A Ghost from the Past

After being visited in his dream by the wily and dubious Finbin, Eadric is left to scour the dreamworld for answers to long held questions.
"Is there anything I can do before I go?"

Eadric glanced at the bard. Finbin's jovial smirk was at a distinct contrast to the grey and sombre hall in which they sat. The aasimar paused, before letting out a shallow sigh; he had clearly considered the offer.

"No."

The bard's grin did not fade. "Well then. I'll be off. Ta ta."

Finbin vanished, and once more Eadric was alone within the ruined halls of Tyr's Peak. He sat back and studied the crumbling grey stone walls and splintered furniture that littered the keep. The room was shrouded in darkness, save for a sliver of dim moonlight filtering through the collapsed arch ceiling.

''"If only I had been here..." ''

It had been years since Eadric last set foot within Tyr's Peak, yet the details of his final visit had not faded; nor had the feelings of grief, anguish and regret. Through the shattered ceiling, a tattered banner of the Silver Dawn Company flapped clumsily in the night's breeze; the crack of fabric occasionally broke the eerie silence that otherwise filled the hall.

''"Finbin, what on Toril have you done?" ''

Eadric couldn't help but think that he had just condemned his colleagues to another bloody conflict. But no, despite the bard's habit to steal the show, now was not the time to ponder such things. Standing to his feet, Eadric walked to the great wooden doors that led to the courtyard outside. Taking a moment within the still and sombre hall, the aasimar closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, for he knew what was about to come.

"This time, I will prevail."

Eadric ripped the doors wide open, and the roar of battle erupted into the room. The sky blazed a deep crimson as fires raged from nearby rooftops; their thick plumes of black smoke funnelling into the churning inferno above. Soldiers of the Silver Dawn Company rushed back and forth across the open courtyard, desperately racing to reinforce their comrades in the streets below. A soldier careered past within inches of the aasimar, yet neither warrior took any notice of the other. Eadric proceeded through the courtyard; it's finely paved paths and delicate gardens now nothing more than a wasteland of ash and rubble. Approaching the inner gatehouse, the aasimar noticed a contingent of soldiers rallying around a nearby storehouse.

"They've breached the outer walls! Ready yourselves brothers and sisters, for soon we will enter the fray!" The hulking figure of Captain Culdavan Hawkesburn postured heroically from the storehouse's front steps. He was a formidable warrior and a seasoned tactician, yet Captain Hawkesburn was only moments away from meeting a fiery end at the hands of young and callow battle-mage. Eadric pressed on; he had been through this scene countless times. He had to remain focused.

The grand oak doors of the inner gatehouse exploded open, as a mass of heavily armoured foes spilled through the breach. Eadric couldn't help but brace himself for the surging tide of Lords' Alliance footmen, yet their ranks seamlessly slipped around him, just as a mighty boulder would part a rapid river. Stepping over the remains of countless comrades-in-arms, Eadric pressed on. To the left, the headless body of Illithor slouched back against an overturned cart. His killers anguished nearby as their skin slowly melted away, suffering from the effects of the sorcerer's final spell. Eadric listened to the rallying cries of the Silver Dawn behind him; it was not long before the fortress will fall. He was running out of time. Breaking through the rear of the vanguard, Eadric raced down the narrowing streets of the outer bailey. The alleyways echoed with the clamouring of metal and cries of pain, as the remnants of the Silver Dawn desperately struggled against the innumerable forces of the Lords' Alliance.

The Sanctum of Helm's high marble walls stood defiantly amongst the burning ruins of the outer bailey, as if the building was protected by the Vigilant One himself. The doors of the mighty cathedral stood ajar, as teams of footmen were hastily ushered inside by a Lords' Alliance captain. Through his countless dreams, Eadric had scoured every inch of the fortress. Only the sanctum remained unexplored.

"They must be in there. They have to be..."

The oblivious Lords' Alliance captain ushered the weary paladin into the antechamber, where anxious footmen stood in anticipation before a barricaded door. They cheered to the repetitive thud of the iron ram. With each impact, the sound of splintering wood hinted to the impending battle before them. Eadric formed up behind the vanguard. Either side of the door, ranks of spell-casters stood at the ready. A flash of divine light rippled across Eadric's adamantine plate, his body now prepared to surge forward with unnatural haste. With a final push, the crypt door gave way to the force of the ram; the hinges snapping loose with a shrieking crack. Soldiers crammed through the narrow the opening, and cries rang out as barrages of arrows peppered their ranks. For each soldier that fell, another would swiftly enter the breach. In a matter of seconds the surging mass of men and metal smashed into the defenders' shield wall. Through the seemingly endless horde of Lord's Alliance footmen, Eadric glimpsed the last stand of the Silver Dawn Company. They held firm; step by step the attackers pushed forward, only to meet the bloodied blades of seasoned warriors and veteran monster slayers. Eadric stood before the doorway, desperately scanning for a way forward. Before him, a frustrated general signals to the team of awaiting mages, one of whom returns a hasty nod. Chanting in a foreign tongue, and moving in unison, the mages circle about the shattered doorway. The crude metallic bellow of a war horn calls out, and the sea of soldiers part, forming a narrow corridor through to the front of their ranks. The chanting grows louder, and blazing eldritch energy begins to flow between the spell-casters. An elder mage steps forward and opens his arms out wide. Gazing ahead, his eyes were fixed upon the wall of defenders desperately fighting on. Behind them, the sarcophagus of the First Grandmaster instilled them with fervour and resolve.

A slender figure emerged from the darkness and stood before the sarcophagus. The warrior, clad in layered golden plate, glowed with a brilliant divine light. Her eyes shone a blazing gold, and were locked with those of the elder mage.

"It's her..."

A sinister grin stretched across the elder mage's emaciated face. Eadric rushed down the corridor. Even with his divine haste, it would take several seconds to reach the sarcophagus, and it was time he didn't have. The chanting behind him ceased. The elder mage chuckled, clearly amused by the golden warrior's challenge.

"Dijak shal ul shak hells, aasimar!"

The mage snapped his hands together with a thunderous clap, and an inferno of eldritch flame blasted down the corridor. With the intense heat on his back growing, Eadric knew that he would not outrun it.

"No, I have come too far. I will not do this again..."

The wall of magical flame surged on by, and Eadric's body evaporated into a fine mist. At the end of the crypt, the golden warrior remained steadfast before the wave of fire hurtling towards her. To her left, a spontaneous cloud of mist converged and gave form. Eadric grabbed the banded left arm of the warrior. She snaps to face him, and her guarded demeanour gives way to a look of disbelief. Lowering her daggers, she draws a breath as to speak. The blazing inferno encompasses them both; the scorching heat giving way to the numbness of the void...

The aasimar gasps loudly as they wake from the darkness. Scanning the room, they see nothing but the confines of a simple travelling tent. Great fig trees rustle to the cool night breeze, as the weary dreamer emerges to check upon a smouldering campfire. Gazing at the dying flame, they can't help but think about last night's dream.

''"I thought you were dead..." ''

The aasimar glances over to their armour that rested against a nearby stump. The flame danced against its golden plate, and highlighted the deep burn marks scarred into the underlying leather. The aasimar smiled.

''"But then, I did survive that, so I shouldn't be surprised." ''

Síle looked out across the valley as the morning sun crested the high peaks of the Telemnar Mountains.

"Where are you, Eadric?"