Wanderer on the Secret Wind

[Nephallim]

Death and Rebirth, Part I: The Dieing Dreamer

The thud of my beating heart roared through my ears as I gazed at the fires raging around me, the horizon of my miserable life alight with blood and gunpowder. My knuckles turned white with pressure as my grip tightened around my cutlass. I could feel a hot mix of blood and spittle drip down my gristley beard, my teeth clenched in rage. My eyes, red with tears of hatred, squinted past the fires. Damned white sails of Celeisian carracks and Lesser Moon caravels dotted the red sea, drifting in a grey mist of gunpowder smoke, the occasional cannon cracking off a shot at the Crow's Wing, what had once been the most feared bucaneer vessel to sail the seas of Anthros.

I stepped through the blood pooled thick on the deck and over the corpses of pirate mate and elven marine alike. The pilot was dead at the helm, silver-shafted arrows protruding out of his boney corpse like pins in a goblin hex doll. I pushed him off the helm and spun the ship about to face Celeis's five-masted flagship, Sorceress. I drove my cutlass down, pinning the helm in place and snatched up a pair of hatchets from the corpse of a goblin boarder. My boots squeaked against the wet, red deck as I strode to the bow, the black sails of the Crow's Wing filling with a dread wind. I'd be damned if I'd go quietly to a watery grave. All my life had been one misery after another. I owed it to the world to give as good as I'd gotten.

Blood, blood, blood, blood. My heart pounded as the Crow's Wing cut the red sea, speeding toward the Sorceress. Cannons cracked with renewed fervor. The fat bitch was trying to turn in the water to evade its oncoming doom. I let out a bitter laugh as I leaned forward. When I rammed the Celeisian whore, I'd throw myself onto her deck and lay into her with all the pent up fury of a hurricane. "There's nowhere to run, cowards!" I shouted to the wind as my quarrey's starboard lay fully exposed.

And then. . .

The Sorceress's starboard exploded in a cload of dead grey smoke and wood splintered and exploded all about me. My footing destroyed, I tumbled into the red sea. My lungs filled with saltwater as I tried to curse the craven bastards.

Blood, blood, blood, blood. . .

. . . and then I drifted off, my rage cooling. For a brief moment, my heart was at peace as I drifted off into a dark dream.

[Nephallim]

Death and Rebirth, Part II: Mirrorsheen Dreamscape

Cheers and applause rise through the air. Its a warm summer evening. I'm standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean, wearing my white captain's uniform. Standing across from me is a vision of beauty garbed in white silk.

". . . you may kiss the bride. . ."

I don't hesitate. My lips meat those of the vision of beauty's in the blink of the eye. There's nothing chaste about our embrace. In six hours we consumate our marriage.

In five years we have three daughters. In ten years my fingers as closing around her neck as the body of her lover leaks red blood over the bed we conceived our children in. In thirty years I drown to death.

* * * * *

The scent of blood and gunpowder and salt fill my nostrils. I cling to something, someone in the red seas. Behind me my ship is in flames. I see Jon, my first mate, trapped in the rigging. I watch him drown. There's nothing I can do. Somewhere beyond the wreck of my life I can hear the Crow's Wing gliding through the water. I can hear its crew chant for blood. The blood of Daleistown. The blood of my family.

Ten years ago I was married happily. In twenty year I'll drown to death. In five days I murder my wife.

* * * * *

I stand over the corpse of my wife, staring at my blood-soaked hands. This is wrong. The Crow's Wing should have already reached Daleistown. My family should be dead. It should be a Teran bucaneer dead at my feat. The horror of what I've done hits me. The raft of corpses. The murder of the couple by the beach. My wife. . . I don't care that she was abed with a stranger. I don't care that my daughters just peaked into the room and fled from me as if I was a monster. I laugh maniacly as I realize that it was not Daleistown that the Crow's Wing sought to plunder. . . It ws my soul.

Ten years ago I was married happily. Twenty years from now I'll drown to death. I just murdered my wife.

* * * * *

Twenty years of piracy stain my soul. Twenty years of murder, and plunder, and worse. But no mark on my spirit is so black as that murder, twenty years ago. I'm dying or dead. Soon I will meet my just reward, I don't doubt. What more horrors Tereus has in store for me, I don't know.

. . . so sad. . .

A voice as pure as driven snow laments my fate. The sensation of drowning returns, the crushing pressure of the red sea. I struggle to breathe and. . . I do. Everything starts to get fuzzy. Details start to grow vague. I forget the feeling of horror and dread and damnation.

Thirty years ago I was married happily. Twenty years ago I murdered my wife. I died a pirate's death. . . and someone forgave me.

[Nephallim]

Death and Rebirth, Part III: The Secret Knight

"What a cruel life has lead to here," A voice calls to me, "Such horrid, shameful things you have done. . . and to people so close to you. . ."

All is dark. The voice comes from everywhere and from nowhere.

"I- Is this a dream?" I ask the darkness, a shudder goes through all my body and- and through parts of me that shouldn't be. Something. . . some added limb has grown from my back, but all is dark and I cannot tell what it is.

"No. . ." The voice coos, "You're quite done with the Dreaming for now, I think."

"Where am I?" I demand hotly before my temper cools, and I realize I have more pertinent questions to ask. "Who am I?" I ask, far more calmly.

"You are among those who will keep your secrets gladly," The voice booms, "And. . . you should not care who you were. That is the past and best left forgotten."

"But. . ." Brief memories flash before my eyes. Bells. . . blood. . . the oppressive crush of deep water, clawing for my lungs.

* * * * *

I don't know when I fell to the floor, but I'm on my knees. I still can't see. I reach out my hand, and it lands in a puddle of human filth.

"See," The voice coos, "The very thought of who you were makes you ill. You should turn your mind now to who you are."

"And who am I. . ."

"MINE."

Fires flare up all around me, lighting a one-eyed visage so ghastly as to inspire nightmares in the hardest of sailors. Everything goes red. . .

* * * * *

I awaken. I lay on a cold slab of stone. Its an altar, I know. An offering table to the Secret One. All around me I hear the drop of water. I know that I'm deep underground, where those that hunt my lord's hidden vassals will not look. . . or have not looked yet.

I sit up. I'm surrounded by figures in black robes. Some of them carry staves. Others rods. One figure is clearly armored under his dark garb, a greatsword strapped to his back.

"Welcome to the service of Vecna, wanderer," One of the robed figures says as he offers me a hand, "What are you called?"

Something in me sings in delight as I take the cultist's hand, "That would be telling, wouldn't it?"