for your daily ritual. And you can still feel the intense pain that startled you from your sleep; was it real?
Night inevitably comes, and so does the need for sleep, but you toss uneasily, afraid to once more shut your eyes. The need wins over, and you drift off into another dream.
The terrain rushes past you in a blur. You catch mountains and rivers and vast expanses of plain and forest beneath you. It comes to a sudden halt, and you fall to your knees on a ridge overlooking a large field. The land looks torn and ravaged by some evil. Barren trees reach their gnarled hands toward the hazy sky. The ridge rises on to your right to a low plateau with a sheer edge, worn slightly to a very steep slope by rain, though it is now choked with dry dust. All about the field hang sparse bunches of dry grass, adding to the dismal scene.
The ground begins to tremble under your hands, and dust falls from a dead tree above you. In the distance to your left, you see a massive cloud of dust rising out of the plain. You push yourself to your feet and brush the dust off your clothes. A glint to your right catches your eye, and you turn to see many horsemen line the ridge. They sit tall in their saddles, their horses standing proud and well groomed, sparkling in the low light as their powerful muscles ripple under the surface.
You can't imagine what is happening as you survey the line of cavalry. Women as well as men prepare their gear for battle, adjusting their blue chain mail and helmets fashioned like wild beasts. They tighten the saddles, lined with bells and trinkets, green cloaks flapping in the wind behind them. They seem small and thin, almost frail, yet graceful and powerful; they remind you of elves.
A great gust kicks up a cloud, and you turn away as it hits your eyes. You look back through watery eyes to see a a taller man ride in. Two sabers bounce off his thighs and the saddles, and a leather jacket lined with studs hangs loosely about him. He doesn't seem to wear any other gear, no badges of his office or tokens of his merit, yet all the soldiers show him respect.
A rumble in your ears draws your attention to the left again, to see the huge cloud take shape into thousands of humanoid figures. They carry axes and cudgels and other crude weapons; you meet eyes with one, and you shrink back with a yelp as the catlike eye adjusts but doesn't acknowledge you. The goblins run on under you, and all you can do is watch as the elves raise their steel lances and lean forward in their saddles.
A green light flashes across the cliff, and it crumbles, swallowing the first wave of goblins. The horses rear back on their hind legs and charge down the cliff, the two armies colliding with a force that shakes the air. The entire scene is swallowed in dust, and you climb the tree behind you to gain a better vantage point as black arrows snap over your head. You can hear nothing but the low rumble and crash from the melee below, but still it remains concealed.
For several minutes you can do nothing but watch, and with the same eagerness as it began, the entire battlefield becomes still. The sky darkens to black, and night comes early. Lightning dances through the clouds and sets parts of the field aflame. The wind picks up and clears the field, revealing a horrid scene of mangled horses and bodies. You can't take your eyes away nor even blink at the scene. A great many of the goblins remain, even though doubtless near a million lay at the base of the cliff and even beyond that.
You continue to turn left to see a single soldier stab a spear in the ground next to a fair figure on the ground, perhaps a woman? The man mounts his horse, its flanks red with blood. He draws both his swords, and you almost scream with surprise. The horse and rider charges at the remaining goblins, and he is quickly swallowed in the throng. A squeal tells you the horse has fallen, and the goblins dance wildly, forming a ring around the fallen rider.
Eerily the display stops, and a hush falls over the field. A black shape parts the goblins and walks into the ring. It towers over all the rest, and wings spread out from its body, shadowing a great many faces. Its powerful claws clench a sword and a whip, and it descends on the rider, a taste for blood on its lips.
The demon's appetite would have to wait, as it reeled back from the rider, a great beam of white light passing through its body, tearing a hole in the clouds. Its temperature boiled, and flames jumped up about its body when its eyes went wide, a blue sword passing through its body and out the back. It looked down at the sword, then up at the new combatant. It would never get a good view, as the blade came up through its chest and rent the demon in two.
With the same ferocity, the air collapsed over the field like a dome, and with a snap burst outward in a massive explosion. The slaughter is complete, and all that remains is a scar on the world, a great smoking crater.
The new figure turns as the red behind it flies out and spreads over the crater behind it, covering nearly half of it and rippling like an ocean of blood. The figure kneels near the fallen soldier and seems to weep. Anger creeps into him, and he stands, turning his back for what he thought the last time on what he loved most, and embarks on a suicide mission for revenge.
Now you know.
You turn with a start to see the man from your dream standing behind you. You can't help but wonder how long he has been standing there. That seems so long ago now. I was blind then, and filled with anger.
"Who was he?"
Who is he, you mean. He points a finger back at the scene, and you turn to see the man rise and shudder in pain, looking out to behold what has befallen. Why didn't I stay? My own son, and I simply left him. You don't understand; you can't understand, not yet.
Your alarm clock startles you, and you look at it. Six o'clock a.m., time for work.
Continued in Chapter 3: Does the Name Marv Velo Ring a Bell?