Bräk Dreams

Bräk heard that familiar sound. The sound of loud chewing. Of meat pulled from the bone. Of skin torn off the soft portions of fruit. He looked up, going to stand before he felt the chains around his arms. He was in his court again. Or, at least, whatever the hell he has been presenting as his court. The man with skin like sand and marks like scales ate. Juice from apples and meat drip from him as he ate voraciously.

Bräk stared, a look of annoyance growing on his face. Eventually, his eyes moved up from the table and on to Bräk. He stopped. He placed a rack of ribs with the meat half consumed down, and patted his mouth and chin with his fine napkins. His suite was spotless despite the messy eating. He locked eyes with Bräku and spoke. "So. You see why I have chosen you?"

"Mate, you gave me weird eyes and the power to talk to dead people, didn't ya? Don't really see why that had to be me."

"No," he continued, "I didn't give you those eyes. Those you were born with. Those are not my power to give. But it did make you a worthy vessel. It made you the one who could stop her."

"'er? Mate who is 'er?" Bräk pulled against the chains to no avail.

"The machinations of those goblinoids. Of those who command them. And of her who has seeded into their mind hope for it. It is leading to a confrontation that will decide everything. Not just for you and your friends, but for I as well." He places his forearms on the table and leans forward, looking at you. For a moment, you see past the charade. To something infinite and horrifying, something man was not meant to see and so you can not totally. But only for a moment. "Her eyes give you power. And so it was you I put some hope into...among others." He straightened up in his chair, and tilted his head slightly, eyes moving up in thought. "But the numbers grow thin. They are not as strong as you and your group, and unfortunately other actors on the stage act as fools."

"Mate if you mean those church fellas, I would happen to agree with you. What the fuck am I?"

"There was a queen, long ago, who was the first and only to master the arts the humanoids now call necromancy. She was slain. But she lives on...in parts, in pieces. You have some of those pieces. You have her eyes." The figure smiled at you. "And that's the gift fate gave you that sets you apart. With this, there is hope for us both." His face turned stern. He locked eyes with Bräk, and finished before he awoke to the morning sun: "They will hunt you. The church. Her cultists. But you will win. Because you are mine, now, and you are strong. You will win. We will win. We must see her machinations undone."