Thanks for coming and all the games folks, it was a lot of fun. Coleraine ended split 2 Good to 2 Evil victories, but evil still has an edge world wide, so hopefully everyone will be dead and eaten by abyssals soon.

Here’s a story update for the current state of the campaign.

Fregmoln stood over the broken bodies of his enemies and those of his own soldiers alike. The mountain top was stained a dark hue of crimson as blood melted the snow and caused small ruby rivers to stream down the slope.

The sense of dejavu once again washed over the northman as he surveyed the carnage. Had he dreamed this all before? What would cause him to feel the uneasy sense of vertigo that accompanied the hauntingly familiar scene that lay before him? His allies were destroyed and while they had won out over the screaming tribes of Varangur and their fellow destructive worshippers of evil, it had come at a heavy cost. But a growing sense of dread filled Fregmoln and he shifted his gaze towards the sky where he saw a single figure staring down at him.

The person was hovering beside the rays of the setting sun, a scorched silhouette against a bloody horizon that seemed to be growing larger. Abruptly, Fregmoln realized that the person’s size was increasing because they were drawing closer to him.

“Splendid, my young warrior. Absolutely splendid.” A voice seemed to be carried on a sudden gust of wind whispered in Fregmoln’s ear. He half turned to look at who had spoken, but found he could not tear his gaze away from the silhouette as it glided closer and closer to him.

“Who are you?” The Northman whispered.

“I am that lord which you serve. I am the air with which you breathe your violence and threatenings out, both of which are pleasing unto me.”

“You are the Warrior? My Lord Korgaan?” Fregmoln fell to his knees, although he could not tear his gaze from the approaching figure, who was now only a few feet above him.

Up close now, Fregmoln  could see more details. The figure wore a simple suit of armor that consisted of overlapping plates and an open faced helm. A skeletal face stared out from the shadows of that helm and piercing eyes scoured Fregmoln ’s face. In one hand the god of the air held a long, leaf-bladed sword, and in the other was held a strange hourglass.

“What was the meaning of all this?” Fregmoln  asked. Korgaan landed lightly in the snow before his servant.

“Why, you are here to feed me!” Korgaan responded, placing a hand on Fregmoln ’s shoulder.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, but you don’t need to.” Korgaan laughed, it was a harsh and bitter sound. Then he plunged the blade into Fregmoln ’s gut. The northman gasped and fell into the snow.

“Why?” His voice was already growing weaker. The god of the air looked down at him and smiled.

“Because, my existence is far more important than that of you and your allies.” The embodiment of Korgaan seemed to tilt its head back, as if enjoying the taste of a sweet wine. Fregmoln ’s eyes bulged as he felt something pulling at his chest, his fear and anger swallowed up and leaving him a muted shell. Fregmoln ’s eyelids felt heavy, and as the last of his emotions drained from his body like his blood that now stained the snow he saw his god take the frosty hourglass and hold it aloft. Fregmoln  closed his eyes as the first crystals of ice began to tumble through the glass beaker.

Then his eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright in his cot. He fumbled at his midriff, searching for the open wound in his gut. His stomach was clean of everything but old scars and the odd tattoo to commemorate past victories. Yet he could still feel the hot steam of his blood as it cooled in the snow around him. He could still remember the sensation of Korgaan’s blade sliding into his middle and pulling his innards free.

It was far more vivid than any dream he had ever had.

A soldier appeared from the flap in his tent. Fregmoln  barely noticed the man as he stood there with an anxious energy coming off of him in waves.

“What is it?” Fregmoln snapped, his voice was shakier than he had meant it to be.

“The troops are prepared, my lord, and the enemy is moving towards our position.”

A strong sense of dejavu washed over the northman commander. He closed his eyes and saw the image of the hourglass and the ice crystals that had tumbled through its frosted vial.

“I will be out momentarily.” When he spoke his voice was husky and he rose wearily from his bed. He had seen this all before. It felt as familiar as a morning routine. How? How was this possible?

He splashed cold water in his face which did nothing to alleviate the feeling that he was just repeating motions he had covered over a thousand times before.

The image of the hourglass stuck with him as he strapped on his armor and grabbed his blade from where it lay on his cot. His dream, or vision, or nightmare, or whatever it was, had ended when his god had flipped the hourglass.

Fregmoln strode out into the morning light, a grim realization hovering on the very edges of his consciousness. The hourglass was the key. But the key to what was still a mystery that clung to the shadowy wisps of his memory.