His dreams were confusing. He saw the garden, the mighty grove of Yalthnea, from there he saw a mighty city, fields as far as the eye could see, a castle that towered mightily over the populace that it protected. People danced, no man nor woman starved. Grand portals leading to exotic places roared with arcane energies, transporting goods. Forges pounded with elemental fury, runes grow brightly on the weaponry of soldiers, strong as steel and tough as mountains. That he sat on a throne, surrounded by friends and family amongst a great court with fattened wives and vast amount of children.
"Grow"
A single echoing word heard before it vanished with visions of deeds, of him fighting against horrors, facing raiders, dragons, ghouls, giants, and other things as the city broke down, then built its-self up and spread, and grew, and grew and grew.
He awoke with a gasp, a cold sweat from his dream as he sat up, hands cleaning his brow, what a terrifying vivid dream, he had none like any other. He looked about, reorienting himself to reality instead of the vastness and power that was his dream. The room, Missendria! S-she was gone. His heart sank as he looked about, another year...but how could he hear of her troubles he shou-No, she made her choice and he would respect it, another year, another chance. He cleaned his covered his eyes, steadying his heart, easier said then done, but at least it came with out shock.
After a moment he stood up, looking about for his journal, left too the side as he began to get cleaned up. After finding it and a nice bath in a basin of water (thank the fires for hot water). He would write the day, another 365 days to go, or sooner if he hears of her troubles.
He got dressed, payed his inn bill and went home. He was well received, where he told of his journey thus far, he met back with his parents, his mother growing fatter, his father stronger as the farm grew. He went to the priestess, hearing that only those blessed by Yalthnea could wield magics, and only her children. He was no woman, that was not his gift to bear. However, he did hear of her champions of ages past, tales of his heroes of his child hood, they were not myths. He heard rumors from the priestess that the ruins around may still bear their weapons, perhaps he could find power within the past? Of weapons and armor in an era long power him, an era where Yalthnea held sway amongst tribes before being beaten by warriors of iron and strange powers.
So he stayed for a day, enjoying the comfort of home, easing his sorrow, ignoring the protests that he still remained without companion on his journey, that he should stay and be with kin instead of the strange world outside. He wanted too, he so wanted too...but he was going to be a hero, and he would do it, it was a dream, something he would never allow to be crushed, even by his lonely soul and his mother's gentle nagging and heavy nudging that he should settle.
The next day he left, in search of a near by ruin, in seeking of power. The priestess told him much, but not a prophecy that she has been kept secret ever the generations of priestesses, each being told to to the young ones to carry on to the next until it was time, a prophecy given when the Children of Yalthnea and her Champions disappeared one day.
Our people fade, Yalthnea sleeps
Yet out power does not weep
Time will come when a champion will rise again
He will grow strong, dreaming of heroes long past
Her children will come that he will protect
In return, our people will grow
A vast city we will stay
Thus will mark our return
And thus Rast, son of Yalthnea will be born someday
[END THREAD]
